A/N: Hey, y'all! This was written for the Hogwarts Eastern Funfair for the Ferris Wheel. My prompt: (AU) film noir. This is the first chapter. IT IS NOT COMPLETE. Also, Lily's story here was inspired by the Lindbergh kidnapping. Future chapter will be longer, but Carry Me Home is my first MC priority.

Word Count: 1363

WARNING: This first chapter, at least, is unbeta'ed. Also, future chapter will include violence, bad language, and scary/sensitive topics.

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. Those rights go to JK Rowling.

Enjoy!

"I had a funny feeling as I saw the house disappear, as though I had written a poem and it was very good and I had lost it and would never remember it again." —Raymond Chandler, The High Window

It was the rain Lily remembered the most.

Despite the fact that it had been late afternoon, it had been dark outside. The air had been cool against Lily's flushed skin as she had hurried to finish her errands for the day. She had glanced up at the stormy grey sky, expecting rain as she had driven home. It had begun to fall just as she had arrived at her house, and she had jogged up to the front door, struggling to balance all her bags and eager to see her husband and son. When she had entered the house, she had immediately been struck with a sense that something was wrong; it was quiet. Her boys were never this quiet.

She had dropped her bags on the kitchen floor, planning to put them away properly later. She had then called out to her husband, and when she hadn't gotten a response, yelled louder. Soon she had begun screaming, fear tearing at her insides. She had climbed up the staircase, still calling for her husband and son, up to the second floor where her son Harry's room was located. The door had creaked as she opened it.

She had glanced in and screamed.

Harry's crib had been overturned, and his toys had been knocked all over the floor. The curtains had been blowing ominously towards her, framing a broken window. The window that had always been shut and locked lay broken on the floor in a million dazzling pieces. The wind had howled, fighting its way into the ruined room and bringing the ice cold rain with it. It soaked the carpet, but Lily hadn't been focusing on that— thunder had rumbled and lightning had flashed, revealing the red stain that had been left on the splintered windowsill and some of the floor.

Unwilling to believe what was right in front of her, Lily had sprinted out of the room and torn through the rest of the house, fruitlessly searching for something to contradict what she'd just seen. She had screamed the names of her family until her throat was raw, had even run out into the raging storm to search the surrounding area. Finally, she had had to accept that Harry and James were not here; she'd numbly walked back up to Harry's room, unaware that her body was trembling violently.

She had entered the room again, and for the first time, the fear had caught up with her. James and Harry were gone, and she had absolutely no idea where. It had been clear that there had been a struggle, which had been a clear indicator that her family was in danger. Then her senses had caught up with her and she had turned around to phone the police, but a crisp white note— the only untarnished thing in the room— had caught her eye.

Her pale, shaking fingers had plucked up the note off of the dresser. She had read it carefully, many times, unable to comprehend just what it was saying.

The phrases forty thousand pounds (40,000), six months, don't alert the authorities, or your family will pay for it and signed Voldemort had floated around her head for several lminutes as she had stood there in complete shock.

That's when her legs had given out. She entire body had shaken as she had sobbed on her knees, the blasted note clutched to her chest like it had been the last bit of her husband and son. Strangled gasps had escaped from her numb lips, and with every gust of wind that had been blown through the window, her chest had become tighter. And the rain that had poured in— it had dampened the room, but had failed to wash away the blood by the window. For hours she had sat there, begging for a miracle that would bring them back.

None had come.

Finally, her fists had clenched. Grieving, he had known, would get her nowhere. She had stood up then, planning to track down the stupid person who had messed with the Potter family. She had vowed to get them back. And she would.

That had been one week ago. The six month timeframe she had been given as slipping by fast. Lily stared at the half-empty coffee cup in front of her as the rain pattered gently against the shop's windows. Every minute she spent doing nothing was a minute closer to doom for Harry and James. She grit her teeth. She didn't have a clue as to where she should begi her hunt for Voldemort. She let out a shuddering sigh and dug her hands into her dark red hair. Her shoulders shook, but she didn't cry. It reminded her too much of the rain.

She had learned to hate the rain.

She tried to close her eyes to prevent the onslaught of memories, but to no avail; they slammed through her walls and invaded her mind, then slid down her spinal cord with a cold-fingered grasp, just to wrap themselves tightly around her heart.

To a mother, your child was your world. And hers had been ripped out from under her, along with the man who was supposed to be her rock in times of crisis. Now she was facing this alone, and she doubted her abilities to save the two most important people in her life. Now that Harry was gone, his laughter seemed to follow her everywhere; not the sound of it, but rather the open-mouthed grin that accompanied it. Anything green was the eyes of her baby, the ones he shared with her. Oddly shaped shadows were his messy black hair, which he shared with his father. All these things she remembered, could be preserved in a photograph. But not his voice.

She was terrified she would forget it.

Lily pulled the slate-grey trench coat she was wearing tighter around herself. It had been James'; wearing something that still smelled like him was comforting. From the coat pockets she withdrew the note. For the millionth time, she read it. She highly doubted she could get forty thousand pounds in the span of six months. She didn't have any intention of giving such a vile person so much money, but having the money would be a good safety net in case she couldn't bring Voldemort to justice.

She sighed again. This was 1950s London, and she was at a loss at where to go next. The country hadn't even healed from the second World War yet. She ran her fingers over the rough edges of the ransom note. It was printed on fine paper, which told her that whoever Voldemort was, they didn't need the money. The note was small and appeared to have been torn off of a larger notepad. Lily turned it around in her fingers, then suddenly flipped it over. Her breath caught in her throat. There, near the top, was part of a logo. —ott's was written on the top, and directly underneath it on smaller letters was —ionary.

Lily's heart pounded. If she could find the right store, she could compare the handwriting on the note with the check Voldemort might have used to pay for the paper. It was a long shot, but it was the only lead she had.

She hoped that Voldemort wouldn't expect her to give chase. This would be so much easier if she could maintain the element of surprise. For the first time in her life, she prayed that she'd be taken as a silly female.

Lily Evans Potter was a fighter. And she'd be damned if she let anyone get away with kidnapping her husband and son.

She left the coffeeshop, the note held securely in her hand. She had the first clue. She needed to find an expensive shop that sold paper that matched the broken words on the ransom note.

She had her work cut out for her.