James was gone, but she had no time to think about that. She loved him more than anyone, more than she'd ever thought she could love anyone, and now he was dead. She'd never see his smile, hear his laugh… she'd never roll her eyes as he runs his hand through his hair.

It didn't hurt yet. She knew that it should – she'd thought she'd lost James before, and it had almost killed her. But it hadn't sunk in yet. There was too much else going on.

"Stand aside, you silly girl." His voice was cold and sickly sweet. She'd heard it before, but never had it inspired so much fear in her. It was the voice of a murderer. Her murderer.

"No!" she exclaimed. Her body was thrown in front of the cot, as though she could do something. She didn't have a wand. He could blast her aside with the minimalist of thoughts. She was at his mercy, and she was useless.

A sense of frustration overcame her. Why had they not had their wands on them? Neither her or James had carried them – if they had, then maybe they would have stood a chance at holding him off. Maybe one of them could have apparated away with their son.

But their wands were… Lily didn't even know. Probably next to their bed or in the kitchen. Somewhere stupid.

"Please," she begged. It was all she could do. Beg. She doubted he would listen though. She'd pay for her assumption that they were safe under the protection of the Fidelus Charm. She'd pay, just like James had. Just like poor Harry would. "Please, not Harry. Take me instead!"

He let out a high, cold laugh. She'd never expected him to take mercy on the baby in the cot. But he should never have expected her to stand aside while he murdered her son.

He raised his wand and opened his mouth. "Avada-"

Death wasn't as quick as she'd thought. Every second seemed to happen in a vibrant, colourful slow-motion. She suddenly noticed every single sight, heard every sound, smelt every smell. The ceiling needed painting again, she realised. It was peeling slightly.

She felt a stab of annoyance at the paint seller. They'd guaranteed ten years.

At least she would be reunited with James again. They'd be happy together. She wished she wouldn't be seeing Harry – not for a good hundred years, at any rate, but she had no control over this situation. She'd done the only thing she could possibly have done.

"-Kadavra!"

A jet of green light shot out of the wand. Lily thought she felt it wrap around her, cocooning her and cushioning her like a warm blanket on a cold night. It made it almost easy to slip into the embrace of death… almost.

Harry, she thought, as the blanket-spell tugged at her insistently.

Come with me, it whispered. You will be safe and warm. Come. Come now.

But she couldn't. Harry needed her.

Her vision was distorted as she watched the scene in the bedroom unfold. Somehow she was still there, although the blanket-spell was making it harder and harder to remain. She wanted to go with it, she really did.

She could see her body lying on the floor, somewhere at her feet. Although she wasn't sure she had feet. She wasn't sure she had a shape at all.

It was like watching fish through a sheet of wavy glass. Some things appeared too big, others too small. She tried to focus as the tall figure of Voldemort stepped over her body and towards the cot. "No!" she wanted to shout, but the words refused to emerge from her mouth. Did she even have a mouth?

Come with me, called the blanket-spell. Come be warm and safe and happy.

Voldemort was surveying the boy in the cot. He might have looked thoughtful; Lily wasn't sure. She couldn't see properly. For all she knew, he could have been smiling at the infant he was about to murder. He could have been laughing.

Her vision was crystal clear, however, when he raised his wand and pointed it at her son.

She tried to cry out. She tried to move forwards. But it was like there was a sheet of glass between her and the bedroom. Between her and her son. Between her, Harry, and the man trying to kill her son.

Come now, the blanket-spell whispered. Don't look. Come now.

"Avada Kedavra!"

The spell was quick. She knew that; she'd seen it in action enough times. She'd been hit by it. There had been almost no time between the end of the spell and her imminent death. It was so, so quick.

But she was quicker.

She felt the glass wall shatter as her desire alone propelled her through it. She felt the air whoosh past as she zoomed towards the cot – zoomed, because she realised now she wasn't a body. She just was.

She could almost feel, almost touch, her son as she wrapped herself around him. She wanted to protect him and shelter him like the blanket-spell protected her.

Then it hit. She felt it properly this time; the searing heat, the cutting pain. Her muscles were tearing themselves apart. If she'd had a mouth, she would have screamed. It was worse than anything she'd ever felt; worse than the Cruciatius Curse… worse than losing James.

Come with me.

She couldn't resist the blanket-spell now. It was so pain-free. She let it wrap around her again, and let it carry her away.

She felt nothing more. No pain, no sadness, no grief. She didn't even wonder if her son was alive.

"Lily." The voice was soft. Kind. Loving. James. "Lily, wake up."

She opened her eyes. They were in… a meadow. She was lying on grass… grass that was softer than feathers. "Where am I?" she asked. But she already knew. "Harry!" She sat bolt upright. How could she have forgotten? How could she have left him there to die all alone? How could she have let go?

"It's alright, it's alright," James said, putting his hand on her arm. "You did it."

"I did?"

"Yeah." He smiles at her. "You saved him. You made him live."