With the coming of autumn, there was an explosion of colour in Godric's Hollow. Not only was the surrounding countryside carpeted in leaves of every colour - gold, scarlett, murky brown and dirty yellow - but the small cottages and shops in the village were soon adorned in decorations for Halloween. Outside every one of the cottages were carved pumpkins, peeping out of doorways and windows, while the shops put up banners and models of skulls, vampires and witches. A sign in the window of the village pub proclaimed that there was an Halloween Fright Fest all over the Halloween weekend.

One house, however, was different. One house didn't need to make up any stories of horror, or imagine ghouls lurking in the dark - for they had something far worse to worry about.

The Potters were very quiet and kept to themselves. Lily and James had moved there just over a week ago, with their young son, Harry. The couple had formed a close friendship with their neighbour, an odd old woman by all accounts. Her name was Bathilda Bagshot, and there was not a living person in the village who could remember a time before she had lived there.

Everyone in the village agreed that they were a private lot, and should therefore be left well alone.

"James! I'm just going to see whether Bathilda's alright. I haven't seen her for days! Do you want to come?" Lily called up the stairs.

"Not at the moment, sweetheart," James called back, sounding distracted. "Harry's trying to fly out of the window again!"

Lily smiled. James was always playing with Harry. Just last week, he had gotten hold of his father's wand and turned his cot into a sabre toothed tiger. It was fortunate that James was so good at Transfiguration, or all three of them would likely have ended up in the beast's stomach.

"No, not that way!" she heard a muffled shout from upstairs.

She laughed, pulled on a thin cardigan and left the house.

Outside, a bracing chill swept through her. Grimacing, she felt a light patter of rain on her skin. It was only eight o'clock in the morning, and not many people were out and about at this time. Somewhere by the church she saw two or three old women huddled over a grave, but there was nobody else… Wait!

For a moment, she could have sworn that she saw a figure, standing outside the church. A black robed figure. No. No. It couldn't be him. Not Voldemort. Not here. She blinked and looked again. There was nothing there.

"Honestly, Lily," she muttered to herself, exasperated. "No one can find us here…"

Still angry with herself for being so jumpy, she walked next door to Bathilda's house and knocked.

A few minutes passed before an anxious voice called from behind the door.

"Who is it? I warn you, I'm an old friend of Dumbledore's and he won't rest till I'm avenged!"

"Bathilda, it's Lily!" she replied, spooked by Bathilda's reaction to a visitor. Bathilda was the type of woman who was incredibly positive. Many times, when Lily had felt like everything was stacked against them, she would tell her she was being silly. In Bathilda's opinion, nothing could beat Dumbledore.

"Oh, don't be stupid!" Lily remembered her scolding. "I have more faith in Albus Dumbledore than I do fear for Voldemort. Now let that be an end to it!"

Slowly, the door creaked open to reveal Bathilda, looking dreadful. She was small and frail looking and her face was covered in tears.

"Oh," she sighed, sniffing. "It's you. I suppose you haven't heard the news then?"

"What news?" Lily asked, her stomach dropping. Her and James were isolated from the rest of the Order so that they couldn't be tracked down by the Death Eaters, so for them, news was hard to come by.

"Come in and I'll get you a cup of tea. This will be a bit of a shock." Bathilda turned round and walked back into her house, shaking slightly.

"Expecto Patronum!" Lily cast, sending her doe Patronus back next door to get James. Something told her that he should be here to hear this too.

Following Bathilda into her house, a horrible thought came to her. What if Peter had been murdered? He had been very quiet of late and she couldn't remember the last time he had been able to look her in the eye.

Bathilda's house was very old fashioned. It would have been cutting edge modern in the late 1920s, she guessed. Her kitchen was a naturally light room; great amounts of sunlight shone in through the large kitchen windows. In the centre of the room was a table set for three. As Lily sat down, Bathilda shuffled out from the pantry clutching a tin of tea leaves and a dozen biscuits.

Bathilda was obviously very subdued.

"Is it Peter?" Lily blurted suddenly. "Has Voldemort murdered Peter?"

"Peter? No, my dear," Bathilda replied her voice wobbling slightly, whipping her wand, and, in doing so, boiling the kettle. "The McKinnons were murdered on Sunday. A group of Death Eaters broke into their home and - and slaughtered them!"

At this, Lily gasped, tears already springing to her eyes. Marlene and David were old friends of Lily and James - Marlene had been a Prefect when Lily was a First Year, and had helped her stop a group of Slytherin's bullying her about her blood status.

"That's not all," Bathilda said, her eyes swimming with tears. "Gideon and Fabian Prewett fell to Bellatrix Lestrange, Lucius Malfoy and Voldemort himself just yesterday. It took three of the strongest dark wizards in Britain to defeat them. Albus says that Molly is distraught."

"No!" Lily wailed, tears streaming down her face. Gideon and Fabian were renowned for their strength - together they had held off Voldemort himself at the Battle of Ottery St. Catchpole. It was such a shock that they were dead.

Silently, Bathilda hugged her, patting her back reassuringly.

"Don't you worry, my dear," she crooned. "Their deaths will not be in vain. Albus will defeat him, you know he will."

Lily just buried her face further into her friend's shoulder, sobbing.

"Lily, what's wrong?"

Lily looked up, her eyes misty with tears. James stood in the doorway, his brow furrowed in anxiety. Harry sat at his feet, looking strangely solemn for a baby.

"The McKinnons and the Prewett brothers have been murdered!" Lily informed him.

She could tell that James was in shock. His face drained of colour and his back slumped; but he would never cry. He thought he was strong not crying, but Lily thought that was just stupid.

"Oh, love," James said after a minute, stretching out his arms for a hug.

Lily stood and embraced him. Hugging James was different to hugging Bathilda; with James she felt strong and loved. With James she knew that all would be fine, in the end. With James, she knew that no one could hurt her. Not even him.

She stopped crying immediately.

"I'll get him, Lily," James whispered in her ear, a fierce determination in his voice. "I'll kill him if it's the last thing I do. I swear it."

Darkness came early that night. In the village, children skipped through the narrow, cobbled streets, knocking on doors and shrieking in their singsong voices, "Trick or treat!". Warm, golden light spilled out of the village pub, from which you could hear music and the low hum of conversation. Jack-o-lanterns lit the village square, their faces leering out from the darkness.

But Lily and James were in no mood for festivities. Ever since they had heard the news, a hush had fallen over the house. James had wanted to go to the village pub for the party, but after hearing the news they had decided that they wanted an early night. After taking Harry to bed and tucking him in, Lily came down to find James sitting on the sofa, a glazed look in his eyes.

He looked up at her as she came in and she was surprised to see tears running down his cheeks.

"Lily," he said, reaching out a hand, a pleading look in his eyes. "Come here."

Dropping her wand onto the sofa, Lily, shocked, put her arms around James and patted his back as he began to weep onto her shoulder. She had never seen anyone cry like James did that night - she expected that it was because of the fact that he had held it all in, all these years, and this was the result. James was crying not only for Marlene, David, Fabian and Gideon, but for Alice and Frank Longbottom, Edgar Bones, Benjy Fenwick, Caradoc Dearborn, Dorcas Meadowes and every last muggle that had fell prey to Voldemort's sick, twisted agenda.

It felt like hours and hours, but it could easily have been seconds that Lily comforted James that night. He gnashed his teeth and screamed out, beat his chest and pulled at his hair, all the while rivers of tears cascading down his face. Eventually though, he calmed down, and sat, his head on Lily's lap, occasionally hiccoughing.

"James?" Lily said, breaking the silence.

"Wh-What?" James stuttered, looking up.

"I love you, you know that, right?"

"Of course I do," James said, sitting up and putting his hands on her shoulders. "And I love you too."

Lily kissed him gently on the mouth.

"Oh, well," She sighed, smiling slightly. "We're still here to carry on the fight, we'll get him good and prop-"

As she spoke her eyes wandered out the window, and something she saw there caused her to utter a single, horrified scream.

James whirled around, serious at once.

Walking slowly, arrogantly almost, past their garden wall was a black cloaked figure, a wand gripped in his long fingers. Voldemort.

"Lily," James said, his voice barely above a whisper. "Take Harry… Go! I'll hold him back! Go to Dumbledore!"

His face blanched in terror, yet his jaw was set in a way that allowed no argument. Giving her one last adoring look, he dashed from the living room to guard the front door.

"I love you," Lily called after him, as she climbed the stairs two at a time, not pausing for breath. If she could just get to Harry and get him out of the house, then they could Apparate far from here and get help.

Bursting into the nursery, Lily ran to the cot, pulling Harry into her arms.

"Come on, sweetie," Lily crooned, trying to smile for him. "We're going on a little holiday."

Downstairs she heard a high, cackling laugh and a scream. James. He was dead. She could scarcely believe it.

Pushing the grief out of her mind, she looked for a window, anything. There was nothing. With all her might, she tried to Apparate, but the protective charms that Dumbledore had placed on the cottage stopped her.

Lily knew what she had to do. Nothing except Dumbledore could beat Voldemort, she knew that well enough. But she was going to go out with a bang. The Potters would not be murdered that easily. Mustering herself, she reached into her pocket to find… Nothing. Kicking herself, she remembered leaving her wand on the sofa downstairs.

It was over. There was nothing she could do. Harry would die. She would die. James was dead. Carefully she put Harry back into his cot and stood facing the door, ready for what was to come.

The door flew off it's hinges, flying into the wall and splintering. The tall, black figure of Voldemort stood in the doorway, his wand outstretched, his face hidden in the shadowy folds of his hood.

"Not Harry, not Harry, please not Harry!" Lily pleaded, standing in front of her son.

"Stand aside, you silly girl," Voldemort commanded, his voice high and screechy. He took a step forward. "Stand aside now."

"Not Harry, please not Harry! Kill me instead, please not him!" She begged.

"Imperio!" Voldemort exclaimed, raising his wand.

A fog descended on Lily's mind. Happiness engulfed her, complete and utter bliss. She remembered nothing, she knew nothing except that she was so happy and fulfilled. Ah… But then, out of the fog came a voice.

"Stand aside."

Every fibre of her being said 'Yes, stand aside', but then she remembered something. Something from before. A face. It was small and pudgy, lips open in a giggle. Shocking green eyes stared out from under a tuft of jet black hair.

"NO!" Lily yelled, coming back to her senses and flinging herself at Voldemort. "NOT MY HARRY!"

A flash of green light.

Lily Potter died.