On the 31st of October, 1981, in her house in Godric's hollow, Lily Potter was murdered.

She knew immediately that something was wrong. At first the house was just a bit too quiet, and Harry stopped his screaming suddenly. She froze, telling herself that it was nothing but paranoia. She was wrong.

In the moments that followed, Voldemort would wreak havoc on their home, the same home that had protected Lily's husband and son. The same place where Harry had taken his first steps, said his first words, and spent all of his happiest moments with his parents and Godparents.

Lily Potter watched as He killed James, the man she loved, had always loved, had grown up with.

And then she watched as He asked her to move aside and let Him kill Harry.

She stiffened, fury building within her. Lily suddenly forgot her grief, and for that moment she was not a grieving widow or kind woman, she was a mother.

And no one, not even the darkest wizard of the times, one who's name alone struck fear into the hearts of the wizarding world, should ever threaten a mother's child.

Lily's chaotic and panicked thoughts were immediately reduced to one clear sentence.

Not my child you son of a bitch.

Because that was her son, a boy that she loved with every fibre of her being. But Harry James Potter wasn't just her's, wasn't just loved by her. He was James', Sirius', Remus's. She knew without a shadow of a doubt that each of them would sacrifice their life in an instant to save her boy.

They weren't here, but she was. Lily Potter was the only thing stopping Voldemort from murdering her baby boy, and there was no way in hell that she was going to let her son die without putting up one hell of a fight.

As the dark and cruel figure before her raised his wand, screaming the words that she had already anticipated with a murderous fury, Lily Potter dived in front of her son.

It wasn't a decision. There was never a choice for her. She didn't just do it because if her love for Harry, she did it because of everyone else's love for him as well. She did it because of Harry Potter's love and kindness and innocence that was evident even at his young age. She had to give him a chance.

Lily didn't feel scared as the green bolt of light hit her chest. She felt angry, of course she felt angry, but mostly she felt sad. She felt an overwhelming grief. Because her son would grow up without parents, and she would never get to see him age. She wouldn't be there for any of the remaining milestones in her son's life. She wouldn't see him receive his first Hogwarts letter, she wouldn't drop him off for his first day of school, she wouldn't get to meet his first partner, and she wouldn't see him get married.

Despite all of this, Lily also felt at peace. Because somehow she knew that Harry would survive. And as long as her happy, innocent boy lived there was hope.

Hours later, Severus Snape would arrive in Godric's hollow to find Lily and James's dead bodies, lifeless on the floor. He would notice how Lily's body lay in front of the cot containing her child. And hus heart would shatter, as he saw everything he loved in this cruel world lie before him, lifeless.

Harry cried that night, and many nights after that. He had lost so much that night, but in a true testament to his mother he never gave up hope. Harry Potter saved the wizarding world as Lily watched on, her heart filled with pride.

She never once regretted her decision, and she knew that when the time was right she would talk to her son again.

I hope this was okay! I've never written a fan fiction before, but love reading them! I'm an insomniac, so I wrote this in the early hours of the morning when I couldn't sleep. In other words, I was sleep deprived and frustrated, so sorry for the depressing story. Please leave a review, even (especially) if you didn't like it, so that I know how to improve.