The battle raged on furiously, paying no attention to those that had fallen and perished, nor to those that had fallen and lay, alive, struggling on the ground. Spells were being fired right and left, the amalgamation of brightly colored jets were at first glance, deceiving, looking like fireworks but a second glance would reveal the malicious intents of each deadly spell. The field was removed from Muggle populated areas, and the once peaceful, lush green meadow had become victim to a furious, unyielding war. The ground became the bearer of multiple small streams of blood, which intertwined with each other, coloring the soil a darker, more sinister shade of brown. At the pace the battle was raging on at, it seemed that soon the only witness left of the war would be the soil. The moans of the injured were drowned out; by the shouted curses, mindless jeering and occasional swearing that flew back and forth between the combatants, temporarily ignored, to be dealt with after the battle was over.
And in the midst of the carnage, stood Lily Evans, head held high, looking more than slightly disheveled with a gash on her cheek and another on her arm, her hair running wild; the epitome of bravery, of pure danger.
"You can do better than that, come on!" Antonin Dolohov chided her, while shooting a curse at her. "Or maybe you can't, you filthy Mudblood," He laughed and shot a bright green spell at her.
Lily ignored his castigations, focusing only on deflecting his spells and firing back at him, the only indicator that she had heard his remarks were visible in how her spells became more fierce, more intense.
"All right there, Evans?" The voice was deep, with a hint of humor in it, like the speaker had been laughing a few minutes before.
It distracted her momentarily. She looked over her shoulder and saw him, in combat with Amycus Carrow. She forgot everything for a second, and watched him. His hair was flying around wildly, looking even more untidy than it usually did and his glasses were dangling dangerously off his nose. He was fooling around, dancing just out of reach, shooting curses, but not seriously. If he wanted, he could've taken Amycus down minutes ago.
And then she felt something warm fly past her elbow, too close for comfort.
"Screw you, Potter!" She yelled back, just as another curse barely missed her.
"You already do!" James replied with an airy laugh that nearly took his glasses off.
She gave no sign that she had heard him except for the blush that had spread on her face, contrasting sharply with her hair.
"The blood-traitor and the Mudblood? How sweet! Planning on cursing our world with a filthy half-blood soon, do you?" Dolohov jeered at Lily, provoking her. She ignored him, but shot a particularly vicious jet of red at him.
"Too bad - it - won't - work - out!" He said this while shooting multiple curses at her, one of which was an alarming shade of green. The last curse caught her squarely in the stomach and she fell over, a small noise of surprise escaping her.
Dolohov turned around triumphantly—and immediately fell to the ground, his face turning an ugly shade of purple.
James Potter stood behind him, his wand held up, his mouth open, staring at Lily's motionless body with a look of dread, guilt and plain, heartbreaking anguish. The look of a man who had just lost what mattered to him most. He stood in shock for a few minutes, right in the midst of the battlefield and then the adrenaline kicked in. He ran towards Lily and kneeled next to her, spells still flying all over the place. His ears were filled with a dull roar. It was so stupid, so utterly thoughtless of him, to be sitting still in the middle of a battlefield, where he was an easy target, kneeling next to the one person he loved most, that the fighting stopped momentarily. They all stopped to stare at him, wondering how he could be so stupid, then someone fired a spell into the air and the fighting erupted again. It had all lasted but half a second.
She looked so lifeless, like a puppet. His adrenaline rush immediately ended, and he found himself struggling not to cry. Seeing her up close like this had zapped all the fight out of him.
And then, a face ran towards him. He half-heartedly raised his wand to fend off whoever it was, but it was only Sirius. Sirius shouted something at him and the voice was blurred, his actions slow. Sirius kept mouthing something over and over again and then kneeled down next to him.
The roaring in his ears reduced slightly and James realised it was his name Sirius was saying. His expression cleared and he pulled himself together. He had to do something, anything, or she would die.
"James, get her off the field, now! Look at her, she's still breathing, she's alive. I'll help you, come on," And he lifted her off the ground before James could react. James got up, realising what he had just done—or rather not done—and followed close behind Sirius. He fired spells, and soon they were running off the battlefield. No one had followed them. Sirius lay her down on the ground but she still didn't open her eyes. James felt the dread rising again.
"Calm down, James. Look, we'll apparate to St. Mungo's and they can help her, okay?"
He nodded. He felt numb, and he wanted nothing more than for her to just open her eyes and look at him as if she knew everything about him, as if she always had.
Her eyes were closed, her face was pale. Her hair was the only thing that had color. She still looked beautiful. But not in a way that James would ever like to see again. She looked lifeless, scarily so, and James had to check again if her chest was still rising up and down. Looking at her like this, he promised himself that he would never, for as long as he lived, see her like this again. He would never let this happen again, he would always, for as long as he lived, protect her. To his last breath, to his last exhausted heartbeat; he would protect her as well as he could.
And two years later, he did.