A/N - So I feel so beyond horrible for not updating both DVN and What Malfoys are made of. The guilt is eating me. Unfortunately, I am so swamped with school and SATs and everything else that I can't find the time to sleep let alone work on my stories. Luckily, I have a really awesome English teacher, who gave us a creative writing assignment, which allowed me to write this... for a grade.

The fact that it's for a grade irks me, but hey, at least I'm writing!

~onceuponawonderland

October 31st, 1981

If somebody had told me 4 years ago that I would be happily married to James Potter and smiling as he played with our son on the living room floor, I would have laughed in their face. Either that or I would have hexed them. But here I am, plain as the day, happy and smiling.

Today is Halloween. All throughout the fairly large town of Godric's Hollow, children will soon be heading out to trick or treat. As a young girl I loved trick-or-treating. Petunia and I would dress up as anything from fairies to movie stars and run up and down the streets, visiting each and every lit house and shoving our neon-orange pumpkin-shaped bags in the noses of whoever came to the doors. The corner of my mouth turns up in a half-smile. My son Harry has never been trick-or-treating and he probably never will be; it is simply not a wizarding tradition.

I look down at the plate of cookies in my hand. The supposedly pumpkin-shaped treats look more to me like a batch of deformed orange lumps with spiky green hair, but I know that no matter what the cookies look like, my husband and son will eat them.

James and Harry are so similar. His eyes are from me. Everything else—the untamable raven hair, the love of flying, the unmistakable confidence and bravery . . . and the laugh, especially the laugh—is all James. I've been watching them play for almost ten minutes. James makes a face and Harry laughs. James shoots sparks from his wand and Harry laughs. James picks up Harry, throws him in the air, and catches him once again. Harry laughs. I smile.

"Cookies!" I announce gleefully, suddenly making my presence known. The boys stop playing instantly and James rushes over to take the plate from my hand.

"Thanks, love." He whispers before rushing back to place the cookies on the floor amongst Harry's toys. I make my way over to the worn beige sofa and sit down in the corner (the one that's not piled high with Harry's toys). In a swift muscle-memory motion, I reach behind me to grab our old woolen Gryffindor blanket. The bold reds and golds have all but faded completely, leaving behind an outline—a memory of that fierce Gryffindor lion. I wrap the blanket around myself and curl up into a ball as James and Harry resume their playing.

"James…" I start once while Harry is distracted. My husband looks up at me and his expression instantly changes from one of childish happiness to one of a weary and saddened adult. His typically shimmering hazel eyes don't so much as give a feeble spark.

"I know, Lily. I know." He whispers back. A sound from outside—a twig snapping—reaches our ears and just as suddenly, I see before me a man frozen in terror. Our heads snap immediately to Harry, who is wiggling happily and obliviously on the ground and singing silently to himself.

"James?" I ask, my voice a good octave higher. James disappears into the kitchen and I glance around me rapidly. Everything is the same: the mismatched furniture, the home-sewn golden curtains, the stains on the once-brown carpet that have more of a story than I do. And at the same time, everything is different. I no longer feel safe and happy in my home. My blood is rushing faster; my eyes are clouding; every muscle in my body is tensed. There is something very, very wrong here. . .

"Lily!" James shouts, not even bothering to hide the fear in his voice. "Take Harry and go!" What? No!

"It's him!" He cries, "Go! Run! I'll hold him off -" No…. But we've discussed this. There can't be any hesitation. Harry is the most important factor in this situation. No matter how badly I feel like breaking down and sobbing in my husband's arms, it is my son's life that needs the most protecting.

I jump to my feet and kiss James fiercely, refusing to allow tears to shed, before pulling Harry into my arms and running up the stairs.

I rush into Harry's small bedroom and place him in his crib.

"Options, Lily. Think of your options," I say aloud, coaching myself through what Mad-Eye Moody had taught me not a few weeks ago.

I glance frantically around the room, searching for a way out. There is a window. I can jump through the window with Harry and run. We can go into hiding again, somewhere else. I hear a shout from downstairs and the dull sound of a body falling to the floor. James. A single tear escapes down my cheek. I look towards the window again, toward the option that is no longer enough for me. James is dead.

There are footsteps on the stairs, and the door behind me bursts open. I feel my scream of terror get caught in my throat; the mangled face of Lord Voldemort sneers. Harry giggles quietly. For the first time in his short life, I feel the need to quiet my son. Voldemort raises his wand and motions for me to move away from the crib.

"Not Harry. Not Harry." I say, almost quietly. "Please not Harry." I beg.

"Stand aside you silly girl." Voldemort says, almost flippantly. I can't move. My feet are glued to the floor. I should run away. I should grab Harry and jump out the window. I should run away. I can't.

"Stand aside now!" Voldemort demands of me.

"Not Harry! Please, no, take me! Kill me instead. . ." I plead, maybe subconsciously believing that the most evil wizard of all time could be persuaded to see things my way. Voldemort raises his wand even higher and points it at Harry. Harry: my son, my baby, and now my only physical connection to James. Another tear follows the path the first one created.

"Not Harry! Please … have mercy … have mercy… "

If someone had told me four years ago that I would be in this position I would have looked at them as if they were crazy. But yet here I am, feeling as if there is nothing for me without the man I love—without James.

Salty tears begin to flow freely down the sides of my face. I have to protect Harry. I have to get him away from this monster . . . I don't have time to be upset! Options, Lily! Think of options! My brain is fuzzy, my vision is blurred. Another sob gets caught in my throat.

From inside his crib, Harry laughs.

"Mummy! Love you mummy!" He laughs again, pleased with himself for speaking. The tears stop flowing. Love! Love is the answer. How could I have been so stupid? How could I have forgotten my research? A surge of bravery flows through me.

Voldemort laughs—a cold, high pitched cackle. I feel my expression of terror reshape into a smile.

And then I see green.