-Forward-
I know you probably want more All Hail the Time Lord's Son, but a bunny hopped into my room carrying a Fem!Harry bug so I thought I'd give it a shot. As to pairings, the first part will be James/Lily with a bit of sexy-but-not-citrusy fluff, but later on you can expect a whole slew of teenage romances. I've created varied, alternate universe portrayals (and therefore sometimes out-of-original-character) of characters. These may include deviations from canon in ideology, demographics, races, genders, sexualities (the entire spectrum of LGBTQI), etc.
I will make it a point to respond to questions I see in reviews, so please do sign in or at least leave your username for me. My sounding board and beta-by-function-if-not-name doesn't read me for typos, so if you come across technical errors, please send me a private message. I appreciate your fastidious inclusion of those in reviews, too, but I read them more for opinions and have lost track of a correction more than once. Unless there's an anonymous comment I feel very important to address, I will not be using Author's Notes to respond to reviews, so again, log in or leave your username.
That being said, I don't want to hear complaints about the choices in pairings, the genders, sexualities, etc., of the characters as I portray them unless there's a plot reason you see in this fiction contrary to said choice working. If you want to tell me you didn't like something, please give me your rationale based on my story because 'I hated this because it's not how I want it' doesn't really help me improve. Not your cup of tea? There's a whole cabinet full of your preferred flavour under the Search function.
Thanks so much for reading, reviewing, and sticking with me through my crazy. Your praise and constructive criticism have helped me improve in more ways than you'll ever know.
Chapter One - The Price
October 1979
"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches… born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies… and the Dark Lord shall mark our saviour as his equal, but the child shall wield power the Dark Lord does not… and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives. The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies."
The spectral projection of the wide-eyed, beaded, shawl-draped woman spun slowly over a silvery basin, whose cool glow bathed its operator in harsh light and cast the darkened office around him into gloom. The lines etched into his time-furrowed face stood out in stark relief, and the sunspots scattered over his brow and chin seemed like ink splotches on bleached parchment. His icy blue eyes, shadowed beneath a heavy brow, glinted dully from their deep-set sockets.
"Oh, Ariana," he murmured to the shadows and the sleep feigning portraits lining the walls. "I know of two children who should come into the world by July's end. I think their sweet souls deserve far more than such a fate; and yet, I hold the lives of thousands in my hands."
An ethereal blonde with wide blue eyes and a placid smile blinked sweetly back at him from the ovular, silver frame perched near the right corner of his cluttered desk. The construction of oils, pigments and canvas tilted her head as if to listen but gave no advice.
"Can our world afford to wait for the chosen one's maturity?" he sighed as he examined her innocent face. "Who dies if we continue as we are? How many more of our friends and children shall we lose?"
For the first time in a very long while, the wizened headmaster felt at a loss. The conflict had grown from ideological disagreement to civil war. The ministry laid in shambles, brought to its knees by infighting and weak, inconsistent leadership. Soul-sucking monsters roamed the isles. Giants stormed through the countryside decimating forests and villages indiscriminately. Where once the conflict lay between the Aurors and the Death Eaters, near every wizard and witch fought one another for the right to keep on living.
On one side, so-called Purists decried the blasphemies of the muggleborn population, claiming a conspiracy to undermine the time-honoured traditions and mores of an ancient culture. They called it Erasure, and they took up arms to protect the continuation of their religious practices, their law, and the very structure of their society. Within their number, many proposed the complete eradication of any magical borne of non-wizards, as these were sure agents of their destruction. In their view, the liberal, civilly disobedient muggleborn had begun a blood-based feud built upon a history of violence birthed in the fallout of the Second World War. It was the Purists' belief that these interlopers sought to steal the rewards of the Pureblood's birth by redistributing wealth, rewriting the laws to restrict time-honoured practices and traditions for the sake of a biased morality, and weakening wizarding bloodlines for the purpose of abolishing the Statute of Secrecy. To further strengthen and protect their world, Purists further believed it best to marry only amongst witches and wizards of established bloodlines, or in other words, with persons claiming magical grandparents.
Still others advocated Separatism as the solution. These proposed the choice of adoption for magical children upon their first detection, along with the obliviation of any knowledge of the children's existence from those who knew them. In the Separatists' mind, no magical should ever bear the burden of muggle upbringing. They claimed any good parent would see reason and allow their child to be taken. The obliviation would follow the adoption (without the parents' foreknowledge, of course) to remove any possibility of exposure to unsavoury muggle influence.
The most moderate of the Separatists, who encompassed a slightly larger percentage of the wizarding population, argued against the idea of kidnapping, even from Muggles. After all, were not the bonds of love between a parent and child tantamount to wizards' traditional family beliefs? These folk thought it most prudent to present the facts outright to the parents involved. They envisioned a system in which the first incidence of accidental magic resulted in a candid talk, wherein the importance of secrecy would be established and the necessity for magical schooling imparted. Muggleborn children would then learn the structure of their new world amidst other magical children of their ilk. They would attend these 'Centres for Muggleborn Assimilation' by day until their matriculation to Hogwarts or another reputable magical institution. At their majority, they would be given the choice: take vows of fealty and accept citizenship in the wizarding world, pay to expatriate to another magical nation, or return to muggle society with wands snapped, memories altered, and magic bound.
These vocally dissatisfied groups comprised a third of the wizarding population, and though outnumbered, claimed the deepest coffers from which to fund an extended conflict.
On the opposite end of the spectrum, thousands of men, women and children who identified as muggleborn, called themselves friends of muggleborn, or had descended from a muggleborn, muggle parent, or grandparent, comprised nearly half the wizarding world's population. They fought for equal treatment under the law, and for the right to live happily with their inborn magicks.
The remaining portion, who held no interest in political discourse and simply wished to continue their lives in peace, were caught in the middle with every party demanding allegiance. If the so-called neutrals would not stand up for what was good and moral, the others argued, what right did they have to remain in their world?
Despite the deep and bitter fault lines among these demographics, all had lost. Regardless of belief or background, everyone lived in fear. Save for a few zealots, it was impossible to tell whose colours one wore, after all, and spells often missed their intended targets when fighting broke out on public streets.
Ironically, the aged headmaster thought his fellow wizards feared the wrong things when it came to the most likely outcome of their civil war.
The Purists had not imagined an exponential shrinking of the magical population, after all, despite their questionable reasoning. Fewer magical children had been born to magical families, and their children bore only one or two pregnancies to term. The previous war, too, had decimated innumerable bloodlines and extinguished many promising new wizards and witches before they had the chance to procreate. Fifty-six million, three hundred and fifty-seven thousand muggles outnumbered the twenty thousand some magicals at a ratio of two thousand, eight hundred and seventeen to one.
Of their small population, only the older generations claimed reliable competency in offensive or defensive magic thanks to Tom Riddle's curse, not to speak of each witch or wizard's inclination to fight. Within these and the subsequent generations, many muggleborn had long tired of the prejudice rampant in Britain's ancient magical society. Beneath the threat of death, torture, or the loss of their very identities, most fled for kinder climes. What motivation had they to remain when America, India, Australia, and other lands held no such compunctions against first-generation wizards?
Those who stayed had no other option available to them. They lacked the funds, or they faced the decision of leaving loved ones behind if they fled. These fought bitterly against their fellow magicals, and each day grew bloodier. As a result, every battle brought greater scrutiny to their small, peculiarly powerful subset of humanity as the violence spread beyond their secrecy wards and repelling charms. Conspiracy theories ran rampant in muggle media for every downed bridge or decimated village. Even parts of London were not unscathed. Many incidents were dubbed 'communist terrorist attacks.'
Albus Dumbledore was not the fool some old wizards were.
He had worked alongside muggles in their war while fighting his own against Grindelwald's army of Nazi wizards and their hellish conjurations. He knew the power of muggle artillery, and he was intimately acquainted with the horrors scientific minds could unleash on their fellow human beings. He had been among those to liberate both magical and muggle death camps, and he had volunteered his skills to clean up the nuclear waste of the atomic bomb at Hiroshima in hopes of setting the crater on its path to recovery. He knew better than to underestimate those who lacked magic.
Despite what his colleagues and peers thought, the wizarding world remained beneath the sovereignty of Her Majesty, Elizabeth II, and in light of their cooperation during the War, She and Her muggle government knew well the power of wizards. Needless to say, they were not amused, and their promises to bring the 'communist terrorists' to heel were a not-so-subtle threat.
Either he acted to end the conflict before Her Majesty and Prime Minister Trudeau lost their collective patience, or he stayed his hand and exposed their world to the risk of extinction at worst, and total societal collapse at best. He thought they might find a way to stop the violence and the tyrant who lit the powder keg, but likely not within the time constraints placed upon Minister Bagnold by her muggle counterpart. And if, Merlin forbid, the Dark Lord Voldemort ended the war on his terms, it would not be long into his ruthlessly imposed 'peace' until the megalomaniac poked the sleeping lion that was the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland. He dared not imagine what would remain of the naïve and ignorant wizarding populace in that event.
Dumbledore expelled a long breath through his hooked nose, and his overlong moustache tickled his upper lip. Absently, he waved his wand at the offending facial hair, and the stray whiskers promptly smoothed together as if waxed into tameness. The wizard steepled his fingers over his folded knee as he considered the options. For so long, they had sought an answer, and as if hearing their desperate pleas, the Fates, in their curious wisdom, had delivered unto him the Blind Seer Trelawney.
He wondered whether history would forgive the sacrifice of a child and his family for the good of thousands – perhaps millions – if he took into account the muggles affected if Voldemort should win. He shuddered at the thought of the legacy he would leave: Albus Dumbledore, the man who allowed the destruction of the United Wizarding Britain. The path to their salvation tasted of betrayal, though, and neither outcome soothed his conscience.
The headmaster glanced at the clock.
A decision needed to be made. By the lateness of the hour, Severus Snape would have been expected at home. The gaunt, dark-haired boy continued his spell-induced slumber on the chaise nearby, where Dumbledore had deposited him upon his discovery at the door.
He needed time.
Dumbledore stood slowly from his velvet chair and crossed to the chaise. Fawkes made an uneasy warble as his human carefully wove a memory spell. Using his not inconsiderable skill in legilimency, the headmaster rewrote the events of the evening in Severus Snape's mind. He would remember hearing only part of the prophecy before Aberforth expertly removed him from his establishment, after which he'd continued on to the castle for his own interview. Dumbledore had met him, conducted their business, and assured him he would consider his bid for the job.
His work done within the boy's mind, the headmaster levitated the professor to the seat in front of his desk, brightened the lights throughout the room, and returned the ghostly seer to the silver swirl below her. Another flick of his wand sent the pensieve back to its usual resting place. He checked the Slytherin's memory one last time to ensure the details were in place, and a wave brought the boy back to consciousness after the old wizard took his seat again.
"Thank you again for this opportunity," Snape said stiffly.
He stood, and Dumbledore smiled tightly as he, too, rose to shake hands.
"Thank you for coming," Albus replied, surveying the boy's face carefully. "I shall inform you of my decision by July first."
The dark haired boy nodded curtly and spun on his heel. The door closed quietly behind his swirling black cloak. Still, Albus continued eyeing the exit until he heard the telltale noise of the gargoyle's grinding gait as it stepped again in front of the entry. He had seen Snape's intention clearly. He would soon inspire a hunt that would, more likely than not, consume his dark master. With any luck, Albus thought, the threat would spur Tom Riddle to the point of distraction.
A gentle wave of his wand extinguished the ever-burning candles floating overhead. Exhausted beyond his considerable years, the old man quit his office for bed, where he would lie, awake and mourning, for the choice he felt duty-bound to make in support of the greater good.
December 1979 - Lily
"I hate Mondays."
The woman grimaced and grunted, shifting her position draped across the squat floral sofa bisecting the sitting room. She stared at her freckled knees, hooked over the plush mustard-yellow armrest, further mashing the velvet where the ugly sofa's many habitual occupants had worn a faded patch in the upholstery. She heard a slurp, and glanced up to find her bespectacled husband leaning against the dark wood doorjamb across from the sofa. A smile played about his lips. He blew on his steaming mug and took another long sip.
Up. Down.
She tucked her chin and raised her upper body in a twisting movement, switching focus to the old standing lamp across the room while slowly curling right elbow to meet left knee above her flat belly. The exercise continued with the opposite limbs and no less enjoyment.
"You really should do that on the floor, Lils," James observed after taking a long draught.
The slightly sour, bitter smell of his coffee stung her nose, and she fought the urge to gag.
"You'll hurt your back."
His index finger idly traced the lip of his mug, catching on the chip where the smooth glaze gave way to a half-moon of naked, stained earthenware. She followed the motion from the gap between her bicep and lower arm before flicking her eyes up to meet his gaze in mid-crunch.
"Firming charm," she dismissed while completing the last of the set. "And don't you preach to me about my aching back. You're not carrying a banana over your squished organs and sicking up your breakfast every other day."
"No," he smirked. "You're right, of course. I just worry about the state of my hands, you see."
Her left eyebrow rose in question and threat at the nonsensical response.
"I mean, a man can only massage his lovely wife so long before losing all feeling in his hands," he smirked. "And then where would you be?"
She swung her knees down and sat upright to glare at her smugly staring husband, face flushing with rising pique while her eyes narrowed.
"And how, pray tell, would the state of your delicate hands affect me for any longer than it'd take to floo Moony or Pads?" Lily asked icily. "Because the way you're going, I'm thinking about hexing them off."
Despite the aggravation on her freckled face and the shower of sparks shooting from her wand to scorch the maroon shag rug, James showed no sign of repentance. He rest his coffee cup on the low bookcase framing the right side of the doorway and loped forward with a sly smile playing about his constantly laughing mouth.
"Oh, Love," he murmured as he knelt at her feet.
The wand in her hand twitched and spewed a little steam as his hands found her knees and gently inched up, up, over her soft thighs, toward her hips. Her glare intensified, and the heart-shaped freckle over her cupids bow puckered.
"There's so much more to do with these hands than ease your aches and pains," he rumbled with a grin.
He leaned up. His nose brushed against hers, and she felt him smile at the sound of her breath catching.
"But I understand if you've finally succumbed to Padfoot's aristocratic beauty."
Her fingers clenched in his messy hair above the scruff of his neck and tugged him forward. The anger melted from her face, and a different sort of heat played across her cheeks and pulled her mouth into a small smile. She felt the spark of electricity humming against her lips, and though he leaned close, he resisted the inclination to close the gap as her hold tightened. Her fingernails scratched at his scalp.
"You're a ridiculous man," she finally sighed, crushing her lips to his in a demanding kiss.
James made a muffled sort of groan, and his fingers sought the soft skin of her waist hiding beneath the worn Led Zeppelin t-shirt skimming her hips. Her unoccupied hand grasped at the collar of his crisp white shirt, and they vaguely registered the sound of her wand dropping softly to the rug. She pushed him forward, and he gladly pulled his wife by the hips to straddle his lap. They tasted and teased, grappled and gasped, and thoroughly lost themselves to the delight of sensation.
"Prongs!"
Lily groaned, and the man beneath me made a low, grumbling curse as he let his head fall back onto the thick shag rug with a thump. She huffed but remained astride his lap with her arms crossed as Sirius Black rounded the corner.
"Pro-"
He paused in the doorway to process his friends' position on the floor. His arrested greeting disappeared behind a rakish smile until he focused on the woman's mirthless expression.
"This had better be important or I'm going to transfigure you into a fly and stick you in Sir Croak's terrarium," she threatened.
The toad in question, her curiously immortal potions tester and familiar, gave a deep anticipatory RIBBIT! at the mention of his name. The walls of his large, fishbowl-shaped habitat amplified the sound enough that the intruding man flinched against his best efforts. He shot a glare at the quaffle-sized amphibian and hastily nodded his acceptance, to which she reluctantly responded by untangling her limbs from James' and returning to the sofa.
"So?" James prompted only a little tartly.
"Is Lily armed?"
She reflexively reached for her fallen weapon, but James deftly caught her wrists in his gentle grip before she could pluck it from the plush carpet and do harm to his closest friend.
"Pads," he sighed. "I'm in enough trouble as is. If you could-"
"He means, 'out with it,'" she snarled. "I'm pregnant and in a foul mood."
The usually confident wizard shifted his weight nervously and searched his trousers and worn leather jacket for the reason behind his impromptu visit. An impatient flick of the wrist wandlessly summoned a purple envelope from Sirius's breast pocket, and he quickly unglued his lips before the missive could reach Lily's fingertips.
"Dumbledore said you shouldn't go on missions anymore, with us or the Unspeakables," he rushed. "He said everything's explained in the letter, but wanted you to know that it'll activate the obedience clauses of our fealty oaths to the Order if you open it."
She paused with her thumb brushing the phoenix-emblazoned seal, and the feelings painted across her freckled features cooled from indignation to thoughtful apprehension. Sirius fidgeted anxiously in the doorway, while James looked on with mild curiosity.
"He said he wanted to give you the option," Sirius elaborated. "Seems to think it's a life or death kind of thing."
Lily's lips thinned to a grim line the men had long ago learned to associate with impending pain on someone's part (usually theirs), and they seemed to hold their breath as she broke the dried circle of red wax. A trailing swirl of smoke rose from the parchment and momentarily shrouded the letter as she withdrew it from the stiff envelope. She coughed, eyes flitting rapidly across the page once, twice and a third repetition. All she accomplished faster than either wizard could have done for a single study with her brows scrunched together.
James brushed his knuckles across her cheek, where her usually golden freckles appeared progressively darker over her rapidly paling skin.
"Thanks for bringing this to me," she finally managed over a catch in her throat. "But James and I need to discuss this in private."
The leather-clad man opened his mouth as if to protest, but a glance at his brother-in-arms stalled his tongue.
"All right," he mumbled, absently tucking his hands into his pockets. "Floo me later so I know you three are O.K. will you?"
"Of course, Padfoot," James easily agreed.
The witch continued to stare at the headmaster's message until the garden door closed with a clatter. James flinched.
"We ought to fix the framing before the glass panes shake loose," Lily idly mused.
"Love?"
She took a long exhale and a calming breath in before starting again.
"My mum and dad are dead," she murmured. "The dark bastard is coming after us in force. He's issued an ultimatum apparently. Dumbledore says he'll try to contact us soon to recruit us, and if we don't accept, he'll send his hunting squad after us so the Malfoys can inherit your gold. He also says we've got a traitor among the Unspeakables and another among us, and I'm to withdraw from the field to avoid capture and to continue my work, either way."
James gently prised the litter from her white-knuckled grip and smoothed out the wrinkles creasing the heavy vellum. He frowned at the text and tapped it with his wand several times.
"I can't read this," he softly said. "What aren't you telling me, love?"
She sighed as he pulled her into his lap and wrapped her in his warm, wiry arms. Her chest tightened painfully, and she swallowed back a sob.
"Lily…"
Uncaring of the scratch of his stubble against her temple and cheek, the young witch buried her face against his neck, and a moment later, succumbed to gasping, bitter tears. James immediately responded by clutching tighter and stroking her long hair. He whispered soothing nonsense into her ear, but as much as she wanted to, Lily could not focus on the words well enough to understand them. The enchanted missive seemed burned across the back of her eyelids:
Lily,
My dear, dear girl, it is my great regret to inform you of your mother and father's passing very early this morning. Tom Riddle, along with several of his Death Eaters, ambushed Mr and Mrs Evans as they returned from the cinema yesterday evening. They were questioned using the Imperius Curse, then executed by Riddle's own hand. It is my understanding they suffered no pain.
You have my sincere condolences and deepest sympathies. Love is never easy, and grieving, never gentle.
It is for this reason I invoke the magic of your vows. By the oaths you have sworn, I bind you to secrecy and command your service.
If I understand your latest reports correctly, you have come to the same disturbing conclusion as I have concerning Riddle's unnatural invulnerability, which you well demonstrated during your last confrontation. There is no one, I believe, who could have survived such staggering and impressive examples of mayhem, destruction, and bodily harm. He has done something against nature itself to accelerate his healing and to resist damage. It is my sincerest belief even the combined power of every magic you have studied would not be enough to end him, and my attempts to draw him into an open duel have been met with avoidance. In addition, I believe you are cognizant of Her Majesty's decree, which our Minister Bagnold so foolishly dismisses.
To complicate matters, there has also been a prophecy that may deliver us the means for Riddle's defeat witnessed by wizards and recorded by magic in the halls of your esteemed department. My sources say it reveals a child shall be born by the end of July to parents who have thrice defied him, whose power will equal the Dark Lord's, and whose destiny lies in Riddle's ultimate vanquishment; however, we both know the nature of such prophecies. They hold power over those who believe in their validity. Unfortunately, our opponent places great import on the power of symbols and ancient magicks, and it is extremely likely he has already learned of the prophecy's existence. Soon, he will seek either you or Alice, with whom I'm sure you've confided in light of your impending parenthoods.
We need time, my dear, for your respective children to grow (should Riddle's belief hold truer than ours) and for the Order to scourge his hatred from our society, and we have none left to us. Therefore, I must present you with a terrible choice.
I know the work you have done in your pursuit of an answer to Riddle, thus far, and I know how closely you have studied the realms of magic too dangerous for most. There are ways to preserve both your children's lives if the worst should come to pass that would also foil our enemy. These methods always come at an impossible price; however, I offer you the choice. As dearly as I hold you, James, Alice and Frank, I cannot make the decision on my own.
We must find a way to end the beast's reign by the year's end, one way or another, or all is lost. You cannot share with James the truth of your mission if you are to escape further scrutiny. He would not leave your side, and our enemy would quickly ascertain your part in Mr Potter's motivations. Similarly, I have instructed Alice to keep Frank and Augusta in the dark, for now.
I am sorry, Lily. Truly, we will never repay the debt owed to you or Alice, whether the worst should come, or not.
Good Luck and Godspeed,
A. P. W. B. Dumbledore
…
Lily could not remember when she fell asleep, but she woke up in her bed with James curled around body. Her face and chest ached. Her head spun as she extricated herself from his hold, but thankfully the nausea that had once been a daily occurrence did not follow the vertigo. The hardwood felt cold underfoot on her way to the closet, where she found one of the many long, floral dresses her mother had bought for her just a couple of weeks ago. She briefly ached for the excitement she had shared with a woman she would never see again, making a mental note to inquire after her parents' estate and to call her sister before donning a voluminous grey robe. Its long sleeves hid the velvet underneath, and its loosely tailored cut immediately obscured any hint at her swollen belly. A glance at her wristwatch sent her quickly down the stairs, through the mudroom, and into the dewy garden, where her pumpkin vines lay tangles amidst sprouting lettuce, herbs and potions ingredients. She felt the zing of the cottage's anti-apparition wards release her at an invisible boundary, and a moment later, she stood in the bustling atrium of the Ministry of Magic.
She promptly dashed to the nearest rubbish bin to sick up part of her supper, which she did not remember eating. A few witches and wizards sent disgusted or concerned glances at her, but she ignored them in favour of vanishing the bile and casting a dental cleaning charm at her mouth. The sour taste immediately disappeared as she vanished the bacteria and acid clinging to her tongue and teeth.
Glancing around from beneath her shadowed hood at all the official looking witches and wizards with greying or salt-and-pepper hair, Lily suddenly felt impossibly young. Most looked around the same age of her own parents, and many looked older, amidst only a few new hires in their late teens and early twenties, recent graduates of Hogwarts or elsewhere, milled about on their way to the office. Lily was nineteen, pregnant, fighting a war, and she desperately wanted to curl up against her dad's shoulder and forget all of it. Her stomach churned again, and she rapidly stopped that train of thought and joined a queue headed toward the lifts. She kept her hood up, glad of the thick layer of charms designed to hide her identifying features. Workers got on. Others got off. Finally the pleasant disembodied voice announced her arrival, and she continued down the corridor to the black door. The circular antechamber spun very slowly until the portal she needed faced her and opened in recognition of her magic. Beyond, a figure cloaked in a grey robe identical to hers hunched over a desk, surrounded by sparkling gold and glass. Clocks tick-tocked in unison on every inch of wall and ceiling inside. Pendulums of every size, shape and colour swung back and forth. The soft hiss of sand sung in the background.
"Hello, Doe," the figure grunted, confirming his identity in her mind by his gravelly rumble. "How's Fonzie?"
Even with the storm raging through her head, she cracked a smile at his subtle security check. Her cat was so skittish, only a few people had met him.
"As cool as he can be, considering he has to deal with Prongs and Padfoot," Lily hummed tiredly. "What about Algie?
"The old bastard's still up to the same old mess," he sighed. "He's trying to convince me to go to Syria on a rare herb hunt for our vacation. Eighty-six years of marriage and the arsehole still hasn't taken me on a bloody cruise… But never mind that. What are you doing here so early?"
She raised a finger to her lips and cast a series of privacy wards around them. Croaker dropped his hood when she finished, but she kept hers raised.
"We've a spy among the ranks, and I've been compromised," she said in a grave whisper. "My parents are dead. I'm taking a leave of absence to take care of their affairs, and then I'm going to continue my work from home."
He blinked and frowned, his grizzled old face contorting in deep furrows.
"I see," he sighed. "Very well. I think I understand you, Lass."
The grizzled old man scratched his wispy hair and shook his head sadly.
"This war's cost too much."
"It isn't over yet," Lily replied bitterly.
Her de-facto boss stared at her with milky gray eyes, and despite his cataracts, she felt as though he had met her gaze and held it for a long while.
"No… No. It isn't. Goodbye, my dear Doe."
…
Lily took no time to cry after her tears ran dry that first night. James worried she was bottling up her volatile temper and grief to her detriment. She, however, hoped the veneer of mourning – real, but insignificant in light of what was to come – held firm enough that the clever marauder would not perceive anything else afoot. Though she missed her parents dearly, she had been prepared for their eventual deaths. Nothing could calm her now she knew the true stakes.
She had only recently married last year, and they had not planned on her becoming pregnant so soon. Their lives had long been forged in the heat of civil war, and they had never thought to bring a new life into that horrible reality. Children were liabilities: a weak point for the enemy to exploit. They were vulnerable, and detracted from the numbers available to fight. Worse, there was no guarantee they could protect so precious an existence. Still, she had begun to feel joy. She had begun to hope that the many-layered spells hiding their home would be enough to protect their child and whoever took over his or her care if they didn't make it themselves. She had believed they had time to find a way forward.
With her chief's blessing, Lily moved the entirety of her laboratory to the cottage in Godric's Hollow and rapidly became a woman obsessed.
While her husband watched in combined amusement and concern, she reworked everything. She dug up the ward stones and re-carved the runes to erect the strongest anti-detection, anti-owl, anti-floo, anti-apparition, anti-portkey, obscuring, anti-plotting and identifying protections she could design on top of their signature-keyed access wards, which prevented any save those they allowed from entering their property. To anyone not on the very short list, the house looked very much like a tiny two-room cottage whose sole occupant – a very old man with an exceedingly mean face – could be witnessed digging in the garden for an hour or so every other day. The other occupants of the village (both magical and mundane) quickly came to the conclusion that the old hermit was not to be disturbed, for anyone who managed to approach the ward boundary found themselves chased away by the old man's black wolfhound, the hoe-wielding old codger himself, or otherwise distracted by urgent business they had forgotten to attend to. The uninvited individual's experience depended entirely upon chance.
She followed these measures as quickly as possible with the Fidelius charm, which she laid not on the building or property, but on herself, her husband, and her unborn child. The reconstruction of the spell took nearly a month to accomplish between testing on Sir Ribbit and reworking the arithmantic formulae associated with the complex magic, but finally the day came to choose a secret keeper.
The headmaster called a select number of the Order together, and as all those esteemed folk had earned the Potters' trust enough to have access to their property, they gathered in their small sitting room. McGonagall smiled wanly beside Lily and James, while the former discussed the impending arrival of her child and the latter interjected witty flirtations for the aged transfigurations mistress. Moody talked in low tones with Edgar Bones while Alice and Frank Longbottom chatted amiably from the loveseat by the fire. Remus Lupin and Sirius Black played Exploding Snap with Peter Pettigrew on the carpet, just like they had in the Gryffindor common room. It was a subdued gathering filled with the quiet laughter and small smiles of those under extreme stress. A few months ago, there would have been three others among them. Albus arrived last in a swirl of sherbet orange robes and with a whiff of lemons about him.
"Oh, hello-"
The corners of his eyes crinkled merrily, and his silvery moustache twitched as he entered the parlour.
"I see everyone's arrived ahead of me, as usual. Do forgive my lateness," he said with an apologetic bow.
The men and women in the room, all former students or colleagues of the headmaster, quickly waved away his concerns with grins and greetings of their own.
"Well, then. Lily, if you would start of our business?"
Nine sets of eyes swivelled to her, and the redhead took a deep breath to slow her slightly irregular heartbeat.
"You all will have noticed by now that James and I haven't been out and about together, lately, and it's because I've been working very hard on a way to end You-Know-Who," she began, her mouth twisting in annoyance around the moniker.
Pesky Taboos.
"You may have guessed that already, considering the recent Death Eater activity, but anyway-"
She flicked her wand and a dry-erase board shot over everyone's heads to hover above the fireplace. Multicoloured ink obscured the majority of the board in complex diagrams and designs, and Edgar and Dumbledore leaned forward with interest.
"I've developed a variation of the fidelius that should allow James to continue missions when you need the extra firepower, and allow me to leave the house if I need to retrieve a resource from elsewhere without taking one of you with me," she explained, tapping certain portions of her tidy script. "Rather than hiding the cottage's location, I've made it possible to hide a person from all knowledge save for those told by the keeper."
Impressed sounds swept her sitting room, and Dumbledore's bright blue eyes twinkled merrily at the revelation.
"In essence, once I've cast it, James, myself and this one," she gestured to the curve of her abdomen. "We'll basically cease to exist as far as anyone else knows. The secret keeper will be able to let people in on the secret by informing them of our full names combined with a passphrase. Those who knew us will still remember things we've done together, but they won't be able to recall any identifying features, our names, or even if we live in the country. Anyone reading our names won't be able to comprehend them."
"Marvellous," the headmaster praised. "Which brings us to the next order of business, and the reason why Remus and Peter have joined us despite remaining outside our main operations. Lily has intimated she would like one of her blood brothers to take up the mantle of Secret Keeper. She requires assistance in powering the spell – more than shielding the home would require – and of course, you all would probably enjoy continued recognition of our most esteemed mistress of the arcane, so the Keeper will be sharing the Secret with you immediately after the spell is cast."
Edgar Bones adjusted his wire-rimmed, square glasses and raised a hand to silence the sudden murmurs of excitement and curiosity uttered by everyone who had not known the extent of Lily's work, which included all but Dumbledore and herself. The woman uncrossed her legs and stretched against the ache in her back after nodding to the formidable hitwizard.
"Have you tested this, little Doe?" he asked softly. "Soul magicks are dangerous at the best of times."
"Yes, I did," she agreed amiably. "Mice and grasshoppers, first, and then Sir Ribbit."
James huffed loudly.
"She still hasn't told me that last one," the dark-haired auror complained, glaring at his wife. "I keep running into something wet and squishy. It better not be one of those slime monsters you made for Hallowe'en seventh year."
Lily laughed, and the rich, husky sound further relaxed her anxious friends and comrades, who joined in her mirth. She pointed a wand at the apparently empty terrarium perched on a table in a shadowed corner.
"Me gat'avisup'lebis saidumlo ch'emi suli ise, rom ch'emi gombesho ser Ribbit sheidzleba ts'nobilia, rom t'k'ven," she pronounced carefully.
With a soft sucking sound, the terrarium-bound potions toad appeared amidst its loamy bedding, half in and half out of its murky little pond.
"Groovy," Alice complimented. "I hadn't even noticed he was missing."
"Exactly," Lily said smugly. "It's perfectly safe. Just follow my instructions."
With that, the headmaster clapped his hands together, and everyone quickly followed their hosts and leader from the sitting room to the back garden. The glass panes rattled in their framing while the door swung between exiting witches and wizards, who gathered at Lily's direction around a patio constructed from smooth, round river stones arranged in a circular mosaic. The bistro table and chairs that usually occupied the area rest outside the paving stones' borders along with a wide, squat cauldron whose insides indicated it doubled as a potions vessel and fire pit, depending on its user's whims. The redheaded witch carefully arranged her friends around the circle, often consulting the starry sky to more accurately place the witches and wizards according to cardinal direction. The most powerful of their number took these points: Dumbledore to the north, Edgar to the south, McGonagall to the west and Alice to the east. She led Frank to the place opposite his wife and Moody across from the headmaster, leaving their family friends around her.
"Right," she hummed. "Your arrangement will balance the power around the ring's edge. All that's left is-"
"Our decision for the Secret Keeper," James finished with uncharacteristic seriousness on his face. "So?"
"It should be Padfoot," Remus said immediately. "He's the best duellist here behind Edgar and Moody, plus he's a stubborn bastard."
The fine-featured, leather-clad wizard punched his sandy-haired friend in the shoulder.
"Yeah, but everyone knows we're like brothers," he argued. "It'd make more sense to choose someone they'd be unlikely to ever consider."
Lily kept her thoughts to herself on that line of logic, and any other time, she would have argued vehemently against such a hare-brained idea. Subtlety was well and good, but those who had yet to catch the Death Eaters' attention were generally sub-par fighters or disinterested in the conflict, and so inappropriate for such a dangerous role. Her wards, however, had already made the choice for her. Over the past several weeks, her will had crystallised with each arithmantic and statistical analysis of the situation. The best chances for waylaying the Dark Lord indefinitely lay in a very costly sacrifice. She had resolved to pay it for her child's survival, for the sake of his or her future, and to spare Alice Longbottom the decision, herself. She could not ask it of her.
The moment their guests arrived, her clever identification ward had done its work. It would have removed disguises, if someone were wearing one, including transfigurations, cantrips and potions-induced alterations, but it also alerted her to the presence of a very specific calling card. While her husband and his cousin debated the merits of appointing Remus, Alice, or even Dumbledore himself (because no one would ever get the secret from him, they were sure) Lily turned her gaze on the person no one considered.
Peter watched the verbal volley with darting, watery blue eyes. At twenty-two, he had yet to grow out of his boyish pudginess, but had the unfortunate luck of premature balding. He twitched at every sound, not unlike his alter ego's namesake, and he offered neither opinions nor neutral commentary to the others.
"It should be Wormtail," Lily said with a small smile.
The others stared at her in disbelief.
"Well, you lot didn't think of him. He's the last anyone would expect, and he can go into hiding, too. We can make his place unplottable and raise siege wards around it," she explained sensibly, though her heart felt heavy and her belly churned.
She felt her baby flutter inside her abdomen, and gave a silent prayer she had made the correct choice. It would not do to falter.
"That's brilliant!" James crowed after a long beat of silence.
He swept her into his arms and kissed her soundly for her ingenuity, and she felt the urge to cry. Sirius joined in his celebration, and soon, he occupied the space between Alice and Dumbledore, while Sirius took the opposite edge.
"Join hands, everyone," she instructed. "Peter, stand in the centre and grasp James' right hand. It's important you all focus on breathing deeply and evenly. This is going to draw on a lot of power and it won't do if any of you faints on us."
When she had met the gazes of every person surrounding her small family, Lily pulled up her jumper a little to place Peter's clammy palm over her stomach with her hand on his. She took a deep breath and murmured a short spell, flicking her wand. James and Wormtail made small sounds of surprise as a rune carved itself into their joined hands and Lily's belly.
"From now on, no one speaks save myself and Peter. Peter, you will have to answer me, and when the incantation is finished, you'll swear on your life and magic."
She felt the man stiffen, and the twitch of his fingers over her navel made her stomach clench again. They were out of time, however, and she would do everything in her power to ensure her child's survival. She drew a deep breath, waved her wand, and began the long incantation.
"Miighos ut'khra t'k'veni suli tvirt'i ts'odna, romlis gagebis mart'avs barieri sits'ots'khlesa da sikvdils shoris," she intoned.
The Georgian words, the most ancient ones she could find to correspond with the runes carved into their skin, twisted over her tongue in a foreign cadence. They left her lips as smoothly as if she'd always known them, and she felt glad she rehearsed the ritual so many times.
Take unto your soul the burden of knowledge whose comprehension straddles the barrier between life and death.
"Dumili ena qvelas, vints' daazaralebs, romelits' t'k'ven dasats'avad. Khels utsqobs t'k'vens arsi saidumlo arseboba," she continued as wind swept the garden, making her skirt ripple around her calves and ankles.
Silence your tongue to all who would harm that which you would protect.
Warmth spread across her palms and chest.
"Amieridan aravin ar its'is, lili Elizabeth Evans Potter, James Charlus Potter, arts' mat'i modgma nebismieri sakheli, sakhe, an tsarmomadgenloba."
Weave into your essence the threads of our existence, so none shall know Lily Elizabeth Evans Potter, James Charlus Potter, or their progeny by any name or representation.
She turned her gaze on Peter, who stared at her in wide-eyed fear. She knew what he was experiencing. It was not a gentle thing, the magic binding him to them. It zinged across his skin like electricity, burning rapidly, only to leave him feeling cold with each pulse. His heart thudded heavily against his ribcage, as if it had grown twice its size and had been put in a vice.
"Do you take unto yourself the secret of life and the weight of these three souls, whose magic you tie to yours and whose existence you shall shroud?"
He stuttered his answer.
"I- I do."
"Will you give only unto the trusted, good, and sworn your knowledge?"
"I will," he replied quickly.
She watched his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed around his nervousness.
"Do you swear to tie these three souls to your own, never to part from yours until you are relieved?"
He nodded frantically.
"I so swear on my life and magic."
A bright glow surrounded them, and a blinding flash momentarily washed away the darkness. The hum of magic filled the air, which smelled of ozone and copper. Lily opened her eyes to the sound of confusion. The gathered witches and wizards in their circle stared around in bewilderment.
"What are we doing out here? Weren't we going to meet in…" Alice trailed off, staring at the house. "Who's hosting, again? Did Siri spike the punch again?"
Wormtail listened to their commentary slack-jawed.
"Just tell them all individually, 'I release the secret of my soul so Lily Elizabeth Evans Potter, James Charlus Potter and their progeny shall be known to you' and they'll be able to see us," Lily said wearily. "Since I was so heavily involved in this process, they're not likely to remember what just happened."
After a nudge from James, Peter went around whispering in ears until none remained incognizant of their presence. Laughing and chatting excitedly about the spell's effects, the Order filed back into the house for warm butterbeer and cider. The conversation quickly turned to recent intelligence and discussion on the latest arrests. Lily curled against her husband's side, her arms wrapped tightly about his waist, while their voices faded in her perception to a mild drone. Only Alice Longbottom seemed to notice her inattention, but she understood enough to merely give her small smiles of encouragement and understanding whenever Lily managed to lift her eyes.
February 1980
Squashy reclining armchairs, Lily mused, felt much, much better than the crinkly paper and barely-padded table typical to a hospital. She breathed deeply, focusing on the scent of Madam Pomfrey's citrusy soap as she forced her muscles to relax against the velvety upholstery. Her baby moved, and she made a soft sound of appreciation for the sensation while the healer ran her wand over her swollen midsection.
She still could not quite wrap her head around the magic inherent in the feeling of life growing inside her. James caught her eye from the doorway, where he watched with a wide smile stretching his cheeks and a familiar glint in her eye. The baby performed another feat of acrobatics in response to her involuntary reaction to unspoken suggestion.
"Your temperature's rising," the healer commented. "Is something the matter, dear?"
Lily's freckled face flushed scarlet, and James coughed to cover his laugh. The attempt at discretion still drew a glare from his wife, but the healer chose not to follow that line of inquiry, instead switching to questions on other symptoms. The mother-to-be gave detailed answers until, finally, the time had come to check on the baby. Pomfrey lightly skimmed the tip of her wand across Lily's naked belly, and a quick charm amplified the usually indiscernible sounds.
A gentle, rhythmic whooshing filled the air, and the young woman couldn't help smiling despite the stress weighing down on her and the anxiety-inducing circumstances in whish she planned to deliver her child. The healer moved the wand in a careful pattern over her patient's skin, and when she dismissed the sonorous spell, cast another at a nearby self-inking quill. The feather began making a detailed visual translation of the ultrasonic readings. It danced across the parchment while James helpfully shot gentle drying charms at it.
"Well, Lily, everything looks well enough," Promfrey sighed. "Do try to eat more, though. You're a little underweight, and as this is your first pregnancy and you're quite small to start with, we want as much on our side as possible so as to avoid complications."
"Yes ma'am," the redhead grinned cheekily. "James will go buy me ice cream post-haste, won't you dear?"
The auror straightened in surprise at the sound of his name, his focus broken from the image forming on the page.
"What?"
His wife's eyes narrowed.
"Ice cream. Now. Tesco."
"Right! Yeah, got it. I'll be back in a moment! Just wait there," he called, promptly throwing on a jacket and leaving via the front door.
The front door closed a little loudly, and a moment later, the women heard a faint crack of apparition.
"How does he buy anything when no one can perceive him?" Pomfrey murmured confusedly. "Did you have Peter tell a store keeper?"
Lily tugged her jumper back over her midsection and groaned a little when the wooden lever controlling the recliner released a little too quickly, springing her upright with a jolt.
"No," she laughed. "Sirius and Remus are both on call in their London flats. They go with him, and James buys them rude magazines. But now that he's gone-"
Madam Pomfrey made an exasperated sound of understanding and began bustling around, making herbal tea and a snack for the younger woman in an effort to take advantage of the extra time afforded her.
"What would happen if I took some of the baby's blood?"
A mug crashed to the floor.
"Why ever for?" the healer said in a strained voice from the small kitchen.
"I'm creating something to protect it from… From You-Know-Who if something happens to us," Lily admitted softly, unable to meet her eyes.
For a few minutes, all she could hear were the sounds of cooking. The china clinked as Promfrey laid out a saucer, cup and plate. A metallic clang denoted her wand against the kettle, and in moments she heard the roiling bubble of boiling water. Another clatter evidenced the introduction of a pan to the cooker, and the smell and sound of sizzling butter drifted out of the echo-y tile room to make Lily's stomach grumble.
"As your healer, I strongly advise against taking any blood, even a few drops," Pomfrey grumbled when she emerged with a tray in hand.
She made it hover at a comfortable height over her patient's lap, and Lily obliged her by tucking in without argument. The grey-haired woman's brows crinkled over her sharp eyes as if in consideration. Unwilling to disrupt her thought process or earn her ire, the redhead continued her meal of toasted beef and cheese sandwich until only a few crusts and her tea dregs remained.
"If you must have something of your child's essence, we can extract a small amount of amniotic fluid, which you can replicate for your purposes," the healer finally offered after banishing the tray to the kitchen counter. "But be careful. I can tell the child's magical, already, and drawing on his or her magic before it's left the womb would have severe effects if things go wrong. Miscarriage, for one, would be a concern. Or physical defects."
Lily rubbed her belly and nodded.
"Help me?" she asked after a moment, to which the healer nodded in a resigned sort of way.
The grey-haired matron left the cottage half an hour later, leaving her charge with a teaspoon of amniotic fluid in a phial. Once the door closed, Lily cast a refilling charm on the glass followed by a stasis spell, and the pale, transparent yellow liquid multiplied until it filled the phial to just below the stopper. She tucked it into the pocket of her long skirt and glanced over her shoulder to the clock over the fireplace. Its gleaming, black enamel numbers and filigreed hands gleamed under the low dome of glass protecting them. The arch of bronze cast in the shape of two months in profile with lacy wings framed it, and underneath the 6 o'clock position, a smaller moth swung back and forth on a short pendulum.
Tic-toc. Tic-toc. Tic-toc.
The minute arm swung forward with a muted click. Lily's stomach flipped, her heart sped a little. She forced her gaze away from the vile instrument of infinite countdowns and flicked her wand at. The noise ceased, leaving only the faint, high-pitched hum of magic in her ears. A snap of her fingers commanded the top of her record player cabinet to swing quietly open. Its turntable and speakers turned on with a low buzz, and the kissing doors on its front opened to allow her favourite record's escape. It floated to its place. The arm swung smoothly into place and the needle found the groove.
The sound of machinery, tearing paper, muted conversation, laughter, the bells of a till, an airplane – The unrelated and seemingly random sounds built in a steady rhythm, coming to a crescendo and easing away in a flow of dreamy guitar, slow percussion, and gentle bass.
"Breathe! Breathe in the air-"
She hummed along, and the anxiety in her chest soothed a little under the influence of the melody. It wasn't a happy song, but it gave her enough distance from the roiling emotions on the edge of her consciousness to focus on more important pursuits. She didn't have time to panic, and she couldn't afford to break down when so much relied on her success. With the comforting strains of Pink Floyd filling her ears, Lily turned to her project of the day. She left the cosy confines of her sitting room, rounded the base of the stairs, and continued down the short hallway to the study. Cardboard boxes lay stacked in the arched entrance, overflowing with parchment, office supplies, odd instruments, and books whose threadbare, cracked spines had seen better days. The office itself, a large rectangular space featuring a dusty wooden floor, burgundy-draped windows, and dirty bell-shaped gas lamps, lay empty of other furnishing despite having quit her job ages ago. She had been putting it off its furnishing and organisation in favour of preparing her child's nursery and conducting research in a London library with an undetectably expanded bag full of books charmed to look like physics text to anyone save herself.
A sweep of her left hand banished the layer of fine grey blanketing the floor, and a jab of her wand in her right cast a scouring charm at the dark-stained wood. A somewhat squeaky sound followed, leaving the floorboards gleaming in the dim light. She continued the cleaning with the lamps and curtains, until the room again looked as it had when they moved into the homey little cottage. Lily padded into the room and turned, casting a critical eye over its architecture. She worried her lower lip between her teeth while considering her options.
The space needed to remain relatively open for experimentation purposes, but the books and things in the hall needed to go somewhere. She also needed a place to write.
Her mum would have known what to do with the place. She always had excellent taste in furnishings and an eye for efficient design.
Lily pushed the errant thought aside. A flick and swirl of her wand made the wall groan. Its surface warped and creaked, the molecules making up the wood panelling flying apart and reassembling behind the dark green wallpaper, until wall-to-wall shelves burst through to stretch from ceiling to the floor, leaving wide spaces in between. The wallpaper's ragged edge healed wherever it touched the newly formed risers.
In the background, the music morphed to something funkier, full of wah-wahs, overlaid by screaming guitar, and underwritten by a faster, jazzy beat.
"I hope you get my LPs," she said suddenly, directing the commentary at her baby. "If you don't, I'm sure you'll get to appreciate Floyd, anyhow. Oh-"
She smiled, stepping aside to allow her books to float from their storage boxes to arrange themselves on the new shelving.
"You'll love Led Zeppelin, too. Your dad took me to see them for a date one year, when we were still in school," she reminisced. "I still can't believe I let him sneak me out like that. I would have hexed him for suggesting such a thing just a couple years before that."
The redhead snorted and shook her head as she turned her attention to the wall facing the study's entrance. She began transfiguring a long Murphy desk behind witch she created a recessed glass cabinet for potions ingredients and other small storage.
"Imagine, your mum, Head Girl and everything, wandering around after hours to go to London in the middle of the afternoon."
A high-pitched ringing sort of screech accompanied the formation of glass-fronted drawers with little round pull handles. She again stepped out of the way for the boxes sliding into the room, from which phials, jars, and beakers danced to find spots in their new home.
"He got me high, too, the arsehole," she laughed. "I couldn't stop laughing, I was so loopy, and I was still gone when he apparated us back to Hogsmeade. We ended up sleeping in one of Rosmerta's rooms."
"Bless her-"
Lily jumped and spun, her wand pointed at the source of the voice only to find her husband leaning casually against the wall, grinning at her as mischievously as always.
"It's good she was always the discreet sort," he continued, holding up a plastic sack through which the tempting label of her favourite creamery teased her. "Otherwise we would have been in loads of trouble later that morning."
"Lucky she's a shameless romantic, you mean," Lily huffed.
Her heartbeat slowed again, but the weight in her belly cartwheeled.
"Did you get me a spoon, already?" she asked a little testily.
James pushed away from the wall to lope toward her. The cold bag swung and bumped against the back of her thigh as he wrapped his arms around her waist, and she flinched away from the sensation with a glare for her husband. He continued grinning unapologetically. His hands slid from her lower back and waist up her sides, skimming the sides of her heavy breasts, over her collarbone and throat until they cupped her face between his broom-calloused palms.
She felt her cheeks heat, and her eyes closed as his lips found hers.
He pulled away only when both were breathless and gasping. The glint in his eyes made her abdomen clench and a shiver shoot down her spine. She took a deep, steadying breath. His eyes flicked to her chest. His grip tightened on her hips. Without another word, he bent, swung an arm under her knees and the other under her shoulders, shot a cooling and stasis spell at the ice cream, and a moment later bounded up the stairs.
The rest of the study went unfinished for the evening. James held her captive in their bedroom, and she had no desire to escape from the all-consuming heat of his worshipful adoration, nor from the brief reprieve his love afforded her.