Title: Even in the Darkest Night

Author: Roeschen

Summary: While Lily is forced to watch her son grow up under the care of Voldemort, desperation and fear never leave her, yet the love of a mother is strong and Lily knows that she would do anything for her child...

This story is a prequel to the main story "In the Darkness" and a sequel to "Light in the Darkness". Those stories should be read first. Otherwise some things might make no sense.

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter but I own my story!

Chapter 1

Cautiously I hold the little bundle in my arms. I look down at his tiny face, stroke lightly as a feather over his rosy cheek, listen to his steady breaths. Nothing could have prepared me for the overwhelming love I feel for this helpless, little being. His eyelids flutter, but he doesn't open his eyes.

The coldness that had me unrelentingly in its grip the last months slowly diminishes. Even the hot summer days could not drive away the icy feeling that had settled in me. But now warmth returns to me, embraces me like a protective blanket.

His nose twitches slightly and I smile as I press him to me; a little wonder I still can't fathom wholly. I slowly bend forwards and graze his forehead with a kiss. Such happiness and joy he brought me already and yet...

I tear my gaze away, and look over to the window. Though there are no iron bars I can't forget where I am, where we are. Before despair can seize me, I turn to my child again.

"Harry," I whisper.

"And I will call you Harry."

I'm helpless as the memories assault me. With a shudder I try to suppress them, but I do not succeed. His cold voice still rings in my ears.

"Harry? That's no name for my heir."

And after a brief moment of consideration, he had added,

"No, his name shall be Henry."

He didn't touch my child first, nor took him into his arms. Instead he regarded Harry as one would a product to ascertain whether the quality was good enough to purchase it. Apparently he was pleased with the result I think cynically and remember his short nod.

But the next day he had returned. Once again I live through the instant, where I caught sight of the knife in his hands. Weak from the birth, I had not been able to rise, had to watch helplessly as he bent over the cradle. And while horror paralyzed me, he cut with the silver blade into a tiny finger, collecting the droplets of blood in a small vial. Harry's crying let me forget my fear.

"What are you doing?" I screamed at him.

He barely glanced at me.

"He is my son. You need not fear that I would ever harm him. He'll be my heir and thus I will see to it that he has the allegiance of those who I chose to serve him," he said.

And as he regarded my baby, a deep satisfaction crept into his eyes, a silent triumph.

Tears want to well up in my eyes as I, for a fleeting instant, imagine how it should have been. And Voldemort's face changes to James'. James would have held my hand, would have encouraged me. How much easier the birth would have been with him at my side? Together we would have rejoiced at our child. James would have been overjoyed. He would have hugged Harry close and would have showered my little one with all the love he possessed.

His dark brown eyes would have sparkled and told me how much he loved us.

The longing for my thoughts to be true and not a desperate dream is so overwhelming that it nearly rips me apart. Tears burn in my eyes. A sob wants to escape me. But I remain silent. I do not want to wake my baby. And I will not. But now the tears flow freely over my face. James, I scream silently. Oh, what would I not give if he were here with us. If I would feel his strong arms around me; if we were home.

Exhausted I sink deeper into the cushions, vowing that I will never again wish for things to be different, never to think how it should have been. There is no use, I know.

It would destroy me. With one hand I rigorously wipe away my tears. Blinking, I stare into the semi-darkness. The sun has set already. Soon the night will fall and I pray with all my might that he will not come tonight. To be forced to tolerate him near Harry...

I grip Harry's tiny fist, hold it in my hand. And the knowledge that Voldemort sees his son in Harry causes me to shiver to the core and the icy coldness that I so hate threatens to surround me once more. Again I recall his mysterious words. I dare not to imagine what he meant and for what purpose he needed Harry's blood.

I kiss Harry's tip of the nose, his fine black hair. I know that it has been the right decision. Yet a doubt remains. Though now it is far too late. On that one night where despair overwhelmed me, I could perhaps have killed me and thus Harry, but whatever the future might bring, I know that now, after seeing my child, holding him in my arms, nothing would ever get me to hurt my son.

I gaze at his little face, feel his breath against my cheek as I bestow a kiss upon him.

I will protect you from him; I will never let him hurt you. For you I will endure everything.

I have to. I have no other choice and I know that no power of the world would bring me to break my silent vow. As I survived the previous months for Harry's sake, so I also will survive those to come. To lose myself in memories will neither help me nor Harry.

I finally have to realize that I will never again leave this castle. But regardless of how many times I have told me, a part of me still fights to accept it, still clings so desperately to the hope that somehow a miracle will happen and Harry and I will be rescued. That someone will bring us away from the Castle of Death, away from Voldemort. Yet such thinking is futile. While holding Harry in my arms and staring into the darkness, it becomes a certainty.

No-one will save us. Nor is there a way to escape...