TRACES OF HER
SACRIFICE
"His Mother Left Upon Him The Traces Of Her Sacrifice . . .
This Is Old Magic, I Should Have Remembered It,
I Was Foolish To Overlook It . . ."
-Voldemort, Harry Potter and The Goblet Of Fire, P.566
(Bloomsbury/Raincoast Edition)
Month 1: Oraculumoraculum: a solemn utterance, oracle, divine response, prophecy
Lily Potter woke up quite suddenly, thinking for a moment that someone had called her name.
She looked around, confused, shook her head slightly to clear it. Weak rays of early morning sun poked through the bedroom shades, prodding her out of sleepiness now that her eyes were open.
The figures in the painting on the wall were quietly shuffling about their business, but none of them seemed to be looking at or expecting anything of her. She reached out to pat the bed beside her, but James was already gone. They both had appointments at Hogwarts today, but she not till later, so he must have let her sleep in. It must have been a noise from outside—a bird, or passersby talking, perhaps—that she had heard.
Lily smiled to herself as she stretched and started to come fully awake, thinking of the evening before. Halloween at Hogwarts—the students were always so excited on that special day, and it was the first time in quite a while that she and James had been able to spend the holiday at the school. She couldn't remember having a better evening in ages, despite the horrible weather. Even Sirius Black and Remus Lupin—their closest friends since their own days at Hogwarts—had been able to be there.
Seeing Remus, especially, had made her very happy; they had always been particularly close, just as James and Sirius had always had a special bond. Lily knew how seldom he was able to attend social occasions because of his . . . condition. Hogwarts was the one place Remus knew he would always be welcomed, as long as Dumbledore was there.
Lily frowned as she remembered the air of tension that had still managed to invade their celebration. They had to be so careful in their conversation, even within those beloved walls. These were not safe times . . . not since Voldemort had decided that sides must be chosen, and that a "wrong" choice meant death—or worse—for any witch or wizard who had the audacity to stand up to him.
Despite the dangers, Lily had always believed Voldemort must be fought, not just feared. So when Dumbledore had called on certain wizarding families to join him in organized resistance, she and James had joined his secret Order of the Phoenix gladly, and with great determination. James's family was well known for its generations of service to the wizarding community, so of course he would fight. But Lily knew that she—not just James Potter's wife, but Lily Evans Potter-could never just stand by while everything good and decent about their world was threatened.
And Hogwarts . . . more than any other place, the school symbolized for her all those good and decent things they were fighting for. Children. The future. Hope.
Lily lay back down for a moment, remembering the excited young faces at last night's Halloween feast and recalling her own times at the castle . . . how innocent she had been then. It seemed so long ago.
Then, once again, she had the sense of being called: a voice, gone almost as soon as she heard it, but no words. In an odd way, the call had not really been a voice at all, but something that was, somehow, much deeper than words.
Was she hearing voices? There were certainly no Seers or Prophets in her family, and she herself had never shown any kind of special connection to the spirit world.
Lily got up out of bed, and was immediately gripped by a dizziness and slight nausea that surprised her. Both these passed in a few seconds, though, and she was left with a sense of . . . heaviness in her belly that felt oddly pleasant. Despite the unexpected, lovely feeling, Lily also felt a thrill of fear she couldn't explain.
What was happening to her? In these uncertain times, strange physical sensations could mean anything, including many possibilities she did not want to think about. Members of the Order knew well that Voldemort's followers—his Death Eaters—would stop at nothing, not even the Unforgivable Curses, to achieve his ends. Three times now she and James had narrowly escaped an attack, and had begun seriously discussing the possibility of having to go into hiding.
Lily almost ran to the bathroom, leaning in close to the mirror to examine what she saw there. Did her face seem a bit paler than usual? Did she look the same? She didn't feel the same. She studied her reflection, bright green eyes intent and wary.
And then—though she had no idea how—she suddenly understood. Could it be, truly? she thought, and she smiled at herself, fear changing into amazement.
I'm pregnant . . . ?
Lily said the words a second time, out loud. "I'm pregnant." And knew it was no longer a question. She sank down onto the laundry hamper, shaking her head in wonder, graceful, strong hands instinctively covering her stomach, protecting. "I'm pregnant," she whispered, speaking the words a third time and marveling at the power and magic in them, stronger than any charm she knew.
It was true; she could sense it now, quite strongly. The voice that woke her had been her unborn child's, "calling" to her for the first time. This was no Seeing, but a mother's intuition—she was going to be a mother. "Yes, sweetheart," she crooned, and then laughed out loud with pure joy.
Lily went still as her next thought came—James! James was at Hogwarts! She had to find him, tell him the good news. He would be beside himself with happiness; he had wanted to start their family for the last year, at least. They had argued more than once, over her fears of the dark, unsafe times they lived in and his insistence that a child born at this time was a sign of hope. Voldemort would not succeed, and there was a future for decent witches and wizards. James was unshakeable in his confidence that the Order would triumph over Voldemort, in the end.
She rushed to get ready, humming to herself the whole time. Professor Flitwick was expecting her this afternoon; he had handpicked her to teach the third-year Charms class this term, and they were going to review lesson plans. Not only had she been a gifted Charms student herself while at Hogwarts and the little professor's favourite, the post of teacher was a cover for one of her duties with the Order. Knowing that some of the children in the school came from families who were suspected of supporting Voldemort, the Order wanted to shield those children—as well as others around them—from as many dangerous influences as possible. It was Lily's job to weave extra protective charms around the school that, it was hoped, would prevent the Dark Lord from using any child for his own ends. They could not assume he would not resort to such cowardly tactics, and they also feared that the normal spells and enchantments used around the school might not be enough in these times, when it was unclear just who could be trusted.
But if she could get to the school early, she would have time to go see Poppy Pomfrey, Hogwarts' matron, and have her confirm the pregnancy before she told James. For now that her giddy joy had passed, worry had taken its place, worry over a thousand things yet to come.
And her biggest worry was, what if she was wrong? Lily needed to be sure before she told James, and then had to break his heart by admitting to a false alarm. She felt in her heart she was not wrong—but it would still be a comfort to have someone else tell her it was true. And, incredibly early as it was—she knew, again without understanding how or why, that this child had been conceived just last night—Madam Pomfrey would be able to do this for her.
Ready to leave, Lily paused and bit her lip. She usually Apparated from Godric's Hollow to somewhere just outside Hogsmeade and walked the rest of the way to Hogwarts, but she realized that she knew next to nothing about the effects of magic on children still in the womb. What if Apparating was harmful to her baby?
Not willing to take the chance, Lily quickly grabbed her broom from the closet and set off for Hogwarts, watching carefully for any stray Muggles below. A quick Confundus charm would take care of any one who happened to look up and wonder at a very happy woman flying overhead. . . .
Lily hurried up the stone walkway that led from Hagrid's hut to the Bridge of Seiromem. She had headed straight for the grounds-keeper's cottage as soon as she arrived at Hogwarts, rather than the Hospital wing, deciding she couldn't wait to find James. He'd had a particular fondness for the huge, sweet-natured Hagrid ever since his own school days, and as it was still early in the day, she thought James might have been having a mug of tea with him before his meeting.
But Hagrid had not seen James that morning. He was eager, as always, for some company, though. Lily declined his offer of a "cuppa" with a gentle smile, becoming firm when he tried to insist and deftly avoiding a kindly pat meant for her shoulder. Of course she was almost as fond of Hagrid as James was, but the huge, sweet-natured man's demonstrations of affection could bring a person to their knees—literally. She wasn't in the mood to be jostled about today. She told him that she had to find her husband right away, but that she would try to drop by again later. Since she still had no idea where James might be, Lily decided her first instinct was best, and she should head for the Hospital wing before searching any further for him.
Halfway across the bridge, she heard a noise behind her. She turned, hoping that, perhaps, James had been out walking on the school grounds, seen her, and was hurrying to catch up with her. A second later she saw quite clearly that it was, rather, Albus Dumbledore, the wise, extremely powerful Headmaster of Hogwarts—and founder of the Order of the Phoenix.
Normally she would have been pleased to have a chance to talk to him alone—how often did he have time for a private conversation with any of them, what with all the affairs of the school as well as the Order to concern himself with? A private talk with Dumbledore still had a certain sense of . . . uncommon favour about it, whether you were a student at the castle or not. There was something about him that made you—child or adult—feel you could do anything if he was on your side.
But today everyone seemed to be an obstacle in her path to James, even Dumbledore. She thought about hurrying across the bridge and pretending she hadn't seen him, but that would be rude, since he had certainly seen her. Now he was waving at her. She smiled and waited for him to approach, hoping fervently that he was busy enough himself to simply exchange greetings and be off and about his own affairs.
"Good morning, Lily." Dumbledore—who was dressed in violet robes sprinkled with silver half-moons and stars, his long, white beard and hair flowing neatly down front and back—greeted her with a benevolent smile as he stopped in front of her. He bowed graciously, then turned to lean against the ancient bridge's wooden half-wall, seemingly content to do nothing more than admire the spectacular view. Lily had the sense he was somehow drawing her into his reverie, so she tried to appreciate her surroundings for a moment. This countryside had always made her feel both safe and adventurous: the massive, green-grey mountain peaks and the dark, mysterious lake had always seemed to enclose the school grounds with a protective, natural magic all their own. In truth, today she could hardly see them for all the excitement and worry spinning round in her mind.
After a few moments he sighed and said, "I have always thought this one of the most beautiful spots in our world. Yet it pales in comparison to the glow I see on your face this morning."
Lily's mouth dropped open in shock. How could he possibly . . . ? No, it couldn't be—not even Dumbledore was capable of such perception, surely. She took a deep breath and decided to make light of this startling comment.
"Professor," she said quietly, "I never took you for an idle flatterer." She turned back to the panoramic view before her as she waited for his response, and for the conversation to return to normal.
"I am not," he replied calmly. "But neither am I so old that I cannot recognize such an ancient and powerful magic when it stands, resplendent, in front of me." Dumbledore finally turned back toward her, and he studied her face carefully for some time before nodding to himself. In answer to her startled look, he smiled fondly and continued. "Love is so completely apparent in you, it illuminates the very air. Congratulations, my dear."
Lily was at a loss for words; rather than dispel her suspicions, Dumbledore had confirmed them. She did not know how to feel about this strange, unsettling encounter, but a sharp thrill of fear suddenly chilled her spine.
"How do you know . . . how can you know?" she whispered, searching his face for an explanation.
Dumbledore sighed heavily and looked off into the dark, velvety sky, still slightly brooding from last night's storm. "You have a right to some kind of explanation, it's true. This should be a time of private joy for you and James." He shifted his body slightly, as if taking on an unwelcome but expected weight. "It is my gift—more often it feels a curse—to be particularly, painfully attuned to the movements of what, for lack of a better word, we might call Fate. And now, at this exact time in our world, I sense those movements are centered in a special way . . . on you."
He turned toward her again, and in Lily's eyes, his ancient, kindly face had suddenly taken on decades, years etched deeply into his skin by pain and weariness and an understanding of souls few were asked to bear.
"Forgive me, my dear," he said, "but I must ask you a very important question: When will the child come?"
Lily froze. Dumbledore's reserve and polite demeanor were legendary, and he had never spoken to her so directly about anything private. Even worse, beneath his question she could sense an urgency that unnerved her. Dumbledore was their rock, their one certainty in these horribly uncertain times. Yet something was obviously worrying him, and it concerned her and— Her hands assumed an automatic, protective position over her belly.
"Forgive me, Professor, but why are you asking me this?" When she saw him hesitate, Lily pressed her point. "You said I had a right to some explanation: explanation of what? How do you know that I am carrying a child, when I have been aware of it myself for barely an hour? Something about my child frightens you—don't deny it, I can see . . . something in your eyes! Why do you need to know when my child will be born? Why?"
Dumbledore studied her again before shaking his head. "I do not mean to intrude, believe me, Lily. Or to frighten you. But I must ask that you trust me in this—your answer to my question could be of vital importance."
"I do trust you, Professor. But you're keeping something from me, and I don't like that. I'll answer yourquestion, if you tell me what you're hiding."
"You do not know what you are asking, Lily," Dumbledore said firmly. "It is not the child who frightens me, of course. But in your condition, it might be better not to burden you—"
"Motherhood has never been for the faint of heart, so let's not go on about the delicacy of my 'condition,' Professor." Lily's voice was sharp and uncompromising. "I—I insist that you tell me what it is. I will not leave, nor let you pass, until you do."
Lily folded her arms across her chest and stood her ground, almost daring him to look away first. She could not quite believe the sudden fierceness that had come over her; she had never spoken to Dumbledore this way before. But Lily knew, without the slightest doubt, that she would do anything to protect the life within her.
Dumbledore continued to study her, and she could see he was still inclined to keep his own counsel. She leaned closer and took his hand in her own. "Professor—I know you are determined only to protect our world, and everyone in your care. But perhaps, in this case . . ." she paused and looked directly into his eyes, ". . . in this case, I am meant to share your burden."
His bright blue eyes widened in surprise, and he studied her over the top of his half-moon glasses, one white, shaggy eyebrow arching as he did so.
Lily shook his hand slightly. "You know I'm right," she said, more gently. "Whatever you have to tell me, I feel in my heart that you and I are in this together. If we weren't, why would you have known I was pregnant? And I think I need to know all that you know."
Dumbledore sighed heavily, and his shoulders sagged. Lily took these—correctly—as signs of concession and smiled at him, trying to look as hopeful as possible. He then gestured toward a nearby bench made of slight, rough-hewn logs, built into the bridge's wall.
"I think, my dear, that we will both need to be seated while we share what we know."
He walked over to the bench, and she recognized, again, a weariness in him that was more than physical. She settled herself on the bench and waited with as much patience as she could manage.
"You know," Dumbledore said, smiling, "Remus has told me—on more than one occasion—that he found you to be a singularly gifted witch . . . as well as an uncommonly kind woman. I had put it down to his affection for you, but I understand now that he was correct in both observations."
Lily was puzzled by this statement. She knew Remus thought highly of her, maybe even more highly than she deserved, but she was not sure she would have used the word "affection." She shook off her confusion, though, for the time being; there were more important things to wonder about right now.
"Please, Professor—tell me what troubles you about my good news."
Dumbledore gazed out at the mountains again, and it was a minute or two before he spoke. "Late last night," he said finally, "I had an appointment at the Hog's Head Inn, to meet an applicant for the position of Professor of Divination. I know, I know," he countered, stopping her from interrupting. "I was just saying to you and James and Remus at the feast last night that I was inclined not to continue with the subject of Divination here at Hogwarts. It can be a rather . . . 'woolly' discipline, some might say. But the applicant's ancestry—she is the great-great-granddaughter of an extremely gifted Seer—demanded that I show her the courtesy of at least interviewing her." He paused again, lost in his recollection of the night before. "I could, almost, regret that it was my lot to hear what Sibyll Trelawney had to say last night, but perhaps there is no other course."
Lily stirred restlessly. "And what did she say, Professor? Is it something to do with my . . . ?" She could not bring herself to finish the question, as if not saying that last word would somehow hold the sense of dread now stirring within her at bay.
Dumbledore raised his eyes once more, and his gaze did not falter as he looked directly into her questioning eyes. "On meeting her, I am afraid I was disappointed. Indeed, I was ready to discount any prophecy she might give me as a feeble attempt to impress a potential employer. But the prophecy she delivered. . . this one had a ring of truth I could not ignore. And the consequences, immediate as they were, only verified that what I had heard was no fabrication, but information crucial to the safety of our world. This is what Sibyll told me last night—her exact words.
"'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 will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows 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 . . .'"
Lily gripped the bench beneath her so hard, a splinter of wood pierced her skin. She barely noticed it. Dazed, she wondered that the world seemed to be going on as it had been, that people's lives no doubt continued just as normally as they had started that morning . . . but not her world, not her life. She almost laughed as she thought of the fears she had fretted over just an hour ago—they seemed insignificant in the face of these words. Words she had demanded to hear, and would now give anything had they never been spoken.
"Lily? Lily!"
She became aware, somehow, that Dumbledore was gently shaking her shoulder, laying a hand on her cheek, peering into her face.
"Are you all right, my dear girl? You've gone quite beyond pale . . . I knew that I should not have given you this shock, not at this time. We do not know for certain—"
Lily shook her head, willing herself back to calmness, to clarity. She no longer had the luxury of fear or despair or anything else that might rob her of strength.
"I'm afraid I do know, Professor—so I hope you can forgive me a moment of panic." Lily paused to take in a deep breath, tried not to shake. "You knew the truth when you heard it last night; I recognize it, too. Neither of us wanted to hear these words, but prophecy does not ask if it can be heard; it speaks, and leaves us to deal with the consequences. You asked me when my child will come. My child was conceived last night, and, if all goes well"—she smiled to herself bitterly—"will be born next July. The end of July. 'Born as the seventh month dies' . . ."
Dumbledore's eyes closed, and they sat in silence for several moments. When, at last, he spoke again, Dumbledore's words surprised her.
"There could well be other children born in our world, next July."
"Yes, Professor, there most likely will be." Despite her bitterness, Lily was grateful for his hope. "But we have to admit that the 'coincidence' of our meeting here this morning—you with your news and me with mine—can't be explained away easily. You said yourself that you sensed the movements of Fate, or whatever we should call it, in me—but it was my child's destiny, and not just mine, you sensed."
She encircled her stomach with her arms, instinctively rocking and soothing as she pondered what she had just learned. Then she looked up at him. "I need to hear it again."
Dumbledore recoiled. "You cannot want—"
"It is not a matter of wanting, Professor. I have to be prepared, which means I must be able to recognize the prophecy for what it is, once it begins to . . . come true." She drew in another deep but shaky breath, trying to compose herself so she could absorb this dread information.
It took Lily some time to persuade him, but Dumbledore finally repeated the prophecy, again and again at her insistence, till the words were burned into both their memories. Lily felt limp. She slumped back against the bridge's wall, amazed that she could have begun this day in such joy and innocence—and not even known how innocent she was.
She decided not to think, for the moment, on the darkest part of the prophecy: ". . . and either must die at the hand of the other, for neither can live while the other survives . . ." She could not bear to dwell on that. Not now, not at the beginning of her child's life. She knew she could be strong if she focused instead on the hopeful message the prophecy contained: "The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches . . . but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not . . ." She clung to that slim promise as she looked over at Dumbledore, who was once again staring at the mountains, now with an unreadable expression on his face.
Lily sat straight up as a sudden thought came to her. "Professor! The prophecy—it says, 'HE will have power the Dark Lord knows not.' Before I met you, I was on my way to visit Madam Pomfrey; I wanted her to confirm my pregnancy before I talked to James. I'm certain she would also be able to tell me whether the child is a boy—and if it is . . . "
Dumbledore nodded, though he was not looking at her. "If it is . . ." He was silent a few moments more. "My dear, it isn't that I don't believe you. I would simply . . . rather not. I would wish with all my heart that this prophecy not come to pass. For I fear . . . Sibyll did not elaborate, of course, but I fear that it will bring you more pain than either of us can possibly imagine."
At last he raised his head, and Lily saw his eyes were filled with unshed tears. For a moment she could not speak, but simply moved closer and put her arm around his shoulders. She marvelled, as they sat there in silence, that such a gesture was possible—how much their relationship had changed in this last half hour. He was no longer simply the inscrutable mage she had long revered; he was now also a friend, someone who shared a pain with her that few others could fathom. He was also, perhaps, the only person who could truly help her—help all of them.
As they sat there, huddled together as if for protection, Lily remembered something. "Professor . . . you said something about immediate 'consequences,' after you heard the prophecy. What did you mean by that?"
Dumbledore did not answer her right away, but Lily waited patiently. Now that she knew the horrible weight of the message she had forced him to share, she understood his reluctance to speak, and could no longer be impatient or sharp with him.
"There was an . . . eavesdropper," Dumbledore finally said, "in the Hogs Head last night. Someone whose Master was far more willing than I to believe that Sybill Trelawney's gifts were genuine. Or perhaps he was merely casting as wide a net as possible, in order to obtain what information he could.
"Whatever the reason, Sibyll—or whatever power spoke through her last night—sensed this servant's presence almost at once. She interrupted her prophecy to warn us that 'unfriendly influences' were close at hand. I apprehended the eavesdropper myself. He was . . ." Dumbledore paused, as if considering something extremely painful. His blue eyes, usually bright and full of life, seemed to fade to a muddy gray as a memory passed behind them. "I asked the proprietor of the Hog's Head to detain the eavesdropper while Sybill and I finished our interview. Then—"
Here Dumbledore paused again, turning to study her for a moment, and Lily frowned, wondering why he chose his words so carefully. The professor merely shook his head sadly, however, before continuing. "I have dealt with the eavesdropper as seemed right to me. What his fate will be, I cannot now say, though I have my fears, and hopes." Dumbledore's voice was flat, and heavy with worry. "But more important at the moment are the consequences of his treachery. As he heard only the very first part of the prophecy, Voldemort's understanding of it is . . . incomplete. What that may mean for all our futures, I cannot say." Dumbledore paused, sighing deeply.
Lily slumped forward, head almost between her knees. How stupid—she'd thought she had heard the worst of it. How could she have been so naïve? I will not faint, she thought fiercely as she fought a wave of nausea and terror. A moment later, Dumbledore's hand moved gently over her back, trying to soothe, to comfort. Lily knew, however, there was no true comfort left her in this world.
"I think I can say what this means, Professor," she said quietly, "at least in part." Her throat had gone quite dry, and her words were no more than a whisper. "What it means is that Voldemort will try to kill my son—not in some vague future, but very soon after he is born. Or rather, as soon as Voldemort can find him."
She paused and glanced at Dumbledore, who gave a nod, brief and sharp, as if forced to confirm her belief against his will.
"I am afraid we must prepare for the worst, my dear."
Lily felt a chill slowly creep through her body, smothering the joy she had felt such a short time ago. She took in big gulps of air, stubbornly fighting another surge of panic. And as she breathed and focused, her emotions changed; instead of dread and fear, a sense of . . . outrage began to fill her. She and James had pledged their lives to the defeat of Voldemort, an enemy who threatened them all. They had devoted themselves to the Order for the good of witches and wizards everywhere. A goal that was passionate, important, and yet . . . Now, this monster was no longer a general, faceless threat; he was after her own blood, her innocent child. He was now her enemy. As she seethed over the cruelty of it, her expression became hard and unyielding.
She turned back to face Dumbledore, a fierce determination smoldering in her eyes. "And I can say something else—if he tries to kill my son, then I will be dead, too—for not while I draw breath will that evil . . . thing harm my child." As she spoke, her anger grew and overwhelmed her, almost choking her. "Do you hear me?" she said, voice low and rough. "He will NOT have my son—if I have to sacrifice my own blood to ensure it, Voldemort will NEVER have my son!"
Her rage and grief propelled her from the bench and across the bridge's width, but by the time she had wheeled and returned to face Dumbledore, Lily felt her wild emotions dissolving, leaving her spent and bewildered and desolate. She could not help herself; she collapsed in front of Dumbledore and began to weep quietly, head resting on his knees.
"If anyone was ever entitled to tears, my dear, I am sure it is you," he said after a few moments, gently placing his aged, strong hands on her head in blessing. "But you have not yet lost any battles—try to remember that."
Lily looked up at him with tear-blurred eyes, wanting desperately to trust in his stubborn hope.
"There are many ways that a prophecy can manifest itself, and many ways that we can influence Fate," Dumbledore continued. "And I'm afraid I must insist that you remember this: we are not yet certain that this news concerns your child." He forestalled her quick protest with an upraised hand. "Yes, yes—a mother's intuition is a powerful force, and one to be reckoned with; a mother's fear is certainly as strong. I promise you this, though: you will not face this alone. Both you and your child will always have my protection; whatever I can do to help, to prepare, to fight, please believe that I will do. I have a . . . premonition of my own that there will be other obstacles in our efforts to protect this child, aside from the most critical threat of Voldemort himself. And I must ask you to promise that you will come to me, with any need."
He smiled down at her encouragingly, the lines of weariness in his face now softened by fondness. "It seems to me that a mother's love is the strongest force of all—carrying with it an uncommon magic, my dear. And in that love, there is more power than Voldemort could ever imagine, or understand—a failing we can, perhaps, use to our advantage."
Lily smiled, despite herself, at Dumbledore's use of the words "our" and "we." She began to feel the stirrings of hope herself, knowing that she had such an ally. For when had she—had any of them—ever seen Dumbledore defeated? She began to focus on the one heartening line of the prophecy again: "He will have power the Dark Lord knows not . . ."
Filled once more with a sense of resolve, she looked up at Dumbledore. "I promise—I will come to you when I need help. And you must tell me your thoughts, what you hear and suspect, whatever information comes your way, Professor, so that I'm prepared for what I might encounter."
He nodded shortly; a bargain had been made. They sat in silence a little longer before Lily sighed and made to stand. Dumbledore rose from the bench and helped her to her feet. As she brushed herself off, she suddenly realized he was studying her again, and she raised an eyebrow in question.
"What will you tell James?" Dumbledore asked quietly. "Of the prophecy, of what you believe it means."
Lily shivered, only in part because she felt like Dumbledore had read her thoughts again. She had just been thinking of how to tell her husband all that morning's news—good and bad. "I don't know . . ." she began. James would be ecstatic, bursting with pride and full of plans for the future, and he would want to spread the happy news to all their friends. But such sharing might put the child in danger even sooner than she feared, when "unfriendly influences" could be lurking anywhere. She never hid things from James, he always knew her heart. But how could she take away his joy in the same moment that she gave it to him?
"I don't know," she repeated. "I'm just going to trust that I'll know the right thing to do when I see him, I suppose." She raised her hands helplessly in the air, then let them fall.
"That seems the best plan, yes," Dumbledore replied, nodding again. "I can give no better counsel than to follow your instincts."
Then suddenly he clapped his hands together, breaking the preoccupied, anxious mood they had both fallen into. "Now—first things first. You must pay a visit to Madam Pomfrey; we can do nothing without the vital information she can give us. If you like, I will go and find James, and send him off to meet you there—though I daresay I will need to give you a little advantage. Poppy is a miracle worker, but even she will need a little time to perform such tests."
He reached out and tucked her arm under his, and began to walk with her the rest of the way across the bridge. As they walked, Lily looked out once more at the shining vista of green and blue that surrounded the castle, and took a deep breath. "Do you know, Professor," she said, a wistful smile on her lips, "this is the most beautiful spot in our world. And I want my child to know the beauty—and the safety—of this place, when he grows up, just as I knew it when I was a girl. If I can give him that, then . . . then anything that happens will be worth it."
Dumbledore patted her hand and smiled. "I may not possess the Sight, my dear, but I can tell you that, while there is surely a fierce battle ahead, there will also be much joy and wonder. You are at the center of a miracle," he said, shaking her arm gently as if to awaken her. "A new life is about to enter our world, and a very special life, it would seem. Indeed, your child may well come to be a blessing for the entire wizarding world—if I may be permitted to make a small prophecy of my own. This hope is definitely cause for celebration! Don't let the coming months be ruled only by fear and worry."Lily smiled up at him, but could think of nothing to say in response to his optimism. The truth was, she had always harboured a secret belief that no joy came without a price, even in a magical world, and this morning's events had done nothing to change that point of view. Still . . . despite the danger and fear that lay ahead, one truth remained. She was going to be a mother—and surely there could be no greater joy than that, nor any more wondrous miracle. And she would get through the coming, difficult months more easily if she focused on hope rather than despair. Her child needed her attention on every level now, and nothing would be a burden if done for his sake.
She gently squeezed Dumbledore's arm, still linked with her own, as they crossed the stone courtyard between the bridge and the castle proper, and looked up at him with gratitude and fondness. "You're right, of course, Professor. Just keep reminding me of that, will you?"
Dumbledore smiled and nodded.
They walked on in silence until at last they had reached the entrance hall, and only then did Dumbledore release Lily's arm. "Off you go then to Madam Pomfrey; I'm sure I will be talking to you later, my dear."
"Of course," Lily answered. She leaned forward slightly, balancing on her toes for a moment, and bestowed a quick kiss on Dumbledore's wrinkled cheek. Then she turned and ran lightly up the staircase toward the hospital wing, not looking back to see the surprised, pleased expression on his face slowly fade into one of dark worry, even fear. Dumbledore's shoulders sagged slightly, and he gave a very deep sigh before turning toward the opposite staircase, and his office.
Pushing open the heavy wooden door, Lily looked around for Madam Pomfrey. There were no patients in any of the beds she could see, so the matron was most likely in her office.
"Poppy?" she called out, listening carefully as her voice echoed back at her from around the cavernous dormitory.
"Hello?"
Lily sighed in relief as the matron's strong, no-nonsense voice answered, and a moment later Madam Pomfrey's head poked out of a door in the nearest corner of the large ward. Her traditional white headdress was stiff and immaculate, framing a stern face, but her expression softened when she saw who had hailed her. Lily had become quite close to Poppy Pomfrey in her later years at Hogwarts and afterwards, using her natural skill with charms to help the matron when the ward was busy, and learning quite a bit about healing spells from the older woman. She now beckoned Lily towards her, stepping back to allow her to enter her office.
"Lily! How wonderful to see you," she exclaimed with a warm smile. "Here for a visit? Or—" Poppy's smile quickly changed to a look of concern as she studied the young woman in front of her. "You're not ill, are you? There's something . . . different about you, I can see that."
Lily gasped; had she no secrets left at all? But somehow, she didn't mind that Madam Pomfrey was so sensitive to her condition. She needed the support and understanding that only another woman could give in this situation. The matron looked at her with both fondness and worry as Lily sank into a chair.
"I'm not ill, no," Lily began. "But I do need your help, Poppy. You see . . ." She stopped, suddenly a little shy now that she was about to finally say the words aloud; she hadn't actually had to tell Dumbledore, after all. "You see," she began again, "I'm . . . at least, I think I'm pregnant, and—"
"Oh, my dear girl!" Madam Pomfrey clapped her hands to her cheeks, her face alight with surprise and delight. "I knew there was something—what wonderful news!" She took Lily's hands in her own and beamed down at her. "There's nothing like a baby to bring light and hope into everyone's hearts, even in the best of times. And heaven knows, times are not the best at present. We need hope more than ever," the matron said bracingly.
Lily's smile faltered at these words, which brought to mind all her worries again. If you only knew, Poppy, if you only knew . . . But now was not the time for divulging everything. Start at the beginning, she told herself. "That is true, Poppy. But I came because I wanted to be sure, and to ask . . . for a small favour."
"What can I do for you, dear?" Poppy asked immediately. "I would be honoured to help in whatever way I can," she said softly, and smiled in encouragement. "As for being sure, I can promise you that I see all the signs of new life in you, both physical and magical—the light in your eyes, the glow of your skin, the aura that surrounds your spirit . . . I've seen these things often enough to recognize them. I wasn't always a school matron, you know."
"But it's so soon—I mean, I think it's just happened." She blushed again under the matron's knowing gaze. "Are you truly sure?" Lily asked, biting her lower lip.
"I am." Madam Pomfrey nodded briskly, as if that should settle the matter. "But, if it will make you feel better—" She turned to a cabinet behind her and rifled through a drawer for a moment, emerging from her search holding a dry, shriveled, odd-looking root in her hand. She picked up her short, sturdy wand from the desk. "Come with me, Lily."
She led the way out of her office, through the main ward, and into a smaller, private room that held a wooden bed, small night table, and an old, scarred wardrobe that looked as if it had been there as long as the castle had been standing. There was a small torch on each wall, but the light coming in through the thick, wavy glass was strong enough that Madam Pomfrey left them unlit. She gestured to Lily, indicating she should sit on the bed.
"Just lie down there, child. That's it. The mandrake root—no, no, don't worry!" she said soothingly as Lily started and reflexively placed her hands over her belly "It's been magically cured and preserved—dormant, you know. Not a danger at all in this form, I assure you." She eased Lily back down onto the bed. "As I was saying, the mandrake root in this state is called a homunculus—a very powerful diagnostic tool in magical medicine. It will give us the answer we seek. I will place the root on your stomach. If you are pregnant, the root will—for a very brief moment—seem to come alive, and move about before returning to its dormant state. If you are not pregnant, it will remain motionless. Very simple, but one hundred percent reliable."
She smiled reassuringly and gently laid the dried-out, gnarled root on Lily's stomach; Lily tried hard not to flinch.
No sooner had Madam Pomfrey let go of the root than it began to wriggle and twist itself madly. It looked almost as if it were trying to stand upright on her belly. Lily's eyes widened, and she looked up, to see Madam Pomfrey cover her mouth with her hand in amazement.
"What? What? Is there something wrong?"
"No, no, my dear! I'm sorry if I startled you; I've just never seen such an . . . energetic response as this before. My word—there is very strong life in you. No doubt about it now—you are most definitely pregnant!"
The two women continued to watch as the root struggled and writhed for several moments—much longer than Madam Pomfrey seemed to have expected, certainly. Finally, it became quiet and stopped moving, though Lily was not entirely sure it looked "dormant," somehow. More like . . . waiting. It was the strangest thing she had ever seen.
But the strange and bizarre plant had told her what she needed to know, had confirmed her hope—she was to be a mother! Lily smiled to herself as she instinctively stroked the sides of her stomach, still careful to avoid direct contact with the root. She continued to stare at it for another moment, though, before summoning the courage to ask her second question—a question that should bring joy, but now seemed only to summon dread and worry.
"There is something else I need to ask, Poppy. It may sound foolish, but . . . Can you tell—I mean, is there a way of knowing whether the child is a boy or a girl?" She looked up at the matron with hesitation; Poppy's answer would determine just how she would pass the next nine months—in peaceful anticipation or anxious preparation.
"There is, of course—though the important thing is that the child be strong and healthy, surely. And we've just seen that it is, I'd say!" Madam Pomfrey stared at Lily inquiringly.
"Yes, yes," Lily stammered, "that is the most important thing, naturally. It's just—" Lily's eyes roamed the room as she tried to think of an explanation. "It's just that I would like to be able to tell James if he has a son or a daughter, and . . . it would be nice to know, wouldn't it?"
"Well, of course it would, dear! That, too, is a simple spell," Madam Pomfrey said briskly, and she immediately waved her wand in a smooth flourish over the root and Lily's belly. "Acclare sexus!" she intoned. The root once more began to vibrate, and then it began to blush a bright blue that turned darker and darker until it was a shimmering indigo.
"Well," Madam Pomfrey beamed, "no doubt about that, either. A healthy, strong, young wizard is on the way, isn't he?"
"Oh."
The word was scarcely more than a whisper, and caught in Lily's throat so that Poppy frowned at her, a puzzled expression on her face. Lily felt as if all the air had been knocked out of her body the very moment the matron had said "wizard." It was true. It was all true. Despite Dumbledore's attempts to deflect her worst fears, she felt crushed all by a swift, dark panic.
"My dear!" Poppy reached out a hand to stroke her brow, her eyes searching Lily's face. "Are you quite all right? You look as if you had just seen the Bloody Baron for the first time!"
"Get that . . . thing off of me, please!" Lily gestured urgently at the root still lying on her belly. It was still glowing a dark blue, and she felt, oddly, as if it were taunting her. "Just—please—take it away!"
Madam Pomfrey removed the cured Mandrake root at once, but she continued to stare at Lily in concern. "Wasn't this the information you wanted? You are to have a son—a blessing, surely, every bit as much as a daughter?"
"A blessing . . ." Lily murmured, remembering Dumbledore's words of a few minutes ago.
"You are pleased at starting your family, aren't you?" Poppy continued, her worried frown deepening as she continued to look Lily over. "And James—he'll be pleased, won't he?"
"Oh, yes—yes!" Lily assured her at once. "I am thrilled, of course, and James will be, too. But there are some . . ." She paused, groping for words. "There will be some . . . complications, Poppy. It's difficult to explain—"
Lily cast her eyes about the room, as if the proper words would come to her out of thin air, like the words of a charm or incantation. Should she explain—dare she tell another soul what she and Dumbledore had just discussed? And as she thought, she realized she would have to share at least some part of this worry, and that there would be others here at Hogwarts, aside from Dumbledore, who could help shoulder this burden.
"I will need your help especially, Poppy, in the months to come—that is all I can say right now. Can you trust me enough to wait for a full explanation?"
The matron eyed her carefully, her forehead still deeply lined with worry. But then she gave Lily a slow, confident smile, and nodded. "Of course, my dear, of course. Whatever I can do, you know—"
"Lily? LILY! Where are you?"
James's voice rang through the large, empty dormitory beyond their small sanctuary, and Lily's sharp gasp brought Madam Pomfrey's eyebrows up into a query. As she tried to breathe normally again, Lily grasped the matron's hand and looked up at her imploringly. "I will explain, I promise, just as soon as I can. But first, I must talk to my husband. Please, Poppy—please trust me."
Before Madam Pomfrey could properly reply, Lily called out, hoping her voice would not falter. "I'm in here, darling." She sat up and swung her legs over the edge of the bed, so that she would be sitting rather than lying down when she told her husband this news. Even now she was not sure how much she could tell him, and she took a deep steadying breath as she steeled herself for the conversation.
As James's hurried footsteps came closer, Poppy slowly squeezed Lily's hand in silent agreement, and Lily smiled at her gratefully. "Thank you, Poppy."
"Lily, what's the matter? I just ran into Dumbledore, and he told me you wanted me to meet you here, in the hospital wing. Are you ill, are you all right, has something happened?" James was frantic as he ran in the door and almost skidded to a stop in front of Lily. She reached out to steady him just as Poppy spoke.
"Well, James, it's a good thing I have no patients at the moment, or you would have every single one of them in a state!" The matron was trying her best to look stern, but the twinkle in her eye ruined the effect completely.
James stared at her in confusion, but she merely patted him on the shoulder. "I'll leave you two alone now, then!' she said briskly, and exited the room with a rustle of her robes and a smile.
"What—what does she—Lily, what in bloody hell is going on?" James spluttered. "When Dumbledore said 'hospital,' I assumed the worst. Have you been attacked, have those cowards who call themselves 'Death Eaters' dared to—"
Lily took his face between her hands and made quiet, comforting noises as she tried to calm him. "James, James, I'm fine, really. Please . . ." She kissed him gently then, putting all her heart and love into that intimate touch.
When they drew apart a moment later, though, she could see that he was still agitated, and not to be deterred.
"Lily. What's—going—on?"
She stared at him for a moment, taking in the details of that face she loved so much: the dark, grey-blue eyes, framed by his round, black wire-rimmed glasses; his strong, slightly crooked nose, the shock of dark hair he had never been able to tame, not since she had met him in their first year at Hogwarts. She looked into his eyes and saw the love and passion, the worry and fear in them, and she knew then that she could not break his heart—not just yet.
"Darling, please don't look so distressed—actually, I have wonderful news!" she said, smiling bravely. "But I won't tell you if you don't calm down." She turned her smile into a teasing grin, hoping to reassure him this way.
James frowned at her. "Tell me now."
Lily laughed, in spite of herself. "Yes, sir!" Then she sobered, and placed her hands gently on his shoulders. "James . . . my dear James—you're going to be a father."
She waited as the expression on his face slipped from frustration to a blank, stunned gaze, eyes blinking and mouth open. "You-you-you're . . ." he whispered, as if he didn't dare hope he had understood her correctly.
Lily smiled down at him, her heart aching with love for him. "Yes, my dear—I'm pregnant. At last. I know how much you've longed for this. And . . . we are going to have a son. I've just had Poppy confirm it. I wanted to know, for sure, before I told you."
"Oh, Lily . . ." James stared at her, joy and delight striking him dumb for the moment. Then he gathered her into his arms and crushed her to his chest, lifting her up off the bed. "Lily! A son . . .I can't believe it! A son! This is . . . it's . . . amazing!"
Lily laughed again, letting his happiness wash over and relax her. Just for a few moments, I want to enjoy this time with my husband, this time that should hold nothing but gladness. "Well, not so amazing, dear. I mean, we are married, and we did . . . erm . . . celebrate Halloween in our own way last night." She winked, giving him a coquettish look for a moment. She had always been able to distract him with that look.
But James was completely gobsmacked by this information, and set her down abruptly. "Last night? Last night . . . you mean . . . but how . . . you can't know already, can you?" He shook his head as if to clear it, then looked at her sharply. "Can you?"
"I am a witch, you know!"
"Lily." There was something like warning in his voice, despite his excitement, and she understood what he wanted at once.
"Yes, darling—I do know for sure. Remember, I just told you that Poppy confirmed it for me . . . ?"
"Oh—yeah," James said, slightly embarrassed. "I forgot."
Lily couldn't help it; she giggled, enjoying the confused frown that had returned to his face. That frown grew even deeper for a few seconds as he glared at her, pretending to be annoyed. But he couldn't hold it; the ecstatic grin took over his features again almost at once.
"Lily, you've made me the happiest man in the world—you know that, don't you?" He guided her back to the bed, gently pushing her down to sit once again. He knelt at her feet, and then placed his head in her lap, circling her body with his arms. "I can't remember a time when I didn't love you; I think I've always known you were the only one I ever could love."
His voice was low and hoarse, and she bent over him, stroking his dark, always-tousled hair. "Oh, James . . ." No other words would come.
"And now . . ." He paused, wonder suddenly clear and strong in his voice. "I'd never have believed it could get any better for us—but you've just told me it will. We two will be three . . ."
He raised his head to beam up at her, and the adoration she saw in his eyes almost killed her. She struggled to keep the sorrow from showing in her face. I can't—I can't tell him about the prophecy! she thought fiercely. She had never kept a secret from James before and everything in her rebelled at the thought. Almost everything. She felt a tearing pain in her chest as she imagined his horror and disbelief on hearing of the danger his unborn son already faced. I can't, she repeated to herself dully.
James stood up suddenly and began to pace. "Just wait till I tell Sirius, and Remus! Sirius will take the mickey out of me over it, of course—wouldn't be Sirius if he didn't, would he?—but they'll be so pleased for us, Lily! There're so many people we have to tell! Sirius, Remus, Peter—Dumbledore, too, of course . . .Hagrid will be delighted . . . and Frank and Alice! They've been trying to have a child, too, you know—maybe we beat them to it!" He laughed extravagantly, almost strutting around the room.
Everything was a competition to James, she thought as she watched him; everything was a chance to win. It was the one thing that had annoyed her about him, when they'd first met at Hogwarts. She had dismissed him for years because of what she saw as his arrogance—and admittedly, as a teenager, he had not controlled this impulse very well. But she had learned, in time, to love his strong confidence, once she realized there was no real malice or unkindness in it.
Well . . . there wasn't usually any malice in it. She thought briefly of Severus, her childhood friend and only confidant in the Muggle world until they'd both left for Hogwarts. James had seemed to almost love tormenting him, in part because he was in Slytherin house and entranced by the Dark Arts. They were so obviously on different sides, even then. But Lily knew that the other part of James's animosity, even hatred, of Severus had been Lily's attachment to him. In the end, she had actually had to threaten to break up with James if he didn't leave Severus alone. The two young men had continued to loathe each other, though—Severus turning especially bitter after Lily had chosen James and turned away from him when he refused to abandon the path leading him deeper and deeper into dark magic.
But that "relationship" was an exception; James was otherwise beloved and admired in their world. And Severus had seemed to disappear, once they had left Hogwarts, so she supposed she needn't worry about him and James anymore, really.
The truth was that James came from a very old wizarding family, of whom great things were always expected, and she knew his father had always pushed him to be the best in everything. A sort of wizard noblesse oblige had been part of James's consciousness since he was a child. He had a duty to his world, to protect it, to keep it safe. James took that obligation very seriously, more and more as he grew older. You couldn't assume such a staggering obligation by not caring how strong or accomplished you were. And his confidence, as well as his abilities, served them well in the war against Voldemort; she could not deny that, as often as she wished he would not put himself so consistently in harm's way. He relied far too heavily on the Invisibility Cloak he'd inherited from his father to get him out of sticky situations. I don't like that cloak, Lily thought, a frown creasing her face for a moment. I have a bad feeling about it.
His pride and self-confidence were part of who James Potter was—she'd come to understand and embrace that. And she realized then, as she watched him pace and listened to him making plans to celebrate, that there was another reason she feared to tell him the whole truth about their son's fate, one she had not been able to acknowledge until this very minute.
He would not believe her.
This revelation was confirmed when James wheeled around to face her, arms gesturing expansively. "Do you see, Lily? This—the birth of our son—is a sign of hope! In these dark times, it's a sign that we will overcome Voldemort's evil, our world will go on! This news will give all our friends hope!"
Lily knew she had no choice now; she had to say something, even some indirect version of the truth, in order to protect their child.
"James . . ." Lily started to speak, and then stopped, not sure how to continue. "James," she began again, "do you think, maybe, it might be wiser to . . . keep this as a secret, for a little while, at least?"
He stared at her, incredulous. "A secret? Whatever for?"
"Well . . . these are dangerous times, darling, and—and there are spies everywhere. You were saying to Dumbledore just last night, it's almost impossible to know who you can trust anymore."
James's look was one of total bewilderment. "But . . . we're talking about a baby. Our baby! What has that to do with spies, and the war?"
"Think of it, James—we'll be parents soon! We have to look at the world in a new way, be prepared to make . . . sacrifices in a whole new light!" She paused and took a deep breath, preparing herself to move as carefully as she could around the truth. "Now, we have a whole new reason to fear Voldemort. The nightmare he wants to create in place of the world we know and love—what will it mean for our child? It's all well and good to fight Voldemort as adults; but a baby is defenseless . . ."
"Defenseless? Rubbish!" James snorted dismissively. "He'll have us to protect him! The whole Order, too. Don't you think that Sirius, or Remus, would die rather than let anything happen to him?" James's eyes flashed, as if the very notion of his son being defenseless was absurd, unthinkable.
Lily took a deep breath. He was going to force her to say it. "James! James—look at our lives. Think of the danger we put ourselves in every day. What if we're not . . ." Her voice faltered, and she had to begin again. "What if we're not here?" she said softly. She found herself amazed that the words had somehow, finally, fought their way out to stand between them.
There was a deep silence in the room; Lily felt the stone walls, cool and impenetrable around them, and shivered abruptly. James was staring at her as if he didn't recognize her.
"Lily . . . we will be here! I can't—I can't accept any other thought! Don't you see? This child will give us a strength we never had before; we have something so precious to fight for now. Our family! A whole new future to look to, after this war!"
Lily looked back at him, sorrow filling her eyes. "The future doesn't always come, darling," she whispered. "Not for everyone. We can't count on that, not in these times."
James's face froze, and she lifted a hand miserably, reaching for him, not sure what comfort she could give. She'd as good as told him about the prophecy; she hadn't intended this, and she didn't know what to do now.
Lily beckoned to her husband, and he came toward her slowly, a look of disbelief still set on his features. Once more James knelt in front of her, but this time, instead of embracing her, he took her shoulders and stared into her eyes.
"Why are you saying this?" he asked her quietly. "I thought you believed in the Order, and what we were doing."
"Of course, I do, James. You know I do, as much as you! But, I'm going to be a mother now. I look at things differently." She encircled her belly with her arms, leaning forward to rest her forehead on his and sighing. "As it is, we were already considering going into hiding. Doesn't this news make that decision even more urgent?"
They remained there for several moments, literally holding each other up; Lily began to gently stroke up and down James's arms, wanting to soothe him again. Finally, James sighed deeply, and she felt his shoulders sag beneath her hands.
"I don't want to admit to . . . what you're thinking," he said quietly.
"I know, dearest, I know. But we must. You know as well as I do, if we are to survive, we have to be prepared for anything," she told him. If my son is to survive, I've got to be prepared for anything, Lily told herself.
James was silent again, and she waited. After some time, he sighed again; then Lily felt his body tense.
"Damn war!" he spat out, bitterly. "We should be celebrating, telling the world, throwing a party! Instead of . . ."
He fell quiet again, and she waited, holding herself very still.
"I still think you're seeing Boggarts under the bed, Lily, but"—he held up his hands placatingly as she made to protest—"these are not normal times, it's true. And though it goes against the grain, I agree: we should start looking for a place to hide, and thinking of a Secret Keeper." He gave her a half-smile. "You know, don't you, that I would do anything to protect you, no matter how sure I am we're going to win this war. Anything, to make this time safer for you." He reached down and covered her stomach with his hands, and watched as she folded her own hands over his. "And for our son . . ."
The smile on his face was beautiful to see; Lily felt tears sting her eyes, knowing his happiness would too soon be marred. "I know, James. As would I: anything, to protect you—and our son." This I promise, she vowed silently.
James pulled her to him in a swift, fierce hug. "That's my girl! I know you're made of sterner stuff than most—that's why I married you!"
Lily laughed as she turned her head, trying to force the tears back before he could see. "Oh—is that why, really? I thought it was my eyes—"
He took her chin between his thumb and first finger, gently bringing her face around. Reluctantly, she looked at him, and when he saw she was crying, he murmured, "No . . ." and kissed her eyelids tenderly. Then he leant back, smiling playfully. "Ah, yes . . . that was it. Your eyes. Your beautiful, green eyes . . ."
Lily cupped the side of his face in her hand. "I didn't want to spoil this wonderful news for you, darling," she said, sadly.
Now it was James's turn to reassure her. "I know, Lily—and you're right to be cautious, if not so worried. But . . ." He looked at her hesitantly. "We can tell some people, can't we? Sirius, and Remus, and Peter—we can trust them!"
She nodded; she could not deny him that much.
"And Hagrid! We have to tell him! I'd like to see the stupid berk that would dare touch any child of ours when Hagrid had the care of him, eh?"
Lily couldn't help laughing; an image of Hagrid standing over their son, beaming down at him with those beetle-black eyes alight, came swiftly to her mind. It was true; Hagrid would protect James's son with his very life.
"Let's go." James tugged her up off the bed and toward the door, then suddenly swept her into his arms again. "Oh, Lily . . ." He kissed her, quickly but thoroughly, and then beamed down at her. "Dumbledore! Lily, we have to tell Dumbledore! He'd want to know good news like this right away, I know he would!"
The sadness returned to Lily's eyes, and she pressed herself into James's shoulder before he could see it again. "Yes," she whispered. "He'd want to know . . ."
END OF MONTH 1 . . .