Hi! I hope you enjoy this fanfic from Lily's point of view. It's basically her looking back on her death years later... it might be kind of depressing. Please review! I'm open to any constructive criticism/ praise!

️, me!

Death is without rivals. The pain of watching your love leave you. My death was like a tsunami, it ripped through my soul, my mind. It tore me so badly it stopped my heart. I remember it so clearly. The betrayal. Putting your trust into somebody's hands, and watching them crush it. When the Dark Lord entered our home, I knew immediately. He brought with him an aura of hate, and violence. Of revenge. I could feel the trust we had for Peter melt away at the Dark Lord's cold hands. I heard James yell to me, I heard him tell me to protect Harry, and myself. The only thing I knew to do was hold my child as close to my chest as I could, his warmth sending salty tears down my cheek as I realized that he may never know the love that his mother and father felt as they kissed him good night, or sang him lullabies. All I could think was that soon, all we could be for him was the past-tense. A cloudy memory of warmth and love.

When I ran upstairs, James was already gone. I heard the scream as his last breath left him and the green light blinded him before his passing. I heard the Dark Lord's cold laughter at my husband's murder. James' desperation to protect his child flooded to me as the tears came down even harder, though it was hard to process death in my state. I would feel it later... I would feel the heart-wrenching pain of hearing a last breath, a last scream, a last whispered, "I love you,"

Barricading myself was my last hope as I placed Harry in his crib and started pushing things against the door. I could hear him coming up the stairs. His heavy footsteps and the swishing of his cloak. The only windows in that room were locked. The key across the hall, in my bedroom. It was over. The screams I could hear from outside of my house of children being scared on Halloween night* was no match to my mentality. A feeling of despair was already hanging over me as I stood in front of Harry's crib. My baby's crib. I stood in front of him, sending all my love to him, hoping that if all of us died, he would still feel it when he moved on. That wherever we go when we die wouldn't be enough to separate myself from my child. From my baby boy.

The Dark Lord had no difficulty opening the barricaded door that had hastily been assembled. When he entered the room we locked eyes. Just for a moment. His scarlet slits had no mercy, no emotion other than revenge and power (if those even are emotions) that I knew there was no hope. How is it that a handsome young boy becomes this? How is it that Tom Riddle, beloved by all, becomes blinded by his own hate? His own mistrust and misery. So blinded that he decides to take the lives of others. Of children, of babies, just to maintain his throne of evil. I was begging, I remember that. I don't know exactly what I was saying. Harry started crying. He had realized by now that this was not James playing a joke, that this was real. Even 1-year-olds can tell the difference between good and and bad, love and hate.

I may not remember what I was saying to him, but I do remember his laugh. It was a laugh only ever laughed by those empty inside. A laugh that was souless, merciless, blood curdling. Nobody would be able to forget his laugh.

I remember watching his wand hand raise to cast the curse, and my heart beat become so loud I was sure he could hear it. Isn't it funny how that happens... a heart about to stop beats only faster. I remember my scream, my body hitting the ground, and my own whispered words to my son,

"Don't forget me."

Lily and James were killed on Halloween night, 1981...

I said it would be depressing! Like I said, please review (and read something light-hearted!) Thanks for reading!