I wrote this after seeing Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Part Two. Snape and Lily just broke my heart. I quite literally blubbered all over myself in the middle of the cinema.
I do not own Harry Potter. Jo Rowling does.
The Dark Lord had fallen that night, ruined by a meer little boy of the age of one. Her little boy. I cringed at the simple thought of it.
The crack of my apparation resonated through Godric's Hollow as I landed before the still smoldering house. The small village was quiet. My heart had leapt into my throat, the pounding filling my ears, drowning out all other sound.
A large chunk was missing from the Potter house, as if there had been an explosion in the right side of the small cottage. I shoved my way through the gate and made my way up the path and into the house as lightning crackled in the distance. Inside was a disaster. There were burn marks in the curtains and on the walls from spells being flung back and forth. Things were blown completely apart. Ignoring the damage downstairs, I all but bolted upstairs.
James Potter lay at the top of the landing, his hazel eyes staring blankly at the ceiling, round glasses slightly askew. He must have tried to fight him off, even though he knew he stood no chance. His wand lay a few feet away from him, broken in half as if someone had stomped upon it. At the end of the hall, debris lay upon the floor, spilling out of the last room on the right. Slowly, I moved towards it, my heart beating quicker with every step.
"Please," I whispered quietly. "Please."
Turning the corner, the sight that I was greeted with caused my knees to give out. I collapsed against the wall, and cried out with sheer pain, and not of the physical sort.
My beautiful, beautiful Lily lay on the floor, shattered beyond repair. Her unending green eyes were vacant. She was dead.
Oh, God, no. No.
Harry was sitting in his crib, a lightning bolt-shaped cut upon his forehead, tears running down his face. He was crying silently, unlike me.
I pulled Lily's body to my chest and held her to me, my tears soaking her ginger hair.
"Why?" I cried into the top of her head. "Why?" My entire body was ripping in half. Despite the fact that Lily had married Potter, she had still been alive. She had still been here. I could always see her in someway. Now that was over.
I don't know how long I sat there, holding my sweet, sweet Lily, who was turning cold underneath my touch, tears running down my face. It may have been ten minutes or ten years.
Laying her back down, I pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. Her green eyes stared up at me.
"I'm sorry," I told her. I had failed her.
With one last look at the boy, I headed downstairs and back into the street, and with a final crack, I was gone.