A/N: HP Assassin Competition – prompt: "There was no need to be afraid of the ghosts lurking in the shadows anymore." from the fic Midnight Therapy Sessions. (Again, I'll come back and edit the writer in when the competition is over.)

The sun peeked around her curtains, surrounding it with an eerie glow as it forced its stubborn way into the room, and the sound of workmen banging away outside her window threatened to keep her awake. Even though she had, for the first time in over a year, slept through the night without interruption, it didn't feel like enough rest. Her subconscious mind had been freed from the nightmares about Harry being kidnapped that had so doggedly plagued it, but she felt like she could sleep for days after the night she had.

We won, she thought, and her lips tugged up into a tired smile. Voldemort might come back, but that's a matter for another day. For now, for today, he's gone, and we're still here.

She started to roll over in bed, reaching out for James. They could spend some time relaxing in bed together, and then they could go to pick Harry up from Mary's, and then –

Pain rushed through her, and, wincing, she let her arm fall to the soft sheet as she curled in on herself. It was like her whole body was afire. Everything ached; her neck was stiff and her shoulder throbbed and her feet burned and –

She tried to call out to James for help, but her throat felt rough and hoarse, and all that came out was a dull croak.

Closing her eyes and gritting her teeth against the upcoming pain, she reached out with her left arm and swiped it across the top of the bedside table. A loud thunk echoed through the room as the thick book on warding spells she'd been studying fell to the ground. A whimper forced its way out of her mouth as she pulled her arm back towards her, but her pain in no way impeded the rush of validation she felt when she heard familiar footsteps – heavy, loud, fast – hurrying towards her.

She prised open her eyes just as her husband rushed into the room, concern splayed out across his face like paint on a canvas. "Lily? Are you alright?"

"It hurts," she croaked out.

His assessing gaze swept across the room, taking in the fallen book and her foetal position. "I'll be right back," he promised, before running out of the bedroom. Within seconds, he was there again, clutching a vial of swirling liquid in his hand.

Pain Potion, she recognised. With his help, she fought her way into a sitting position, and she opened her mouth to let him pour the brew down her throat. It started to work almost immediately, sending relief through her tender muscles and bones.

"Feeling better?" he asked.

"Yeah. How were you when you woke up?"

"Not much better than you. I fell asleep with my wand still in its holster, though, so I was able to summon the potion myself." A broad grin spread across his face. "We did it, Lily. We beat him."

Reaching out, she took his hand in hers, tugging him down until he sat on the bed beside her. "We really did, didn't we?"

"Now let's go get Harry."

It finally hit her that Harry was really, truly safe. The prophecy no longer mattered; they would stay underground for a few more days while the rest of the Death Eaters were rounded up, but then they could take him outside again and raise him like a normal child. He would be able to grow up without having a bounty hanging over his head as punishment for the simple crime of existing. There would be new issues and new dangers to encounter and diffuse – one day, Voldemort would return, and Harry would have to face him – but that didn't matter in that moment. They had years to plan and prepare, and they would make good use of that time.

There was no need to be afraid of the ghosts lurking in the shadows anymore. New ghouls and demons would come to fill in that empty dark space, but they were nothing compared to the one the Order of the Phoenix had just vanquished.

"There is nothing I would rather do."