Chapter
Two: Lily's Kiss
Laura finger-combed her hair as she had every morning for fifteen years, from the tips to the roots, untangling all the knots. Her hair was jet black, despite the fact that she was approaching the age of forty. Only a single streak of silver above her right eye signified that she wasn't young anymore. Her appearance was neat, but threadbare: her robes were faded and frayed, but kept in good condition. Her black hair still was neatly cropped at her shoulders, her face was clean. The house in which she lived was dust-free and in good repair, kept so by many spells.
In the corner, Timothy Potter stirred. He too was tidy from head to toe: clean, with neat red hair and well-kept clothing. The boy was now sixteen, tall like his father, but still wiry. Laura got up out of the old chair and poked the boy with her foot. "Tim. Wake up."
He yawned widely. "'s too early," he complained, turning over onto his back. "Go 'way."
Laura tapped her foot, then decided that it wouldn't hurt and went to the mirror to fix her hair. Using the hair pins that she used to teach Tim Transfiguration, she fixed her black hair into a knot at the base of her neck. She then washed her face, brushed her teeth, and tapped Tim again with her foot. "Wake up and go check the nets."
He sat up, most of his hair sticking on end. "I'm hungry," he complained good-naturedly.
"Go out and check the nets, and that won't be a problem anymore."
So off he went to check the nets they set every night for fish. Laura gave the old house a once-over, then stepped outside, grabbing her cloak against the sea breeze. She stared across the water, willing herself to see James and Lily, coming across the water—perhaps with Harry in tow. What would he look like now? she wondered, smoothing back her hair. Like James, probably. Tall, thin, with black hair. Though, Laura remembered, he'd had Lily's eyes. So Harry'd look like James with Lily's eyes. She snickered at her feeble attempts to see this in her mind's eye.
The sea was beginning to lap up the rocks, hiding the barnacles and other small clinging sea-creatures that rested there. High tide. Squinting at the sun, Laura figured that it was past midsummer. Late July, probably. Two more days until Tim's birthday. Harry's too. Well, where ever Harry was—if he was alive, anyway—he would be sixteen nine minutes after Tim. Whatever.
"Happy Birthday, Harry," she whispered. "If you're alive. Or dead. Or whatever." She turned and went back inside. "Tim, did you get the fish?"
At Privet Drive…
Harry was used to dreaming about Voldemort. It happened on a biweekly basis, most of the time. Sometimes it was more frequent than others. Someone usually was killed, he woke, then he sent his dreams to Dumbledore and Sirius Black, his godfather. It was almost becoming routine—but never would Harry become used to it. Those screaming, terrified faces haunted him day and night.
But tonight, the dream was different.
He stood alone at one end of a room. It was a clean but still rather shabby two-bedroom house, and by the look of it he was in the hallway upstairs. Two people, black-haired and fair-skinned, were engaged in a furious argument. One was a man—James Potter! Harry's father, who was gesticulating wildly, stabbing the air to make a point to a woman who was apparently refusing. It wasn't Lily Potter—someone else.
"—stupid, why can't you see why you need to do this?" James shouted.
"If you weren't so brave and bold you'd see why, James!" the woman shrieked back. "I may be two years younger than you but at least I can see when it's futile to resist!"
"Just go! I love you and I don't want you to die!" he spat. "You're only eighteen."
She pounded her fists into the wall, then yelled "And you're only twenty, James Potter. A vast difference indeed. You need to come!"
"I will not abandon my post as an Auror! You have no such responsibility!"
"I have a responsibility to keep you from taking yourself too seriously, James! You love me, you love Lily—why can't you see that I'm only saying this because I love you!" she screamed, poking his chest. "I won't leave you here!"
"Laura, I'm asking you only to go ahead." James's voice dropped to normal speech, though fire burned in every word. "Go, then I'll send Lily, then I'll come."
Laura sighed and rested her head on his chest. "James, please…"
"Three people leaving at once would cause a stir," James pointed out, appealing to the woman's practical side.
Harry watch the two work out a plan. He had lived in people's memories before enough to know that this was one, and he knew he couldn't be seen, so he wandered into the next room. Here stood a tall, pretty woman who was bending over a cradle, playing with the baby inside. It was swaddled in a heavy black cloth from head to toe, leaving only a round white face and two waving white hands. She was humming a little tune, all the while tears streamed down her cheeks.
"You know," she said to the baby, wiping her eyes on the back of her hand, "I love James. I love him more than anyone I've ever loved—I'm his wife. Is it right to love someone and wish—and wish they'd do something other than what's right?" she asked, wiping tears that fell onto the blankets. "I know what his duties are—I have the same ones. I know how proud he is, but for once—just for once, baby," she broke off to stare out of the window, tears running out of her green eyes. "I wish we could run. All of us. I want to live a normal life with James and my children—I want to see you grow up—I want you to go to Hogwarts and make me proud—I want to live!" she whispered, then lowered her head to her hand and sobbed, her shoulders raising and lowering in the rhythm of her breath.
Harry moved closer, to the other side of the crib. "I did!" he whispered, knowing that she couldn't hear him. "I made you proud, mum! I've defeated Voldemort because of you—okay, he's still here, but I—we—did! I go to Hogwarts, I make good grades—I was Triwizard champion! Well, me and Cedric…" he stopped, aware of tears starting in his own eyes. "I love you, mom. I never got to tell you," he murmured, reaching out to touch her cheek. His hand passed over her skin—but he couldn't feel it. Neither could she.
Sighing she stroked the baby's face—Harry's face—and pulled a shining cloak of silver out. "No sense in taking chances," she told the baby, blotting a tear with her Invisibility cloak. "I love you, Harry." She kissed the tiny forehead, her lip leaving a moist residue. Harry looked at it and jumped a little. Where Harry's scar had been when he grew older now lingered the kiss. Lily pulled the cloak over the baby, tucking it in firmly. "James?"
And the apartment vanished, leaving behind the dingy walls of Number Four Privet Drive. Harry sat up, very still, trying to fasten his mother's face and voice in his mind. He began to cry.
In another place, far away from the safe confines of Privet Drive, a red-haired boy stood bolt upright, dropping the crustacean he had been holding.
