14th October, 1981.
James had been trotting up and down the living-room all week, sometimes with his son in his hands, but more often, carrying him on his back. Up and down. Lily was certain that by next week her husband would go mad, or worse: he will go and attempt to strangle Voldemort with his bare hands. The latter option wouldn't have been too bad (strangling, that is) but she didn't want to take the name 'dowager' if she could help it.
Which meant that she knew she had to decline Albus Dumbledore's suggested Fidelius charm. Now, when all their friends were risking (and giving) their lives to fight Voldemort, she couldn't accept a charm of safety that would also force James to stay away from the death eater menaces.
"Profess... Sorry, Albus. It'll take some time before I get used to this."
"No problem, Lily, please call me whatever you feel like."
"Yesterday afternoon Professor Bagshot had us over for tea. And she mentioned something peculiar, which I don't know whether or not I should believe."
"Lils, there's no point wasting Albus's time with the old gal's babbling," James interjected. "She's roughly the age my grandma's grandmother, and..."
Without even looking, Lily put their fourteen-and-half-months-old son in his lap to keep each other entertained while she had some serious topics to discuss. "Is it true that her sister's grandson was Grindelwald?"
Albus froze for a moment, his mouth open just a hair's width. It was a good thirty seconds before he blinked again.
"No, Lily, he not only was – he still is. It's also true that we met last century.
"No way, I just lost a bet!" James grimaced.
"This isn't something I enjoy chatting about."
"But, you say, 'he still is', do you mean he's alive?" Lily Potter insisted. She tried to keep calm, but it looked like she had the viable alternative for staying home under the Fidelius.
"Who would have killed him?" Albus asked in a vain attempt at hiding a turmoil of emotions. "The wards around his cell are so strong that as long as I live nobody can get in – or out."
"But if nobody can get in for a mercy shot, does that still mean life?" James queried. Owing a whole bottle of fire-whiskey to Sirius still irritated him, but the topic and Harry gurgling in his lap didn't give much space for grumbles.
"A powerful wizard like him won't just die on his own," Albus replied. Lily wasn't sure if she heard a sniff. "I'm sure dear Bathilda also talked about something more worthy of interest."
"She did," declared Lily. "She told me that his castle-turned-prison is on a desolate mountain peak in Austria, surrounded by its centuries-old wards."
There was no question in her tone. Why would have she doubted, when her professor had just confirmed the wards' strength only a minute before?
"Lily, please, I follow your brilliant logic, "James pointed out, "but those wards would also keep us out."
"Not necessarily," Dumbledore spoke up. "As the Supreme Mugwump, I can let you in. And if there's any blood relation between you, no matter how distant..."
"Well, if I'm related to Bagshot some six generations back, then so must I be to that monster."
"James, quit being rude! You're talking about our future host."
"Waaaait! So, instead of just locking me up, you'd lock me up in a prison? Not just any random prison, but one on the Continent?"
"Just this morning you called our own house a prison."
"That's not what I meant!"
"But if the wards really recognize your blood relation, you could come and leave without putting Harry in danger. You could go on Order missions with Padfoot again."
James swallowed twice, thinking about everything his wife said. He looked in his son's face and saw Lily's green eyes staring back at him from a face so innocent yet so similar to his own. "So what do you think, Harry?"
"Paffoow?"
"No, I can't promise your godpaw will have time for playing."
"Paffoow! Paffoow!"
"No."
"Ye! Paffow! Bwoom!"
Albus collected himself while James was 'arguing' his son about visitor schedules.
"I'm sorry to disturb the negotiations, but please, let me clarify. Do you want to move to Gellert's distant, but no doubt secure, home?
"Yes!" Lily exclaimed. "The only question left is, who shall we tell?"
"The Longbottoms," Albus replied with a sigh. "And them alone."
15th October, 1981.
As expected, Frank was not quite eager to admit a disgraced family line, but Lily knew enough of purebloods by now and she was certain that the rule of 'everyone connected' applies. When she mentioned them James would be going on missions again, it was Alice who decided they would join, as she'd been a mere housewife for eighteen months straight and her wand itched for auror action.
They couldn't tell the Marauders, no matter how it hurt. Well, Sirius had to be privy of his godson's whereabouts, in case something would happen to the parents, but not the other two. They would have told Peter, but then not telling Remus would have come off as an insult, and Moony was joining a werewolf pack for the coming full moon, it was safer not to write him more than 'ask Dumbledore in an emergency.'
After saying their quick goodbyes, the two families with one son each were on their ways to a castle that's name was only spoken with disgust, but that would keep them safe from any enemies outside its walls.
The cold air was visibly vibrating under the wards that split in a bright crack when Dumbledore pointed his wand at them. "Come," he said.
James passed first, their luggage attached to his broom. Lily stayed close with Harry. She felt the wards trying to push her away, but Dumbledore's spell was stronger than those. Still, it was obvious she wouldn't be able to get out without his help, and for the first time, she considered that maybe she'd walked into a trap so willingly. A hippogriff followed them, enjoying the winds of the rocky wilderness.
The Longbottoms followed them on their own service Hippogriffs' backs, both carrying their brooms in their trunks. Frank had already regretted coming, although they've only been en route for a few minutes, having apparated to the Alps along with their mounts. He'd have preferred to just beat Voldemort's head until he gives up on killing Neville. Alice was the opposite: for her, it was like coming home, and she wondered if the old wards would have let her in on her own, but those were so twisted and tangled that she couldn't trust them entirely. They reminded her of her great-grangfather's crup, an old two-tailed dog who'd bark at his own master because he couldn't recognize his magic anymore.
They landed before a crumpled wooden door hanging on a rusty hinge.
"It'll take some while to make the lower area habitable again," Dumbledore said. "It was a beautiful castle once."
"I've seen it on a family painting," Alice nodded. There was some shade of disappointment in her tone. Perhaps she'd expected more than what was to be expected.
16th October, 1981.
The first day passed with casting repair- and cleaning spells, and brewing doxicide. The two witches took upon themselves the refurnishing of their living quarters and sent their husbands to do shopping for potions and meals. To avoid unwanted attention, they had already exchanged several thousand galleons to muggle pounds back at Diagon Alley, which they (incrementally, and with frequent changes of disguise) converted for muggle Schillings, which now they had to sell for the local wizarding currency that's name and ratio Frank couldn't ever memorize. James supposed his headache was just a result of resisting the entire relocation, as he never experienced such on himself.
The two boys only understood that they now had an enormous playroom just for themselves, and cared little that it had once been used as a briefing room, and a dance hall before that. Nobody cared if they threw their toys all around the plush carpet.
At home, Sirius was trying to come up with a plan to get back into the house at Grimmauld Place. Even though he'd spent his childhood there, surrounded by all the blood-snobs of Slytherin, he couldn't recall the family tree clearly enough to tell if maybe he had a Grindelwald in his ancestry. There was a sister of his (great?) – great – grandfather who married somewhere on the Continent, but he didn't know her name. A name he could look up in a tome of Nature's Nobility, which also had to be somewhere in the house...
Eventually he decided asking the only pureblood he trusted. Wormtail claimed he only had time to meet in the afternoon, because he had some Order-related business, but Padfoot knew that a second breakfast of double omelette and a box of muggle confectionaries could lure the little rat out from anywhere.
In all honesty, Peter really needed a second breakfast, and a third one as well. The way he looked, he must have taken a Cruciatus or three since the last time they had talked.
"I bet you couldn't resist the rat poison your muggle neighbours left around," Sirius attempted a joke.
"I swear I drank blood replenishing potion afterwards!"
Padfoot just rolled his eyes and pointed at the table he'd set.
While Peter was eating his share, Sirius wondered how to interrogate him with the least offense. He'd been told not to tell about Prongs' hiding place to anyone, he couldn't ask about access to Nurmengard without mentioning its name. Then it occurred to him that the Potters had been considering the Fidelius with Dumbledore as the secret-keeper, and this offered the perfect excuse. He told his fellow Marauder that they had moved to a pureblood family's abandoned property, and then verbatim repeated what he'd been told about the blood connections and the wards.
"You're too vague, Padfoot. It'd help a lot if you told me whose property it is," mused the little rat.
"I would, but only Dumbledore can."
"Describe?"
Sirius shook his head. He'd just realised that the entire search would be in vain, for if his family had any bonds to Grindelwald, his parents would surely have boasted about it. There was no way for him getting in, if not with the headmaster's help. Ironically, he was in the same shoes as Lily, the muggle-born.
"Do you think that's the same place Alice vanished?" Peter queried.
"Alice Lovegood vanished?!"
"Not your squib ex, you looser!" Peter laughed. "Is there a name with which you haven't had a girl yet?"
Sirius laughed along, but noted that's exactly why 'looser' doesn't apply to him.
Only after seeing Peter out did it occur to him that he'd never mentioned Alice (and Frank and Neville) leaving along with the Potters.
After disapparating from Sirius's flat, Pettigrew was wondering about the other half of the puzzle. If Dumbledore is the sole person who can tell whose place the two families disappeared to, would it be wise to inform the Dark Lord? He wouldn't be pleased, considering Dumbledore is the only wizard he feared. Eventually, he decided three Cruciatuses were enough for a day, and he didn't want to hear about the wizarding war for a while.
The two wizards returning from their shopping could barely recognize the castle on the mountain: its gloomy black was changed for a lighter tone of grey with highlights of tasteful sodalite blue.
"Looks like your wife was bored," noted Frank.
"She'd make McGonagall proud," agreed James. "Flap those wings, Sneaky! Show off what you can do!"
"Hurry, Dame! Let's get home before James!"
The two hippogriffs soared towards the lonely building and the third member of their small flock. Sneaky was the Potters' wedding gift from the Pettigrew family, de facto mount of Lily most of the time, while Dame (and the third beast, Goldess) were official, trained service mounts of the Auror Corps. The chestnut-feathered mare now greeted the other two with cheery squawks and squeaks.
17th October, 1981.
The day promised to be as quiet as the previous one. James was flying on his broom above the mountain ridge, from where he could apparate straight home to Britain. He'd managed to sit still this long (and Lily honestly appreciated all his effort) but now it was time for him to get back into action again.
Frank was staying home this day. Moody told the auror family in no-nonsense tone that he's only letting them back into service if either of them remains with Neville, and Alice had already flown out with Goldess early in the morning, leaving childcare duties to her husband. And Frank gallantly offered to keep an eye on not only his own son, but on Harry as well. After months of hiding, he considered himself qualified enough in casting nappy-cleaner spells.
Lily was (not for the first time) looking at what must have been the library once, but all she found were empty shelves with dust and soot. As far as she knew, Bagshot's great-nephew was an intelligent and well-read dark wizard who must have assembled great knowledge, even if she had so far failed to find as much as a torn flimsy of parchment. She had no idea how she could make the oh so intriguing wards accept her as an inhabitant without even reading how they worked.
Every once in the while her gaze fell on rectangular burn-marks on the walls. Most likely, the books had been destroyed along with the portraits after the battle in Berlin. Such nonsensical destruction pained her even if it's just a dark family. But then, who in the world could call dear Professor Bagshot dark? She hoped to find something of her, for example.
In one turn of the corridor, a matted black wall greeted her. She noted how strange this was, considering all the transfiguration spells she'd cast the other day. Those were meant to be effective here as well, unless this area had extra protection in addition to those wards she had already met. Which could only mean...
She was aware she shouldn't go on. But knowledge lured her upwards, knowledge that was still present inside the castle even if not in any of the books. Without hesitation, she took the gloomy black staircase up to the sole, matted tower.
There was a thick door at the upper landing, with nothing more than a gazing-hole, covered with a cold piece of iron. When she pulled the cover lid aside (it moved with a screech, perhaps for the first time in several years) it revealed a tiny hatch, no wider than her palm.
She didn't know what she expected to find, but an emaciated, wrinkled old man in a grey shirt and trousers was not how she'd imagined the greatest dark wizard of the century.
Grindelwald was standing at the opposite wall, his head low, only looking up at Lily's shy 'Hello.' His gaze was odd: the right eye was unnaturally blue, almost white, while the left one was staring at her with a dark shade of brown.
"I'm impressed by your courage, young lady," the host eventually said, followed with a sad smile. "I have no idea what you seek in a building robbed of all it once had held, but may you find it here."
Lily blinked twice. A polite greeting wasn't what she'd expected from a wizard rumoured to be way more devilish than Voldemort, despite he clearly was beyond his prime. Well, if Albus Dumbledore defeats someone, he's defeated for good.
"Refuge," she replied. "Two families, two boys of fifteen months. At home, the name of the wizard after their blood was made a taboo. I don't know how long we'll have to stay." After a moment, she continued, "We don't intend to abuse your inability to throw us out. I suppose we're all too irritating with all the singing sweets and childcare creams, and..."
"STAY!" It sounded like an order, even though the wizard added "please," almost like an afterthought. His step towards the door was frighteningly quick, even if it was a single step. That wasn't what Lily expected from a man of almost a hundred years. His agility terrified her, and so did that commanding voice. And so did the fact he was trying to gain her trust, all at the same time. Him being locked in a solitary cell for thirty-six years didn't help that first impression.
"We'll stay, because we have nowhere else to go. Besides, the wards wouldn't consider letting me out, personally."
"That makes the two of us," came the reply. "I enchanted this building so well that not even I can break its defences. But if you take the stairs down to the marble globe, take the corridor to your right, by the dragon mosaic you'll find my former private room. I guess, even the ink holder had been taken from there, but not the work desk, that's unmovable. Point your wand at it, and repeat what you've just told me. If it isn't destroyed completely, the wards should answer."
The witch considered her options. Maybe there was some trick with repeating the same words by a closed door and then by an open one? If so, she wasn't so eager to see Grindelwald's accidental release. But her entire point coming up here was to make the wards accept her...
"Marble globe," echoed her, " right corridor, dragon mosaic, unmovable workdesk. Thank you."
"And wand. I was careful not to let an unarmed prisoner damage anything."
'Great job,' thought Lily. She couldn't have come up with a solution more ironic than keeping Grindelwald in with his own enchantments.
"I guess I know what you're thinking, young lady. I've accepted my fate. That door between us stays locked forever, and I'm grateful you hold down your righteous disdain of me."
'Just quit pretending you're harmless,' the witch thought, 'when I know you're anything but.'
"Once I'm in your room, would you like me to fetch anything?"
"I doubt there's anything untaken. But a cleaner blanket would be welcome."
"I'm sure I'll find something," she promised, and leaving the tiny hatch uncovered, she hurried down the hundred-something stairs.
By the time she found the marble globe (obscene marks etched in it, on the ruins of a once-elegant sofa) she wasn't so sure. The mosaic that was supposedly of dragons, only had four lizard-like heads and a single clawed forefoot.
Yet the room which Grindelwald had referred to as his private was in a surprisingly good condition. There was the workdesk, a bed, two wardrobes, a bookshelf with still-existing books... Obviously there had to be individual enchantments keeping them in place, making it too tedious to break them all. Perhaps if she touched anything, she'd die on the spot in horrible pain.
She took out her wand and pointed it at the workdesk.
"I, Lily Potter, born Lilyan Evans, seek refuge for myself, for my son Harry James Potter, for my husband James Fleamont Potter, and also for Alice, Neville and Frank Longbottom. Also, I'd like to take that blanket up to the master of the house."
She'd expected the desk to do something spectacular, or that it'd demand her blood for acceptance, but all that she saw were a few characters lighting up on the surface of the wood before the blanket flew into her hand as if she'd summoned it.
It was dark purple, mostly made of silk. Such an everyday object, belonging to such a historical person, she mused. Just like many other such items, like the one under which James sleeps, although its decorative embroidery was much richer. So this is what a mass murderer wrapped himself with between burning down cities. This is what that same mass murderer will sleep under again, because him being unable to die on his own doesn't mean he wouldn't be cold at nights. She also checked the patterns: there was nothing figurative or personal, just perfectly identical geometrical shapes with a thread only one shade lighter than the fabric itself.
Casting one last look at the room, her gaze fell on the silver moonscope that was miraculously still working – it indicated the full moon which was due this night.
The wards, so far, didn't react to her taking the blanket in the other way, towards the canteen were she planned to give it a closer look. Maybe those would only react if she tried to smuggle it out of the castle? But why would she do that?
Then it occurred to her that was exactly what she would have to do. The hatch was too small to fit the blanket through, but she recalled a narrow window. She'd have to go that way, the witch decided. But before doing so, she searched the blanket twice again, to make sure she's not passing in anything else.
She found nothing. Well, she happened upon a trace of transfigurations on the shorter side, but there hadn't been anything there for decades. For who knows how long (how frequently do warlords dispose of their bedware?) a rather powerful wand had been spelled into the fabric every night, and been taken out upon waking. Convenient, she noted, and Grindelwald had been defeated in a duel, meaning he had never been caught unaware in his sleep. In a war, lives could depend on having your wand always at the ready.
Lily folded the blanket and summoned her Comet-630 on which she flew through a window that had been without a glass sheet for too many years.
The window she headed to was so narrow that an adult could never fit through it, no matter how thin he'd become. But it was perfectly wide for the blanket.
"May I ask something, Mr Grindelwald? What was the spell with which you had tied your wand into the edge? It looks intriguing."
"My dearest only visitor, call me Gellert. Of the two of us, it's you who can do whatever she pleases. Are you familiar with the Sartorius spell?"
"Fine, but then, just call me Lily," replied the guest. "Lily Potter."
"Potter? Related to the pure family living in the main street of Godric's Hollow? Who made fifty thousand galleons per year with a hair soothing potion?"
"That's my husband's family, all right. You remember them, from so many years ago? Professor Bagshot told me you visited once, back when Professor Dumbledore was young."
"In 1899," replied the wizard. She'd caught some wild glow in that almost white blue eye of his. Was that impatience? "You want to learn magic or not?"
"Want."
"The Sartorius, or as I was taught, der Schneidersspruch, will temporarily sever the structure of a fabric, but without a counterspell, it would soon close back seamlessly. How about Palmespiegel?
"Nope." Lily changed position on her Comet-630, but with or without cushioning spells, holding up a conversation on a broom levitating by a small window was anything but comfortable. But keeping a wand close could save her son's or husband's lives! Not to mention the possibility of those two keeping their glasses close with the same method.
"You cast it on your own palm, the wand movement is something like this..." He clumsily drew a W in the air. "Simpler spells cast from close can be reflected with it. A stronger hex could take your hand down, so don't try replacing a Protego with it. But it's good enough to then cast a softening spell on your own wand."
"And you've tied the softened wand into your blanket with the Sartorius! And how did you get it out in the mornings?"
Grindelwald was eager to explain it all. For thirty-six years, Lily was the first person to show any interest in what he had to say, and she also was a quick learner. Not to mention, her husband belonged to a family in Godric's Hollow, and now that he thought of it, the ancestors tended to live considerably long on the male side.
Meaning, he had his reasons to keep up the conversation as long as he could.
James returned worn and irritated in the evening, and Alice was walking in circles all around the children's huge plush carpet like a caged predator.
"Something is in the making," she repeated again and again.
"And we can't even tell Moony where to look for us!"
"And where is he?"
"In Scotland with some pack. All he could tell is that a death eater will pick them up tonight. Edgar Bones is in the Ministry, watching portkey activity, while the Order is standing ready to protect all possible targets. Remus is tracked with a beacon spell and a Homunculus."
"...which only works until moonrise," Lily noted.
"I told him we should stay, but Moody wouldn't let us."
"He ordered you to take me home," Alice explained.
"Fine!" Frank exclaimed. "I'm asking you to take me back then, instead! Alice, you can barely stand, no matter how you're hiding it. I've done nothing all day but casting Scurgify every twenty minutes."
"Dinner first, then you can go." Lily decided. "James, have you told them?"
"Not yet," her husband mused, "but maybe I should. Frank, Alice, I want your word that you won't mention this to anyone without my explicit permission."
"What? All right."
"You have my word."
James stood next to the dinner table, put his chair a little further to make space for himself. In a single moment, he was replaced by a deer with full antlers on his proudly held head. Then he changed back and quickly summed up why he needed to learn Animagi at school, but he didn't mention any other wizards involved. He also didn't tell about the memorable occasion when the full moon found the in Hogsmeade when Peter wouldn't leave Honeydukes in time.
After dinner, the fathers sang a song to their children each, then they saddled their mounts.
"Good luck, dear!"
"Take care!"
"Dadadadadad!"
"Byee!"
Later, Alice noted, "Everybody wants to go to battle with a wave-off like this. How was your day, Lily?"
"Eventful. I learnt a new spell, but so far, I'm only practicing it with simple twigs. I'll show you later."
"Something happened," noted the auror. "I see it in your eyes."
"I'm just worried about everyone we left home. And for our husbands."
"There will be plenty of them to stop the werewolves. Hey, Remus won't be hurt, if that's worrying you."
"He's my best friend among those not my husband. But maybe that's the problem. If I had to coordinate dozens of death eaters, I would plan an attack for tonight when the entire Order is focused elsewhere."
"You're too blatantly muggle-raised," replied Alice. "During full moons, everybody is holed up at home, careful not to let a family member get bitten. Lycanthropy is a horrible stigma, Lily. I know you like Remus, and so do I, but I wouldn't risk having to howl along with him. Believe me."
"Fine. I'm still worried about our husbands."
18th October, 1981.
Both husbands returned in one piece. James got a few scratches, but he swore he'd been through worse and lycanthropy can't take in a stag's body. Despite that, the Longbottoms asked him not to go near their son twenty-eight days later.
"First let's just live that long," replied James.
But Lily was right. While everybody was focused on the main pack, a single werewolf had managed to wound the seven-year-old daughter of Andromeda Tonks, Sirius's cousin's child.
"We know not what Taboo-Named wanted," finished James his recount. "Some say he wanted to punish the girl's aunt Bellatrix for some mistake. Some say it was Bella's idea to start with. That witch is wicked."
"A menace," nodded Frank.
"And Remus?"
"Fine. We managed to find him with the homing charm and keep him away from the battle. He says he'll take Nymphadora in, since he's already experienced with the furry trouble. They only have to figure out the full moon times, but I'm sure Ted will come up with something."
"I must have missed it, why can't she go wherever Remus goes when he's not spying?"
"Remus was five when Greyback bit him, and next month, little Remus turned into a huge adult wolf. If an infected witch and wizard are together for the full moon... Well, we won't let it happen to a girl who hasn't even started Hogwarts yet."
Frank gruffly nodded.
"And I told Albus we're not abandoning Moony for another full moon," stated James. "If he'd treated him as a human until now, he should not exile him to the wolves."
Lily nodded. "But next time, it'll be my turn going when I have to. I haven't sat at home less than you did, James. And don't give me that look, I told you I'd figure out the wards. I have."
21st October, 1981
'Next time' came sooner than they expected. The four adults were just getting ready for breakfast after feeding their sons, when a lizard-shaped patronus landed on their table.
"The Weasley's Burrow is under siege!"
This time, it was Frank Longbottom who acted first (despite Alice's displeased arguments that it was her turn now) while James had to honour his promise and let Lily go along. Dame and Sneaky flew out with their riders, and soon disappeared from the crisp morning sky.
The Patronus message didn't prepare them for the turmoil they arrived to. Perhaps ten Order members were fighting the death eaters. Emmeline Vance and some other quidditch players were zig-zagging around colourful spells, while an inferno roared in the house's kitchen. And they all looked sleepy, as if the alarm had found them in bed. 'Jet lag,' Lily recalled. She and Frank were an entire hour ahead of the other defenders. She checked if her shrunk broom was sutured into her sleeve the way she'd learnt, then trusted Sneaky to take her into the middle of the fray.
The stealy-feathered hippogriff stormed down a group of cloaked – masked figures, while the disillusionment and shield charms gave him considerable protection. He'd also been trained, just like the Auror service mounts, to recognize the killing curse's incantation, and attack while ducking at the same time.
A little further Inspector Moody was throwing curses with two wands at a time.
"Into the house, Lily! The wards must be rebuilt before it all burns down, that's your specialty! Go, hurry!"
"Yes, sir! Sneaky, drop left!"
The hippogriff, who'd been ignoring weight- and hand signals (this was something you can never teach to a broom) now took a sharp turn left, and almost landed on the charred first floor.
"Protego aqualis!" Lily conjured a shield out of water, which she then spinned around the dragon- and manticore-headed inferno. "Around the building, Sneaky! Yes, higher! Protego aqualis!"
While conjuring the second water shield, she spotted another group of hooded figures on the far side of the structure, in the garden of stampeded mandrakes. It looked like Voldemort himself was there, and the Order's barely-awake members were trying to keep him from entering the house. Unlike them, Voldemort was wide awake and he threw three curses at a time while also conjuring a fire snake and torching a wand, perhaps that of Gideon Prewett.
"Sneaky, let me off! Go and help secure the wounded!"
The hippogriff obediently landed in a soaked nursery, then flapped his wings again – and completely vanished from Lily's sight. Instead of smeared outlines against the dawning horizon, it looked like there was nothing in the sky.
"Sneaky!"
The hippogriff was nowhere.
A bludgeoning spell crashed Lily's shield charm, its reddish bubble glowed up, then diffused. She quickly recast it, followed by flame-freezing and watering spells, while she hurried down to the kitchen.
The Weasley couple were doing everything they could to save the house that was a safe haven for the entire Order to return to. The building itself still seemed relatively safe, but the shed, gardens and quidditch field, anything outside the core wards, were now an open battlefield.
"What happened?"
"Fred wouldn't believe there was a taboo on Very Mean's name! And tried it!" growled Arthur.
"He's only three, none of this is fhis fault!" Molly declared.
"The boys?"
"All of them safe over at Muriel's. So is Ginny."
"All right! Show me the rune holder, I'll try something new. The old wards were broken with the taboo."
Meanwhile, the battle outside only grew more desperate. A second wave of warriors arrived to both sides, witches and wizards who took time to drink a coffee before coming. Voldemort was (finally!) taken on by Albus Dumbledore, the sole wizard whose path the Dark Lord was careful not to cross. The aged headmaster waved an end to the inferno in the house, then he made the death eaters fly several dozen yards backwards.
"We did enough! Retreat!" yelled Voldemort.
In a matter of minutes, only the dead, the wounded, and the Order's singed survivors remained around the charred Burrow. Next to a nearby bush, a mother was crying over the lifeless corpse of her adult son. Lily immediately recognized her: it was Augusta Longbottom. She forced herself not to stare: she had to carve the final runes into the rune table and finish the new wards.
"We should take the wounded inside before He Who Won't Be Named changes his mind," instructed Edgar Bones.
Small groups were formed, within each there was one person casting first aid spells while the others levitated the wounded. The Weasleys were handing out bottles of healing potions. Lily went to search for her loyal hippogriff, but all she found was, still under disillusionment, a very feathery body.
A little further away a disemboweled death eater was screaming that this wasn't what the Dark Lord had promised. Lily recognized the voice of a spoilt pureblood three years younger than her, and silenced young Crouch with a Stupify.
"Lily, come, Marley needs you!"
She looked around only to see Molly Weasley stepping on a cursed stone in the garden. Dark red flashed out from inside the granite, turning the young mother into a fistful ashes in front of her eyes.
It was late afternoon by the time she was done defusing all the traps in the yard and the garden. Every then and now she would hear exclamations of who died and who was taken by the aurors. At least, nobody was missing from their own. Then she just sat down on the grass, staring in front of her. Frank Longbottom, Sneaky, Molly Prewett... That cool Hufflepuff girl with that loud laugh. When someone put a bowl of warm soup in her hands, she only cast a poison-detecting spell and seeing the three green sparks, she ate it without even checking what it was or who it came from.
Of the death eaters, two purebloods had fallen, and some speculated that this would turn the ratios in their favour in the Wizengamot. Having Barty Crouch's son in custody promised a scandal, and Moody promised to make sure that the press will get its share before Head of Department would silence them.
The rain started, and Dumbledore suggested that those not involved in the Burrow's reconstruction could move to his brother's inn at Hogsmeade.
Lily declined the invitation. It was time for her to go home anyway. "Alice... Will Alice hear it from me?"
Albus was about to inform her that he'd already sent out the letters with his phoenix, but Moody interrupted him:
"Tell her that she should under no circumstance come to the funeral!"
"Maybe under James's cloak?"
"Under nobody's cloak! I have no idea where she is, her sister doesn't know where she is, not even Augusta does, and that's how it should be. Those boys MUST live to adulthood, you hear me?"
"I'm afraid Alastor is right," agreed Dumbledore. At least, he stayed back while the others started disapparating. Arthur himself took a portkey to Muriel, to tell his seven children that their mother was no more.
"How's the refuge?" asked the headmaster while Lily freed her hidden broom from her sleeve and enlarged it to its original size.
"Except that Neville's father just died? All perfect." The witch looked around, finding some survivors still lingering. A few of the wounded couldn't be apparated to any inn, and the Mungo's was a perilous place these days where people could only be sent under a disguise. "We live. Our host commented on your less than frequent visits, not quite with these words."
"...and then, he started asking about you, but then Peter showed up with a basketful of potion ingredients, and an elf brought some message, so I didn't have time to tell about scourgifying you yesterday."
"What sort of cloak is that under which you intended to smuggle Alice to her husband's funeral?"
"An old thing James got from his dad. Family heirloom."
"And Albus refuses to give it back?"
"He's very right not to give it back!" Lily declared. "Nev's dad just died, and you're suggesting his mother should join him?"
"No... You're right. It was stupid to even ask."
Lily sighed.
"There's no stupid question from a wizard without anyone to ask for thirty-six years."
"What's Albus like? I mean, his appearance? Long hair, sparky eyes, I suppose he'd grown his beard by now?"
"Sparky eyes, that's it. His hair is entirely white by now, nice, wavy. And he has a pet phoenix."
"I know about the phoenix."
A child's sobbing cries came from several stories below.
"I must go. If Neville started it, Harry will join him in a minute."
"But of course. Thank you for the recount."
Lily leaned forward on her broom and spiralled down around the black tower, towards the boys' room in the castle.
22nd October, 1981
The night brought a snowstorm. Alice was pacing up and down (instead of her lost husband, Lily guessed) while her fellow witch was chopping swallowwort on a plastic cutting board for blood replenishing potion. She couldn't quite wrap her mind around this, but plastic seemed to bring out a plant's magical effects better than a wooden board could.
"Lily, whatever happens, you must promise me that you'd raise Neville as your own."
"No. I'm not giving you any promise after which you'd go and get yourself killed after Frank."
"You cannot understand! Your husband lives."
"And what do you think, why? I told him that one year after him leaving me alone, I'd marry a death eater."
"And which death eater do you plan marrying, if I may ask?"
"The threat wouldn't have worked if it was an empty bluff, you know that."
"Speak."
"No."
"Hi, ladies. Have you seen the thestral?" James joined them, only a few seconds too late to hear the discussion. Or maybe he'd been eavesdropping the entire time.
There wasn't much to see in the grey clouds, if not for a dark spot flying over the snowy peaks, but it looked like a lone animal approaching Nurmengard. He was familiar with the breed, and Alice had once mentioned how uncomfortable their backs can be. But for Lily, it might have been the first time to see the death-horse.
As the beast flew closer, its skeletal shape became clear. Alice shrugged and turned back to folding the boys' clothes. Lily abandoned the halfway chopped plants and hurried down to the stable (once entry hall) where the hippogriffs had been housed.
The absence of Sneaky and Dame broke her heart. Goldess gave her a curious look before dropping down on the fresh straw.
The stable's doorwings opened to admit a young thestral stallion from the hailstorm. Lily quickly closed the door behind him, and only then did she give the newcomer a closer look.
Until now she'd only seen thestrals on drawings. In reality, those opalesque eyes resembled more like a dense cloud of mist, like fog over a cemetery. There were no muscles to be seen under the dragon-like skin; however, there was a letter tied to the mane, which wasn't shown in any of the artworks. She quickly untied it.
The animal sniffed her hand, then shook himself, covering the witch in snow. When the letter was finally out of his mane, he moved on to mutually sniff each other with Goldess as well. The auror mount didn't seem to be disturbed by his presence.
The letter was from Professor McGonagall, Lily's favourite teacher.
'Dearest Lily,
We were all shocked to hear the news of the Battle at the Burrow. It's so horrible. Thank you for coming to our defence even in your exile. I'm saddened that I couldn't be there myself, and can't help the feeling I might have saved a life... Yet Albus keeps telling me, I could have also lost a life, too. The house is fully restored by now, but it can't again become a home without Molly.
The thestral's called Armin. Hagrid asked if I could find him a new home, as he always gets into fights with the other stallions. Please take him in, even though he'll never replace the hippogriff you've lost. If you let him out to hunt every day, he won't be much trouble.
I've enclosed another letter, be so kind and pass it to Alice. And thank you for not letting her come to the funeral.
Take care of yourselves!
Minnie'
The other envelope was thick, perhaps with photographs. Of Frank's funeral and Molly's memorial service.
Armin rubbed himself in the straw, then helped himself at the self-refilling water bucket. He dropped down, then, spread his snow-sludged wings, and only lifted his head when Lily addressed him. He had a few owl treats, then fell asleep in the stable's middle.
