Life in hiding was difficult for the Potters, but they made do. James was lucky enough to be able to sneak out of the house in his invisibility cloak every few days, but Lily stayed mostly within the bounds of the Fidelius Charm, only borrowing James's cloak once or twice over the course of several months. She was glad that the charm extended to the Potters' small garden, where she sat most afternoons, watching Rosemary play happily in the dirt, while Harry observed from the safety of his walker.

Lily did what she could to occupy herself during this time. She wrote a lot of letters and even started writing the occasional letter to Petunia, who she knew had had a baby around the same time she'd had Harry. She and her sister had been more or less completely estranged since the death of their parents, and though she didn't expect that they would ever again have the relationship that they'd had when they were children, she hoped that they could gradually work their way back into one another's lives. Petunia seemed reluctantly responsive, and Lily took the hideous vase that Petunia had sent them for Christmas as a good sign.

With the rest of her all-too-extensive free time, Lily had tea with the handful of people who had access to the Potters' house, tidied up the constant messes left by her two-year-old daughter and baby son, and began working on a revised anthology of defensive charms. Understandably, then, she was excited one evening when James brought her back a present in the form of a large, fluffy orange cat with a squashed face. James told her that he'd found the bloody thing on the edge of town and that it had followed him all the way back home. Lily picked it up and cradled it, showing it to a delighted Rosemary and apprehensive Harry, before finally christening it "Pumpkin." James objected to the name on the grounds that it didn't make sense to give a nice name to such an ugly cat, but Lily was determined, and Pumpkin the cat was officially welcomed as the newest member of the Potter family.

After six months of hiding, however, the Potters' patience was starting to wear thin. Sirius came round one afternoon with a large box of Lily's old baby clothes that she'd sent him to pick up from her parents' old house, which she and Petunia had never actually sold. Dressing Harry, fortunately, wasn't too much of an issue, as he fit right into Rosemary's unisex hand-me-downs, but Rosemary had long outgrown the clothes Lily had bought her before they went into hiding, and there were only so many enlargement charms that could be placed on clothing before it started to fall apart.

"She's going to ruin all of those," Sirius said, looking at the growing pile of neat, frilly toddler clothes on the floor.

"You're probably right," said Lily with a hollow laugh. "But at least she'll look cute while they last. I do honestly wish my mum had saved more practical clothes though. I mean, almost half of these are white!"

"Yep, well, they won't be for long. They'll soon be covered with dirt, paint, food, juice, blood, guts, and who knows what else. By the way, why do they all have "Evans" sewn inside the collar?"

"I'm not sure. I think it was just something my mum picked up from my nana, because of course she lived back in the days when stealing clothes was a thing. Anyway, Padfoot, you haven't said anything about how things are going with the Order."

Sirius heaved a heavy sigh. "Things are bad. Really bad. Order members are dropping like flies. Dorcas Meadowes was found dead in her living room just last night."

Lily gasped. "What happened?"

"The neighbors say that Voldemort came for her himself," Sirius said. "By the looks of it, they dueled it out in the foyer, but I don't think it lasted long, and she was one of the most skilled witches the Order had. Then there's what happened to Edgar Bones and his whole family a few weeks ago-all of them murdered by Deatheaters in the middle of the night."

"Oh God," whispered Lily, tears welling in her eyes.

"They're sending me to Wales in a few days," continued Sirius. "Dumbledore's trying to recruit as many of the goblins out there to our side as he can. Not sure what good he thinks I'm going to do, goblins being the bloody pig-headed little sneaks that they are-one bribe from Voldemort and they'd all turn on us-but he has a whole bunch of us in different areas of the country trying to get more magical creatures on our side. Remus is currently up in the North somewhere trying to convince the werewolf community to follow someone other than Fenrir Greyback."

Lily nodded. "James mentioned that," she said. "God, I wish there was something that we could do to help."

Sirius met her eyes with great earnestness. "The best thing that you and James can do right now is keep your family safe," he said, "Merlin knows, some of us have to come out of this war alive."

Lily sighed. "Except it might not be worth surviving if Voldemort ends up in charge. We need a plan if we're to have any hope of winning this war. I just hope that Dumbledore has one."

...

Dumbledore showed up again almost a month before Harry's first birthday. Much to Lily and James's disappointment, he had little good news. The Order was no closer to destroying Voldemort, and on every front it seemed as though the Deatheaters were winning. Moreover, if he had a plan to win the war, he had no intention of disclosing it. Yet, Dumbledore insisted, they ought not lose hope. Despite the heavy losses that the Order had sustained, Voldemort would not-could not-win the war. And with this vague assurance, he left, taking James's invisibility cloak with him, which he expressed an interest in examining due to its peculiar qualities.

And with nothing to hold onto beyond the faint hope of survival, James and Lily were left to carry on.

...

Rosemary Potter, for the most part, was blissfully ignorant of the war that was being waged throughout the country and the particular danger that her own family was in. She was aware only of the fact that she was no longer allowed to go to the park and play with the other children, unless her father snuck her out under his special cloak. Otherwise, she was quite happy digging around in the dirt of their own garden, dressing her baby brother up as a fairy princess or a dragon or a big ugly troll (whatever suited her fancy), running around after the cat to try and pet it, and looking at the pictures in her parents' spell books.

She delighted, also, in her role as 'big sister,' and took great pains to explain to Harry exactly how things were done. For example, mud bonbons had to be round, and it was simply not acceptable for him to give her a fistful of dirt without squishing it up first. Moreover, dragons were red, not people-colored, and if he wanted to be a real dragon, he had to sit still while she put mummy's lipstick on his face. Her antics were usually messy, and frequently got the two of them into trouble, but she found consolation in the fact that when Lily sent them to sit in front of the wall as punishment, Harry would often toddle over to the other side of the room and sit down beside her.

Her favorite moments during these months, however, were when James would sit her on his lap before bedtime and tell her stories about famous witches and wizards and the magical adventures that they went on. Lily would listen with Harry from the kitchen, while James regaled Rosemary with the tales of Babbitty Rabbitty, the Three Brothers, and so many more, making sure to give each of the characters their own unique voice and expression. Occasionally, she was tired enough after a full day of running around that these stories would lull her to sleep in her father's arms, but more often than not they would give her a fresh burst of excitement, and she would ask James for his wand so that she could go around doing magic like the witches in the stories. The cat was never particularly thrilled about these nights, as he was always Rosemary's primary victim, and was all too often left with an electrified mane or a transfigured tail, which had to be put right by a laughing James before Rosemary was finally toted off to bed, but for the rest of the family, they were some of their happiest moments.

To all outward appearances, October 31st was one of these nights. James had just finished telling Rosemary the story of the Fountain of Fair Fortune, and she was running around the living room with her father's wand, climbing up imaginary hills and jumping across make-believe rivers. The tall, silent white figure approached the house without notice, and it was only when the cat started scratching at the door and meowing loudly that anyone realized that something was deeply wrong.

James got up and looked at the front door. Voldemort's pale white face seemed to look blindly out at him from the other side of the textured glass door panel. He froze.

"James? What is it?" Lily asked from the kitchen, her voice filled with worry.

"It's him," James said, barely audible. He took a deep breath and straightened himself. "It's him!" he repeated, louder, his voice quaking. "Lily, take Harry and run! I'll hold him off!"

Lily grabbed Harry from his high-chair and dashed up the stairs.

"Rosie!" James cried out, looking around the room frantically for his small daughter as the lock clicked and the door creaked open. "Rosie! Go upstairs! Now! Follow Mummy!"

Rosemary stood frozen in the corner of the living room, James's wand still clutched in her hand. She watched as her father frantically patted his pockets, swore loudly, and then raised his fists as the front door opened, the cat ran out, and the white figure glided through. The figure raised his wand and the green blast hit James in the chest in an instant. His body fell stiffly to the floor with a thump, and the figure walked over him and up the stairs, his face cold and expressionless. Rosemary screamed and ran over to her father.

She bent over and tried to shake him. "Daddy! Daddy! Get up! Get up!" she cried, her tiny voice filled with fear, but her father would never move again.

Still not quite understanding what was happening, Rosemary ran up the stairs after the figure and towards the nursery, where her mother was pleading with him.

"Not Harry!" cried her mother, "Not Harry! Please not Harry!"

"Stand aside, you silly girl," said the figure.

Rosemary ran into the room, her father's wand raised, and cried out, "Stop! Stop! Let Mummy go!"

Lily's eyes widened in horror as she saw her daughter. "Rosie, no!" she cried.

Voldemort gave a frustrated sigh and fired a jet of red light at the little girl. It hit Rosemary in the chest and she crumpled to the ground.

Lily screamed.

"Stand aside," Voldemort repeated. "Now!"

"No!" Lily cried, weeping. "Please! Have mercy!"

Voldemort laughed-a high-pitched, cold, cackling laugh. He raised his wand. "Very well," he said, and a jet of green light hit Lily's head, bringing a swift end to her screams.

He raised his wand once more at the little boy crying in the crib. The jet of green light hit him square on the forehead, but the curse backfired. The room exploded. Voldemort's wand clattered to the floor as his body disintegrated and dust and rubble covered everyone in the room, including the screaming child.

...

In those few minutes in the evening of October 31st, 1981, everything changed.

Lily and James Potter were dead. Harry Potter was alive. The Dark Lord was no more.

A few hours later, Harry was cleaned off and taken by Hogwarts groundskeeper Rubeus Hagrid to Number 4 Privet Drive, where he would be raised, reluctantly, by his aunt and uncle.

Rosemary's tiny body was found crumpled up under a pile of rubble near her mother. She wasn't breathing.

Two days later, Rosemary Euphemia Potter was buried next to her parents, her father's wand still clutched in her tiny fist.