I hold the time turner in my hands, staring down dully at the fine gold surface of the chain and the turner itself, knowing that I must look like a man entranced. I stroke an index finger across the surface, almost shyly; I am afraid. I know what I am going to do and I cannot stop myself, but I am shaking. Can I really go through with it?

Two hours ago, Lily and James Potter died defending their infant son from the attack of the Dark Lord, and their names passed into legend. As simply and purely as that, a fine magic has transmuted them from living beings into bywords, into headlines, into stories. There will be no forgetting this for anyone in the wizarding world, not for a long time. Their names and the name of their son, his life, their valiant struggle to protect him, all of that will roll from the tongues of wizards for generations to come, all of that will be preserved – but something so fragile and important has been lost that I barely understand how the world continues to turn.

I need to see her, alive again. I need to see her one more time. I cannot bear to go on without doing it. But I am afraid: afraid that I will find myself returning at last to this time and place, holding the time turner in my hands, and turning it again and again until I no longer exist – turning it for the rest of time, following her through her whole life and watching every exquisite moment a hundred times. I am afraid that I will not be able to stop.

More than that. I am afraid of the fact that I am standing here in this moment, making this decision. What has come to pass may not fail to pass, no matter how many times I go back to see it. I could turn this dial back two hours and live those last moments until the end of my own life, and it would change nothing.

I am afraid of the fact that I am going to be there when Lily dies, and I am not going to save her.

With one last deep, shaking breath, I stir into action, into life once more: grasping the turner firmly, I spin it around with no more hesitation, taking me back four bittersweet hours. The scene barely changes, but then I turn and look at the house. It is whole still, like the family inside it, and nothing remains of the destruction that I turned my back on only a few moments ago.

I am in plain sight, at the side of the road, so my first act is to hide: the Potters' neighbours have a tree house in their back garden, and it is unoccupied. With little difficulty I secrete myself inside it, and it is only a moment's work to cast a simple charm that will allow me to see and hear Lily as if she were right next to me. Dear god, how I wish she was right next to me.

It is a simple family scene which greets my hungry eyes and ears. Lily holds her son, playfully bouncing him on one hip and humming nonsense sounds. Her fine red hair sways from side to side slightly as she moves, captivating me completely. I want to be there, in that scene, joining her as the final piece of the family... but that is something I gave up a long time ago at any rate, and no matter what happens – or has happened – tonight, my chance is gone.

I know that; still, I can't help feeling something wrench inside the pit of my stomach as James steps into view, taking the baby from her and planting a small kiss on her forehead. That man that I grew up hating, that man who was everything I ever hated about school and being a teenager, now has everything I wanted. If she had been with me, if she had accepted my love of the dark arts and become one of us, she would have been safe. I could have protected her, sheltered her from all of this horrible business, and when it was all over and Lord Voldemort ruled over us she would have been proud to be the wife of a Death Eater. I would not have had to betray the Dark Lord, and I would be faced with the prospect of being labelled 'traitor' for the rest of my life, as I am now... but why do I torture myself like this? There is no way of avoiding everything that has already come to pass.

I am torturing myself by even being here, in the past. The seconds fly by far too quickly, giving way to minutes and then steadily, inexorably, to hours. I watch Lily move around the house, performing simple chores, checking on a potion that is being prepared in the kitchen... it is agony to watch. Their minds are full of nothing more than the moment, what needs to be done now; they are thinking of preparing for another skirmish, perhaps, waiting for someone to call and tell them that something has happened. They do not look as if they are in the middle of a wizarding war. They look happy.

Lily smiles freely as she turns to watch James, sitting on a comfortable chair with the baby in his arms, at ease. The ring on her finger catches a glimpse of light and throws the reflection back at me as she moves towards him, as if I needed one more reminder that she is his and not mine.

All too soon I see the Death Eaters arrive. I see myself, my pathetic, squirming self, trying to convince Lord Voldemort one last time that Lily need not die. Stupid words. Waste of breath. I should have known that she would never allow the destruction of her family to take place while she stood to one side, anyway; how could James and the baby die and she still live?

Inside the house, there is suddenly something more of tension in the air. The magical activity in the area – the arrival of the Death Eaters – cannot have gone unnoticed to them, and the baby is whimpering softly as if uncomfortable. I cannot keep my eyes in one place; open-mouthed, I glance from Lily and James inside the house back to the Death Eaters, to myself, outside of the house. I was there exactly four hours ago; I know what is about to happen. I've seen it all already. Still, I cannot look away.

The Death Eaters rush the house, bursting in with wands blazing, and James quickly hands the baby over to Lily as he takes out his own wand. The serious looks on their faces are enough to tell me that they know exactly who is paying them a visit.

James begins to mutter spells as Lily does, waving the wand with her free hand, preparing barriers and wards to buy themselves a little time. They know that they will be outnumbered; perhaps they do not know yet just how overwhelmingly so, but their preparations are smart. If it had been only a small group of Death Eaters sent to deal with a couple of meddlesome wizards in the Dark Lord's way, perhaps those preparations would have been enough to make a difference... but this is full-scale war, every force Lord Voldemort can muster to wipe out this threat to his domination of the wizarding world.

The fight is short, and brutal. Though the Potters struggle valiantly, though James tries with all his might to stop them and protect his wife and child, their ferocity and sheer numbers are too much for him. Their...? What am I saying? The correct word is 'our'. I am a part of this. I am a facilitator of this awful mess, and before I can swallow the bile rising into my throat at that thought, James is dead. Lily screams, and the look on her face will haunt me for the rest of my days. She loved James, that much is clear beyond all doubt, and her heart was ripped in two as he fell to the ground. Just as mine... just as mine.

It is trying to protect the baby, in the end, that finished her. If there had been no child, perhaps James would have been able to hold them off as she fled. If the boy was older and able to cast a few charms for himself, so much the better. But a baby? A defenceless, mewling, writhing thing that must be held at all times? How can someone hope to make their escape with one hand and throw back distractions with their other if one of those hands is already full?

I watch myself, stupid, cowardly man, hiding behind my mask and robe, letting it all happen. I stand there and I do nothing. Why won't I do something? Why did I not raise a hand to help her? I can see that she is crying, that she is running out of strength! Why did I not move to save her life?

I raise a hand now, almost involuntarily, reaching out with my wand and aiming towards her, beginning to mutter protection spells under my breath. It is only when Voldemort happens to glance towards the window, towards my hiding place, that I falter. Supposing I cast a spell, what then? I already know that it will not work, that it cannot work. Grinding my teeth in frustration and sorrow I finally let my hand drop back down to my side. The only thing I can ensure by trying to help now, when it is too late, is the other Death Eaters realising that I have been turned traitor all this time. Anything I could possibly do would only make the situation worse.

When Lily falls for the second time, turning my heart into stone inside me and casting it down into the pit of my stomach, I can only stare at her lifeless face, her eyes still open and staring, before turning away and climbing down from the treehouse as quietly as I can. I do not need to see the rest; Voldemort trying to kill the baby and destroying himself instead, the confusion and panic, the flight of the Death Eaters with only myself remaining behind. The neighbours in the street calling the police, the sirens blaring down the road towards us, the confusion once again. It is all meaningless chaos. The person I came back to see is gone again.

It is too dangerous to walk out into the street now – with so many faces pressed against windows I am bound to be seen, and that will confuse the investigation even further than it already must be. I do not need a warrant out for my arrest, even if it is unlikely that I will be wandering around Muggle areas in the near future. I slip into the shadows at the back of the garden, where I cannot be seen by myself from the treehouse, and with a deep sigh take the time turner in my hands again. Even though I know that there is nothing to gain from it, even though I know that all I am doing is torturing myself, I steadily turn it over one – then twice – and lift my head again to look for a new vantage point.

(1928)