Chapter 3: The Quiet Mark of Sacrifice

The summer after Hogwarts passed in a blur of new beginnings and bittersweet farewells. Lily Evans settled into her small flat in Cokeworth, just a few streets away from where she had grown up. It was supposed to be a fresh start—free of the weight of school, expectations, and the memories that lingered too closely in the shadows.

For a while, life felt normal. Or at least, she managed to convince herself it was. She spent her days brewing simple potions for a nearby apothecary, her talent with ingredients keeping her occupied. James visited often, his carefree charm a welcome distraction, though she couldn't help but notice the way his eyes lingered on her wand whenever she performed even the simplest spell.

The first sign came late one night as she sat at her desk, scribbling notes for a custom potion order. Her quill twitched in her hand, the movement subtle but unsettling. She frowned, setting it aside, only for it to lift again of its own accord. A faint glow—soft, silvery, and all too familiar—shimmered at its tip before fading.

Lily stared at the quill, her heart pounding. "It's nothing," she whispered aloud, her voice trembling. "Just tired."

But the signs didn't stop.

Weeks turned into months, and Lily noticed the changes more often. Her magic felt different—unpredictable. Simple charms flickered or faltered entirely, while other spells surged with more power than she intended. Once, while levitating a stack of books, they shot into the air with such force that they nearly cracked the ceiling. Another time, her Accio charm summoned not only the intended object but half the furniture in the room.

James noticed too, though he didn't say anything outright. Instead, he hovered, always watching, always ready to step in when her magic misbehaved. It wasn't until her wand sparked during a routine cleaning charm—nearly igniting the curtains—that he finally spoke.

"Lily," he said gently, taking the wand from her trembling hands. "You can't keep pretending this is normal."

She pulled away, wrapping her arms around herself. "I don't know what's happening," she admitted. Her voice was quiet, almost a whisper. "But it's fine. It'll...it'll sort itself out."

James didn't argue, but the look in his eyes told her he didn't believe her.

When Lily discovered she was pregnant, the disturbances in her magic changed. The chaos quieted, replaced by something more subtle yet undeniably powerful. Her spells no longer faltered, but strange things began to happen around her—things she couldn't explain.

Objects moved to shield her from harm. Once, when she tripped over the uneven cobblestones outside her flat, an invisible force cushioned her fall. Another time, a stray hex during a trip to Diagon Alley stopped midair, dissolving into harmless sparks before it could reach her.

At first, she thought it was a coincidence. But as the months passed, the pattern became clear. The magic wasn't hers—it was something else. Something tied to the life growing inside her.

She didn't tell James. He was already overprotective, fretting over every little thing, and she didn't want to give him another reason to worry. But deep down, she couldn't shake the feeling that the strange magic surrounding her was connected to the blood pact.

One night, near the end of her pregnancy, Lily woke suddenly, her heart racing. The room was dark, save for the faint moonlight filtering through the curtains. And yet, she felt it—the presence. It wasn't hostile, but it was heavy, tangible, and impossibly familiar.

She sat up, her hand instinctively resting on her swollen stomach. "Who's there?" she whispered, her voice trembling.

The air shifted, and for a brief moment, she saw him. Snape's spectral form stood at the foot of the bed, his expression unreadable. He didn't speak, but his eyes—dark and piercing—held hers with an intensity that made her throat tighten.

"What do you want?" she asked, though she already knew the answer.

The figure flickered, fading into the shadows. But as he disappeared, a single word echoed in her mind: *Protection.*

The realization hit her like a jinx to the chest. The blood pact wasn't finished. It had shifted, its focus no longer on her but on the child she carried. Snape's sacrifice, his magic, had tethered itself to her unborn son, ensuring his safety in ways she couldn't fully comprehend.

For the first time, Lily allowed herself to acknowledge the truth she had denied for so long. The pact was real, and it had changed the course of all their lives.

But as relief mingled with guilt, a new fear settled over her. If the pact had chosen Harry as its new focus, what would it demand from him—or from her—in return?

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