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On the morning of October 31st, 1981, Lily Evans Potter awakens with a jolt. Her magic thrums under her skin, unbridled and wild, reminding her of when she was a child, making daffodils grow all over the kitchen floor; or of when she fought with Severus, the way it cackled and sizzled, and she had to keep herself from lashing out at him, even if she felt the roots of the whomping willow tremble to her will…or, perhaps, it reminds her of her first kiss with James, the way his smitten face made her giggle, and the warmth she felt spread over her body created flowers on his hair.
She can’t be sure, but something is happening—and her magic is warning her.
She pulls herself out of bed. James’ side is empty, and the noises of cutlery clinking together downstairs tell her he’s already preparing breakfast. Slipping her robe on, she makes her way down after peeking inside Harry’s room and finding it also empty.
She stops by the kitchen threshold, watching the scene in front of her—Harry, sitting on his high chair, spreading bits of food all over the tray with a spoon. He’s in Gryffindor-themed jammies, staring at his creation with amused eyes.
“Good morning,” James smiles, sporting her. Lily’s heart clenches when he leans in for a kiss.
What is happening?
-
In the afternoon, she watches Harry crawl around the living room floor, now dressed as a pumpkin for Halloween. His chubby hands find the stuffed dog toy Sirius had gifted him, and he falls back with a small oof, staring at the toy. As he giggles, she feels the thrum again, her magic sharper now, more urgent. It’s about him, she realizes. It’s about Harry.
The prophecy.
It couldn’t be, could it? Voldemort doesn’t know where they are, they’ve made sure of it. Sirius and Wormy made sure of it with them, one by not taking the vow, the other by doing so, and Lily trusts them. More than that, she trusts James—blindly, with her life—though not more than she trusts her magic.
James walks in, having written a letter to Sirius asking for updates. Peter is stopping by tonight, and he’ll send it, and things will continue to be as they have been, or so they should.
Then why is she so certain they won’t?
“Jamie,” she pats the seat next to her on the couch. James is crouched down, ruffling Harry’s hair, and she can’t help the smile that spreads on her face. He’s so beautiful. Her heart aches, magic deep and sharp. She becomes jittery. It has to do with James, too. With all of them.
“Yes, my dove?” he asks, sitting by her and kissing her temple.
She breathes in, out. “Something’s wrong.”
“Well, yes,” James says, huffing an annoyed little sound, “It’s his second Halloween and we’re trapped inside.”
Her features soften as she tilts her head to his shoulder. Of course that’s what he’s thinking about. “You’re an amazing father, James Potter.”
He grins, “And you’re an amazing mother, Lily Evans Potter.”
“Thank you,” she kisses him, lingers for a moment, until there’s that pull again and she’s unable to pretend it isn’t happening, “I… wasn’t talking about that, though.”
James hums, “I had an inkling.”
He knows her so well. She wonders sometimes, what 11 year old Lily would think of her now, a decade later. It amuses her, how shocked she’d be. James Potter, of all people.
And he’s… in danger. She feels it in her bones. They’re all in danger.
“I think he found us.” she says.
James’ smile falls, “That’s not possible.”
“I know it isn’t, but I can feel it.” She reaches her mind to his, allows him to feel the lingering sense of danger, the cold sensation on the back of her nape. The fear.
His eyes widen when she pulls back, “We should pack. We’ll Let Peter know he found us. I don’t know how he did but we—” he stops, “You don’t think… Petey…”
She shakes her head. “I don’t know.” There’s so few people they can trust. So many they’ve lost, and many more that succumbed to the wrong side.
She won’t think about Remus. Not today, when things are already frail.
“He wouldn’t,” James says, but his voice has a tremble to it, pupils shaking, “Not Wormy, never. It’s… it’s him and Sirius, Lils, they’re the only ones I can…”
“I know,” she says, softly, pulling his hands to hers. “We can’t know for sure. Maybe Voldemort realized he was a secret-keeper. Maybe he coaxed it out of him.”
She can’t pretend the betrayal didn’t happen, but she can try to soften it for James.
“I…” he pulls away after squeezing her palm, “I’m going to pack Harry’s things.”
The baby tilts his head when his name is mentioned, and for a moment, all is well. James grins, “Yeah, it’s you! You’re Harry, right?” he says. Lily chuckles, some relief cutting through the tension growing in her body.
James tries to take Harry, but he runs off, laughing, blissfully unaware of the turmoil. He grabs onto Lily’s leg, looking up at her with big green eyes and a toothy smile. She picks him up easily, holding him to her chest, running her fingers through his wild curls.
“Oh, so he has favourites,” James says, amused, “Can’t judge, I must say.”
She rolls her eyes playfully and looks down at their little bundle, now sucking his thumb, “I’ll help you with his things.”
James leads the way after a nod, walking up the stairs slowly. He stops to look at the wall, mounted with pictures. “We should take some. Just in case.”
“Okay,” she agrees easily, still petting Harry’s hair.
With his back still turned, James says, “Maybe Pete is coming to warn us.”
“He must be,” Lily agrees. The more she thinks about it, the more it makes sense—the vow was broken, her magic started to grow wild over it, and Peter, after being forced to give their location away, is coming to warn them as a last effort to protect them. She has no idea how he escaped, but he’s always been good at fitting into tiny, squeezed-in corners. One moment to turn into Wormtail would be all he needed.
She puts Harry down on his crib, and he immediately reaches for her again, so with a wave of her hand, magical paper birds appear, peppering his face with kisses. He giggles as he tries to grab them—he’s such a happy child.
She has to keep things that way.
James is robotically folding baby clothes, putting them into Harry’s nappy bag one by one. She joins him, grabbing other important items—nappies, a blanket, his favorite chewie. She’ll grab a bottle from the kitchen later, she needs to focus on one room at a time.
“Want to stay with him while I pack the rest?” she asks James.
“Yeah, that’d be good.”
She hesitates. “Keep your wand on you.”
He nods, and sits down on one of Harry’s puffs to play with him. Lily closes the door behind her, taking a moment to compose herself. It’ll all make sense tonight. It has to. There will be time to talk, and they’ll figure out a plan. This is all just…precautions. After the Order started to be hunted, they all had to learn to take them.
Walking into the bedroom, Lily can’t help but hope the house stays intact. This is the place where they’ve first laid roots, and she’s not ready to leave it, yet. If they must, she can only hope things stay the same here, at least. She has no idea how they’ll survive, where they’ll go or who they can trust; if this, at least, stays the same, there will be hope.
She grabs a trunk and starts to pack it, charming it with an extension charm. She considers, for a moment, to just toss the clothes as they are inside of it, but there’s something about the feeling of normalcy in folding the clothes, placing them down, then repeating. She hopes this is all for naught. That, when Peter arrives, he’ll explain things are fine and she’ll realize her magic was wrong; maybe she’s been on edge, away from the war, from their families and friends, unable to do anything as people lose their lives protecting them. She misses Sirius. She misses Mary, and Dorcas, and Monty, Effie… she misses her mother and father, unaware of anything going on with their daughter. She writes to them, tries to call at times, but they’re quick, clipped conversations, where she doesn’t do more than assure them they’re alright, Harry is growing big, and ask how they’re doing, and where Tuney is.
She should write to them, before Peter comes over, tonight. Merlin knows if she’ll be able to do anything after that, depending on the situation. She should write to Sirius, too, make sure he is okay, ask about Remus. She misses him, too, though she wishes she didn’t. She knows James misses him, that the way he’s been acting, the growing suspicion… it takes a toll on him. A spy, in the Order of all places… she feels horrible for having thought it was him at first, but now… it’s become undeniable.
She takes a deep breath. No sense in dwelling on what she can’t fix. She finishes packing clothes and moves on to the suite, picking up toiletries and essentials. She should grab some ingredients for potions, maybe a small cauldron…
“Lils?”
She turns to meet James, offering him a small smile, “Hmm? How’s Haz?”
“He’s down,” he says, coming to sit on the bed, “Got tired after running around and then making all his toys float to the ceiling.”
She laughs softly, dropping a couple of toilet rolls on the bag and then pulling James into a hug, kissing the top of his head. “How are you?”
“I think it’ll be fine,” he says after a deep breath, “He wouldn’t, Lils, you know that. So something must have happened. You know how Death Eaters are… the unforgivables are child’s play for them.”
She nods her head, letting him go as he slides back to fall on the mattress. “I think so, too,” she drops next to him, turning on her side to look into his eyes, “There’s a reason, Jamie. And I might… I mean, I could be wrong.”
“When has your magic been wrong?”
She shakes her head, falling silent. James knows her like no one else does, and he knows her magic, too. He cups her cheeks, tucks her hair behind her ear, and closes his eyes. Lily does the same as the two of them allow themselves a moment to just breathe. She inches closer to be held by him, and he smiles against her temple, kissing her. The curve of his round glasses presses against her eyebrow, and she smiles a little. He’s so soft. Her breath hitches, and she has to keep the wave of emotion that overcomes her. She loves him dearly, and he loves her the same, and Harry…
Harry is everything.
“Dance with me,” he says, taking her hand and pulling her upwards. With a wave of his wand music starts to play, and she chuckles, letting him pull her along, swaying to the pop beat. His hand is on her waist and they’re turning, dancing so close to one another, and his mouth is by her ear when he whispers his love. She runs her fingers through his hair and smiles, kisses hers right into him, eyes close and fingers clutching desperately.
They only stop when the second song does, dropping back onto the bed, a little breathless. Lily pokes his cheek, and he boops her nose and it almost feels normal, were it not for the trunk she’s resting upon, pressing her hip to the handle.
“I have to finish packing,” she says, reluctant.
He groans, but nods. “I know.”
“I don’t want to,” she admits.
“I know,” he kisses her, touches the small of her back, presses his fingers against the dimples there. She moans softly against his mouth and sighs, and when they fall onto the mattress, it feels right, just like it always does.
-
Peter didn't come. James is pacing the floor in front of her, mumbling to himself, looking more broken than she’s seen him in weeks, and even then, it’s different. There was a missing layer the other times she’d seen this side of him—after his first kill in the war; after the news about his mother's illness progressing; after finding out they’d have to be removed from the fight and hidden away. That was brokenness that came to be expected, but this… the betrayal adds another facet, and she can see it weigh on his shoulders like wet clothes.
She’s sitting on the sofa, watching him, when the knock comes. Harry is in his cot, hopefully asleep. James stops midstep, looks at the door with eyes so full of hope they gleam even in the dim light from lamp shade, but Lily stands, holding his arm.
“No.”
Her magic is ringing, making the hairs on her arm and nape stand, desperate warnings of evil and death. If they open this door, they’re gone. Harry will be gone.
He will not take her son.
“It’s him.”
James freezes, looking at her. The hope is replaced by fear, and he grabs her, “Get Harry, I’ll take our things.”
She nods and they rush upstairs, just as the door explodes open, hinges creaking. Harry cries, and Lily must get to him, she must.
She doesn’t look, rushing through the house and into his room, taking him from his cot. James is throwing spells, she can hear him coming up the stairs, redirecting curses. Tom’s husky voice is just as she remembers from his ridiculous recruiting attempt—cold and vile, too pleased with the atrocities he’s committing. She cradles Harry to her chest, grabs the nappy bag without even thinking, and opens the door all the way. James turns, and she sees Tom raise his wand.
He starts to shout the curse that would end it all, but she won’t allow him. She grabs her husband, and they apparate.
She isn’t sure which of them is commanding it, and for a moment it feels like they’re going to splinch, but by the wildness of knowing one another and fate, they have thought of the same place. They come to in front of the Order’s headquarters. Lily checks on Harry, his cries loud and piercing through the night. She casts a quick spell to ease his discomfort, and pulls a wobbly James closer.
“Are you okay?” They ask at the same time.
Despite everything, that makes her chuckle. She nods, “Yes. We’re both okay. Did he…?” her heart is pounding in her ears
“He didn’t,” James shakes his head, wraps his arms around the two of them, and takes a deep breath. “I’m just fine.”
She allows them a small moment of respite to just be together. The proximity seems to affect Harry too, and while he’s still fussy, his crying has gotten softer. She takes a breath, two, and says, “We have to get inside.”
The wards of the headquarters let them in without trouble. Lily shuts the door behind them. Immediately there’s a wand on her face.
“It’s me,” she says, unable to contain the relief upon seeing those grey eyes, “I’m me.”
Sirius is still hesitant, and turns his wand onto James when he moves. “Pads, it’s us,” he says, pushing away Sirius’ wand, “Peter… I think he’s dead. Voldemort—he’s at the house. He came for us, for Harry.”
Sirius’ face morphs, from contained hope to confusion and finally anger. He grits, “Peter’s here.”
Lily’s shuddering breath is the only sound in the room. After a tense moment, James steps forward, but she stops him. “No, he shouldn’t know. No one should, so we’re able to keep doing what we have to.”
James’ anger is barely contained, but it slips away when he looks at her, “And what’s that?”
She pets her son’s hair, soothing him, and smiles at James, “Isn’t it obvious? We have a dark wizard to hunt.”