Chapter Text
“Before we can discuss the Fidelius in particular,” Dumbledore said, “I believe we must discuss soul magic in general. What do you know of it already?”
“Soul magic has two main properties,” Lily said, thinking back to her N.E.W.T.-level Charms class. “First, it can only affect sentient beings, like humans. It can’t affect animals or objects. Second, the effects are largely permanent.”
They were in the kitchen, where the Order meeting had taken place a few days before. Sirius was upstairs, working alone for the moment on clearing out a bedroom for Arthur and Molly.
“Indefinite, not permanent,” Dumbledore said. “Can you think of any examples of soul magic?”
“Other than the Fidelius?” Lily frowned. “I remember learning about some Dark curses that are soul magic, but I don’t know how to cast those, either.”
“Indeed; given the Ministry’s definition of Dark magic, some amount of overlap is natural. But very well -- we shall start with an overview of the theory behind soul magic. You are encouraged to take notes...”
“What do you imagine is the target of the Fidelius Charm?”
“The secret you wish to be kept?” Lily answered, but even as she spoke she knew that wasn’t right. A secret was just a concept, just an idea put into words. No Charm could target a concept; if it could, it wouldn’t be a Charm.
Dumbledore nodded sagely, not at her answer, but at her visible realization. “The target is the Secret-Keeper, of course,” he said. “They are the one whose soul you are modifying, after all. Naturally, this requires that the intended Secret-Keeper be in your presence when you cast the spell…”
“What kinds of secrets can the Fidelius Charm conceal?”
“Locations,” Lily answered immediately. “And…” Every example she could think of kept a location secret, so this was a surprisingly difficult question. “Objects, I assume. People?”
Dumbledore gave her a look -- he knew she was just guessing.
“How many people can know a fact before you can’t hide it with the Fidelius anymore?” It was Lily asking the question this time.
“There’s no hard line,” Dumbledore answered. “But the more who know, the more difficult the Charm is to cast.”
“How many people could know a fact before you couldn’t hide it with the Fidelius anymore?”
Dumbledore stroked his beard. “I don’t believe I have ever attempted to hide a secret known to more than four.”
That didn’t really answer the question, but the point was clear -- the secret really did have to be, well, secret. And not like the secret passageways at Hogwarts were secret. Actually, properly secret.
“But that’s before you cast the spell,” Lily said. “Afterwards, the Secret-Keeper can tell as many people as they want, and it won’t break the spell.”
“That’s correct,” Dumbledore confirmed. “Within the limitations we have already discussed…”
“What circumstances can end the Fidelius Charm prematurely?” Dumbledore was quizzing her again, but she was much more prepared this time.
“The most common is if the secret stops being true,” she answered. “For example, if I hid the secret ‘Lily Potter is in number twelve, Grimmauld Place,' then the Fidelius would necessarily break as soon as I stepped outside. If I chose a better secret, like ‘Lily Potter lives at number twelve, Grimmauld Place,' then the Fidelius would sustain until I actually moved out.”
“Good,” Dumbledore said. “How else?”
“If everyone who knows the secret dies, and all written records of it are destroyed,” Lily said, “then the Fidelius ends, because it serves no purpose anymore.”
“True enough,” Dumbledore nodded. “Another?”
“If the caster murders their own Secret-Keeper,” Lily said, “this breach of trust will end the Charm immediately. This is what prevents someone from being the only one who knows their own secret, with no possibility of anyone else ever finding out…”
“Why don’t I use the Fidelius to protect my own secret?” Lily asked, when the idea came to her. “You know -- who I actually am.”
“I had considered it,” Dumbledore said. “But I do not believe it would be the wisest choice. Quite frankly, I am uncertain how the Fidelius Charm would interact with your temporal displacement -- or rather, with your eventual return home, should we manage it.”
“What do you mean?” Lily asked, a little bothered by the casual suggestion that she might not ever make it home.
“Let us say that we protect your true identity with the Fidelius Charm,” Dumbledore said. “And then, afterwards, you are returned to your native time, some thirty-odd years in the future. I am not confident that the Fidelius would not still apply.”
Lily sat up straight. “You mean--”
“It is possible that even in your own time, the Fidelius would prevent people from knowing who you truly are,” Dumbledore said gravely. “You would be unable to tell them yourself, and would be hard pressed, I imagine, to find a way to break the Charm on your own.”
As Dumbledore had explained in that first lesson, when he had covered the basics of soul magic, the Fidelius Charm could not be lifted or ended simply by the will of the caster. Unless the Charm was broken early through one of the scenarios they had just recently reviewed, it would continue indefinitely until the caster and the Secret-Keeper jointly agreed to end it. If Lily used Dumbledore as her Secret-Keeper -- and who else would she use? -- then she would be in a spot of trouble in thirty years without him.
“It’s possible, of course, that the temporal transfer would itself break the Charm,” Dumbledore admitted. “As there is no precedent I am aware of, I am, after all, merely guessing. But perhaps you will decide that the risk outweighs the benefit, in this case.”
Lily could just imagine it -- a world where nobody knew she was Harry Potter’s daughter. Nobody could possibly know, because the secret was locked away irrevocably. In some ways, it actually seemed kind of appealing… but as much as she grumbled sometimes about having famous parents, as much as she argued and fought sometimes with her brothers over nonsense, as much as she felt overwhelmed sometimes at full Weasley family gatherings… she knew she could not take it, deep down, if they all literally forgot her.
So she swallowed, and nodded shakily. “Maybe let’s not do that, then…”
After nearly two weeks of study, the actual act of casting the Fidelius was rather anticlimactic.
Lily stood in the kitchen, facing her chosen Secret-Keeper about three feet away. Her mind was clear of noise, focused entirely on a single, secret fact -- a trivial fact, but a secret one nonetheless. She drew her wand carefully through the motion, a long and somewhat overly dramatic gesture, and incanted: “Fidelem Fidelius. Fidelem Fidelius. Fidelem Fidelius. Sirius’s Gryffindor scarf is hidden behind the good wine glasses in the rightmost kitchen cabinet. Fidelius Fidabo.” She could almost feel the air in the kitchen prickle with magic as this stupid little secret embedded itself into the soul of Albus Dumbledore, and in the quiet that followed, she knew she had managed it -- she had successfully cast the Fidelius.
She beamed happily. It had only taken her three tries to get the casting right. And, while she hadn’t really intended to fall into a one-sided competition with the other Lily Potter, it did not escape her that she had, in fact, managed it in ‘half the time.’
And she got to mess with Sirius’s things in the process, which could only ever be a plus.
Dumbledore held still for a few seconds, and Lily wondered what it felt like to become a Secret-Keeper like that. Then, he relaxed. “Well done, well done indeed,” he said, with a hint of a twinkle in his eyes. “An admirable effort.” He laced his fingers together in front of his stomach. “You’ve earned the rest of the day off, I believe. Next time, we’ll discuss the use of focusing sigils and how their inclusion affects the Charm.”
Lily nodded, still smiling, and gazed at the ostensibly hidden scarf for a moment. It was perfectly visible through the wine glasses -- they were, after all, transparent -- but thanks to the magic of the Fidelius, Sirius would never spot it as long as it remained there.
Speaking of the dog Animagus, that had to be him opening the front door. Carefully, so as to not wake the late Mistress Black, she stepped out into the entrance hall to greet him.
“Ah, Lily,” he said when he saw her. He was also in a visibly good mood, and when he stepped further in, she saw why. Following on his heels was Remus Lupin -- looking a bit threadbare and haggard, but altogether not about to die to an obscure werewolf-murdering curse, and therefore much better than the last time she’d seen him. “He made it through the full moon without relapsing,” Sirius explained, “so we can now officially say for sure that he’s recovered.”
“Was that a risk?” Lily asked with mild alarm. If so, Sirius had never mentioned it before.
“A small one,” he answered with a shrug.
Remus stepped fully into the house and closed the door. They still kept the entrance hall dim, because it helped settle the portraits, but it didn’t seem to bother him any as he eyed Lily up and down.
“Sirius has told me some of what’s going on,” he said in a low voice. “I’m not certain that I approve, but I’ll avoid making any waves. For now.”
“That’s-- that’s good,” Lily said, startled. She had actually forgotten that Remus had been in the middle of interrogating her when those vigilantes had interrupted them. She had been in the past for so long now -- three weeks, really? -- that it felt odd to suddenly fall under suspicion again. Still, she didn’t let it bother her -- she had just successfully cast the Fidelius!
She pointed over her shoulder toward the kitchen. “Dumbledore’s that way, if you want to talk to him.”
The old Headmaster was indeed that way, but not as far as the kitchen; he had also emerged and was nearly to them. “Welcome, Remus,” he said, clasping the sandy-haired man’s arm in a firm grip. “We have much to discuss this evening.” He looked at Sirius and Lily. “Are all the rooms ready for the Weasleys’ arrival on Monday?”
“Nearly,” Lily said. She understood they were being dismissed so Dumbledore could talk to Remus in private. “They should be good by tomorrow.”
Dumbledore nodded, then led Remus back down the entrance hall, murmuring a warning about the portraits on the way. Sirius stared after him for a moment, grinning at the sight of his old friend up and about, Lily assumed -- then he shook his head, and turned to bound up the stairs, rapidly but quietly.
Lily followed at a more sedate pace until she joined him in the room that would be Ron and Harry’s. And then, because she couldn’t help herself -- “Hey, Sirius,” she said, “do you know where your scarf is?”
Molly Weasley rang the doorbell, so Monday got off to a great start.
Like usual, Sirius got to deal with shutting up his mother. They had found, over the course of way too many chances to experiment, that the cacophonous portrait settled down far faster for him than for Lily. It certainly wasn’t because the memory of Walburga Black liked him any better -- if anything, it was the opposite. She just hated her son so much that she seemed to forget everything else when she saw him. And then, when Sirius got the curtains closed and she lost sight of him again, she was content to sit quietly until the next time something reminded her that, oh yeah, she hated literally everyone else in the house, too.
Except Kreacher. But for all that the old House-Elf seemed to revere the Mistress Black’s memory, Lily had never seen him actually interact with it.
In any event, it was still pretty loud when Lily opened the door for her grandmother.
When she had met Arthur, before the first Order meeting, she had enjoyed seeing her enthusiastic and loving grandfather as a younger man. It had been incredibly bizarre, and it had taken a lot of effort to pretend she had never met him before, but she had enjoyed it. But then, she had always had a close relationship with her grandfather, from when he had tolerated her endless questions as a child to when he’d helped ease her into working for the Ministry as an adult.
Molly Weasley, her grandmother… was a somewhat different story.
The woman in question stood on the doorstep, bundled up in a full-length coat despite the July heat, visibly straining to keep her smile despite the ranting about filth and betrayal easily audible from down the hall. Lily just tuned it all out now. “Hello,” Molly said. “You must be Lily. It’s lovely to finally meet you.”
“Likewise,” Lily said, stepping back to let the older witch in.
Molly’s smile slipped even more when she spotted Sirius wrestling with the curtains at the other end of the hall. Maybe it was because of the ridiculous situation, or maybe it was because she still thought of Sirius Black as a fugitive traitor. Lily wouldn’t put either one past her.
There were no other Weasleys outside in the square; Molly had apparently come alone. “Are the others on their way?” Lily asked.
“We decided to stagger our arrivals,” Molly explained as the portrait finally quieted down. “Arthur thought it would be less conspicuous.”
“Well, I guess so,” Lily said. She waited to see if Sirius would come over to greet their new housemate, but he just lifted a hand in an impersonal wave and disappeared into the kitchen. “I can take you up to your room, if you want.”
“Yes, please,” Molly said, and the two of them climbed the stairs to the next floor. Lily noticed that Molly was stepping gingerly on the stairs -- Arthur must have warned her about making noise. Well, Lily supposed she would have asked about the portrait if he hadn’t.
They paused at the first landing. “This will be Ginny’s room,” Lily said, pointing at a closed door. “And Hermione’s, when she comes.” Plans for that were already in progress, so she wasn’t giving anything away by saying that. “The bathroom is right next to them, and it’s the only bedroom on this floor, so they won’t have to share.”
Molly nodded approvingly, and they continued on.
“Ron,” Lily said on the next floor, “and then Harry too. There’s also another bedroom here we haven’t cleaned out yet.”
“Where will the twins sleep?” Molly asked.
“Another floor up,” Lily said, and began to climb the next flight of stairs. “Across the hall from you and Arthur. That was Arthur’s suggestion, before you ask.” Maybe he had figured that proximity would temper the twins’ more exuberant antics. Personally, Lily doubted it.
As for the choice of bedrooms for Arthur and Molly, well, there hadn’t really been a question. They would be sleeping in the old master bedroom. Lily and Sirius had even gone through the trouble of stripping out most of the more blatant Slytherin iconography for them. Sirius had gleefully enjoyed destroying the lot of it, except for a lovely full-length mirror with silver snake detailing, which Lily had stolen for her own room.
Molly seemed not to hate her new temporary home, which was good. She finally took off her coat, revealing a perfectly normal set of robes under it. She must have only worn the coat to avoid having to dress like a Muggle for the trip over. “The house isn’t as bad as I feared,” she said. “Arthur made it sound like it would be a real fright.”
“You’ve only seen the parts we’ve already cleaned,” Lily said. “Just you wait.”
And then, the doorbell rang.
Leaving Molly, who seemed shocked by how audible the portrait was even from so many floors up, Lily ran down three flights of stairs. By the time she got to the ground floor, Sirius was in full combat with the curtains again.
“Soon,” he snarled at the portrait, his face twisted in impatient fury, giving as good as he got, “I am going to pull you off this wall, tear you apart with my bare hands, and make Kreacher watch as I use you for kindling.”
“Sure you will, Sirius,” Lily said, knowing full well he wouldn’t hear her. She opened the door.
It was Bill.
Lily blinked at him. She hadn’t been expecting Bill.
“Hi there,” he said with an easy smile. “Bill Weasley.” He leaned over slightly to look past her, at Sirius and the raving portrait of a madwoman. “That’s not my fault, is it?”
Lily just stared at his face. It had no scars on it at all.
The moment stretched on for way too long, and then Lily shook her head. “Sorry,” she said. “I didn’t think you were coming. You can stay with Ron, I guess, until we get another room cleared out for you.”
“Oh, no,” Bill said, “I’m not moving in. I’ve got a nice flat downtown I’m very happy with. I’m just here to help out.”
“To help out,” Lily repeated, wondering how much help would really be needed. “Well, the most help you could be right now is to hang out and tell people not to ring the doorbell.”
About then, Sirius won this latest battle with the portrait and came on down the hall to the door. “Bill,” he greeted over Lily’s shoulder.
“Sirius,” Bill returned with a nod. They clearly knew each other already. “What’s up with that portrait? I’ve never seen one act like that before.”
Sirius let out a heavy sigh. “My dear old mother,” he said. “As pleasant in death as she was in life.”
“I see,” Bill said, in that way that made it clear he did not.
“Speaking of mothers,” Lily said to Bill, “yours is upstairs. Third floor.”
“Thanks,” Bill said. “I’ll pop up and see if she needs anything.” Before he was more than a couple steps up the stairs, he paused and added, “I’ll take a look at the portrait later, see if I can’t tell what’s up with it.”
“Be our guest,” Sirius said resignedly. Lily just shrugged.
They listened to his footsteps as he ascended. It wasn’t until he was past the second floor that Lily turned to Sirius. “When did you meet Bill?”
“Last week,” Sirius answered. “I had to talk to Gringotts on Remus’s behalf, but it’s not like I can just waltz down Diagon Alley. Dumbledore put me in touch with Bill, and he took care of it for me.”
“Why couldn’t Remus go himself?” Lily asked.
“Well,” Sirius said slowly, “at the time, he was feeling a bit… under the weather.”
“Ah,” Lily said. She glanced at the front door. “I’m going to go sit outside. Maybe I can keep the next Weasley from causing any noise.”
“Good luck,” Sirius said. “I’m going to go hide. Maybe cast a Deafening Charm. If my mother wakes again, you can handle it.”
“Thanks,” Lily said flatly.
It was more than a little hot outside, she discovered once she stepped outdoors. There were probably charms on the house that kept her from feeling it just from opening the front door; once she was sitting on the stoop, she had to resort to magic to keep from baking in her robes -- maybe even literally. Molly had certainly had a Cooling Charm on her coat, or she would have keeled over long before reaching Grimmauld Place.
She hoped Harry was doing okay. She knew from her periodic visits that he was spending as much time as possible outdoors. That kept him away from the Dursleys, but heat like this could be dangerous, especially without magic. She would have to make sure he was drinking enough water, next time she saw him. It wouldn’t do for the Boy-Who-Lived to get heat stroke, would it?
Movement at the other end of the square caught her attention. A pair of figures approached, strolling casually across the grass -- the twins, of course. They were dressed like Muggles going on safari.
They couldn’t see her yet; the house’s contextual invisibility included the front steps, so from their perspective she would pop into being with the rest of it when they were about a dozen feet out. She stood, and prepared to greet them.
She could tell when they hit the threshold -- they stopped in place and gawked. “That was impressive,” one commented to the other, just barely loud enough for Lily to catch. “Think we can figure it out by the end of the summer?”
“Depends how distracted Mum is,” the other one answered at the same volume.
Lily cleared her throat.
The twins immediately sprang to attention, and then rushed forward, hands outstretched to shake hers. “If it isn't Mrs. Potter again!” the one who had spoken first said excitedly.
“You didn’t call, you didn’t write!” The other one exclaimed. “We thought maybe that big dog had eaten you.”
“And then what would we tell Harry? If we were the last to see his poor undead mother walking and talking--”
“--or talking, least; we never did see you walk--”
Lily interrupted their nonsense by pointing at one of them. “You,” she said. “Fred or George?”
The twin in question grinned. “Fred,” he said, “if you can trust me.”
“George, then,” Lily said, “since I know I can’t.”
Looking proud, he leaned over and stage-whispered to his brother. “I think someone’s been telling tales about us, brother-o-mine.”
“Slanderous tales,” the other one agreed. “Probably all true.” Then they both straightened.
Lily rolled her eyes. “Just be quiet when you go inside,” she said. “You absolutely do not want to wake the portraits. Trust me on that. And, you guys are staying on the third floor.” She tapped her wand on the door to open it.
George -- or whichever -- gave her a sketchy salute, and the two of them crept past her in exaggerated tip-toe, making a big show out of being quiet. Lily had absolutely no problems with that.
After they were inside, and Lily was alone on the stoop again, she wondered if she should have warned them against wandering around the areas of the house that hadn’t been cleaned yet. But, well, that didn’t seem like the kind of warning they would be interested in heeding, anyway.
It was a little bit odd, how much of her understanding of the twins came from stories of their Hogwarts exploits. Very little of it came from actually knowing her Uncle George. Time, or losing Fred, had changed him significantly. Both, probably.
She would have a chance to get to know them now, though. They would be living in the same house for more than a month.
She resolved to double-check the protections on her bedroom door the next time she went upstairs.
It was about twenty minutes before the next sight of red hair, which was the longest gap yet, but that was completely understandable once they came into sight. Arthur Weasley was in the front, and behind him, Ron and Ginny, who were working together to push along a cart with their school trunks on it. Neither of them looked particularly happy, and Lily couldn’t blame them.
Like with the twins, none of them could actually see the house until they got close enough. When they did, Ron stumbled back a bit with a shout, and the cart came to a sudden halt, throwing Ginny off-balance.
“Ow! Ron!” she snapped.
“I wasn’t expecting a bloody house to jump out at me, was I?” Ron returned peevishly.
“Lily,” Arthur greeted affably while the children bickered behind him. “Everyone make it here all right?”
“Molly, Bill, Fred, and George,” Lily listed off. “If you were expecting anyone else, then no.”
“That’s the lot,” Arthur said. “Charlie’s still up in Romania, of course, and--” He broke off with a cough.
Percy, Lily finished in her own head, had begun his self-imposed exile from the family.
“Molly’s up on the third floor,” she told him, to end the awkward silence. “Or she was the last time I saw her, which I guess was nearly half an hour ago now.”
Arthur nodded, then looked down at Ron and Ginny, who were busy pulling their trunks off the cart at the bottom of the steps. “Can you show them to their rooms?” he asked. “I need to go deal with the car -- we borrowed a Ministry car, you know.”
“Of course,” Lily said. “There’s no one else coming, so I don’t have to stay out here.”
He patted her on the shoulder, then stepped down to Ron and Ginny. “Listen to Lily, you two,” he told them. “And find your mother as soon as you’re settled in.”
“Yes, Dad,” Ron said.
Arthur patted him on the shoulder, too, then grabbed the empty cart and set off back across the square to wherever he had left the car. Meanwhile, Ron was grunting with the effort of hefting his trunk up onto the stoop.
“Easy there,” Lily said with some amusement, stepping down to stand on the grass between them. A small amount of wandwork later, both trunks were light enough to carry safely. “You don’t have to worry about the Trace here,” she said. “There’s no need to hurt yourselves carrying these without magic. Just don’t tell your mother I told you.”
Ron looked away, still gripping his trunk in his arms, the tips of his ears going red. “Thanks, Mrs. Potter,” he muttered.
“You’re on the second floor,” Lily informed him, then turned to Ginny. “You’re on the first. Both of you, be quiet when you go inside. Don’t even talk above a whisper until you’re in your rooms.” Then, she hopped back up the steps and opened the door for them.
Ron hurried in. Ginny was slower; the girl paused on the steps and gazed up at Lily, an inscrutable expression on her face. Lily stared back, and despite the oppressive summer heat, she shivered.
This was her mother .
Lily was getting used to Harry -- if anyone could ever claim to be used to talking to their father back in time when he was a teenager. She had sort of assumed that meeting Ginny would be easier, like that familiarity would transfer over or something.
Turned out, no.
Turned out, meeting your mother at not-quite-fourteen was just as weird. And she probably seemed like an idiot, just standing there staring--
“I’m Ginny,” the girl said with a small smile, and Lily quickly refocused. As far as the Weasleys were concerned, she was Lily Potter, Harry’s Mum. She had to get back in that headspace. “But you probably knew that already.”
“You can call me Lily,” she said, and she tried not to let on how fast her heart was beating.
Ginny’s smile widened, and she followed her brother into the house, leaving Lily alone again out front.
She took a deep, deep breath, held it in, then let it out slowly. It was way too hot outside to be refreshing, but it was the best she could do. She turned and re-entered the house. The Weasleys had all arrived -- she should probably see if she could help them get settled in.
“Do you think we’re ready?”
Lily sat at the picnic table in the park near Privet Drive. Harry sat across from her. They were both about halfway through some simple ham and cheese sandwiches courtesy of Molly Weasley, who seemed to take it as a personal affront that Harry wasn’t being fed well by the Dursleys. She had wanted to send a larger dinner along, actually, but there was only so much Lily could transport comfortably while Apparating, especially when she had to be under the invisibility cloak to do it.
She thought while she chewed, and answered once she could. “I think we are as prepared as we reasonably could be, given that we don’t know what the Minister is going to do.”
The topic, of course, was Sirius’s trial, because now it was only three days away. Lily wasn’t entirely sure how it had snuck up on them so fast -- something about Grimmauld Place must have been messing with her head, distorting her perception of the passage of time. Or, maybe she’d just been really busy the last few weeks.
But what she had said to Harry was the truth -- they were ready for the trial. They , in this instance, meant Sirius himself, who would have to bear the brunt of the questioning; Dumbledore, who would otherwise do most of the talking; Lily, who would offer crucial testimony; Harry, who might be called upon to describe the events at the end of his third year again; and Remus, who was willing to serve as a character witness, if it seemed the Wizengamot would be amenable to the opinion of a werewolf, which was hardly a sure thing.
Others had helped them prepare, of course. The most significant was probably Shacklebolt, who had dug around in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement Case Library for examples of precedent involving mistaken identity, unreliable Muggle eyewitnesses, or anything to do with the Fidelius. He was also willing to testify in his capacity as the Auror in charge of the manhunt, if for some reason that became necessary.
In short, they had everything lined up they could reasonably line up, and every reason to expect a fair and orderly trial from Madam Bones… or they would… if not for Fudge.
The Minister had, in fact, maneuvered his way into being the one who would preside over the trial. They weren’t even supposed to know that for sure, but it did pay off to have several people working in the Ministry who were secretly on their side. What they didn’t know was what his game plan would be -- what strategy he intended to use to keep the trial from going anywhere he would consider to be politically disastrous. Even Lily had no clue, because, after all, Sirius had never received any trial at all in her version of the past.
That was where most of her own nerves were coming from. This was going to be a major departure from the stories she remembered. Not the first, to be sure, but -- unlike, say, Harry getting kidnapped from Hogwarts by Crouch -- this would have significant, lasting consequences. And every move they made away from the stories, the less valuable those stories became. Eventually, they would reach a point where she was just as much in the dark as everyone around her.
That wasn’t a reason not to act -- letting Sirius go free was certainly a worthwhile cause, and of course there were plenty of things Lily had every intention of changing. They were doing the right thing.
But she was still nervous about it.
“Are you set on the plan for Sunday night?” she asked Harry.
“I think so,” he said. “You guys will draw the Dursleys away somehow, and then come and collect me and my stuff. Right? How are we traveling, Floo again?”
“I can’t tell you,” Lily said. The extraction plan was Alastor Moody’s work, one of his first contributions after recovering from the ordeal of being stuffed in a trunk for a year. He would have preferred to spring it on Harry completely blind -- Lily couldn’t accept that, but she was willing to abide by some level of operational security. “Just make sure that you’re packed ahead of time, so we can be in and out as quickly as possible. And leave a note, so your aunt and uncle don’t freak out when they come back and find you gone.”
“I doubt they’ll mind,” Harry said mildly. “Celebrate, more like.”
“Still.” She noticed that they were both finished with their sandwiches, so she stood and gathered the trash to throw away.
“How long have the Weasleys been there, again?” Harry asked as the two of them began to make their way out of the park. “At the… place where you are.” Lily had never named it for him, and even if she had, Dumbledore’s Fidelius would have made it difficult to talk about.
“Since Monday.” They weren’t heading directly back to Privet Drive. They would take the long way around. Once they got back, Harry would have to go inside and Lily would have to go back under the cloak. “And Hermione arrived yesterday. Don’t worry, they’re not having too much fun without you.”
Harry said nothing, a wistful expression on his face.
They continued on in silence to the end of the street. Then, Harry said, “It must be a big place, to fit so many people.”
“I told you it used to be the Black family home,” Lily reminded him. “I guess technically it still is, with Sirius living there. He just has lots of houseguests right now.”
“Then the Blacks were a large family?” Harry asked. “Does Sirius have any living relatives?”
“Yes, of course,” Lily said, a little surprised. She hadn’t realized Harry didn’t know about them -- but then, of course, when would he have learned? He hadn’t even been to Grimmauld Place yet.
“Are any of them going to speak at his trial?” Harry said.
Lily opened her mouth to deny it -- and then stopped, because she didn’t actually know. No one from their side, certainly -- they had no plans for Tonks or her mother to speak -- but for all they knew, Fudge had lined up Narcissa Malfoy to go on about how nasty Sirius had always been as a child, or something like that.
At least they could be reasonably sure that Bellatrix Lestrange would not be coming.
“Probably not,” she finally said, “but I’ll make sure we’re ready just in case.” Really, she just had to mention it to Dumbledore. He could probably plan a way to discredit Narcissa, or at least limit her time on the floor.
Of course, Harry’s next question was, “Who are they?”
Lily sighed. While she knew the broad strokes well enough, she wasn’t really comfortable being Harry’s primary source on the intricacies of the Black family tree. Better to let Sirius do that. The last thing she wanted was to get something wrong and confuse the issue even further. “The only one you need to worry about right now,” she said, “is Draco Malfoy’s mother, Narcissa.”
“Malfoy’s mother?” Harry’s eyes were wide. “Sirius is related to the Malfoys?”
“Better to say that Narcissa was once a Black,” Lily said. “You should just talk to Sirius about it. I’m sure he’d be happy to go over all the sordid details with you.”
Harry nodded absently. They rounded a street corner, and despite their roundabout route, were now headed roughly in the direction of the Dursley home.
Lily shivered, and only then realized that she was cold.
It was a warm evening -- the whole week had been hot -- there was no logical reason for her to be cold . She looked at Harry, but he had already stopped in place, his eyes darting around as if hunting for a pursuer.
“Do you feel that?” she asked. Her voice sounded too loud; most of the background noise of a suburban neighborhood was missing. Harry ignored her, instead looking back and forth along the street. Lily was starting to think he knew something she didn’t. “Harry? What is it?”
“Where are they?” was his response, his voice tight.
“Where are--”
Icy dread crawled up Lily’s spine, and she knew something was behind her. She spun around, and her vision seemed to dim, filled by a large, menacing presence in a tattered black cloak. Not one -- two. She heard a faint hissing laughter in the back of her mind.
Dementors.
She pulled out her wand, and held it aloft with a shaky hand. “Expecto Patronum," she said, and a white mist billowed out like a cloud. She bit back a curse, and frantically tried to clear her mind. Panic and despair pressed in on her as the Dementors drew nearer, slowed but not stopped by the incorporeal Patronus.
She had never seen a real Dementor before. They had been all but eliminated from the British Isles. She had learned about them, of course, but no words in a textbook could have adequately described them, and no Auror training could have possibly prepared her for the feeling that all hope and joy had gone from the world, and all that was left was darkness and cold.
She felt… empty.
She heard a strangled gasp from Harry -- almost in slow motion, she turned and found him down on his knees and gripping his head with one hand. “Mum,” he gasped out.
She knelt down beside him, very aware that the Dementors were nearly upon them. “You have to get up, Harry,” she urged. “I know you can do it.”
He drew in a pained, wheezing breath. “Mum, no,” he said again, a little louder.
Lily grabbed his hand and held it. “I’m right here, Harry,” she said, and she was lying to him, she wasn’t really his mother, and in that moment she hated herself for it. “I’m right here.”
She wasn’t sure if Harry could even hear her, but after a few seconds his green eyes shot open and looked back into hers, and he must have found something there, because slowly, he stood -- and looked past her at the Dementors, pulled his wand from his pocket, and cast, “Expecto Patronum!"
A great, familiar, silvery stag burst forward and charged at the Dementors, sending them reeling back and away. The comfort and peace that accompanied the Patronus washed over Lily, and she allowed herself to just enjoy it for a moment. Later, she knew she would be very upset with herself, but that could wait.
She stood next to Harry, and realized she was still holding his hand. Reluctantly, she let go. “Come on,” she said, “we need to move.”
Harry nodded, and they both turned to run -- but they only got as far as the next corner before another looming shadow revealed itself to be a third Dementor. They still felt the fringes of the stag’s aura, but it wasn’t enough to deter the black-cloaked specter -- Lily lifted her wand and cast, and this time her own silvery hawk shot out and immediately clawed at the Dementor’s hood, as if to take out its eyes.
As if it had eyes.
Feeling much lighter, mostly because she hadn’t been completely useless, she followed Harry down another couple of blocks and tried to figure out what in Merlin’s name had just happened. Or, well, she knew what had happened, but it wasn’t supposed to have happened yet .
When planning out the summer, she’d been very careful about the things she knew were going to happen, and when they were going to happen. She knew that her father had been attacked by Dementors in the summer before his fifth year, and while she couldn’t pin a date on it or anything, she was very sure it had happened after his birthday. That was one of the reasons she had pushed to get Harry moved into headquarters as soon as possible, besides the general decency of getting him away from the Dursleys. She had intended to avoid this.
But something had pushed the timetable up -- and since she also knew exactly who was behind it, maybe she could make a guess as to why. Dolores Umbridge had sent the Dementors after Harry to shut him up and discredit him, and this time around, there was a bit of a deadline there hadn’t been before. In order to have the most impact, the attack had to happen before Sirius’s trial.
Lily had just been thinking about consequences and changes from the trial -- she should have considered that some of them might show up before it even happened. She really couldn’t afford to be so short-sighted. Not when trying to literally change history.
Harry swerved onto a lawn and up to the front door, only to stop abruptly short when he found that it was locked.
They were at number four, Privet Drive -- Lily did double-check, to make sure they weren’t accidentally trying to break into some poor random Muggle’s house. She joined Harry at the door. “Do you have a key?” she asked.
“No,” he said, sounding very annoyed. “But normally someone’s home to let me in. They’re all out, though, look…” He pointed at the front window, which was dark.
Lily had been watching the house enough to understand -- when the Dursleys were home and awake, they kept the light on in the front hall, visible through the window. If it was off, no one was home. So, she reached out and gave the door a quick, wandless Alohomora. The lock clicked, and Harry grinned before pushing his way inside, with Lily right behind him.
The living room of the Dursley home was, in a word… chintzy. Pastel colors and floral patterns covered the furniture. Framed family photos were propped up on most of the shelving. There wasn’t a speck of dust in sight.
“Hello?” Harry called out halfheartedly, as if one of his relatives might have been hiding upstairs or something. There was no response, of course. But wherever the Dursleys were -- maybe out to dinner -- they could be back at any time.
“I can’t stay here very long,” Lily said. “Too risky.” She also couldn’t stand still; there was too much nervous energy still coursing through her. She strode forward, deeper into the house, looking for the kitchen. “Do you have any chocolate in here?”
“Er, not down here,” Harry said, trailing behind her. “Aunt Petunia would never allow it -- Dudley’s on a diet. I might have some stashed in my room, though…”
“Well, make sure you eat some,” Lily told him. The kitchen was a dead end, so she stopped and turned back to Harry. “And keep your head down. Maybe don’t go on any more walks to the park before we get you out of here on Sunday.”
“Yeah,” Harry agreed, a little shakily. “I just don’t… Why would Dementors be here, in Little Whinging? It doesn’t make any sense.”
Lily shook her head. There was no way she could explain. She didn’t bother trying. “Whatever the reason, you handled yourself very well,” she said. “That Patronus, especially, was very impressive.” And, even though it felt really weird to say it, she finished with, “I’m proud of you.” It wasn’t untrue , it was just… weird.
But the look on Harry’s face made it worth it.
The moment was interrupted by the sound of impatient tapping on glass -- an owl, as it turned out, which swooped in as soon as Harry opened the window. It dropped an envelope on the table, then made a graceful turn and swooped right back out again.
Lily got to the envelope before Harry could, and she tore it open to read the letter. It was about what she expected. The Ministry was being stupid. She glanced up at Harry. “Do you have a quill I could use?”
Harry stared at her, then very slowly moved to open a drawer. He pulled out -- of course -- a Muggle pen. Feeling abashed, Lily took it, examined it for a moment, and clicked the button on top.
Then she put the letter from the Ministry flat on the table and wrote on the bottom, ‘I was the one who cast those spells, you idiots. -Lily Potter’
She looked at those words for a few seconds, then sighed and used a small, wandless Tergeo to remove the name-calling. It left an ink stain on her finger, but she could wash that later. Better in the long run not to antagonize the Ministry right before an important trial, probably.
And actually, now that she thought about it for more than a couple seconds, she really shouldn’t send the letter back at all. It would be faster and safer just to go in person -- she would have to see Dumbledore first, to tell him what had happened and to arrange for someone else to cover the rest of her watch, but after that she would be paying a friendly visit to Mafalda Hopkirk herself.
She stuffed the letter in the pocket of her robes. “I need to head out now,” she told Harry. “Remember, stay inside. I’ll see you Sunday.”
Harry nodded.
And this time -- this time! -- before she left, Lily stepped forward and pulled him into a hug.