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She can’t move. The monster advances closer and closer to her son’s crib, she can’t stop him, she can’t lift a finger as he raises his wand, slowly, not Harry, please not Harry, kill me instead, PLEASE -
Lily wakes up, gasping. It’s still dark outside. Instinctively, she glances at the little Potions cabinet. She goes to the kitchen and pours herself a glass of water, instead.
No point searching the cabinet; she’d thrown away every vial of Dreamless Sleep two years ago, when she had just started to get addicted. While she is more than capable to brew it herself, it’s hard to procure the ingredients. These days, it’s hard to brew even a simple cough tonic. Potions ingredients are no longer freely available, sold only through a permit next to impossible to obtain.
Some days, though, Lily would kill for one night’s sleep without her subconscious projecting the horrors she can never forget.
There’s a map, lying sprawled across her small kitchen table, heavily annotated. A letter from Dumbledore, the contents of which have been reread countless times. A letter from Sirius. He’s laying low in an Order outhouse, for a while - he’d been nearly caught in one of the raids. It’s brief, not disclosing any particulars, as his letters always are. Sirius will, of course, relay any news that he can, but there isn’t much for now. It’s been quiet for a few months, save for a little fuss in the Ministry - head of Law Enforcement was sent to Azkaban, under suspicion of Order connections.
Still, Lily likes hearing from him.
It’s only the two of them left, now.
Lord Voldemort, on seeing the woman - girl, really - standing in front of the boy’s crib, trembling and wandless, feels a particular stroke of benevolence. Though not out of any true regard to a promise he made to his servant, he remembers Snape’s pleas.
He can be a merciful lord, after all.
And so falls the body of Lily Evans, like a ragdoll, like a marionette who’s strings have been cut. Except, there is life in her green eyes.
There is life in her eyes, as she watches the monster advance towards her son’s crib. There is life in her eyes, as she tries, with every muscle in her body, every ounce of willpower, struggling against the magic that holds her such, to move.
Not Harry. Please, kill me instead. Not Harry, PLEASE!
There is life in her eyes, as she screams and screams and screams in her mind. Pleas that, in another world, would have actually reached her mouth.
There is life in her eyes, as she watches a wand raised against her son.
In another world, Lily Evans would have the opportunity to beg for her son’s life. She would have died for her son, and, unknown to her, imparted him a protection forged by a magic so strong, so ancient.
But there is life in Lily’s eyes, as she sees a flash of green light.
In another world, wizards all over the country would have rejoiced as the halloween of 1981 faded into the next day. A baby would have been left, in a basket, on a doorstep where he was unwanted, but taken in, nonetheless.
In this world, Lily stays frozen and unmoving on the ground. It could be minutes, it could be hours. It doesn’t matter. Time stands still. A tidal wave of magic, that should have been released, lays uneasily dormant in her. She is so close to her son’s body, her baby, Harry, and she can’t even reach him, she’s so close.
There are fates far worse than death ever could be.
Lily is twenty one, and watches her son and husband buried.
No parent should ever have to see their child buried. Their name on a gravestone.
“I should be there, buried next to them,” she sobs, as Sirius holds her. “It should have been me. It should - it should’ve been me.”
In this world, Sirius Black isn’t accused of betraying the Potters, not with Lily alive to testify otherwise. It doesn’t matter, though. Voldemort takes over the Ministry with startling speed, merely a week after murdering Harry Potter. It’s almost as if he had been biding his time, and now that no obstacle stands in his path, no one prophesied to kill him, he strikes.
Even if there existed an institution untouched by the new regime, they wouldn’t have brought forward any justice, as Peter goes into hiding.
Which is fine. Lily and Sirius will only be satisfied with his death. Nothing less.
(In this world, Sirius gets his wish fulfilled: Peter dies by his hand, though many, many years later).
One may ask, what becomes of one Remus Lupin. It’s something Lily and Sirius have asked themselves, agonised over, too. When Voldemort takes over, one of the many laws that are immediately placed are that of the execution of werewolves.
Rather, the choice of execution, or to join Fenrir Greyback (and by default, Voldemort). Remus doesn’t attend the funeral. For a while, Lily holds out hope that he’d gotten away, that he’s out there, alive, somewhere.
She no longer holds hope for much.
Lily accidentally overhears a conversation between Dumbledore and Snape, one night.
“My dear girl, some things are best left unknown,” Dumbledore tells her, sadly. “The truth will not bring you any peace.”
“I deserve to know why my son and husband are dead, Albus, when I’m standing here alive.”
And so she learns. How Snape begged for her life to be spared. How he had been the one to inform Voldemort about the Prophecy. For the first time, months after that wretched night, she doesn’t feel numb.
“How can you trust him, after everything he’s done?” Lily snarls.
“You have every right to be upset. Severus, however, is not the boy you once knew,” Dumbledore says, gently. “I have good reason to put my faith in him.”
“HE’S THE REASON THEY’RE DEAD!” Lily screams, and finally, turns to look at Snape. He flinches. “Are you happy? Now that you’ve taken everything from me? Are you happy that my husband is dead? That my son is dead? Are you fucking happy?”
Rage courses in her veins, and she wants nothing more to see this pathetic excuse of a man writhe in pain, feel an ounce of pain that she’s feeling. She wants him to bleed, to hurt, where is her wand -
Dumbledore has to restrain her.
“You’re dead to me, Severus Snape,” Lily spits. The coward doesn’t even have the courage to look at her, eyes downcast.
In this world, Severus Snape’s wish is fulfilled. Lily Evans is safe, and alive. In doing so, he forever earns her hate. She never forgives him. Her anger boils and simmers over the years. She resents Dumbledore for placing any trust in him.
There is nothing to do but hide. The Order diverts all its energy to protect muggleborns, reaching them before they’re snatched away. Children, who should have learnt spells in a castle, are taught only just to control their magic on shared wands. There aren’t enough wands for all of them.
Lily is twenty three, when she kills for the first time. She’s been in hiding, with Moody, and they’re discovered by a group of Death Eaters - because of a taboo placed on Voldemort’s name, they find, later.
The man is in his forties. He’s already disarmed; they could have easily gotten away. The flash of green light hits him square on the chest, as it had once hit James, and Harry. Lily feels a shiver down her spine. A sense of morbid satisfaction, as she watches his lifeless eyes.
“It’s not worth loosing yourself to the dark arts,” Moody tells her, gruffly, one day. “You know that little voice in your head telling you to hurt them just a little more? It grows and grows until you can’t tell the difference between yourself and them.”
He’s killed, a few months later, and Lily is alone again.
She severs a Death Eater’s limbs with a simple diffindo. Healing charms had been her forte, once. She takes care to clumsily reattach the limbs, in a way that they’re sure to become a festering, infected mess.
In another encounter, she shoves her wand into their eye. Lily wrinkles her nose, at the smell of burning fresh, as her Lumos burns away their eye socket. She does the same with the other eye.
Moody was right. It feels much better, to relish the pain she causes with her sanity intact. Lily never seeks the Death Eaters out, but in the rare instances they cross her. . .
She becomes something of a myth amongst the Death Eaters. The mudblood bitch, they call her. Those of them sitting idle try to hunt her. Enjoy the challenge. But the years pass, and the novelty wears off. Most of them are kept busy by the new regime, anyway.
Lily is twenty nine, and Dumbledore reaches out to her. For the first time in years, she feels a sense of purpose.
It takes her months, to track Slughorn down.
“Lily, my dear girl, I thought you were dead,” he says, eyes welling with tears.
In another world, it takes Harry Potter months to obtain a vital memory of Slughorn’s. Lily was his favourite for good reason, however. She puts up the act of the charming, vivacious girl she once was.
They reminisce, about the old, unburdened times. Hogwarts, bustling with students. Stories about the Marauders.
“I’ll have you know that I do take some credit for getting you and James together,” Slughorn says, cheerfully. “I knew you would be the most charming young couple!”
His face falls, remembering the reality they live in.
“Such a charming couple you were,” he recalls, wistfully. She pours them more wine - not the fancy, elf made wine he once used to drink. Even the cheap muggle wine has become a luxury for him. Lily waits for the right moment to strike.
“It’s of no use,” Slughorn tells her, face flushed with the guilt he still feels, all these years later. “It doesn’t matter anymore. He’s won.”
“Professor, not a day goes by when I don’t miss my family,” Lily says, quietly. “Ever since that night, I haven’t been alive. Not truly.” she takes a deep breath, collecting herself. “He isn’t invincible. No one is. But if there’s even the smallest possibility we can defeat him, I need you to give me that memory.”
He shakes his head stubbornly, unable to speak.
“Please, Professor. For James. For Harry. Won’t you help them get the justice they deserve?”
Slughorn looks torn, for a few moments. A few more tears spill down his face, to the walrus mustache he still sports all these years later.
“All I request is you do not judge me too harshly, my dear girl. . .”
Dumbledore’s left hand is a festering black that could have only been caused by dark magic. She suspects it’s something to do with the cracked ring that was once a horcrux.
Before they can go after anymore horcruxes, Lily has one place to visit.
Dinner with Petunia goes surprisingly well. Whatever resentment her sister had once felt has ebbed away, replaced by sympathy. Vernon even tries to make awkward small talk.
Of course, they don't know the true state of the Wizarding World. They only see her as Petunia's odd, grieving sister.
Lily feels a pang in her heart, as she ruffles her nephew's hair - he’s the same age Harry would have been. And for once, it is Lily who is envious, as she watches the perfect little family in front of her. In the end, Petunia is the one who has everything she never will.
She bids them farewell, with false promises to meet again. Lily pulls the invisibility cloak over her, before kneeling on the garden floor. She casts a series of protective spells, runic wards - the best protection, to her ability, she can impart. Looks back at Number 4, Privet Drive one last time, before apparating away.
Dumbledore writes to her soon after, with possible knowledge of the whereabouts of another horcrux.
Her path mirrors what may have been her son’s, as they row down the lake filled with inferni. As she is forced to feed him the awful potion in the basin, instructed by him to not stop at any cost.
She's hidden, under the cloak, and finds herself immobilized as a group of Death Eaters lead by Snape wait in the cave’s entrance. Is unable to do anything as she watches a flash of green light hit Dumbledore square on the chest, as his body falls down the cliffside.
Perhaps, Dumbledore had thought that she wouldn’t have it in her to do it. Maybe he thought she would choose the search for horcruxes over revenge. It doesn’t matter what he thought.
Even if she knew of Snape’s innocence, Lily still would have killed him.
Because she never forgot. Every night, reliving the deaths of her husband and son. Every moment wishing she was with them, not forced to live in this hell. She is no longer Lily Evans, the charming muggleborn so enamoured with a new, magical world. Neither is she Lily Potter, living in the warmth and love of her little family.
She is Lily, and she will live to burn the world down, if it brings justice to Harry and James.
Nothing could ever fill the hollow in her heart, but Lily feels a grim sense of satisfaction as her killing curse hits Severus Snape.
Lily sets Dumbledore’s letter - his last one, probably - back onto to the table next to the map. She will write back to Sirius in the morning. Lily needs his help. He’s the only person alive who knew RAB so well, after all.
Lily traces Regulus’s loopy handwriting, before heading back to bed.
Miles away, Lord Voldemort gazes at the wand he’s holding with a thoughtful expression.
“ I wonder, Nagini. . . why does the Elder Wand not recognise me as its true master. . .”