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It's Halloween, and if there were no wards, no secrecy charm, the laughter from inside the cottage in Godric's Hollow would be heard down the street.
Harry's only one - can't speak in full sentences yet, but he loves to say; “Dada. Where Dada?”
“Dada is downstairs, sweetheart,” Lily says, smiling and tickling him in the tummy, Harry curling up onto himself with giggles.
She’s laughing along with him, when all of a sudden she feels so terribly cold. Her throat closes up, and her mind goes blank. He’s here. He’s here, and he’s going to kill them all. He's going to kill them, the way he killed Benjy and Emmeline and Marlene and Dorcas and-
He must be right outside.
Must be standing right in front of their red front door, because that’s when the blood magic wards she put up go off. He must be looking at the warm light from the front downstairs window, at the tea sitting on the table that James made for her, at the Halloween decorations strewn about. He’s standing right outside.
“James!” she screams, “James, it’s him!”
He doesn’t reply. Lily walks over the bedroom door like she’s under an Imperio and calls out James’ name one last time.
“Lily-he’s here, it’s him-you have to go, you have to take Harry!”
She can hear his terrified breathing from the top of the stairs. They’re going to die, she realises. They’re going to die, and no one will help them.
But James made tea for her. She needs to go downstairs and drink the tea. He made it with two sugars because he knows she likes it. He’s made tea, but she won’t be able to drink it. What about the tea? Who’s going to drink it? She didn’t tell him she loved him. He’s downstairs, and he’s here, and she didn’t say it back.
James doesn’t have his wand, she realises with a sick jolt. She stares at it, lying on Harry’s red dinosaur blanket.
He hasn’t got his wand.
Lily, feeling small and so scared she can’t breathe, holds Harry tight to her and drops to the floor crying.
There’s a knock on the front door.
Harry is wearing blue. It’s Halloween, and she’s going to die. James is downstairs, and he’s going to die.
She’s crying so hard she’s choking on it, and she fumbles for her wand to cast a silencing charm. Harry starts crying at the movement, and she shakily casts one on him as well. Through the tears blurring her vision, she sees Harry scrunch his small face up in confusion, then cry silently when he notices there’s no noise. He’s scared. He doesn’t know that they’re going to die.
But he loves Lily, and they have Harry, so they can’t die. Harry hasn’t been trick or treating yet, or started walking, or said a full sentence. Harry’s not even two yet.
Little Harry, who has Lily’s eyes and James’ hair. Little Harry, who giggles when you play peek-a-boo, and cries when you put him down. James was going to buy him a practice broom for his birthday. He’s not even two yet, can’t even say a full sentence, but he’s going to die.
He needs to hug Harry, and make sure he’ll be okay. He needs to hear Harry’s laugh. He needs to tell Lily he loves her. He needs to kiss her for the last time. He wants to go home. He wants to go home to his parents. He wants to walk in the door and smell the curry his mother used to make. He wants to see his Dad, his Mum, he wants to be 11 again, opening his letter. He wants his friends, he wants to be in Hogwarts, coming back from a Honeydukes trip. He wants to see Lily.
“Where’s your wand, boy?“
James runs.
Maybe they can apparate over the wards Dumbledore created. Maybe they can hide, use the invisibility cloak. Maybe they won’t die. Maybe they’ll live. Maybe Harry will live to say a full sentence. Maybe he'll be able to turn two, and his parents will be alive to watch it.
He’s halfway up the stairs, his hand outstretched and his eyes filled with tears.
“Lily, take Harry and go! Run, I’ll hold him off! Go!” He’s crying, and he’s so scared.
“Lil-!”
He's dead before he even reaches the top of the stairs.
Inside the bedroom, Lily is now standing behind the cot, a hand gripping the rail so tightly it’s white, Harry’s pinkie finger curled around hers like he’s promising something.
“Lil-!”
James doesn’t get the chance to finish his sentence, his desperate shout left unfinished. There’s a sickening thud, and Lily hears James fall to the ground like a marionette who’s strings had been cut. Lily can’t breathe, can’t even think.
Harry’s pinkie is in hers, and he’s wearing blue. And James is dead. oh god oh god oh god he’s dead she’ll never see him smile again she wanted to tell him she loves him she wants to drink his tea and make him laugh she wanted to give Harry his first Halloween costume she wanted to hug Petunia and tell James she loves him she wants to do it all again she wants to see her friends again she wants to see James again she wants she wants she wants
There’s so many things she’ll never get to do.
When he steps in the room, Lily curls up like a baby behind the cot, clutching so hard onto Harry that there’s red marks. It’s stupid, but all she can think is that he looks mean. It’s a childish thought, as if he pushed her over in the playground, or said something thoughtlessly cruel, but it’s all she has. He’s something out of Lily’s childhood dreams, a nightmare where she’d run to her parent’s room after and let them comfort her and wipe away the tear tracks on her cheeks. His eyes are a deep blue, like the river Dorcas’ rotted corpse was found in. He’s blue, just like Harry. Just like Harry, who he’s going to kill.
He’s mean, and he killed James. James is dead. She’s going to die. She’s going to die, and she’ll never see James again or hear Harry laugh or do anything at all.
“Playing Hide and Seek, are we?”
Lily doesn’t respond to his odd knowledge of a muggle game, simply closes her eyes and shakes her head no.
He stops, anger flashing in his eyes before whispering, “No?”
She shakily says, “You can’t kill him. I won’t let you. Please don’t kill him, he’s just a baby. Please.”
“You won’t let me? Your husband let me.”
Lily frantically shakes her head back and forth, crying even harder. No it’s not true please no it can’t be no no no nopleaseno
“Just kill me instead. Please, he doesn’t deserve to die, he’s just a baby, please.” She was so stupid. A fucking silencing charm. James would’ve died anyway, even if he had his wand. She’s so scared. She’s just a kid. She doesn’t want to die.
He hums. “Your husband didn’t complain nearly as much.”
Lily whimpers. She feels like she’s dying. She can’t breathe because it’s not true. She heard him fall. Heard him die, but it can’t be. James can’t be dead, because he made her a cup of tea. He’s not dead. He’s not deadpleasepleaseno
He smiles. “Maybe I’ll kill the boy first, so you can watch.”
She pleads for her life, for Harry’s. She scrambles away from him like a beetle, shielding Harry with her body when he steps closer. She begs him not to. She says no so many times.
He doesn’t listen, and he raises his wand. “Everyone is so desperate, ignoring all their high and mighty morals when they’re about to die, have you noticed?”
Lily holds Harry even tighter. Maybe if I close my eyes, he won’t see me, she thinks childishly.
His voice forms around the words.
Not like this. No we were meant to live we were going to live for harry we have to please im scared i’m so scared i don’t want to die i don’t want to die please i want james please james i’m so scared i need my mum i want my mum i want my mum i’m so scared no please don’t not like this not like this notlikethispleaseplease
“Avada Kedavra!”
Lily stops shaking, stops crying, stops doing anything at all. Her arms go slack around Harry, and her body slumps down onto the floor.
Harry, who is too young to understand, too young to recognise his mother’s dead, cries and reaches out for her.
She doesn’t reach back.
Voldemort watches with sick pleasure as Harry crawls over to her dead body, crying and pulling at her arm.
“Mumma,” Harry says. “Mumma, want Mumma, want Mumma!” He’s shouting now. He doesn’t know why she won’t move. He doesn’t know he’s going to die.
She could just be sleeping.
He slowly walks forward, crouches down, and looks the child in the eye. Harry stops crying for a moment and lifts his hands up, asking to be held. Maybe he thinks it’s a game, that his mummy isn’t actually dead, that she’ll sit right back up, laughing. Maybe he thinks he’s his daddy, that he’ll pick him up and play peek-a-boo with him.
But he’s not any of those things.
He smiles before he says the words, and Harry falls just like his parents.