It Wasn't Supposed to Happen This Way

The night is cool and dark - a beautiful night - but I can taste the wrongness in the air before He even appears. Your father, my darling James, senses it as well, but what can we do? We wait as those who are condemned to death do. And now, my son, it is too late.

He is here now; I can feel his presence.

The door shivers on its hinges, very nearly shattering under His explosive pounding, and I stare at the familiar dark wood, feeling my heart pound in my chest. It isn't supposed to happen this way; there shouldn't be this awful silence, this waiting. I can't even hear you crying.

Your father is sitting in his favorite chair by the fireplace, where he used to sit with you on his knees, and I can see the look on his face as he stands. He will never get the chance to hold you again. I struggle with my tears as he scrubs a hand through his tousled black hair and retrieves his wand from the mantelpiece. There is no shadow left in him of the mischievous boy I so loathed at Hogwarts, all there is now is the grimly determined face of a man facing dire odds he can never hope to overwhelm. Dark circles of worry haunt his muddy brown eyes, and he ages suddenly before my eyes.

It isn't supposed to happen this way.

'Take Harry to the bedroom and lock the door.' His voice is more solemn than it has ever been, and I can hardly bear it. The door shudders once more, and a horrible crack fills the air.

I open my mouth to protest, taking a step towards him, but he grabs my shoulders and pushes me towards the hall. I can see that behind his glasses his eyes are filling with tears; tears I wish I could brush away, and offer comfort for. But he is shouting now to make himself heard above the din, and my words die in my throat. And then, the door shatters.

'Go Lily! Go now!'

I don't even have time to say goodbye to him. Even as I rush out of the room, he is already dying. I can see the menacing swirl of His cloak entering our home as I disappear down the hallway: to your bedroom.

You smile as you see me enter the room, the innocent, naïve smile only a child can possess, and I burst into tears. My child, that you would have to die before you even have a chance to live...it breaks my heart. But still you smile at me, standing in your cradle with your arms outstretched for the embrace of mine, and I close the distance between us, indulging your wishes. Holding you tight to my breast and breathing in your sweet infant scent, I wish I could hold you forever, but I know now that I cannot. A sob breaks from my throat.

I can hear the shouting from the other room, and, from the question in your eyes, I know you can, too. But still you don't cry. You only curl your tiny fingers into a lock of my hair and continue to smile your adorably heartbreaking little smile at me. You don't know that your father is dead. A sudden, icy silence washes over the house, and I know.

It isn't supposed to happen this way.

He is coming down the hallway now; I can feel him.

The gentle padding of footsteps on the carpet outside your bedroom door is the only sound, now. It is almost strange to hear such a gentle noise coming from Him. It is the measured pace of someone who already knows he has won, who has no need for a hurry. He isn't looking for us; he already knows where we are.

You reach out your arms to me once more as I return you to your cradle, yearning in your sweet green eyes, but I can't hold you any longer. Even you seem to understand this, and you slowly lower your hands, staring balefully up at me...but still you remain silent. Bending over you, I place one last kiss on your forehead, unable to stop a few of my own tears from running down onto your cheeks as well. You giggle quietly, rocking backward and forward on your little feet as I draw away, and grab onto your blanket with your tiny fist.

Oh, my child, how I wish I could save you.

The footsteps pause, and from the corner of my eye, I can see the doorknob turning; I've forgotten to lock the door...but it is too late, now. And, as it opens with a deafening crash, I catch a glimpse of Him.

His cloak covers nearly his entire face, but I can still see the glow of his blood-red eyes beneath its shadow, and I try to quell the rising fear in my chest. It is no use, I know.

'Give me the child.' His voice is like the hissing of a snake, and it makes me tremble. I can hear you still giggling softly behind me, and it lends me what strength I have left to muster.

'No.' I don't even have my wand; it is out in the living room...with your father. My stomach churns.

'Stand aside, you silly girl.' He raises his black-clad arm, nearly skeletal fingers gripping a wand made of dark wood, and I cannot help but shiver. But I will not let him have you.

'No!'

'Avada kedavra!'

There is a flash of blinding emerald light, and I cry out in surprise, but there is no pain. There is no pain, save for the feeling of my heart breaking. I can't save you, my son, my darling Harry. Forgive me.

It wasn't supposed to happen this way.