CHAPTER 1
When Lily Potter, nee Evans, wakes up on the floor of her son’s nursery, numb and cold, she doesn’t think about what time it is. When Lily is hefting her son Harry into her arms, she only briefly wonders where her husband James is.
When Lily is running through what was supposed to be their safe haven, she only takes what she needs. The cloak, the wand, and the child.
When Lily steals a car parked nearby, she doesn’t contemplate any consequences she might have for it.
And when Lily is driving through the countryside, she notices how late it’s gotten and that she’s halfway across the country or so. Only then does Lily start to realize the gravity of her situation.
She is completely and totally, utterly alone. Well, almost alone, her eyes drift behind her, where her son lies asleep in the backseat of the sedan. Her son does not have his father, or his godfather, or his pseudo uncle, for that matter. She doesn’t have her husband, her best friends, or her home.
Right now Lily doesn’t even have any money to her name, except for the wallet she found in the aforementioned vehicle. No galleons nor gold, she can’t go back to the life they knew.
Who knows what lies on the other side of the veil? If her home was compromised, what else could’ve transpired? Does the so-called Dark Lord now reign supreme, having bested the “child of prophecy” and his mother?
But Harry isn’t dead, and neither is Lily, for that matter. Voldemort was nowhere to be seen when Lily awoke; not a speck of blood nor bruise lay on her or Harry.
Lily resists the urge to rub at her aching chest and to check Harry’s forehead.
Er, well maybe a bit, but Lily doesn't have a lot of options. What, with the relentless persecution she and Harry might face if she takes the chance that Voldemort isn’t in power when he very well may be? He has eyes everywhere, and she’d really rather not be seen.
Lily adjusts her grip on the steering wheel, sparing a glance to the backseat. It’s a miracle he isn’t raising hell; it’s a miracle they’re alive. Miracles are supposed to be rare, and as Lily eyes the wound on her son’s forehead, she thinks about how she’d rather not take any chances.
The engine stutters bringing her back to the road, a sound queue clicking can be heard, the car is low on gas. It’s not out, but wasn’t Lily just saying she’d rather not take any chances? Illuminated ahead of the vehicle, a sign is displayed on the neck of the road.
“Little Hangleton,” it reads. Ahead of the sign, there are a few lights beyond the horizon. Enough to warrant a check for fuel, especially at this hour. Anything is better than nothing.
As for the injuries she and Harry have sustained, whether or not they are of a magical nature matters not. Harry’s forehead had clotted hours ago, and while Lily’s chest still aches and is definitely swollen and itching, it isn't bleeding anymore either. It’s a good sign and another stroke of luck, among many others tonight.
But what does matter is whether or not the wounds become infected. While they might not be cursed, Lily and Harry are still painfully human. Sepsis is no laughing matter, or so she’s been told.
Lily steers the car swiftly to the left; the road beneath the vehicle is cracked and aged. Telling by the gravel that lies on the neck of the road, it was likely paved over within the last decade or so. The town itself is old, but not exactly run down. It’s quiet and quaint; several storefronts line the main street, all weathered with time and exposure.
Some Halloween decorations adorn the storefronts with dark shingled roofs, though they’ve long since been left out. It’s after dark, in the very early hours of the morning; any trick-or-treaters the town might've had are long gone.
Passing down the street further, the buildings begin to fade into forestry and fauna. Several gravel paths offshoot the road heading into the cut brush, likely to homes or lone properties. Lily can’t particularly see that well in the shade covering the streets; the headlights help, but not as much as she’d like.
The road fades out back into dirt and gravel; the pavers must’ve never gotten this far. And though Lily feels that it’s unlikely the station is here, she feels the urge to persevere. And as she passes through the thicker-than-ever brush of twisting trees and vines, she catches a glimpse of a lone home standing concealed by the curling branches and evergreen flora.
It catches her eye in a way she can’t explain; she feels inexplicably drawn to it, unnatural and alluring. Lily can’t explain it in any meaningful way, but it concentrates a feeling in her chest. Deep and longing, longing for something similar, something like kin, something like family.
Harry jostles in the backseat, stirring Lily from her thoughts, as she absentmindedly scratches her chest, provoking small amounts of blood to dribble from the gaping, open wound; she places the sedan in reverse, calmly starting back down the road.
Lily doesn’t ponder the feeling any further.
She finds the station just a few miles back and briefly wonders how she missed it. The place is painted white with thick, wooden paneling decorating the exterior walls. Several pumps line the entrance, along with one bench and a glaring, bright sign that reads OPEN in red text.
Lily parks the car in front of the leftmost pump, cross-checking the wallet and petrol price for the allotted amount necessary. She pops open the car door, briefly looking at her son, before swiftly making her way to the station door.
The bell above the door jingles upon entry as a frightfully young lady peeks up from her crossword puzzle at the register. She has mousy blond hair and wide, doe-like eyes. A far cry from the person Lily expected to be working the graveyard shift in a middle-of-nowhere petrol station. To each their own, she supposes, off to the surplus supplies and first aid.
Of course, there isn’t much; thankfully, she spots a red first aid kit lying on a shelf amongst toppled bottles of various tonics and prepackaged bandages. It doesn’t have a price tag, likely on account of it not being supposed to be there. Lily quickly nabs the kit and a case of water; heading to the checkout, she wearily eyes the packs of cigarettes on the counter; she hasn’t smoked in years.
Stress always brings out the worst in people, and old habits die hard.
The cashier is eyeing her oddly; Lily pinches her eyebrows, frowning; the girl twitches and sighs in response. Does Lily really look that haggard? She hasn’t seen her reflection, or more accurately hasn’t taken note of it since this morning.
“Them too?” She gestures to the packs next to the register. It’s a hard-fought battle, but Lily shakes her head to decline; it feels like a pyrrhic victory. Lily unloads her items onto the counter, a moment passes, and after a few seconds of silence, the young woman speaks again.
“You’re not from around here, are you?” She questions, raising an eyebrow. She doesn’t even bother scanning the items, more interested in testing Lily than doing her job.
“No… I just…” Lily pauses, her heart beating and her chest itching. “I moved here recently, today, that is.” She swiftly corrects, “I inherited the home, ah, the one with the gnarled trees, near the end of the road?”
The cashier’s eyes widened in surprise. “The Gaunt shack?” She questions indignantly, quickly straightening her posture and tone. “I… didn’t know anyone in that family was still alive to… well, inherit it, no offense.”
“No offense taken…” Lily quietly responds, trying so very hard not to glare at the woman.
“Yeah…” a moment of silence, “I’m sorry for your loss.” She questions, clearly more uncomfortable and put off than she initially was. Maybe it was best for her to look a little bit embarrassed after asking such a question. After all, Lily did lose someone, probably. James’s likely demise is still pending in her mind.
If the dark lord made it to her and Harry, after James explicitly went out to protect them, placing a barrier between him and them, then it’s more than likely that he didn’t… make it. Lily starts to feel sick, and she really hopes it doesn’t show on her face. But, she’s always worn her heart on her sleeve. And the cashier probably recognizes this, growing a shade paler, her face morphing into one of clear guilt.
“Oh, shit. I’m so sorry,” she starts; Lily wants to keel over, to crawl into a hole in the earth and die.
“No, no, it’s fine,” Lily laughs, eyes wet. “My husband is…” she grows quiet for a moment, thinking, though the cashier probably takes it as trying to collect herself. “Presumed dead, so I just figured we’d relocate for now.”
“We?” She questions, tilting her head, finally starting to register the respective items.
“Me and my son,” Lily responds.
“Ah… and he’s fine?” Yes.
“Yes.”
“And what was he?” Please stop talking.
“Ah, well,” Lily wants to maul this woman to death. “An officer, he was… lost in action.”
“I’m sorry for your loss.” The woman leans her head to the side, eyes avoidant. Lily feels her right eye start to twitch and her knuckles grow white as she clutches the wooden countertop.
“Can I just pay for my gas and items, please?” Lily sighs; she’s trying so hard not to sneer. It’s almost unbearable. Alice would be proud, wherever she is.
“Oh, yeah, right.” She mutters, quickly dumping everything into a bag. Why on earth did it take this long if she could have done that the whole time?
Lily hands over the amount the cashier lists, though she’s only half paying attention.
“Have a nice night,” the blonde murmurs; her cheeks are slightly flushed, and her eyes are staring very strongly at the hard tile floor. Lily catches that part, and she really doesn’t want to even grace this young lady with the pleasantry of a reply; she needs to set a good example. She is, for better or for worse, a single mother.
So she musters any remaining care she has for others and whispers, “Yes, you as well.” Loud enough for the woman to hear her, but not so much as to draw attention to the dry tone in which she says it.
When Lily’s hand grasps the cold brass of the door handle, she briefly hopes the woman just thought the blood on her was a very realistic, bloody depiction of a chest wound specifically for Halloween and not anything else. Lily hasn’t seen it yet, not in detail, but she knows it's there and peeks slightly above her nightgown.
The door clicks behind her, while Lily murmurs something like a prayer under her breath. Steeling herself before the chilly autumnal winds, she keeps moving forward. Harry hasn’t moved an inch; a quick check of his temperature proves he’s well enough. Unclasping the latch on the kit, she reaches in for a wipe, quickly sweeping any fluids off his wound. It’s not hard to care for; as a matter of fact, it's very easy.
The wound is shallow, only surface level, just breaking the skin barrier enough to leave a nasty scar. But not enough to cause any trauma, thankfully. Though it is an odd shape, if nothing else. As Lily traces the imprint of the wound and its growing scar tissue, an intense feeling of déjà vu slips into Lily’s mind. It’s faint and feels like only a memory, but it's cold and tastes like acid on her tongue.
Lily swipes her tongue along her teeth and swallows, in an attempt to get rid of the taste. As she lies in the front seat of the car, hands prickling and numb on the steering wheel, she distantly wonders if anything really changed at all.