CHAPTER 2
There are three things on Lily's mind. Number one is Harry’s safety and care; anything else comes second to none to this. Number two is her own safety, and to that extent, her ability to take care of herself and Harry. And the fated number three is to figure out a solution to their temporary living situation.
Well, it's not really living, is it? After getting into the car, she swathed Harry in the thick invisibility cloak and placed him in the passenger seat next to her, considering her options.
Lily’s heart pounded in her ears as she nervously bit her fingernails.
Remus, Sirius, and Peter were not options. They were all relatively aware of her family’s location days prior. And though it pains her to consider it, any of them could’ve been traitors lying in wait.
Mcgonagall, Alice, and Frank were off the list as well. Ms. Mcgonagall would contact Dumbledore or the rest of the order for that matter. And Alice and Frank were also in hiding as well. They have a family to keep safe, just as Lily does. She would be a liability if she came to them. And if something had already happened to them, trying to find them might cause unwanted suspicion on her end.
As for Dumbledore, as powerful as he is, he isn’t infallible. If he were still alive, he would more or less be in charge of both her and Harry’s health and safety. Lily loves the headmaster; he was a wonderful teacher and leader, but she didn’t always agree with him. Lily wouldn’t want her and her son’s lives being dictated by Dumbledore or the ministry.
Lily rips a hangnail off with her teeth, wincing in pain. She’s nauseous at the idea of anyone controlling her choices regarding her life and her son. Or, God forbid, even separating them.
And Severus, oh Severus… They both had thought they’d go to the end of the world together and back again.
When Lily was leaving for Hogwarts for the first time, standing at the platform, she had put on a brave and energized front. Lily Evans was ecstatic to be leaving home to pursue a magical education at such a young age. But Lils, Sev’s best friend, was completely terrified.
Severus was skeptical, as he’d always been. Ever the pragmatist, he questioned the goings-on of such a place. He too was worried, though he’d masked it under an air of hesitant curiosity. He was shaking, and she was shaking.
Lily reached out her hand; Severus reluctantly took it. He had told her they weren’t children anymore and didn’t need to do such ridiculous things. But his clammy palms and furrowed brow said otherwise.
She had thumbed over his knuckles in response and asked him if he’d still like her, even if they were in different houses, whatever that meant. Severus had torn his eyes away from the platform entrance and stared at her as if she had grown three heads.
He sighed and said that he would never, ever leave Lily over something so trivial as a house. Lily thought for a moment, gazing into his eyes.
She promised that she too would never, ever, leave Severus over something so silly as a house. And if anyone thought otherwise, she’d beat them up. Severus quickly told her not to do that and that she would definitely get expelled for it.
She quickly shot back, asking if he would do the same for her. He grimaced and bit back. Of course he would; what kind of best friend would he be if he didn’t?
But he’s not here; he’s not here to help or protect her like he promised so long ago. And she doesn’t want to think about it anymore at all. Lily doesn’t even want to muster the courage to face the horrible idea that Severus might have known about the attack on Lily’s family and that he might have done nothing to stop it.
Anxiety clouds her mind and fills her throat. Lily tastes blood on her tongue again; her nail bed is torn to shreds. It looks like she had crawled out of a well with her bare hands, filing her fingernails down to bloody remnants.
Lily looks down at herself and then at her faint reflection in the windshield. She looks like she’s been through hell. The blood tracking down her nightgown to her waist looks frightening, and the gash riding up the left side of her chest is raw and puffy. The entire area is crusted with blackened blood; her entire upper body is bloodied and bruised. Faint scars litter her arms and legs; her feet are covered in dirt, mud, and specks of blood.
Lily’s lips are peeling, and there's smeared blood and lines of mascara still marking her face from earlier. Tear tracks crawl down her face; her hair is a mess. It's frizzy and wrought with leaves and various debris from the woods.
It's uncomfortable, dirty, and raw. And it makes Lily feel vindicated, somehow. The physical evidence of her bloody and hellish struggle through life and death is real. The mental and very physical scars that will be left will be real, and they won’t go away.
It will be a reminder every day that she and Harry survived a literal war and are currently refugees. Her husband is probably dead; her friends might be dead too. And for all she knows, anything could have happened.
But none of the muggles here will know. Nobody here will know about the disaster she left behind. And Lily can’t decide if that's a good or bad thing.
Lily’s mind falls silent after that. Suddenly her surroundings are too quiet for her liking. Lily dazily raises a hand to switch on the radio, dialing into station after station.
Settling on a vintage station, smooth trumpets and piano sway in the air. The smooth, melodic tunes of Helen Forest’s “I Don’t Want to Walk Without You” play in the car.
Lily can distantly remember a time when she was much younger than she was now. 7 years old or so.
She had been staying with her grandmother, watching old black and white films on their weathered monochrome television. Lily had been entranced by the hypnotizing beauty of the music in those films and their charming, crackling audio.
This movie in particular was a classic, or so she had been told. A detective falling in love with a murder victim over the course of her investigation.
Her grandma’s voice rang over the man’s monotone narration. “I used to watch these types of movies with your grandfather.” She said, the clicking of knitting needles and static filling the room.
Lily didn’t take her eyes off the screen as her grandma continued on.
“There was romance and suspense, but sadness too. McPherson here yearned for a woman he never even knew. A dead woman, no less.” She continued on, “I couldn’t even imagine mourning for someone I didn’t even know. I could imagine mourning someone I knew even less. I hadn’t experienced that type of loss yet.”
“Do you miss Grandad?” Lily asked as Mcpherson stared longingly at a lovingly illustrated portrait of the deceased.
Her grandma paused, “When he died, a part of me left that day. I almost wish I died with him too.”
Lily turned and met her grandmother’s eyes. They were weary and old. In the pictures that lay around her home, she had bright, sky blue eyes. Now, though, all that was left had worn down to a muted and cold, stormy gray.
“I couldn’t imagine mourning him, and now I do, every day.” She leaned back on her loveseat, eyes trailing over to the gilded picture frame that lay on the end table next to her. I can only hope I don’t forget him any more than I already have.”
Mum quickly intervened after that, telling Grandma that it was late and that she should get to bed. Grandma died a year later; on her deathbed, Lily had asked her if she remembered her husband. She had only given Lily a blank, soulless stare, mumbling something Lily couldn't make out over the heart rate monitor and her mother's cries.
Lily couldn’t know if James had died last night, along with the only life Lily had ever known. But it felt like he did. And her soul felt like it was only half of what it was, too. Like there was some missing piece, lost just beyond her grasp.
Lily’s heart ached; she doubled over in pain. She quickly grasped her chest, where her wound lay. It was sluggishly bleeding red over her nightgown; the cashier must’ve thought it was a Halloween costume. It would explain her distant and unfocused stare, idly trying to figure out if the woman in front of her had been carved open earlier that night.
Lily clenched her teeth, sucking in a tight breath of air. As her chest expanded, the red dripped further down into her lap. She choked, pressing her eyes firmly together. The pain was unbearable, the adrenaline was subsiding, and it felt like hell. But right now the goal is to keep Harry safe and protected. Lily knows that the missing vehicle will likely be reported at dawn, and if spotted with it, she very well may be arrested.
She arrives at the conclusion that it would not be in her interest to be arrested. In a surge of panic, she thinks about the cashier and if she may call the police herself. She wouldn’t have any reason to, or would she? A strange woman with a dazed look and realistic gore sliding down her front, stumbling into a station at nearly 3am. It was cause for concern.
Slowly raising herself to eye level with the desolated car park. She breathes evenly and slowly, eyeing the road ahead of her. Shifting gears, she pulls out of the lot, riding steadily down the gravel road.
The crooked oak trees twist overhead as Helen Forest’s Mad About the Boy drones in her ear. The uneven terrain giving way to unsteady dirt pathing, she turns left. The car heaves with each upturned stone Lily rides over; she feels sweat drip down her forehead and rolls down the windows.
The engine sputters, and the smell of exhaust and cold air fills her lungs, seeping through the car. Lily thinks she can taste cold metallic blood tingling her mouth. And she’s not sure if it's her biting her own tongue to keep from crying out, or if she’s finally died.
Lily resists the intense urge to scratch and itch at her chest once more as she removes the car keys from the ignition and the engine shuts off. Only the faint light of the moon gives an indication of where she is. It's the old, broken shack that had caught her attention back on the road. The car shouldn’t be so visible this far out, given that she’s driven far into the underbrush.
The shack itself is dilapidated at best; broken glass shards from the shattered front two windows line the narrow brick path to the wooden door. Leaves, moss, and other debris shelter the roof, leaving only slim glimpses of visibility into the old house. With great trepidation, Lily glances at Harry once more; they’re out of options and out of time.
Her heartbeat fills her ears once more as she steps out of the car and gently onto the dewy grass. It sharply reminds her of the bleeding wounds on her own feet; Lily holds back tears as she shakily raises Harry out of the passenger seat and into her arms, carrying him under the rotted threshold.
The air reeks of mildew and rot, but it looks better than what it appeared to be.
Damp wooden floors and poorly maintained, curling wallpaper greet her. Crates of bottles and newspapers mostly decorate the interior of the home. A few nearly melted candles and upturned furniture don’t help the unappealing atmosphere.
The floor creaks with each step Lily takes forward, as if the flooring were to bend and snap under her weight at any moment. The main living area is small and slightly crowded, though that might be from its choice of decor. Off to the side, a compact kitchen lies mostly intact, though a few cabinet doors are broken.
To the left lies a tight corridor, mindfully pushing forward 3 doors line the hall. Closest to the entrance lies a very small bathroom, or what looks like one. The faucet is rusted and old, both on the sink and tub; it leaks with each passing second. It reeks of mold and dust; the cracked tile floor, uprooted from its position long ago, makes its presence known, folding under the pressure Lily’s foot pushes onto it.
She quickly turns into the furthest room, the main bedroom, it seems. It has one window facing the back of the house and a dual fireplace mirroring the one in the living room. It too is unkempt and ragged; two deflated pillows lie on a lone mattress on a half-broken bed frame. There is one blanket, and it falls discarded on the floor, ratty and loose.
Finally, Lily checks the third door; thinking it must be a storage closet, she attempts to open it. It doesn’t give, and Lily pushes harder, struggling against her weight; it gives way and flies open, sliding across the floor with a groan.
Lily shudders and tries not to breathe too deeply as decades of dust are set loose into the air around her. It's an incredibly tight stairwell, leading up to an attic. Ambling up the steps, she finds a space littered with boxes and books.
The attic has the stench of old and reeks of centuries of use. It houses one of the only not broken windows fixed to the far end of the roof. It's shaped in a rectangle, with a strange stained glass depiction of something. It somehow feels more welcoming than any other part of the home has thus far.
Dust, dirt, and blood cling to Lily’s feet, and she takes cautious steps under the space under the window, where moonlight shines through high and bright. She shakily exhales, slowly falling to her knees in exhaustion. Harry wiggles in her arms, and she quickly readjusts him against her shoulder.
Lily lies down on the wooden floorboards, sparing one last glance to the stairwell before her, back to the window, moonlight gracing her back as she silently weeps and gasps into her son’s hair.