The Woman Who Lived

31st October 1981

Lily

Harry laughed at the small sparks of magic coming from my wand, as if they were the most incredible thing he had ever seen.

But he’s a baby, unaware of the world, and I think this must be the most incredible thing he’s seen so far.

James was humming as he cast little spider webs from his wand to hang from the ceiling.

“Calm down, Spider-Man.”

“Who?” he said with a playful grin, until something knocked him over.

And I knew it was because my magic stopped at the same time. A chill ran down my spine as the sound of Harry's laughter fading away was the only noise.

“Perhaps they followed Peter,” James murmured, just before Peter's cheerful voice was heard outside, saying he’d brought sweets.

I peered my head through the curtains, expecting to see the Dark Mark, but the sky was clear. Peter smiled at me, and I returned the smile nervously.

“Run,” James gestured, moving toward the door and hiding his wand under his costume.

I ran as fast as I could to Harry's room, holding him tightly. I slammed the door behind me when James mentioned dirty nappies as an excuse.

Dirty nappies would be much better than this.

When I arrived, I didn’t even stop to think; I only had time to cast a quick Muffliato.

I tried to open the window, first with my hands, then with magic, but nothing worked. I carefully placed Harry on the floor and surrounded him with protective charms before attacking the wall, using Bombarda as many times as I could, but it felt like I was casting Leviosa—so weak.

I knelt on the floor with Harry, still hearing Peter and James chatting animatedly, nothing alarming yet. Tears surrounded my eyes, and I was starting to hyperventilate.

I needed to get out.

I needed Harry to get out, it didn’t matter if I didn’t.

Then I noticed the pendant on the necklace Pandora had given me, how sharp it looked, and how it was my only escape in that moment.

I ripped it off my neck and gripped it so tightly that my knuckles turned white. I swallowed hard, and a mental timer began forming in my mind.

I had at most 4 minutes.

I unbuttoned my costume, leaving myself in a skirt and a tank top.

3 minutes 27 seconds.

I pressed the tip of the pendant against the tip of my index finger and pressed until blood and part of my magic spilled out.

3 minutes 18 seconds.

I moved the pendant from my finger to my chest, without hesitation, without thinking for a second about the pain, and began drawing.

2 minutes 42 seconds.

The runes were messy and barely legible, but they were fine—they’d work.

When I finished my part, I could only look at my son sadly.

“Harry, this will hurt, but it won’t be as bad as mine, alright? Everything will be fine, Harry,” I murmured as I drew a line from his little finger to his wrist, cupping my hand to collect the blood there, spreading it over the runes.

39 seconds.

“Harry, mummy loves you, Harry, your parents love you, Harry, you’ll be alright.”

I repeated my words like a mantra until the timer reached zero, counting aloud, reaching 21 before hearing Peter’s “I’m so sorry” to James.

The cold intensified, and I could hear Tom Riddle’s foul voice.

I looked at the mess I’d made. I didn’t stop to think; I simply levitated a rug over the runes and quickly put my costume back on to cover the still-bleeding wound.

James, that Gryffindor idiot, humming that he’d have to kill him before he could reach us.

I didn’t want to flinch at the dull thud of his body falling on the stairs—oh, love, what have you done?

“Harry, I know your Aunt Petunia can be annoying, but believe me, she’s our best option. You’ll have a peaceful life, and I promise I’ll always look after you, stay safe, Harry, please.”

Harry just stared at me with his big eyes, identical to mine, as though I were the most unique thing he had ever seen.

I wish I could look into his eyes forever, but wishes don’t come true, and I could feel the gaze of a dark wizard over me.

“Evans, filthy Mudblood who dared reject my invitation, you see, for your magic, I will grant you a concession that you must know I don’t offer to many—join me and let me finish off the life of that homunculus you hold. You can make another…”

I didn’t want to look at him, but his tone was like a serpent hissing every word.

I left Harry in his crib, stroking his face before turning to face the “man” who would leave him an orphan.

“Tom Riddle,” I said with disgust. “Hypocritical half-blood, you should know I’d rather die than join you if it means losing my son.”

He didn’t say a word, I only saw the green light hit my chest without warning.

The last thing I saw was Harry crying. I wish I had had time to be his mother.

That threw me straight to the ground, it felt like I was fading away.

Is this what it feels like to be dead? Where is James?

But death was too painful, and everything was blurry. My blood was still flowing from my body. If I were alive, that would be a problem.

Harry’s crying should be some kind of torture designed especially for me.

When I woke, the wall beside me was destroyed, and Harry was still crying, with a lightning-shaped scar bleeding on his face, and Voldemort was nowhere to be seen.

There was only dust everywhere.

Outside, dawn was breaking, and my head throbbed as if I had just received a Cruciatus Curse.

I held Harry in my arms and was stunned that I could actually carry him—was he dead too? I groped around for my wand and found it, casting Lumos, which felt quite real.

I opened the door and went downstairs, nearly falling backwards when I saw James’s body, already cold and stiff.

I wasn’t dead.

I wasn’t dead.

No...

My God.

I didn’t think much about James as I passed his side and tried to leave to send a Patronus to Sirius.

(...)

I was still covered in blood, staring into nothingness and murmuring to myself when Sirius arrived.

I could only hold Harry tighter when I heard Sirius’s scream.

Harry was asleep, and somehow, I was alive.