Chapter Twenty-One (Lily's Memories)

Harry emerged from the pensive gasping for breath, both hands white-knuckled on the edges of the silver bowl as his mind ran around itself in circles trying to make sense of the maelstrom of emotion currently rampaging through him. There was a painfully tight grip on his shoulder where long, pale fingers had clamped down in sympathetic reaction but Harry hardly noticed.

"He knew," Harry breathed, eyes burning as the joy he felt at seeing his father properly for the first time warred with the sudden, horrible understanding that Dumbledore had known Sirius was innocent, and had left him to rot.

Death was silent at his shoulder, and when Harry turned to look at him he saw a face that could have been carved out of stone. There was no fanged smile on that face, nor was there even a hint of green in terrible void-black eyes. Death was staring at the quietly swirling pensieve without a shred of emotion to betray what he might have been thinking, and—not for the first time—Harry wished he knew how to read minds.

"It is strange," Death finally spoke, voice soft and hoarse. "I had… forgotten what grief felt like."

Harry took a deep breath as he shoved back his own reaction and studied his companion more closely. How would this feel to Death, he wondered? For an immortal who had gone eons without so much as thinking about his human past, to suddenly be confronted with the first, undeniable proof he'd ever had that his mortal father had loved him?

Death's face twitched slightly, and his lips peeled back into a familiar, sharp grin that was far less friendly than the ones Harry normally saw. "Shall we proceed, my shell? Or shall we put my spell on the old mortal to the test?"

Harry steadied his heartbeat as he tried to make a rational decision. He wanted to watch his mother's memories desperately, but he also felt a burning desire to go confront Dumbledore where the whole Order would see. He wanted to make everyone aware of what the old man had done to Sirius and to his parents. He also wanted to climb up to the top of the Astronomy Tower and cry out for everyone to hear that his father had loved him.

He was almost afraid to watch his mother's memories. What if they revealed more horrible secrets he hadn't known about? What if they managed to cool down his anger enough that he forgot about confronting Dumbledore?

"Time will wait for us, my shell, if I will it to."

Harry glanced up at the amused, patient smile on Death's face. There was no hint of the previous, slightly-mad expression or the cold emotionlessness of before. Harry didn't know if that meant Death had simply gotten over it so quickly, or if he was just far better at hiding it than Harry was.

He watched absently as Death waved his hand over the pensieve and the threads of memory rose out of the bowl and sorted themselves back into the empty vials. Death reached for one of the remaining ones still in the box and pressed it into Harry's hand, cold fingers closing around both the vial and the hand holding it.

Death leaned over his shoulder, his breath like ice as he spoke into Harry's ear. "I am here, my shell. I am with you. You are not alone." Death's other hand combed through Harry's hair in a bizarrely comforting motion. Harry became aware of a wave of magic washing over and through him, leaving him shivering and shuddering in its wake as the world around them became unnaturally still. "Take your time," Death murmured, "We are patient. We can afford to wait."

Harry was a bit worried about why Death had suddenly started speaking in plural, but he appreciated the sentiment. He was also rather positive that Death had literally just forced the rest of the world to stop moving so Harry could have time to make up his mind.

Taking a steadying breath, Harry reached out and tipped the vial in his hand into the pensieve, watching as the other memories from the box rose up and joined it with a flick of Death's wrist. He swallowed heavily as he watched his mother's memories float and twirl inside the silver bowl, feeling Death lean back and return his hand to Harry's shoulder.

Steeling his nerves, Harry leaned forward and pressed his face into the pensieve, feeling the hand on his shoulder tighten in response before his world faded away.

Lily frowned, resolutely focusing on her Charms essay in an effort to avoid listening to Potter braying about with the other Marauders. She paused mentally as he laughed at something Pettigrew had said, and had to admit that he had a rather nice laugh. It was low and slightly husky, and it was far more genuine than those fake-sounding malicious laughs he'd used to use whenever he tormented Severus.

Keep it together, Evans! Lily scolded herself. She couldn't allow such thoughts to manifest, not when Ja—Potter was in the same room! The boy had a sixth sense for knowing when someone was thinking about him; it was almost unsettling.

She could feel his eyes on her from where she hid behind her book, and she could practically feel the blood rushing to her face as she tried to nonchalantly duck down further. Darn. He knew she was thinking about him, like always. If things followed the pattern, he'd come swaggering up to her with compliments and a cheesy smile as he attempted to convince her to go out with him. He'd been doing this since third year—when he finally realized that girls weren't gross and did not, in fact, carry the wizarding equivalent of cooties—and had been pulling her metaphorical pigtails since their first day on the train.

She waited, but nothing was forthcoming. There was even a heartbeat of silence from the Marauder's corner near the fireplace. Lily lifted her head with a frown, looking over in time to see Jam—Potter turning back to his friends with a strained, defeated sort of smile as he said something that made Black and Remus laugh.

Something cold and painful clenched in her chest at the sight of that smile. Had Potter given up? This thought was oddly discomfiting, considering all the times Lily had wished the boy would leave her alone for a change. The idea of a year without Jame—Potter chasing after her was not a comforting one, and she found herself riddled with the desire to go over there and shake some sense into him.

He couldn't just give up like that! Lily's previous hurt swiftly transformed into anger. James Potter was not allowed to surrender like this, not now that Lily had finally noticed that he wasn't terrible looking and that he had a nice laugh! Slamming her book closed with authority normally reserved for judges and Wizengamot members, Lily stood from her chair with such force that it scooted back a few inches with an unholy amount of noise.

Lily set her face in a fierce scowl as all eyes in the common room locked on to her, as she straightened up and began marching towards the Marauders and the startled, deer-in-the-headlights stare of the bane of her existence.

"You're taking me to Hogsmeade this weekend," she informed the bewildered Chaser curtly. "You're going to wear something publicly appropriate, buy me a bunch of roses, and we're going to have a wonderful time together. Is that clear?"

"Yes ma'am!" James saluted, grinning ear-to-ear as he all but vibrated in his chair, the earlier defeat and heartache gone from his expression. Something eased in Lily's chest at their absence, feeling much better about herself now that he didn't look so miserable.

"Good," Lily nodded, still frowning but no longer feeling the desire to whack James upside the head with her Charms book. "I'll see you Saturday."

She turned on her heel and headed for the girl's dorms, ignoring the triumphant "Woop!" coming from the corner she'd just left and the good-natured ribbing she could hear going on, along with familiar delighted laughter. And if she found herself smiling as she went up the stairs, well…

He did have an awfully nice laugh.

"I look like a whale," Lily informed her friend mournfully, earning a bright giggle that she couldn't quite bring herself to match. She was tired and sore and her feet hurt, and there did not exist a chair in the world that gave her aching back the support it needed. And here was Alice, the lucky woman, who looked like being eight months pregnant was a walk in the park.

"Don't be ridiculous," Alice chided. "You look beautiful, and I'm sure James agrees."

Lily knew James basically thought she hung the sun and moon. It was written all over his face every time he laid eyes on her—a dazed, delirious sort of happiness like he couldn't believe he'd been fortunate enough to have married her. It didn't help her feel better, though. Her emotions were all over the place and she was practically stuck in the bathroom all the time and she wanted to give birth already.

As if she could read her mind, Alice laughed. "Just hang in there for a few more weeks, Lily." Alice brightened, looking excited as something crossed her mind. "I wonder if the boys will be born on the same day? Wouldn't that be something?"

Lily smiled, imagining it. She and Alice were due for around the same time, so it was actually rather possible that they might end up giving birth on the same day. Lily could already picture little joint birthday parties for Harry and Neville, certain that the two would be best friends just like she and Alice. With Frank and James working so closely at the Ministry and with the Order, there would be plenty of opportunities for the mothers to share babysitting duties.

Because there was no way Lily was entrusting her unborn child to the likes of Sirius Black, the scoundrel. He'd probably wind up accidentally converting her son to pranksterdom, and then just sort of shrug helplessly when she confronted him about it. Now Remus, she wouldn't mind leaving little Harry with Remus. She could trust the gentle werewolf to actually exercise self-control, unlike a certain wolfhound.

"Lily," Alice began, breaking her from her thoughts. Lily turned to her curiously, only to see Alice's round face marred with nerves. "Frank and I… we were hoping that you'd agree to be Neville's godmother. Just in case… well, you know that I plan to go back to the force once it's safe to do so and with the war acting up…"

Lily smiled and reached over to stop her nervous rambling, covering Alice's hands where she'd been wringing them together and squeezing reassuringly. "I'd love to be Neville's godmother. You'll be Harry's, I hope? I'll need someone with some sense to counteract James's mad idea of making Sirius his godfather."

Alice beamed, reaching out and hugging Lily as best she could with them both so pregnant. "Oh I'm so glad," she breathed, looking exceptionally relieved. "Frank was sure you'd agree, but I was worried…"

"Nonsense," Lily interrupted, smiling at the sheepish look on Alice's face. "Knowing us, they'll be practically brothers anyway. We might as well make it as official as we can."

Lily laughed as Alice hugged her again, babbling about plans and birthdays and future parties, and she just listened with a smile on her face, glowing with anticipation.

Lily couldn't stop looking at him. Her son, her little Harry. He was just… so absolutely perfect that she could barely bring herself to step out of the room without him in her arms, even after several months had passed. James was even more besotted with their son than she was, which made her feel both indignant and fondly affectionate simultaneously.

This was one of the rare times where Lily had Harry all to herself, having literally shoved a protesting James through the floo to go bother Sirius and Remus an hour ago. If her darling husband had his way, he'd likely just permanently attach Harry to his chest with a sticking charm and be done with it.

Lily stilled as big green eyes opened a little to stare in her direction before closing again, and she felt a wave of increasingly-familiar emotion wash through her. Those were her eyes, on the face of her son. She still woke up sometimes in the middle of the night, convinced that Harry's entire existence was simply a wonderful dream. She'd start crying then, hating herself and hating her mind for conjuring up such happiness only to snatch it away, and then James would reach over, half-asleep, and pat her on the arm as he tells her in a slurred voice that you'll wake up the Prongslett, Lily-flower.

She fell a little deeper in love with him every time he did that.

Unable to help herself, Lily reached into the crib and took Harry into her arms, cradling him close as if trying to fuse him with herself. She couldn't help but smile when he didn't even stir at the movement. Harry was such a deep sleeper—he got that from his father, Lily knew. Lily herself woke up if a branch outside so much as creaked, but waking James for anything less than the apocalypse was a feat worthy of song.

Lily was thankful that Harry was such a quiet, sweet baby. Unlike poor Alice's son. Now Neville was a crier; he was fine if Alice or Frank was in his line of sight, but if they so much as stepped behind an open door or behind a piece of furniture, little Neville started bawling his heart out. It was kind of adorable in an overly-attached-baby kind of way, but Lily was still glad that Harry could express his displeasure through oddly serious Looks and tiny little involuntary frowns.

Sirius—the mutt—sometimes called Harry a "little old man" as a joke. He was always joking when he said it, but Lily couldn't help but think the term old soul fit more. James, of course, thought Harry was perfect and the best baby in the entire world (which he was), and his retaliation pranks against Sirius were always a bit more ruthless if he overheard his friend calling his son names.

There was just so much potential in little Harry that it frightened Lily sometimes. She wasn't afraid of her son, no, but she was afraid for him. He hadn't displayed any accidental magic yet, but you could feel the power coming off him, even in his sleep. That sort of power was addicting, and not necessarily to the wielder. She could name four people off the top of her head who were just power-hungry enough to see the same potential in her son as she did, and one of them was Albus Dumbledore.

She trusted Albus, sure, as much as she trusted anyone, but she trusted no one with her son. No one but James, who she knew would lay down his life (God forbid) for Harry if the situation called for it. Becoming a mother had made her incredibly paranoid, Lily realized wryly. She was double-guessing the intentions and words of everyone and anyone who so much as laid eyes on her son, ready to take on all-comers if there was a single sideways glance in his direction.

It was her paranoia which had kept her from letting Albus visit her son, even though he'd known about Harry's birth for the past seven months. She was running out of reasons to keep him away, and even James was starting to eye her oddly whenever she insisted that now just really isn't a good time, Albus, maybe next week?

She didn't even have any solid reason for wanting to keep her son all to herself. It was just a feeling, the kind that had warned her not to invite Petunia to her wedding but that she'd ignored when James insisted, which told her that her son was in danger. Constantly. It was enough to make her rather frazzled, and she was beyond grateful that she had this time of quiet to herself with which to calm down a little.

Harry stirred a little in her arms and she leaned down to press a kiss to his brow without even thinking about it. Lily's eyes cut towards the wall across from her, behind and beyond which was the warded safe-room James had shown her. He'd taught her the activation key to bring up the wards and had run her through several mock-attacks in which she had to get inside with their son as fast as possible.

Potter Manor was one of the best-warded properties in Britain, but the wards on that little safe-room were as secure as Hogwarts. Lily looked at the room when she was feeling stressed, reassuring herself that even if worst came to worst, they could survive a nuclear holocaust in that room.

Smiling to herself, Lily leaned further back in her chair and clutched Harry tighter to her chest. They would be fine. Her feelings had been wrong before, after all. Besides, what kind of danger could a seven-month-old infant really be in?

Lily glanced at the doorway, double-checking that James wasn't popping in for another one of his 'babynapping' escapades, before turning and finishing the final rune on the walls of the nursery. Stepping back, Lily watched as the carvings encircling the room flared black and silver—How odd, she mused, those aren't the colors of my magic at all—before fading out of existence. But she could feel them, still. Humming with suppressed power and an ominous anticipation, just waiting for the sowilo she'd painted on little Harry's forehead a while ago to burn to life.

Don't get her wrong; she loved Godric's Hollow, but without the thick wards of Potter Manor she felt positively vulnerable, no matter how much faith Albus had in his fidelius. The solution to her renewed paranoia had been rather simple in hindsight.

She had been frantic the moment James let it slip that Albus wanted them to leave the safety of Potter Manor and come to this little house with nothing but Peter's strength of will (she wondered what, exactly, James had been drinking when he decided to let Peter be their secret-keeper. Loyal he may be, but brave he was not) standing between her son and the Dark Lord Voldemort. Lily had been certain that she could develop protection for her son, but she hadn't been so confident that it could be done in a reasonable time frame.

It wasn't like Voldemort was going to wait until she was ready before he decided to attack, after all. And he would attack. The Prophecy—which Lily had little to no faith in, but was resigned to the fact that both Albus and the Dark Lord did—all but ensured that her little boy would have a target painted on his back for the rest of his life.

The runic ritual she'd created had not been difficult. She couldn't quite understand why no one else had discovered it before she did, but figured it was more of the wizarding world's lack of logic at work yet again. It was a Sacrificial Ward, and it would protect her son from any and all harm at the cost of her own life. The only downside was that it was based on runes, which meant she had to restrict the Ward to a single room or else it wouldn't be as effective.

She'd chosen Harry's room because it was the most logical choice. Anyone coming after her baby would likely do it while she and James were sleeping across the hall, and she wouldn't have the time to set up anything more elaborate. This Ward didn't need any input from her at all now that she'd activated it. It would sense the danger coming for her baby and take action to stop it from happening, using her magic as a power source. If she'd designed it correctly, the Ward should only take the amount of magic from her that was necessary to rebuke the attack, and nothing more. But if the attack on her son would be fatal, as she suspected it would likely be, the Ward would rip every scrap of her magic from her body and use the ambient magic of the house to make up the difference. The shock of losing her magic like that would kill her, but it was a sacrifice she was more than willing to make for her son. And on the off-chance that she was assassinated before they went after her son, her magic would be absorbed into the Ward to complete its purpose regardless.

Lily stepped up to Harry's crib and scooped him into her arms, smiling as Harry babbled up at her and made grabbing motions towards her hair. Her little Harry was fascinated with her hair, which—of course—James found hilarious. She'd made her fool of a husband sleep on the couch the last time he'd laughed at her though, so she thought he'd probably learned that lesson by now.

She rubbed her thumb over the sight where the sowilo had been, it having disappeared once the runes around the room came to life. Her smile turned wistful, praying to any deity that would listen that her Ward would never be needed, and Harry would never have to know he had a protective rune inked on his forehead, just waiting for a hostile act to burn to life. She hoped it wouldn't hurt him when it activated, but she had no way of knowing for sure. It might hurt, but at least he would be alive. And James would be there to look after him, she was sure. And… Lily swallowed and hid it behind a smile that she buried in Harry's tuft of hair. And if he weren't, she knew for a fact that James' will put Harry with any number of good families. He would be raised well.

"Your mum loves you, Harry," Lily whispered, shivering as she felt the Ward around the room pulse as if it were alive. This behavior was more than a little unsettling, as runes were not supposed to act like this, but as long as it did its job she could overlook a little oddity like sentient magic.

Harry babbled back at her and took some of her hair in his little fist, staring at it, enraptured. Lily smothered a laugh at the look on his face, not wanting to distract him.

"My son's got good taste, eh Lily-flower?"

Lily smiled and turned to the door where James was lounging, his hands twitching slightly as if he wanted to snatch her baby from her and cuddle him. It was beyond adorable how much James loved their son, and Lily was getting used to having to be creative whenever she wanted Harry to herself.

Lily watched as James' face contorted slightly as she felt Harry stuff the hair in his hand into his mouth, and she frowned sternly at her husband, daring him to laugh. She kept the frown as James' face slowly turned red as he suppressed his natural Marauder-tendencies, and sent him numerous warnings with her eyes that if she heard so much as a chuckle he'd be out on the couch for a week.

  Well… maybe not a whole week. She did enjoy married life as much as her husband, but sometimes sacrifices had to be made for the greater good. She conveyed this thought with a pleasant smile, the kind she wore whenever she caught Padfoot peeing in her flowerbed or James attempting to teach Harry how to fly despite him being thirteen months old. In a pavlovian reaction to that smile, James' face lost all its color as he blanched and backpedaled out of the room as if she'd sprouted tentacles and six extra limbs.

Lily smirked smugly as she pulled her hair out of Harry's mouth, striding proudly out of the room in search of her wayward husband.

Oh yes. She knew who wore the pants in this family.

Lily cracked open one eye as she watched James 'stealthily' make his way out of the bedroom and into the loo, 'quietly' closing the door behind him. She couldn't help but smile. James was about as stealthy as a brick, and as subtle as one too, but it was cute of him to try and keep from waking her up.

Too bad Lily woke up if James so much as shifted in his sleep.

Ah well. This would give her some time to go see Harry before her husband returned and hogged their son all to himself. Slipping out of the bed—in a much more silent manner than James—Lily headed into Harry's room and sat in the huge overstuffed armchair James had smuggled into the room when Lily wasn't looking. It was a garish, unattractive thing colored the most obnoxious shade of bright gold that she'd ever seen. Looking at it for too long made her eyes hurt a bit, so she tended to throw a nice blue blanket over it whenever she was in the room to avoid it giving her a headache.

She dearly hoped little Harry wouldn't wind up staring at it for too long and end up needing glasses like his father. Perhaps it was James' tendency towards horribly bright and clashing colors that had made his own eyesight so awful?

Smiling a little at the—highly likely—thought, Lily peered at the sleeping Harry in his crib. She was very proud of that crib, having fought tooth and nail against James to prevent it being covered in animated lions and griffons.

Lily didn't want to wake him—she knew perfectly well that her overprotective husband had warded the room to let him know the moment Harry woke up—so she simply sat and took in the sight of him. Her baby boy.

The runic Ward around the room was still strong, just as subtly oppressive and unnerving as ever. Incredibly, neither James nor her rather magically-sensitive son had noticed it yet. She supposed she should count her blessings, because if James had noticed and started asking questions, she wasn't entirely certain she could explain why the magic felt this way. She certainly hadn't given the Ward sentience or such… personality.

Giving into temptation, Lily scooped Harry out of his crib and held him as he slept, stilling when he stirred with a disgruntled frown before settling again. She heard James 'silently' making his way towards Harry's room and smiled fondly. It would be just like him to be sneaky like this and squeeze in some extra time with their son while Lily was supposedly asleep.

  He stepped through the door and froze, eyes wide like a startled deer. That expression always secretly amused her, because it was almost exactly the face his animagus form had every time Padfoot startled him while they were out playing like overgrown children.

Oddly, James was wearing an ostentatious set of red and gold robes that she didn't recognize and had even attempted to fix his untamable Potter hair. Lily cocked a brow at him, pointedly staring at the robes as James cleared his throat and ran his fingers through his hair with a nervous grin.

How, exactly, did this man get away with anything at all during his school years? He had the absolutely most obvious "guilty face" that she'd ever seen.

"Going somewhere, James?" she asked quietly, mindful of the sleeping child in her arms, and attempted to look serious and unamused. It wasn't really a natural look on her, though, since just looking at James tended to make her smile sappily like a lovesick schoolgirl.

James smiled sheepishly and with a wave of his wand his robe melted back into the pair of trousers he wore when he slept. "Ah… just… posing in front of the bathroom mirror."

Lily deadpanned.

James laughed nervously.

Sighing, she decided to let it go. She could imagine her ridiculous husband 'posing' in front of a mirror, even if it was something she'd expect out of Sirius instead of James. Beaming at her in lieu of his 'victory,' James pranced over to the huge eyesore of a chair and squeezed and squirmed his way in it until he and Lily were rather uncomfortably squashed together with Harry between them.

"Cozy," James grinned, waggling his brows as he slung an arm around her shoulders and tugged her against him. She halfheartedly slapped at his chest before snuggling into him, holding Harry in her arms.

They were quiet for a while, the only sounds their soft breathing and Harry's occasional grumble of noise.

She stirred out of her half-doze when she felt James press a kiss into her hair, the arm tightening around her shoulders.

"You seem worried, Lily-flower," James whispered into the crown of her head, eerily insightful like he tended to be anytime it concerned herself or Harry. It was endearing, seeing as how he was so utterly obvious in everything else.

"I just have a bad feeling," Lily admitted, knowing better than to try and hide something like this from her husband. "I'm sure it's nothing, though," she dismissed a second later before James could get truly concerned. "I've been having bad feelings pretty much since Albus told us about the prophecy, and nothing's happened yet."

James smiled into her hair. "Have a little faith in Peter, honey. The Fidelius is unbreakable, and I trust Albus' spellcasting to hold even under duress."

Lily pushed aside her constant worry—and the slight derision she felt at 'having faith' in Peter—and poked at James in his ribs, making him jerk with a stifled yelp. She knew all of James' ticklish spots, and she wasn't above using them whenever it suited her. "Such a big word, James," she teased. "Duress. Did Remus teach you that one?"

  James mock growled at her, and she knew he was giving her The Eye because—unlike her husband—Lily was not ticklish at all. She lorded this fact over him every time he tried to initiate a Tickle War, and she inevitably came out victorious. "Yes, as a matter of fact he did," James replied snootily. Lily giggled at the sound of it (James did not have a voice predisposed to sounding snobbish) and James just harrumphed in reply.

"You're very intelligent dear," Lily consoled, patting him on the chest where he was all but wrapped around her and Harry. She'd said it teasingly, but she knew James was actually very clever when he wanted to be. He just didn't showcase it often, preferring to come off as goofy and ridiculous rather than 'stuffy and pretentious.'

"I prefer the term 'gifted,'" James admitted without any shame. "'Prodigious,' even."

"Oh dear," Lily fretted, placing the back of one hand against her forehead in a suitably dramatic fashion, "I appear to be suffocating beneath the immense weight of your prodigious ego. Oh woe. Oh woe is me."

"Very funny, Lily-flower." James' voice was a dry as a desert.

"Thank you dear," Lily beamed back angelically.

James sighed expansively and just shook his head. "I don't know where people get the impression that I'm the troublemaker in this family."

"You make a magnificent scapegoat, James."

"I believe the term you're looking for is scapestag…"

"Oh James…"