FicWad

Lily stood at the edge of the graveyard. The distant hum of cicadas filled the gaps in silence as she processed the day’s earlier events. She felt as if the ground beneath her shoes was closing in, as if each grave was a reminder of the fleeting nature of life.

“Mum, what’s wrong?” Harry asked, his voice shaking slightly. He had a knack for reading her emotions, and tonight, her sadness was evident.

With her gaze trained on the ground, Lily rubbed her arms as if to warm herself from an internal chill. “Can I ask you something?” she said, the words tumbling out like a hesitant heartbeat.

“Sure.” Harry’s tone slipped into the awkwardness he reserved for moments when he sensed his mother needed him but didn’t know how to fix it.

Lily took a breath, a cloud of indecision swirling around her. Until that morning, she had thought it was just her imagination—a feeling of déjà vu that nestled itself in her mind like an unwanted visitor. The nagging sense that something was amiss had grown, blossoming until it became a shadow she could no longer ignore. Still, she couldn’t burden her son with those thoughts. “If you thought you didn’t have a lot of time left...”

Harry interrupted, his brow furrowing. “You mean today?”

“No, I mean… in life.” The truth was a tightrope stretched before her, and balancing on it made her heart race. She met Harry’s curious eyes. “If you had one day left, what would you do?”

“That’s an unusual question,” Harry remarked, surprise playing across his features. He began to ponder, his brow furrowing into a thoughtful crease.

To Lily’s relief, Harry took the query seriously. His gaze drifted off to the horizon as he wrestled with the answer. “I’d spend it with you, Mum,” he replied, his voice quiet.

The simplicity of his words pierced through her facade of composure. “Really?” she asked, her voice softening.

“Yeah,” he continued, warmth colouring his expression. “Just being together… doing nothing, sharing things.” He paused, a flicker of vulnerability dancing in his eyes. “That’s what I’ve always wanted for us.”

In that moment, Lily’s hold on her emotions trembled. She pulled him into a tight embrace, the grief swelling within her erupting in sobs. Harry squeezed her back, steady and warm, infusing the air with the love she desperately needed. “Thank you,” he whispered as they held each other, his breath a calming anchor.

“What for?” she mumbled into his shoulder, feeling the storm rage within her.

“For the perfect day.” Harry’s innocence brushed her heart like a delicate feather, and she found herself longing for the mundane moments they often took for granted.

“Me too,” she replied thickly while wiping her tears.

“I kind of wish we didn’t have to go back,” Harry admitted, his face drawing into a weary expression. “To London and the Assembly.”

Lily’s heart fluttered at the possibility he suggested next. “Let’s not go back,” she said, the desperation bubbling in her chest. “Let’s just get on the Knight Bus and ride off somewhere. Anywhere would be better than back there.”

“We can always come back here, or anywhere else, anytime, Mum,” Harry replied gently. “But I want to make you proud tonight,” he insisted, his voice lightening with hope.

Lily hesitated, feeling a wave of fear wash over her at the thought of going back to the locations they had explored that tragic evening. She wished she had the option to find a secluded spot to retreat to, where she could remain hidden until the darkness receded.

“Mum...” Harry’s voice brought her back to the moment, his concern cutting through her spiralling thoughts. “Are you coming?” His eyes held her gaze steady, the worry etched into his features.

With a deep breath, she nodded, reaching out to clasp his hand, finding strength in his firm grip. “Yes, I’ll be there,” she promised, her voice firmer than she felt. Holding onto Harry’s arm, Lily decided to apparate back to the familiar surroundings of their London apartment.

Lily stood in Harry’s room, the moonlight streaming through the window illuminating the navy blue lace dress she held. It was simple yet elegant, a piece that evoked memories of her own youth—a time when she’d twirled in front of mirrors and daydreamed of glimmering events.

“What do you think of this dress?” she asked, half hopeful, half nervous.

Harry glanced at her. “You look beautiful in every dress, Mum,” he said. “Even Mr. Filch would say so.” As he spoke, he prepared his school uniform and gave Hedwig some treats.

Lily let out a soft laugh before walking back to her room. “Oh, goodness me,” she replied, unable to suppress a smile at her son’s cheeky attempt to cheer her up. “That is not funny.”

Moments later, she re-emerged, the dress draping elegantly over her figure. Still, her heart felt a weight it couldn’t shake. “Would you be okay going on ahead to Hogwarts without me?” she asked, her eyes searching Harry’s. “I just need to do something. I’ll catch up with you later.”

“What? Now?” Harry’s disbelief etched itself on his face as he checked the time—it was already five o’clock, and the sun was beginning to dip toward the horizon.

“Yes, you can stay with Ron,” Lily replied, keeping her tone steady, though her heart raced. “I’ll send a letter to Arthur asking him to pick you up so you don’t have to travel alone.” She noticed Harry’s furrowed brow and quickly added, “It won’t take long, I promise.”

“Mum, stop!” Harry protested as she ruffled his hair, a gesture of affection that felt strangely bittersweet.

“Okay, okay,” she laughed, pulling him in for a quick hug. “I’ll see you at Hogwarts soon.”

Already dressed in his Gryffindor robes, Harry headed downstairs to the living room a half hour later, when Arthur Weasley arrived by Floo.

“Harry!” Arthur greeted him warmly, adjusting his glasses.

“Hello, Mr. Weasley!” Harry returned his smile.

“Ready to head to the Burrow?”

Harry nodded.

Mr. Weasley took a pinch of Floo powder from the mantel pot and tossed it into the flames, turning them emerald green. “Go ahead,” he said. “To the Burrow.”

Stepping forward, Harry entered the fireplace, saying, “The Burrow!” With a whoosh, he vanished. He felt the familiar sensation of being sucked down a giant plug hole.

Harry felt a warm swell of excitement as he stepped into the cluttered Weasley home. The usual mingling aromas of Mrs. Weasley’s cooking wafted through the air, pulling him in like a comforting spell. Moonlight streamed through the small, grime-smeared windows, illuminating the various magical nickknacks that adorned the shelves.

“Harry!” exclaimed Ron, grinning widely, seated at the scrubbed wooden table alongside his sister Ginny. “Dad said you’d be coming with us,” he continued, eyes sparkling with eagerness.

“Yeah, Mum had something to do before going to Hogwarts,” Harry replied, shrugging, but inside he couldn’t shake the feeling of disappointment.

“She must be preparing a surprise for you, Harry,” Mr. Weasley chimed in cheerfully, his glasses perched atop his nose, peering over a hefty book about magical creatures.

“It must be nice getting a surprise,” Ron muttered under his breath.

Just then, Mrs. Weasley strode into the kitchen, and with her appearance, the air grew slightly more serious. Her hand was raised as she glared at Ron, who instinctively rubbed the back of his head. “If you studied harder, we might have considered giving you a surprise too. Oh, hello Harry, dear!” she said, her expression softening as she noticed him.

“Hi, Mrs. Weasley!” Harry replied, warmth flooding through him at her motherly gaze.

“We’ll be leaving at six thirty, Harry,” Mr. Weasley informed him, setting aside his book. “Make yourself at home until then.” He smiled kindly.

“C’mon,” Ron beckoned. “Let’s go to my room.” He was already halfway up the creaky stairs before Harry had even moved.

“How are we getting to Hogwarts?” Harry asked, catching up with Ron.

“Portkey,” Ron replied simply and then added, “Dumbledore gave us permission to use one since you’re coming with us.”

Harry nodded slowly; the thought of a Portkey tinged with both thrill and a touch of magic-related anxiety. Magic was always unpredictable, especially when it concerned sudden travels, but the prospect of Hogwarts sent a flutter of excitement through him that he couldn’t quite shake.

Upstairs, Ron’s room was a chaotic collage of Quidditch posters, spell books, and a bed that seemed perpetually unmade.

“Thought I’d show you something,” Ron said, pulling out a small wooden box from the drawer, redeeming it from the depths of disarray. “I’ve been working on a new game with the others. It’s got a few charms, and it’s pretty fun to play,” he said, eyes alight with enthusiasm.

Before Harry could respond, a knock echoed through the door, and Mrs. Weasley appeared with a plate of freshly baked cookies. “I made these for the two of you,” she chirped. “Though I suppose I must make a few more for your brother and the rest. Now keep your room tidy for once!”

Harry smiled, appreciating her effort, even as Ron tried to balance a cookie and avoid his mother’s incessant nagging about cleanliness.

“Thanks, Mrs. Weasley!” Harry called, watching her leave.

Once alone, Harry leaned back against the wall, listening to the bustling sounds of the house. He couldn’t shake the idea that his mum might be working on something special for him. Would she be at Hogwarts waiting for him?

The spell of the moment soon gave way to the growing tick of the clock, looming ever closer to six-thirty. With a glance shared between the two of them, they rose together, anticipation hanging thick in the air.

As they gathered around the portkey in the Weasley’s living room, Harry felt a mix of excitement and longing roll like waves in his stomach.

With a steadying breath, Harry grasped the familiar object, a heavy old boot, as it tingled beneath his fingers. Before he could ponder further, he felt the sharp jerk as the Portkey activated, pulling them into the air, swirling and spinning.

Seated awkwardly across from Albus Dumbledore in the cosy confines of his office at Hogwarts, Lily felt a storm of emotions swirling within her. The soft glow of the candles flickered against the walls, illuminating the countless shelves packed with books and artefacts, each a testament to the wizarding world’s history. She had shown up earlier than anticipated following her outing in London, driven not by mere curiosity but by a gnawing urgency that compelled her to seek guidance from the revered headmaster.

“Good evening, Lily,” Dumbledore said pleasantly, his voice a gentle balm against her rising anxiety. “You’ve come to Hogwarts before the Assembly. I wonder if you had another motive.” Peering over his half-moon spectacles, Dumbledore noted her worried expression with a look of concern.

Lily shifted uneasily in her seat, her fingers fidgeting with the frayed hem of her cloak. “Yes, Headmaster. I… I…”

“What troubles you, my dear?” Dumbledore’s tone was soft, encouraging her to open up.

“Have you ever had a déjà vu experience but knew it was actually a premonition?” she finally managed to ask, her voice barely above a whisper.

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow, curiosity glimmering in his blue eyes. “You mean a vision of the future?”

“Yes, but not from a seer,” Lily clarified, panic creeping into her voice.

Dumbledore looked at her thoughtfully, his thick silver eyebrows knitting together. “Hmm, that’s quite unusual. Tell me more about this mysterious vision.”

Feeling as though the walls of the cosy office were closing in, Lily inhaled sharply. Her breath grew laboured, laden with the weight of what she feared was imminent. “I’m not sure what it is, but it’s like I’ve already lived this moment before. Certain things have happened already, and I can sense it leading to something awful tonight. My son dies.”

The words fell heavily in the space between them. Dumbledore jerked his head up in surprise, his expression shifting to one of utmost seriousness. “Go on, tell me everything,” he urged gently.

Lily drew a deep breath, steeling herself as she began to unravel the tapestry of dread that tangled in her mind. “It started at home,” she explained, the memories flooding back with painful clarity. “Harry, just being Harry—had an accident. He bumped into a stack of papers, scattering them across the floor. I thought it was nothing…”

Her voice cracked, and she forced herself to continue. “Then he was slicing vegetables for dinner, and the knife grazed his finger. Just a scrape, but I felt such terror, as if it were a sign. Later, a drink spilt all over him. Just a mess, right? And Arthur, our friend, accidentally tipped over an ink bottle, splattering ink everywhere. Silly incidents… but they felt… wrong.”

She paused, squeezing her eyes shut as bile rose in her throat. “And that’s not all. I was in Hogsmeade yesterday, and I saw them—Death Eaters, lurking in the shadows. It felt like a warning.” Her voice was trembling now; she took a moment to compose herself. “I had a vision of Harry being stabbed, Headmaster. I felt it. But when I saw him the next day, he was unharmed, completely unknowable of the danger that lurked so close.”

A storm brewed outside; raindrops tapped rhythmically against the windowpane, matching the rapid drumming of her heart.

“That is certainly very troubling,” Dumbledore said, his voice calm yet laced with concern. His wise, deep-set eyes met Lily’s, and in that moment, she felt both heated and chilled, as if the very forces of fate were closing in around her. “It’s highly unusual for someone without seer abilities to have such vivid premonitions. Nevertheless, we must investigate further to understand the significance of this vision. There may be dark forces at play that we are not yet aware of.” He walked over to his bookshelf, seemingly lost in thought.

Lily looked away, her eyes drifting outside. “Despite my best attempts to change the outcomes… they still occurred as I envisioned,” she muttered, her voice barely a whisper above the soft patter of rain.

Dumbledore’s brow furrowed. He walked back and forth, his grey robes trailing behind him like whispers of secrets. “I’ve heard similar rumours,” he murmured. “They’re called Death Omens. They’re said to be warnings of impending danger.”

“A Death Omen?” she echoed, confusion knotting her stomach. “I thought those were just stories meant to scare children.”

“Have you heard the Tale of the Three Brothers?” Dumbledore asked, pausing to glance at her, a spark of intrigue in his eyes.

“Yes,” Lily replied, still not understanding. “But what’s the connection?”

“You see,” he said, settling into a chair, “the brothers evaded Death at first, but Death is cunning. Ultimately, Death claimed them. They could never truly escape him.”

Lily’s fingers balled into fists. “So… are we dealing with Death itself?”

“I suspect so,” he said gently, “though I could be wrong. First, we must prevent this from happening again. Didn’t you say Harry was stabbed?”

“Yes, he was,” she replied, her voice trembling with maternal worry. “I tried to heal him, but nothing worked. I believe the dagger is preventing the wounds from healing.”

“A dagger that inhibits healing?” Dumbledore pondered, his unblinking gaze fixed on her, as if searching for answers buried within her. “While I haven’t encountered such an artefact, I am aware of a certain heirloom passed down through a wizarding family.”

“Could it be the Lestrange family?” she asked, her mind racing at lightning speed.

“Possibly,” Dumbledore replied. He paused, assessing the sharpness of her intuition. “But what makes you suspect the Lestranges?”

“Just a hunch from the vision,” Lily explained, her brow furrowed further in concentration. “I think I saw Bellatrix holding the heirloom.”

Dumbledore nodded thoughtfully, considering her new revelation. “If the events you have seen come to pass,” he said calmly, “we must ensure your son is safe. He needs protection. Please continue your efforts. I will have members of the Order watch over you both discreetly to avoid panic. I’d also like to teach you a protective charm, just in case. It is crucial in these uncertain times that we remain vigilant and prepared for any potential threats.”

As Lily listened, she felt the weight of the world pressing down around her; the thought of threats against her innocent son was unbearable. Harry was just a boy, full of dreams and laughter, untainted by the darkness she sensed looming. Dumbledore rose from his seat, his presence commanding yet peaceful, and moved to the centre of the room.

Lily took a deep breath, trying to calm the rising fear inside her. She watched as Dumbledore raised his wand, an elegant gesture that danced through the air. “The charm I will teach you is a protection spell—it will shield you and your son from harm.” His voice was steady.

As he demonstrated the incantation, an intricate swirl of light formed between them, shimmering like starlight. “Concentrate on the imagery of your love for Harry,” Dumbledore instructed, “for that is the essence of the magic’s strength.”

Lily’s heart thudded in her chest as she envisioned her son. With newfound determination, Lily raised her own wand, following Dumbledore’s movements with care. The incantation flowed from her lips, and suddenly, a bright shield encased her like a bubble of safety. For the first time since her visions had begun, she felt a flicker of hope.

“Very well done,” Dumbledore praised, a warm smile breaking over his face.

As the light faded, a sense of relief washed over Lily. “Thank you,” she whispered, emotion thick in her throat. “I can’t lose him.

Dumbledore nodded, his expression shifting to one of solemn understanding. In moments like these, words felt inadequate. “You have a fierce love for your son, Lily. And it is that very love that will be his greatest protection. Use it wisely, and train Harry in the ways of the Wizarding World. He will need to be strong.”

Lily took a step closer, her heart swelling with gratitude. “I promise to do everything I can. He deserves to grow up free—to dream.”

“That is wise, Lily,” he said softly, a glimmer of hope in his eyes. “To make room for dreams amid shadows is not just a protective measure—it’s a reminder that light can break through even the darkest of times.”

With a sense of reassurance settling within her, she departed from his office at a leisurely pace, the weight on her shoulders seemingly lifting.

Her mind now focused on the task at hand; she embarked on the mission to locate her son, Harry. The thought of his safety propelled her forward, stirring a mix of emotions within her as she navigated the corridors of Hogwarts.