Harry Potter - Series Fan Fiction ❯ A Love at Stake ❯ Chapter 8 ( Chapter 8 )

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The London air was alive with energy—honking horns in the distance, clinking glasses from nearby pubs, and the constant thrum of hurried footsteps against stone. Lily stood still beside Harry just outside the Leaky Cauldron, trying to steady her breath as the city’s chaos surrounded them. Magic shimmered faintly in the air, nearly blending into the afternoon sunlight that streamed down in golden rays.

People swarmed past, faces blurred in motion. The street pulsed with colour—robes fluttering in the breeze, glinting shop signs, and flashes of laughter. It should’ve felt familiar. Comforting, even. But instead, Lily felt like she was standing on the edge of something uncertain.

She glanced sideways at Harry. He looked calm, almost too calm. A quiet confidence in his stance, like he knew something she didn’t.

“What now?” She murmured more to herself than him, fingers instinctively twisting a strand of her hair around her finger. Her mind buzzed. There was a strange flutter in her chest—anxious, excited, unsure. She wasn’t used to not having a plan.

Harry turned to her, eyes dancing with amusement. “Are you lost in your own thoughts, Mum?”

Lily blinked, caught off guard by his tone. She narrowed her eyes playfully, trying to cover the fact that he’d read her so easily. “I’m contemplating our next move,” she replied, injecting her voice with mock-seriousness. But her eyes lingered on the rows of shops stretching down the street, all glimmering like invitations she wasn’t quite ready to accept.

She felt the weight of the day pressing against her shoulders—this sudden freedom, this rare moment with Harry, and the persistent worry that something might go wrong. Something always did.

“Is there anywhere you’d want to go?” She asked finally, quieter than before. The words surprised even her. She was supposed to be the one guiding him. Was she really asking him to choose?

Harry looked at her in disbelief. “Wait, are you actually asking me?”

“Under very special circumstances,” she said, giving him a small, tired smile. “You can go anywhere. But it has to be safe. And I’m coming with you. Deal?”

The way his face lit up made her heart clench. “Deal!” he shouted, nearly bouncing in place. “But… I want it to be a surprise.”

Her eyebrows lifted. “But Harry—”

“Please?” he interrupted, giving her that look—the wide eyes, the tilt of the head, the unspoken trust me. The look that had undone her ever since he was little.

She let out a dramatic sigh, even though she was already giving in. “Fine. But you better make it worth the suspense.”

His grin stretched wide, and for a second, he looked just like the boy she used to carry on her hip. “You’ll love it. Trust me.”

They turned toward the crowd again. The street shimmered with motion—Muggles and wizards brushing past each other, oblivious to how closely their worlds touched.

“I know we could just Apparate and be done with it,” Harry said, eyes scanning the road ahead. “But that’d spoil the surprise. Can we take the Knight Bus instead? I haven’t been on it in forever.”

Lily paused. Her instinct was to say no. It was faster to Apparate. Safer. More predictable. But there was something about Harry’s excitement, something infectious. Something she didn’t want to dampen.

The Knight Bus. Merlin, how long had it been? Her stomach fluttered again—was it nerves? Or maybe just the strangeness of letting go.

“Alright,” she said after a pause, her lips twitching. “But if we end up somewhere ridiculous, like Bodmin, I’m blaming you.”

Harry laughed, the sound light and full of life. “Deal!”

With a flick of her wrist, she raised her wand.

BANG.

The purple triple-decker screeched to a halt in front of them, nearly flattening a passing cyclist. Its doors swung open with a loud creak, like the vehicle itself was impatient.

They clambered on quickly—before Stan Shunpike could launch into his usual awkward chatter. Lily caught the glint in Stan’s eyes and managed a quick nod before slipping into one of the padded seats near the back.

The bus jolted violently as it pulled away, bouncing down the street like a startled animal. Lily gripped the armrest out of habit, bracing herself with each lurch. Her gaze wandered to Harry, who was laughing quietly as he paid Stan and returned to her side.

He looked so at ease, so sure of himself, like he had the entire afternoon planned and tucked away behind that grin of his.

Lily tried to mirror his calm, but her thoughts spun. What was he up to? Why did he seem so… happy?

The city blurred outside the window, buildings stretching and twisting as the bus rocketed forward. Her stomach rolled. Not from the movement, but from the strange anticipation building inside her chest.

She looked at Harry again. “You’re not going to make me ride a hippogriff, are you?”

He smirked. “Nope. This is better.”

She raised a sceptical eyebrow. “Better how, exactly?”

“You’ll see.”

He sounded so certain. So full of whatever secret he was keeping. Her heart tightened again—part nerves, part love. That same ache she’d carried since the moment she first held him. That constant urge to protect, even now, when he didn’t need it as much anymore.

“Well,” she said, leaning back against the worn seat. “If this ends in a surprise party, I swear I’ll hex you.”

Harry laughed, warm and genuine. “No party. I promise. I know how you feel about those.”

Lily smiled despite herself. He did know. Sometimes she wished he didn’t—wished he didn’t have to understand her moods and fears so well. But at the same time, it made her proud. Made her feel seen.

The bus sped on, and Lily closed her eyes for a moment, letting herself breathe.

Whatever this surprise was… she hoped it really would be worth it.

And if not—well, at least she was with him.

Outside the window, the scenery slowly shifted. Concrete gave way to green. Rows of identical houses blurred into open fields, and trees lined the road like sentinels, bowing gently in the breeze. Wildflowers painted the hillsides in soft pinks and yellows, catching the sunlight like tiny, dancing flames.

Lily leaned her head against the window, her breath fogging the glass. She watched the countryside drift by, mile after mile, tugging her further from the safety of home and deeper into somewhere unknown. And yet—her heart fluttered. There was something about not knowing that made it all the more thrilling. Excitement tingled just beneath her skin, but a thread of anxiety wound itself around her ribs, tightening with each bump of the road.

“Are you going to tell me why I’m not allowed to guess?” she asked, nudging Harry playfully with her elbow.

“Because it’ll ruin the surprise!” he grinned, eyes gleaming with secret delight.

Lily laughed as the bus bounced over a pothole, jostling them both. His grin reminded her so much of James that for a moment, it stole her breath. That same spark, that sense of mischief and wonder—it lived on in Harry. She blinked hard, trying to shake the thought before it could hurt.

They talked for a while, mostly about nothing—school projects, their neighbours, summer movies they wanted to watch. But even as they chatted, her mind wandered. Beaches? Amusement parks? London again, maybe? She tried to read Harry’s expression, but he was determinedly tight-lipped. Still, there was a brightness in his eyes he couldn’t quite hide. Whatever this surprise was, it meant something to him. Something big.

The countryside outside slowly sharpened into focus. Familiar hedgerows. That winding lane. That oddly crooked signpost.

“Wait a second…” Lily sat up straighter. Her heart skipped. “Did we just pass Ottery St. Catchpole? Are we—?”

There. Just beyond the bend. The tiny village. Nestled in the hills like a secret only they knew. Cottages with ivy-covered roofs, chimney smoke curling into the afternoon sky. Her breath caught in her throat.

He brought me here?

She turned to Harry. His eyes were fixed on the window, but he was fidgeting—twisting the hem of his sleeve. He looked nervous. Hopeful.

“We can keep going if you don’t want to stop here,” he said quickly. “I just thought— I mean, I remembered you mentioned this place. Where you and Dad lived. I wanted to see it.”

Lily opened her mouth to speak, but no words came. How could she explain the whirlwind inside her? The ache in her chest that bloomed with every familiar landmark? The joy of being remembered—of being seen—by the person she loved most?

“I… Right.” Her voice cracked a little, so she cleared her throat. “I didn’t think you remembered me talking about it.”

“You only told me once,” Harry said, still not quite meeting her eyes. “But I remember everything you say.”

That did it. A wave of emotion washed over her—pride, love, longing—all tangled up together. She wanted to say thank you, or I love you, or even just I’m not ready, but none of the words seemed big enough.

Before she could respond, the Stan’s voice boomed from the front of the bus. “Godric’s Hollow!”

Lily’s heart stopped for just a second.

The doors hissed open, and a soft breeze swept in, rich with the scent of blooming roses, damp earth, and ripening fruit. She stepped off the bus slowly, her feet crunching on the gravel path. Harry followed close behind.

Godric’s Hollow.

It was exactly as she remembered it—maybe even more beautiful than before. The main street was buzzing with life, sunlight spilling across cobblestones. Shop windows sparkled with trinkets and pastries and handwritten signs. A post office leaned slightly to the left, its red door freshly painted. A pub across the square rang with laughter and the clink of glasses. Somewhere, someone was playing a violin.

And yet, Lily felt like a ghost walking among the living.

She didn’t belong here. Not anymore.

The village had moved on. It had healed, bloomed, and carried on through the years. But inside her, time had frozen. Every stone, every tree, every corner still whispered James. She could see his smile flash in the reflection of a shop window. Hear his laugh echo down the lane.

A lump rose in her throat, thick and heavy.

“I feel like I don’t belong here,” she whispered before she could stop herself.

Harry turned to her, his brow creasing. “Mum…” He reached up and placed a hand on her shoulder. His touch was warm and grounding. “I know it’s hard. But we’re here together. We’ll get through it together.”

Lily nodded slowly, her heart aching. He was too kind. Too good. A piece of James, and yet entirely his own. “I haven’t been back since your father…” Her voice cracked again, and she trailed off. She didn’t need to say it. The rest hung unspoken in the quiet between them.

Every corner of this town was etched with memories—first kisses, midnight walks, laughter echoing under the stars. And now, it was all shadows.

But looking at Harry, she felt something shift. Maybe… maybe this didn’t have to be just a place of grief. Maybe it could hold new memories, too.

“I’m glad I came back with you,” she said softly, squeezing his hand. “Really. I don’t think I could’ve done it alone.”

Harry smiled, wide and unguarded. “So… what should we do first?”

She took a deep breath, letting the scents of the village wash over her. For a moment, the ache eased. Not gone, but gentler.

“Anything,” she said. “Anywhere. As long as we’re together.”

Lily paused on the cobbled path, her eyes fixed on the weathered sign above the little pub. The Hollows Tavern. Just the sight of it sent a rush of warmth to her chest.

“Oh…” she breathed, almost to herself. Her lips curled into a soft smile. “Your father and I used to come here all the time.”

She turned to Harry, heart swelling. “This was our place. We’d have dinner here—he always ordered the shepherd’s pie—and right after eating, he’d pull me up to dance. Right in front of everyone.”

She laughed at the memory, the sound light and full of life. “People used to tease us about it. Said we looked like we belonged in a fairytale or something.” She barely had time to finish before Harry gently tugged her arm and led her toward the entrance.

The door creaked open, and the familiar warmth of the pub wrapped around Lily like a beloved old coat. The smell—roasted meats, warm bread, the faint trace of butter and ale—hit her instantly. It was exactly the same. Merlin, she thought, blinking quickly. It’s like stepping back in time.

They slid into a corner booth near the window, the worn wood of the bench smooth from years of use. Candlelight flickered in glass sconces on the walls, casting soft golden glows that made the shadows dance.

Lily let her fingertips trail over the table, smiling to herself. How many nights had she sat here? How many times had James winked at her from across the table, his foot nudging hers under the bench?

“This place feels exactly the same,” she murmured, more to herself than to Harry. “The music, the lighting… even the way it smells.”

Harry looked around, clearly trying to picture it through her eyes. “It’s charming. Way more real than the fancy places everyone talks about.”

Lily laughed softly, her heart swelling with affection. “That’s exactly what your grandfather used to say. A good pub shouldn’t feel grand. It should feel like home.”

She glanced around again, eyes landing on the scuffed floorboards and crooked paintings. It did feel like home. Not the physical kind, but the kind tied to a thousand precious moments.

“Did you really dance here?” Harry asked, watching her with that thoughtful intensity that always reminded her of James.

“All the time,” she said, her voice dipping into a gentle hush. “He’d twirl me around like we were the only two people in the world. I used to forget everything else. All that mattered was him and me and the music.”

She closed her eyes for a moment, letting the memory wash over her. The sound of laughter, the feel of his hand at the small of her back, and the warmth of his breath as he whispered something ridiculous just to make her laugh.

“I can almost see it,” Harry said, leaning in. “You two. Right here.”

Lily opened her eyes, surprised by how much emotion sat behind his words. “We were that couple,” she said with a grin. “The ones people rolled their eyes at but secretly envied.”

Her fingers tapped lightly against her mug. “After dancing, we’d step outside and sit on the bench just over there.” She nodded toward the window. “James would point out constellations, weaving these silly, magical stories about them. He made everything feel enchanted.”

Harry listened quietly, his eyes never leaving her face.

“He believed in wonder,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “In the stars, in fate. In love. He used to say the universe was writing us into its story.”

There was a long pause before Harry spoke. “You don’t talk about him much.”

Lily nodded slowly. “It used to hurt too much. But now…” Her gaze drifted upward, catching the soft flicker of candlelight. “Now it feels good to remember.”

Silence settled between them, not uncomfortable—just full. Full of memories, of love, of things unsaid.

Lily looked out the window again, eyes catching the tall trees beyond. They stood still and proud, like old friends. “He said he’d bring our kids here someday. Sit them on the bench outside. Tell them stories under the stars.”

She swallowed the lump in her throat, blinking quickly.

Harry’s voice was soft. “And now we’re here.”

Lily turned toward him, heart aching and glowing at the same time. She reached for his hand across the table. “We are.”

She held his hand tightly for a moment, drawing strength from the warmth of it.

“This is also where he proposed,” she added suddenly, her lips twitching into a smile. “Right over there. Middle of dinner. I thought he was joking. He didn’t even get down on one knee—just looked at me like I was the sun and said, ‘Marry me, Lily Evans.’”

Harry grinned. “That sounds like him.”

“I laughed,” she admitted. “But the second I realised he meant it, I said yes. I couldn’t imagine saying anything else.”

A quiet joy bloomed inside her, and for a moment, she saw James again—his messy hair, that mischievous grin, and the way he used to look at her like she held the entire sky.

She squeezed Harry’s hand. “Thank you for bringing me here.”

Harry didn’t speak. He didn’t need to. The look in his eyes said everything.

And for the first time in years, the past didn’t feel like a wound. It felt like home.

There was something in the way Harry looked at her that made Lily’s heart ache and swell at the same time. A kind of fierce protectiveness radiated from him, so familiar it stopped her breath for a moment. He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t have to. She knew that look. It was James’s look—the one he gave her when the world outside their door was falling apart, but he still promised everything would be alright.

So much of James lived in Harry. The messy hair. The stubborn jaw. The way his love burnt quietly but fiercely, like a fire that refused to go out. But there was more than that. Harry had her softness too. The gentleness James always said she carried, even when she didn’t feel it.

Lily watched her son, wondering when he’d stopped being that tiny baby who used to grip her finger like it was the only thing keeping him safe. She remembered that night vividly. The way his cries echoed in the tiny nursery. The smell of milk. The weight of his body against her chest. James had burst in, out of breath, holding a stuffed stag he’d picked up from Diagon Alley.

“Reckon he’ll like this, Lil? I named it 'Prongs Junior'."

She had laughed so hard she cried.

The sound of a loud stomach growl pulled her back. Harry. Still sitting there, looking sheepish.

She laughed, the sound bubbling out of her before she could stop it. “Alright, alright! Food’s ready,” she said. “Your dad always said you were like a bear when you were hungry.”

Harry chuckled, and the moment lightened. Just like that.

They tucked into their meal, the scent of warm spices and grilled vegetables filling the little restaurant. It was cosy here—walls glowing with soft candlelight, voices muffled into gentle hums. Lily let herself relax for the first time all week.

She watched Harry between bites. The way he sat—shoulders a little hunched from always carrying too much, yet his eyes alert, kind. When he smiled, her heart clenched. She saw her little boy. The one who used to toddle into their bed in the middle of the night, clutching a blanket and whispering, “Mummy, bad dream.” The one she sang lullabies to during blackouts when Death Eaters prowled outside.

He had grown up. But he was still her Harry.

Then music began to play, drifting softly across the room, slow and sweet. A simple tune, but instantly familiar. Her heart fluttered.

“Oh! I love this song,” she murmured, cheeks warming. “They always played it here—I had forgotten.”

Her eyes fluttered closed as the melody curled around her, carrying her away.

She remembered this exact song playing on a rainy evening years ago, in this very restaurant. She and James had ducked in after a mission—soaked to the bone, exhausted, hearts still racing. They’d been hiding, running, and fighting. But that night… for one short hour, they were just two young people in love. They’d shared one plate of pasta, laughed until the waitress gave them dirty looks, and danced—clumsily—between the tables when this very song played.

She could still see James grinning, hair dripping wet, holding out his hand to her like a gentleman from one of those old black-and-white Muggle films.

“Care for a spin, Mrs. Potter?”

Now, across from her, Harry was staring at her in that thoughtful way again. The music wrapped around them. Then, to her surprise, he stood and held out his hand.

“Mum… Would you care to dance with me?”

The restaurant faded.

For a moment, she wasn’t here. She was in the Gryffindor common room, barefoot on the rug, dancing with James by the fire while Sirius howled with laughter. She was in the kitchen of their little cottage in Godric’s Hollow, spinning in her dressing gown while a one-year-old Harry giggled in his high chair. She was in the hallway, the night before they went into hiding, swaying slowly in his arms, afraid to speak.

Time folded. All of it rushed back.

Harry’s hand was still outstretched. So much like James’s. So full of love.

Her breath caught.

“I would be delighted to,” she said, voice trembling with memory.

She rose slowly, letting her fingers slip into his, and followed him to the open space beside their table. It wasn’t a dance floor, but it didn’t matter. There was room enough for love.

Harry was awkward, hesitant, clearly not a dancer. But that only made it more endearing. Lily couldn’t help but laugh softly, the sound easing the tightness in her chest.

She guided him gently, letting the music do most of the work. They swayed. Just swayed.

And then she twirled, just once, letting her skirt float a little around her knees. Her heart lifted. It had been so long since she’d danced. Since she’d let herself feel this light.

She looked up at Harry, and the ache returned—beautiful and bittersweet.

He should be here.

James should be beside them, cracking jokes and twirling her around until she was breathless. He should be here, clapping Harry on the back, teasing him about his poor rhythm.

She felt the sting of tears.

But she smiled anyway.

Because in Harry’s eyes, James lived. In the way he held her, the way he smiled—kind and unguarded. In the quiet strength that carried him through every battle, every loss.

This dance wasn’t perfect. It was clumsy, full of missteps. But it was theirs. And it meant everything.

The music slowed. Lily leaned in, resting her head briefly against her son’s shoulder. He stiffened slightly in surprise, then relaxed into it.

For one brief, perfect moment, she let herself forget the war, the loss, and the scars. She let herself remember the first time she held Harry and the way James looked at them like they were his entire world. She let herself feel.

The song faded into silence, but the moment stayed.

As she stepped back and looked at her son, Lily felt a fierce, aching kind of love. For the boy she raised. For the man he became. And for the memory of the love that brought them both into this world.

“You look so much like him,” Lily whispered, her voice trembling, barely louder than a breath. Her hands clutched each other tightly in her lap, trying to stop their shaking. “Every time I see you, Harry, I see him. And it hurts, because you’ve grown up so fast… and I missed it. I missed so much.”

Tears stung her eyes before she could stop them. She tried to blink them away, but they came anyway—warm, heavy, years too late. She felt her chest tighten, her heart aching with the weight of all the birthdays missed, the scraped knees she hadn’t kissed, and the lullabies never sung.

Then Harry’s arm slid gently around her shoulders, pulling her into the kind of hug only a son could give. No words, just warmth. And Lily’s breath caught at the quiet strength in him—her boy, who had become a man while she’d been trapped in silence and shadows.

“I still remember Dad’s laugh,” Harry said softly, his voice brushing against the edges of memory. “Sometimes I think I hear it, like an echo. I don’t know if it’s real or just something I made up… but it helps.”

Lily leaned into him, letting herself be held, just for a moment. Her fingers gripped the fabric of his jumper like it could anchor her to this moment, this miracle.

“I should’ve been there,” she said, her voice cracking. “I should have been the one cheering you on, helping you through everything. Not hiding away, full of regrets.”

Harry’s silence pierced her, but it wasn’t judgemental. It was soft and pained. She could feel it in the way his hand rubbed slow circles on her back.

She swallowed hard. “You don’t know how many nights I wished I could turn back time. How many dreams I had where I reached for you and woke up alone.”

He turned slightly to look at her, his green eyes—her eyes—shining with a kind of sadness that wasn’t bitter. Just… understanding.

“Please,” she whispered, her voice breaking, “please try to forgive me.”

Harry exhaled slowly, as though releasing years of longing in one breath. “There’s nothing to forgive, Mum,” he said, and the word Mum felt like a balm to the aching parts of her soul. “You did what you could. You survived. We both did. That’s enough.”

She wanted to believe him. She almost did.

“We have time now,” he added, his voice softer. “Let’s use it.”

His words wrapped around her like a promise.

Lily nodded, though the ache in her chest still lingered. Today was supposed to be special. Just the two of them. No war, no dark shadows hanging overhead. Just a simple afternoon at a quiet pub in Godric’s Hollow. But grief had its way of sneaking in—even through sunlight and laughter.

She reached for a napkin and dabbed her face, wiping away the ruined makeup. She didn’t want Harry to remember her like this—fragile and worn. She wanted to be the mother he deserved. Someone he could lean on. Someone he could laugh with.

When she looked up again, Harry was watching her, his brow furrowed just a little.

“Let’s go for a walk,” he said gently, like he knew she needed air. “It’s a nice day. Too nice to spend inside.”

Lily nodded. He offered his arm like a gentleman, and she looped hers through his, her hand resting lightly on his back. As they stepped outside, the wind brushed her cheeks, cool and gentle like a whisper. The sky stretched out above them, soft and blue, and for the first time in what felt like forever, she could breathe.

They didn’t speak for a while. The silence between them wasn’t empty—it was full. Full of all the things they didn’t need to say. Every footstep felt like a thread knitting something back together between them.

Lily glanced sideways at Harry as they walked. He was taller now. His shoulders were broader. But she could still see the little boy in him—the one who had once fit perfectly in her arms, who had giggled at bubbles and run to her when thunder scared him.

Her heart swelled. He was becoming everything she’d ever hoped he’d be.

“Did you know this village is where some of the greatest witches and wizards were born?” he said after a moment, his voice light. “Including a pretty famous one. Guy named Harry Potter.”

Lily let out a soft laugh, surprised by the warmth it stirred in her chest. “Is that so?”

Harry grinned. “Legend has it he was brave, kind, a bit stubborn, and had a mother who loved him more than anything.”

She stopped walking, and Harry paused too, looking down at her.

Lily reached up and gently brushed his fringe from his forehead, her fingers trembling slightly. “That much,” she whispered. “And more.”

For a second, neither of them moved. The sun spilt across the grass, dappling them in gold. Birds chirped somewhere nearby, and the breeze carried the faint scent of honeysuckle.

“I think,” she said quietly, “that the real magic isn’t in spells or wands. It’s in this. Right now. Being with you.”

Harry smiled, his eyes soft. “I was just thinking the same thing.”

She leaned her head against his shoulder as they continued walking. And though her heart still held sorrow, it also held something else now—something gentle, glowing.

Hope.

As they wandered through the quiet village paths, Lily found herself lost in stories—memories of her own childhood that she hadn’t shared in years. There was something in Harry’s curious eyes, the way he leaned in close, that made the tales pour out of her like light through a window long closed.

She spoke of sneaking into the kitchens at Hogwarts with James to “liberate” treacle tarts, of late-night snowball fights with Sirius and Remus, and of the time she’d enchanted her shoes to dance on their own—and couldn’t get them to stop. Harry laughed until he was breathless, and the sound filled her chest with something too tender to name.

With every story, the weight on her shoulders seemed to lift. The fears she carried—about the war, about what the future held, about whether she was doing enough—all melted away. In that moment, she was simply a mother, walking beside her son, basking in his joy.