Harry Potter - Series Fan Fiction ❯ A Love at Stake ❯ Chapter 12 ( Chapter 12 )

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Lily gently lifted the empty mugs. “More butterbeer?” she asked, trying to keep her voice light.

Harry let out a small laugh, stretching in his seat. “No way! I’d burst!”

The sound of his laughter made her smile, but it didn’t last. That laugh—so genuine, so alive—echoed in her chest like a distant memory she was already afraid to lose. She wanted to freeze this moment, hold it still. But she couldn’t. Every laugh, every word, felt like a thread pulling her closer to something she couldn’t stop.

Don’t think like that. Not now. Not while he’s smiling.

She chuckled back, but her eyes drifted again, toward the window. Shadows moved outside. The silhouettes of cloaked figures blurred and faded under the moonlight. The breeze pulled at their robes. Their presence should’ve made her feel safe—Order members, patrolling. Protecting. But all she felt was dread.

It’s not enough. It’s never enough.

“Mum?” Harry’s voice pulled her back. His smile faded, brow furrowing. “Are you alright?”

She turned to him quickly, forcing a calm expression. “Yes, darling. Just… thinking.”

Harry looked at her for a moment, uncertain, but nodded and went back to fiddling with the clasp of his cloak. She watched him, memorising him—his messy hair, the soft curve of his mouth when he focused, and the faint dimple that showed when he smiled without realising it.

She tried to breathe, but it felt like the air had turned thick and heavy, as though the whole room were bracing for something.

He’s still just a boy. Still thinks this is temporary. That the world will go back to normal. That I can protect him.

She looked out the window again. The moon hung low and pale, its light no longer comforting. It looked like a spotlight, like someone had peeled back the shadows to reveal how exposed they really were.

Her heart thudded. She could hear it. Feel it. It won’t be long now.

She turned from the window, slowly, and faced her son. He was humming softly now, tugging at his sleeve, lost in thought.

He doesn’t know. Maybe he does, but not fully. Not like I do.

“I love you,” she said suddenly, her voice barely louder than a whisper.

Harry looked up, half-smiling. “Oh. I love you too, Mum.”

He didn’t meet her eyes. Still focused on the stubborn buckle of his cloak.

But Lily’s heart wouldn’t let it go. He needs to hear this. All of it. Now.

“I want to tell you why I love you,” she said more firmly, and this time he paused, sensing the change in her tone. He looked up at her, his smile fading into something softer.

“You need to hear this.”

He didn’t speak, just nodded.

Lily took a shaky breath. Her hands trembled slightly in her lap. “From the moment you were born, I loved you. That kind of love… it doesn’t stop. Not ever. Even after your father died, I held onto it. But I think I… I kept part of it locked away. Because I was afraid. I kept thinking I had to protect you more than I could love you.”

She bit her lip, the tears already brimming. “I made choices out of fear. I lived like there was never enough time. Always preparing for what might come, instead of just being with you.”

Harry was completely still now. His eyes were fixed on hers, wide and shining.

“But today,” she whispered, her voice breaking, “something changed. I watched you. I listened to you. And I realised—you live in a way I never let myself. You’re brave, and not just because you fight. You’re brave because you feel everything. You let yourself love, even when it hurts.”

A tear slipped down her cheek. Then another. She didn’t bother to wipe them away.

“Because of you, I made different choices today. I stopped running from the moment. And I felt everything—terrifying, beautiful, real.”

She reached out, brushing a hand through his hair. “If this is the end, if this is all the time we have, I need you to know… You gave me back my life. You taught me how to live again.”

Harry’s lips parted, but no words came. His eyes glistened. He shook his head, swallowed hard.

“Mum…”

Lily leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his forehead. A soft, trembling kiss, full of everything she couldn’t say.

“You don’t have to say anything, sweetheart. I just wanted you to know.”

Harry took her hand and held it tight. “Thank you, Mum.” His voice cracked. “For everything. For never giving up.”

A silence fell, warm and aching. For a moment, the world outside faded. There were no shadows, no threats. Just mother and son.

Then Harry spoke again, softly. “Let’s go home.”

Home. The word hit her chest like a wave. There was no home anymore, not really. But she nodded anyway, blinking away the tears.

“Yes,” she said, standing slowly. But her legs felt heavy. Her feet didn’t move.

Harry turned toward the door but stopped when he didn’t hear her behind him. “Mum?” He looked back, concern rising in his voice. “Are you coming?”

Lily hesitated. She looked around the little room one more time. The candlelight flickered. The window showed only moonlight and the hint of cloaked shadows still pacing.

This might be the last time I get to look at him like this. Whole. Safe. Alive.

She forced a smile. “Yes, darling. I’m coming.”

She reached for his hand, holding it tight. Not because she needed guidance—but because she needed to feel his warmth for just a little longer.

The night air bit into Lily’s skin the moment they stepped outside, crisp and sharp like the edge of a knife. Shadows clung to the towering trees, their branches creaking and whispering secrets she didn’t want to hear. Every sound—the rustle of leaves, the distant cry of a fox—felt loaded with danger. Her wand was already in her hand, fingers trembling slightly around the handle.

They moved quietly through the underbrush, every footstep too loud, every snapped twig a possible death sentence. The rendezvous point lay just ahead, but Lily felt as though they were wading through fog, through dread, through fate itself.

Harry walked beside her, tall and quiet, his features set in grim determination. He wasn’t a child anymore. The world had stolen that from him far too early. She wanted so badly to reach out, to protect him from all of it—to take him somewhere safe and warm, where he could laugh without looking over his shoulder. But there was no such place anymore.

Not tonight. Maybe not ever again.

When they finally broke through the trees and saw the small group of allies waiting at the edge of the clearing, a flicker of relief passed through her—until she saw their faces. Tight with fear. Ready for battle.

Lily forced a smile and reached for Harry’s hand, lacing her fingers with his. She swallowed hard and whispered, “Whatever happens tonight… love is the one thing they can never take from us. Remember that, Harry.”

Before he could answer, the temperature dropped.

A cold, unnatural chill spread across the field, and the hair on Lily’s arms stood on end. A deep, primal instinct screamed danger. The world itself seemed to hold its breath.

Then—movement. From every direction, they emerged: Death Eaters, swarming like phantoms from the shadows, black cloaks fluttering as they closed in. Their masks glinted in the moonlight—eyes hidden, intentions crystal clear.

Lily’s heart kicked wildly in her chest. Her grip on Harry’s hand tightened. She wanted to shield him, to throw herself in front of him, but there was no time. No safety. Only war.

A blinding red light suddenly exploded from behind the Death Eaters. One of them was blasted off his feet, crashing through a window with a terrible shatter of glass. A heartbeat later, more spells shot through the air—green, blue, purple—lighting up the darkness like fireworks.

“ORDER!” someone shouted. “MOVE!”

Lily turned just in time to see the members: Arthur, Tonks, Kingsley, and the others—all of them charging forward with raised wands and fierce, furious eyes.

The Death Eaters faltered. Just for a second.

Hope surged through Lily’s chest like a gasp of air after drowning.

But then the spells flew faster.

The sky turned into a storm of magic. Jets of light ripped through the darkness. The sounds—shouts, screams, crashes—merged into a thunderous roar.

Arthur sprinted past her, ducking a spell. “We’ve got this, Lily! Get Harry out of here—GO!”

Lily didn’t hesitate. “Come on!” she hissed, grabbing Harry’s sleeve and yanking him toward a narrow alley splitting off from the main street. A bolt of green light struck a wall inches from where they’d stood. Stone exploded. Dust rained down.

Behind them, the battle surged. Lily could feel the vibrations through her bones—the pulse of clashing forces, the rising terror in her chest. Her mind screamed to Apparate, to get out—but the jinx was still in place. The air hummed with it, the magic thick and oppressive.

“Mum!” Harry’s voice was a sharp cry, fear cracking through it. He was fifteen—too young for this, no matter what they said, no matter what he’d endured.

She turned, arm around him now, shielding and guiding. “I know, baby—I know. Just hold on to me. We keep moving, we find cover, we wait for a break in the jinx—”

A scream split the night. Then a building behind them erupted—fire and glass spewing into the street. The force knocked them forward. Lily skidded across the pavement, dragging Harry down with her. Her head spun. Her ears rang.

She coughed, blinking through smoke. The world smelt of burning wood and blood.

Then—footsteps.

Heavy, deliberate.

She scrambled up, wand raised, heart pounding. Three hooded figures advanced toward them, wands out, eyes gleaming behind masks.

Lily stepped in front of Harry, her voice shaking but strong. “You want him? You’ll have to go through me.”

One of the Death Eaters sneered behind his mask and raised his wand.

“Stupefy!” Lily bellowed. The red blast struck the man square in the chest, hurling him backward into a wall. He crumpled with a satisfying crack.

Harry’s wand was up in a flash. “Expelliarmus!” he shouted, knocking the wand from another Death Eater’s hand. Lily finished him with a full-body bind.

They turned to the last one—but he was already fleeing back into the shadows.

Lily sucked in a breath. Her lungs burnt. Her legs were trembling. But she couldn’t stop now.

“We have to get to Arthur,” she said quickly, voice low, urgent. “I saw him go around that corner—come on, stay close.”

They raced on. The street was a battlefield. Spells crashed into buildings. People screamed. Order members and Death Eaters fought in brutal, dazzling duels all around them. Lily caught glimpses—Kingsley fending off two attackers at once, Hestia sending a Death Eater flying into a lamppost. Fire licked up the walls of nearby shops.

And then—“Arthur!” she cried, spotting his silhouette in the haze of smoke. He was duelling viciously, wand moving like lightning.

But before she could reach him, another explosion tore through the air. A roof collapsed. The ground beneath them shook violently.

Glass rained down like sharp confetti.

“Down!” Lily shouted, dragging Harry behind a broken wall just as debris crashed where they’d been standing. Her ears rang again. Her face was streaked with dirt and blood; she didn’t know.

Harry tugged at her sleeve, pointing. “He’s still fighting—we can’t leave him!”

Lily hesitated, torn in two. The mother. The friend. Both voices screamed at her.

Another curse zipped past, cracking the cobblestones inches from her hand.

She stood, heart hammering, wand raised.

“Protego Maxima!” she yelled, shielding them both as more spells exploded against the barrier.

Harry was right. They couldn’t run. Not yet.

So she turned back into the fire.

Into the chaos.

Into the heart of the battle—because she was Lily Potter.

And no one was taking her son.

They turned the corner too sharply, and Lily’s boots slipped for a breathless second on the slick stone. She caught herself just in time, her free hand grabbing Harry’s shoulder.

They had stumbled into a deserted boulevard.

A wide, open stretch of silence greeted them—unnaturally still. The cobblestones glistened, but not cleanly. They were smeared with grime and something darker, something that clung to the soles of her shoes like oil. Dim streetlamps buzzed above, blinking in and out, casting long, broken shadows that twisted and shifted with every flicker. The light was wrong—sickly, as though it was rotting from the inside out.

Lily’s stomach twisted.

And then it came.

A sound.

A laugh.

It wasn’t loud. It didn’t need to be. It was the kind of laugh that slid under the skin—high and cruel and unmistakable. It curled through the air like smoke, seeping into her lungs, into her bones.

Lily stopped. Her body locked up. Her heart sank like a stone thrown into a black lake.

No. No, no.

Not her.

Not her.

“…It can’t be,” she whispered, but the words tasted hollow.

Bellatrix Lestrange.

Her name was poison. Her magic was worse. Lily had dreamed of that laugh—nightmares, really—for that night. The sound of it still echoed through in her mind, still stained Harry’s life like soot.

She tightened her grip on her son’s hand. He looked up at her—just for a moment. She saw the recognition in his eyes too. The fear. He didn’t say her name. He didn’t have to.

Lily’s mouth moved before her brain could catch up. Professor Dumbledore’s voice rang in her head—firm, patient, kind. His lessons, his warnings. The enchantment he’d made her promise to learn. To protect Harry. To always protect him.

She didn’t think.

She acted.

“Praesidium Fidelis!” she choked out.

The blue glow answered her. A dome shimmered around them—fragile, delicate—but real. A barrier. Soft as a bubble, strong as her love. It wrapped them in warmth, a faint humming in her ears like a lullaby. It pulsed once. Twice. She felt its rhythm sync with her heartbeat.

But it didn’t make her feel safe.

Not here. Not now.

Her fingers clutched Harry’s hand so tightly she worried she might bruise him. “Stay close,” she whispered, scanning the street, every muscle tensed. “Don’t let go of me.”

They were standing right here. This cursed street. Where it had happened. Where her child had fallen. Where darkness had laughed in triumph while her heart broke into pieces too small to ever be put back together.

She hadn’t meant to come back.

She thought she was ready. She thought… maybe if she saw the place again, if she faced it, she could take something back. A piece of peace. A crumb of control.

But it was still here. The pain. The horror. The evil.

She could feel it, crawling under her skin.

Then—movement.

The corner of her eye caught a glimmer. A thin sliver of metal reflecting the flicker of the nearest lamp. Her blood turned to ice.

The dagger.

Floating. Just as it had the night it killed him.

“No…” she breathed.

It hovered in midair, slow and steady, like a predator tasting the air before the strike. Its blade twisted unnaturally, shifting shape, glinting with a dark pulse. Magic oozed from it—sticky, wrong. It wasn’t just a weapon.

It was alive.

“Not again,” Lily whispered. Her voice broke.

Her wand trembled in her hand.

The protective charm buzzed faintly. The barrier quivered.

“Back!” she hissed at Harry, pushing him behind her. “Get behind me, now!”

But it was too late.

The barrier shimmered one last time, and then—it cracked. A sound like thin glass snapping in slow motion. A ripple spread through it, and the glow began to dim.

The knife surged forward.

“DOWN!” Lily screamed.

She dove. Grabbed Harry. Yanked him to the ground just as the blade slashed through the space where his chest had been seconds earlier. The air split with a hiss.

They hit the pavement hard. Lily’s elbow scraped stone, but she didn’t care. She wrapped her arms around Harry, shielding him with her body.

And then—stillness.

No sound. No dagger. No laughter.

Just silence. Deafening silence.

Lily’s breath came in shallow gasps. She forced herself up, just enough to scan the street. It looked empty. But nothing about it felt safe. Her whole body was screaming run, but she was frozen in place.

“Mum?” Harry’s voice was barely audible. “Are they gone?”

Lily swallowed. Her throat was raw. “I… I think so,” she lied.

She tried to rise. Her legs protested. Everything in her ached. But she had to move. She had to protect him.

But then—

Pain.

So fast. So sharp.

It came like lightning, stabbing through her lower back. She gasped, choked on her breath, and collapsed.

“Mum?!”

Her limbs went weak. Her fingers dug into Harry’s arm. Heat poured down her side. Wet. Sticky.

Blood.

No.

No, not now. Not him seeing this. Not again.

“Mum, what is it?” Harry asked, his voice cracking. “You’re bleeding—there’s—Mum, there’s a knife—!”

He was pale. He reached for her, gently rolling her onto her side. She cried out, the pain blinding, but she saw it—his face, when he saw the dagger.

It was still lodged in her back.

Silver. Cold. Glinting.

Her blood coated its handle like ink.

Harry’s hands were shaking as he hovered over it, not daring to touch. “I—I don’t know what to do—I don’t know—Mum—!”

She gritted her teeth, forcing her voice through the pain. “Don’t… pull it out. Not yet. Dark magic. It’s laced… It’ll spread if we don’t—” Her words failed.

He nodded quickly, blinking tears from his eyes.

She watched him, watched his panic rising, and it killed her. She had already seen him die once. She couldn’t let him go through that again. She couldn’t be the loss this time.

“I’m okay,” she lied, hand reaching up to brush his hair back. “You’re so strong, Harry. You always have been.”

He clenched his jaw. “I’m not—not strong enough—I should’ve protected you—”

“No,” she rasped. “You’re still here. That’s what matters.”

He looked like he wanted to argue. His lips quivered.

She didn’t have the strength to speak anymore. Her vision blurred. The pain was spreading now—down her leg, through her ribs, a cold numbness threading her limbs.

But she focused on his face.

His eyes.

She had brought him back once.

She would not let him lose her now.

Every part of her ached. Not just the torn flesh or the fire in her lungs, but the soul-deep ache of a mother watching her child fall apart in front of her.

No, not Harry. Not my baby.

He was crying. She saw it through the haze clouding her vision—his face crumpled in helpless anguish, his hands shaking as he reached for his wand, as if magic could undo what had already been written. He was just a boy. Still so young. Still so much life ahead.

She tried to lift her hand to reach for him, but her limbs were sluggish, heavy, and distant. The pain was dulling now. Not in a good way. She knew what it meant.

“Harry—” she whispered.

His head jerked at the sound. His frantic words rushing over her like a river overflowing its banks.

“I must get you to Hogwarts, Mum,” he said, broken and desperate. “You’ll be alright. Madam Pomfrey can heal you. She can fix anything. You just need to hold on.”

Hold on.

She almost smiled at that—how many times had she told him the same thing when he was small and sick or frightened of nightmares? Hold on, darling. Just a little longer.

Her mind slipped for a second, backward in time, to the quiet nursery in Godric’s Hollow. She remembered sitting in the rocking chair, Harry cradled in her arms, his chubby fists grasping at her necklace. His tiny chest rising and falling with soft little breaths. The world had been so quiet then. Safe.

“I’ll protect you,” she had whispered into his hair, so many years ago. “Always.”

The memory fractured into another: Harry at five years old, standing in the garden with dirt on his nose and a dandelion clutched in his fist. “For you, Mummy,” he had said proudly, handing her the crushed flower like it was treasure. She’d cried then, too. Over something so simple. So beautiful.

And now here he was again. Still trying to save her.

“Harry, sweetheart…” she breathed, summoning the last of her strength. Her fingers brushed his cheek, trembling. “It’s alright.”

He flinched like her words had cut him.

“No, it’s not!” he cried. “It’s not alright! You can’t go—don’t say that—please—”

His voice cracked, and that sound hurt more than anything else. She had never heard him sound so lost. Not even as a baby. Not even when he had woken screaming from nightmares and she’d held him against her chest, rocking him, singing lullabies into the dark.

She wanted to do that now. Hold him. Tell him the monsters would go away.

But this time, she was the one disappearing.

I’m sorry, baby. I’m so sorry.

He clung to her hand like it was the only thing keeping her here. His tears soaked her skin, warm and desperate. And it wasn’t fair—none of it. He’d already lost so much. James. Sirius. Remus. All the years they should’ve had together. And now this. Now her.

“I love you,” she whispered, her lips trembling. “My son.”

The world was dimming now, folding inward like paper catching fire. Sounds were soft and far away—Harry sobbing, the wind stirring leaves, her own heart slowing to a hush. She could no longer feel the ground beneath her, only the weight of his hands and the warmth of his tears on her skin.

She was floating. Drifting.

But just before the darkness claimed her, one more memory rose to the surface—unexpected, vivid, and whole.

She was lying on her back in a sun-drenched field, the sky endless above her, painted with soft clouds and golden light. Summer. She could feel the warmth of it on her skin, the grass tickling her bare arms. Beside her, a small voice was chattering nonstop, cheerful and curious and full of life.

“Do you think clouds ever fall down?” Harry asked, his five-year-old face turned toward the sky, squinting thoughtfully.

She turned her head to look at him. He was stretched out beside her, arms spread wide, a daisy crown slipping sideways on his messy hair. His cheeks were pink from running, and a smudge of dirt sat on his nose.

“I think maybe they just float forever,” she had said, smiling. “Like dreams you can’t quite catch.”

Harry giggled, twisting to face her. “Then I want to ride one.”

She laughed softly. “You would.”

He snuggled close, resting his head against her shoulder. “I like when it’s just us.”

“Me too,” she whispered, kissing the top of his head. “Me too, my love.”

The sun warmed her face in the memory, and for one brief, aching heartbeat, she forgot she was dying. She was only a mother lying in a field, holding her son close, dreaming of clouds and summer and all the tomorrows they would have.

That was the moment she chose to leave with.

Not fear. Not pain.

Just love. Just light.

Just her son in the sunlight, safe and smiling.

And then—nothing.