“Lily, it’s him! It’s him, take Harry and go!” Lily’s breath caught in her throat. It’s him. She knew that could only mean one person, one thing: Voldemort. She was upstairs, wand-less, with nothing to protect her. She did have one thing however. She had Harry, and she clung to him, both physically, and mentally, in her mind, clinging to the knowledge that somehow she would save her son. She had to. It came to her then, as clear as anything, obviously she would have to disparate. She ran through a list of safe places in her mind and knew there was only one place she could go. So she held on tight to Harry, imagined the Hogwarts grounds, and turned into midair. As her body fell through space and began to land miles away, she heard a scream, and a thump as the love of her life’s dead body hit their living room floor. Stifling a sob, she ran as fast as she could towards Hagrid’s hut, knowing he would be able to contact Dumbledore. She soon reached the door, panting, and knocked urgently. Harry was crying in her arms and she tried to console him as she struggled for breath. In only a moment, she heard Fang’s howls and a familiar “Be righ’ there!” In no time at all, Hagrid was standing at the door, staring in horror at a disheveled Lily and sobbing Harry. He stepped aside and she ran in. She just managed to choke out the words she whispered, “Voldemort came. He...James is…” before collapsing into a nearby chair.
Exactly ten minutes later, Lily was sitting in Dumbledore’s office explaining to him the best she could what happened.
“It was Voldemort, he came, and James...he, he tried to hold him off, he did, but…” She couldn’t. She just couldn’t bring herself to say it, to say that James was dead. She refused to believe it. If she didn’t say it, didn’t believe, didn’t acknowledge it, maybe it wouldn’t be true. Maybe this would all be some twisted dream. She dared to hope so. Dumbledore looked down her long nose at her, and she saw tears glistening in the corners of his usually cheerful eyes.
“I’m so sorry, Lily,” He said softly. She nodded, hanging her head forward and letting her hair fall into her face. “You will, of course, stay at Hogwarts for as long as you desire,” He said. She looked up, reigning in her tears enough to mumble a soft “thank you.”
“Of course, my dear, of course,” he said, standing up slowly. “If you will,’ he said, walking towards the door and gesturing for her to follow. She obliged, staying behind him as he guided her down the stairs out of his office. She tried to ignore the concerned whispers from the paintings as she passed by, but couldn’t help but notice some of them followed her from portrait to portrait, muttering to their original occupants. When they began to cast her sympathetic glances she knew one of the headmasters must have spread the news. She imagined the great gossip the next morning, the madness it would cause in the Great Hall and all the classes.
Soon, they came upon a wooden door at a landing above a flight of stairs. He opened it and gestured her inside.
“The castle is your home for as long as you wish,” he said, before quietly stepping out and leaving her to her room. She ran to the bed in the center of the room and set Harry down gently, then collapsed into it, burying her face in the comforter. She’d been trying desperately to regain her composure through the night but she couldn’t hold on any longer. Her sobs were being torn from her throat, racking her whole body. She sobbed and sobbed, unable to stop replaying the moment in her mind when she heard him hit the floor. When she heard the body of her dead husband fall to the ground, when she felt his death, like a hole opening up inside her. When she stopped bawling, she screamed into her sheets until her voice grew hoarse. And when that happened she went back to crying. It was a different crying this time, though. It was the crying no one ever talks about; where your shoulders shake, quietly but violently, and your mind shakes with it. Where you feel too hollow to make any noise or tears, yet you have to release the madness somehow. It was empty crying, but perhaps the most emotional kind. It was quietly heartbreaking. Lily fell asleep that night with tear stained cheeks, and shoulders still shaking.
