Lily Evans Potter had watched her son for years.  Perhaps “watched” wasn’t the right word, since looking out for him had begun before he was born, but as she’d been dead and unable to do more than watch for years, it was the word she was left with.

Under her ghostly gaze, Harry had grown from a happy toddler into a withdrawn young child at the hands of her sister – and damn that interfering Dumbledore for placing Harry there when Harry should have gone to Sirius.  But that situation with Sirius was another set of difficulties all on its own.  Harry then became not only withdrawn but repressed and angry by the time he received his Hogwarts letter.

She hadn’t been strong enough in his first years at school to help him in any way.  As a result, she’d been forced to watch her little boy suffer things no adult, let alone a child, should have had to deal with – ever.  Helpless when Quirrell attacked him, helpless when Tom Riddle’s diary nearly killed him, she felt heartened when Sirius managed to find him and connect despite everything.

It wasn’t enough, she discovered.  After she watched that Hufflepuff boy die and her even-more-ghostly form emerge from Voldemort’s wand, she feared for Harry.  Sirius wasn’t able to be there for him except in a distant role, despite how much he wanted to help Harry and how much Harry needed help.  James dismissed her worries, but he’d always been dense when it came to feelings.  To her credit, she’d only said I told you so once when Harry spent most of his fifth year angry and lashing out at those he loved most.

Then Sirius died.

She knew James loved their son, but once his best friend had joined them, the job of watching over Harry fell to her alone.  She tried her best, visiting Harry in dreams after that night at the Ministry, hoping to ease his suffering.  It had worked.  Harry at sixteen was a much more pleasant person than he’d been at fifteen.  No one had cheered more loudly than Lily when Harry stood up to Scrimgeour and declared himself Dumbledore’s man.  Despite her anger at Dumbledore for disregarding her and James’s wishes about placement of Harry, Dumbledore had done his best.

Then Dumbledore died.

Lily worried that the events of that night would drive Harry into another angry depression, but she’d underestimated her son.  He’d taken a major step toward becoming a man that night.  If she were honest with herself, Harry after that night was more mature than James had been the night the two of them had been killed.  His childishness was one of the things she loved most about her husband even as it drove her to distraction.  The contrast of father to son made her even more proud of Harry.

His decision to skip his seventh year tore at her heart, but she understood.  His mission was better served by being away from Hogwarts than within its walls.  The occasional visits she paid to the school to visit the Longbottom boy on behalf of Alice reinforced her approval of Harry’s decision.  By shadowing Neville while Harry camped, she discovered her boy was a wanted criminal and that the students were being all but tortured at Hogwarts.  It was no way to run a school, but Voldemort wasn’t interested in teaching, only in keeping the population in line.

Harry’s return to Hogwarts filled her with dread.  It would be his final stand.  Were she alive, she’d have bitten her nails to the quick following him from the Hog’s Head to within Hogwarts, from the Shrieking Shack and back to Hogwarts again.  She’d long-since lost the regret she felt at seeing Severus, but even he didn’t deserve to die in such an ignominious fashion.

Tears, ethereal but no less authentic, stained Lily’s cheeks when Harry discovered what he was. At Dumbledore’s insistence and in total secrecy, she had researched Horcruxes for the Order.  The knowledge that, despite her research, Harry had become a Horcrux, pained her for sixteen years.

Lily never intended for him to become a Horcrux, neither had Voldemort, but Harry had ended up as one anyway. She’d continued her silence about it even after death; she’d not shared it with James, but was there to comfort him when he discovered Harry’s fate at the same time Harry did.  Harry took the news much better than James did, she thought.

“He’s going to need us,” she told her husband, adding firmly, “You must pull yourself together for him.”

James took a deep breath, nodded, and took her hand.

They followed their son as he left Hogwarts unnoticed under the Cloak and made his way to the Forest to face Voldemort.  Lily remembered the last time a Potter had faced Voldemort knowing death was likely.  She squeezed her husband’s hand.  He smiled softly and brought their clasped hands to his mouth, pressing a kiss to the back of hers.

Sirius joined them halfway across the grounds.  James released her hand to hug Sirius briefly.  Releasing his friend, he took her hand once again, gripping it tightly.  Remus joined them at the edge of the Forest.

Lily’s hands shot to her mouth in shock.  She had seen Remus’s body with Harry, knew Peter had died in the disgrace he deserved, but still had hoped that one Marauder would survive.  She watched James and Sirius embrace him, both whispering Moony over and over.  She mourned, both for the Marauders and for Remus’s infant son.

She left the trio to stand at her son’s shoulder.  Tears glistened on his cheeks.  She longed to wipe them away.  She knew he hadn’t noticed his tears.

He lifted the Snitch to his lips and murmured, “I am about to die.”

Lily watched in surprise as the Snitch broke open.  Harry lifted his stolen wand and murmured, “Lumos.”  Harry studied the Stone, the symbols upon it now having meaning rather than random markings, then closed his eyes.

As he turned the stone over three times, she felt a tugging sensation.  From a small grunt, she knew James felt it as well.

All at once, she knew she was more corporeal than she’d been in sixteen years.  Twigs shifted under her feet; she could feel the faint breeze through the trees.

Harry slowly opened his eyes and turned toward her.  She smiled despite the tears that lay on her own cheeks. She pushed her long hair back as she drew close to him, and her green eyes, so like his, searched his face hungrily, as though she would never be able to look at him enough.

“You’ve been so brave,” she said softly.  Her eyes locked with Harry’s, green on green, and she wished she could share a lifetime in that moment.

“You are nearly there,” said James.  “Very close.  We are . . . so proud of you.”

Lily wanted to turn and smile at James for that.  She knew this would be hard on all of them, James most of all.  For him to comfort at a time of sorrow was an emotional accomplishment.

She swore she felt pain in her chest, something she hadn’t felt since she died, when Harry asked, voice nearly cracking, “Does it hurt?”

“Dying?  Not at all,” said Sirius.  “Quicker and easier than falling asleep.”

“And he will want to be quick.  He wants it over,” said Lupin.

“I didn’t want you to die,” Harry said.  “Any of you.  I’m sorry – right after you’d had your son . . . Remus, I’m sorry – ”

“I am sorry too,” said Lupin.  “Sorry I will never know him . . . but he will know why I died and I hope he will understand.  I was trying to make a world in which he could live a happier life.”

The breeze Lily had felt earlier turned colder and stronger, lifting the fringe on Harry’s brow.

“You’ll stay with me?” Harry asked, the words both strangled and tumbling on top of one another.

“Until the very end,” said James.

“They won’t be able to see you?” asked Harry.

“We are part of you,” said Sirius.  “Invisible to anyone else.”

Harry looked at his mother.  Lily smiled gently, aching to brush that fringe aside and press a kiss to his forehead as she did when he was an infant.

“Stay close to me,” he said quietly.

At that, Harry turned and headed into the heart of the Forest.  The Dementors had no effect on the small party of shades and boy, though Lily shivered reflexively.  Her boy, her son, was walking to his death with his chin held high and tears glistening almost invisibly on his cheeks.

A thud and a whisper brought the small party to a halt.

“Someone there,” came a rough whisper close at hand.  “He’s got an Invisibility Cloak.  Could it be – ?”

Two figures emerged from behind a nearby tree.  In the flare of their wands, Lily could see two Death Eaters.  It was mildly disconcerting to have them look directly at her but not see her.

“Definitely heard something,” said one.  “Animal, d’you reckon?”

“That head case Hagrid kept a whole bunch of stuff in here,” said the other, glancing over his shoulder.

The first Death Eater looked down at his watch.  “Time’s nearly up.  Potter’s had his hour.  He’s not coming.”

“And he was sure he’d come!  He won’t be happy.”

“Better go back, find out what the plan is now.”

The Death Eater pair turned and walked deeper into the Forest.  Harry glanced sideways at her, drawing a smile from her, then at James, who nodded encouragement.  Then he followed the pair.

Lily floated at Harry’s side, that same small smile on her face each time Harry looked at her.  She didn’t think he was aware of how often he looked at her or at his father.  She was more than willing to offer any comfort Harry needed.

She could nearly feel the tension vibrating in him as they came across the clearing housing the Death Eaters.  For an absurd moment, she thought it looked like a party, though much more somber than any she’d ever attended since everyone was silent and staring at Voldemort.  Voldemort himself stood near the center of the clearing with his head bowed and hands clasping the Elder Wand as if he were praying with it.

There was little change in his stance beyond the raising of his head as his Death Eaters reported no sign of Harry.  Lily wanted nothing more than to grab her son and run, like she’d wanted to do that fateful Halloween night, like she’d wanted to do when they found out about that damned prophecy in the first place.  Instead, she stood silent next to Harry, supporting him as she’d tried to do his entire life.

“No sign of him, my Lord,” said the second Death Eater.

Voldemort’s expression did not change.  The red eyes seemed to burn in the firelight.  Slowly he drew the Elder Wand between his long fingers.

“My Lord – ” Bellatrix began.  She sat next to Voldemort looking like his harem queen, though Lily doubted Voldemort was interested in sex at this point in his half-life.  Voldemort raised his hand to silence her, and she did not speak another word, merely watched.

“I thought he would come,” said Voldemort in his high, clear voice, his eyes on the leaping flames.  “I expected him to come.”

Nobody spoke.  Harry vibrated with increasing tension beside her.  She watched as he pulled off the Invisibility Cloak and stuffed it beneath his robes, with his wand.

“I was, it seems . . . mistaken,” said Voldemort.

“You weren’t,” Harry said forcefully.  Lily had never been more proud.

She couldn’t stop him as the Stone fell from his fingers.  The same pulling sensation that had brought her close to her son took her away again.

It took her several moments to regain her ethereal form, the near-ghost she normally became around Harry.  By that time, Hagrid was straining against his bonds, yelling silently at Harry, Bellatrix was nearly frothing with excitement and the remaining Death Eaters looked ready to pounce as if they were a roomful of feral cats and her son was a juicy mouse.

Voldemort and Harry looked at each other across the clearing.  She didn’t know if their eyes met but it seemed that way.  She moved to hover near Harry’s shoulder, hoping he could still sense her presence and draw strength from her.

Voldemort tilted his head a little to the side, considering the boy standing before him, and a mirthless smile curled his mouth.

“Harry Potter,” he said very softly.  “The Boy Who Lived.”

None of the Death Eaters moved.  They were waiting:  Everything was waiting.

Voldemort had raised his wand.  His head was still tilted to one side like a marionette whose strings had been partially severed.  Harry met those red eyes unflinchingly though strung tight with anticipation, fear and tension.

He stood straight and still until Voldemort’s curse struck him.

When Lily was ripped from his side, she knew her son was dead.