Disclaimer: I own nothing. All the characters are the property of Mrs. J.K. Rowling.
Summary:Even though it means her death, Lily just can't let Harry go. Mild HP/LE

Twisted Roses by Lady Salazar

"Lily, when the time comes, just let me go. Just let me go, I don't want you to die…"

Lily was in a daze. This was the day. The day she and her husband would die.

Harry wouldn't. She wouldn't let him. He'd begged her just to let him die, not to sacrifice herself, but she couldn't. Her Harry would live. Her perfect Harry, wonderful Harry. Lily guessed she loved James, but James wasn't Harry. She could live without James. Not without Harry.

She walked down the hall to the nursery. There was no need to run, Lily knew. There was no escape for her, however much James might wish it. There was only death, death that was green as her own eyes.

She paused. The sound of James' duel with Voldemort was muted, but it told her James was still fighting. Good. There was time.

The door to the nursery opened at her touch. The bright Gryffindor-red walls blinded her. She'd fought tooth and nail with James for a different color, a darker color. Crimson, maybe, the color of dried blood, or stormy gray - those would have fit. But roaring scarlet? Never.

Harry caught her gaze. Lily struggled to hold it. The gaze was so naked, so naïve. Remembering her Harry's haunted orbs, part of her wondered how this - this creature that she had birthed - could become the forsaken angel of death she had loved. That she still loved, more than she could ever love James.

"Harry…" she whispered, running her hands through his messy raven locks. Harry - her son. Yet, this was not the Harry she would die for. She would die for Harry, her lover of two years, trapped in the past with no way back but to live out the present. She would die for this Harry's father, who would vanish from the earth if this babe of fifteen months was killed.

The sounds of the battle raging down the hall had come to a close. She knew James, her husband, was dead, and for a moment felt guilty. She'd married him, because Harry had told her she had, not because she loved him. She'd been unfaithful - not that that really mattered, as James had been having affairs as well, but still it went against her morals.

She could hear Voldemort walking down the hall outside. James had told her to call him You-Know-Who, but Harry said otherwise, said that if she feared a name, she would fear its bearer more. So Lily called him Voldemort.

The footsteps stopped outside the door. She pictured Voldemort raising his wand, incantation on his lips, and looked down at Harry.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. He would remember and ponder these words long, she knew. He had mentioned them, said he didn't want to hear her say them, ever.

The door exploded. "Stand aside, silly girl!"

She begged and pleaded theatrically for a few minutes, waiting for Voldemort to lose his patience. Harry had told her how she had died, and she was determined to reenact those last few moments. If it would save Harry, she didn't care about lost dignity.

Voldemort swiftly grew irritated with her. She watched, in slow motion, as the fiend's wand rose as he mouthed the words - she could have dodged easily had she wanted, but she didn't. Green light swallowed up her vision, and the spell smashed into her chest.