For Aerie—happy birthday! I hope you like angst, otherwise I am very, very sorry.

Written for Hogwarts' Potions Assignment, Task 1: Write about someone experiencing some kind of awful trauma, the Roald Dahl Day Event: Conundrums - Write about a conundrum, the Writing Club – Showtime: Guns and Ships: (dialogue) "The world will never be the same." and the Family Day Event: Potter Family.

The quote at the end is from Richard Siken.

Word count: 3654

what about all the broken happy ever afters

'If flowers can teach themselves to bloom after winter passes, so can you.'

The worst thing about the attack, Lily thinks, is how little warning they got that it was coming.

It seemed like one moment, James was chasing a five-year-old Harry around the living-room, threatening him with tickling if he didn't hand his father the last cookie while Lily snapped pictures of them, laughing, and the next Harry was crying as he and James knelt at wandpoint, Lily helpless to do anything but watch as her husband is Silenced and his hands are bound in front of him.

"Well, well, well, what do we have here?" Voldemort asks, voice still ringing with cruel laughter as he twirls his wand between his fingers, two of his Death Eaters forcing her husband and child to kneel before him, the tip of their wands already glowing with an acidic green that turns Lily's stomach.

"Looks like I caught myself some blood traitors, huh?" he keeps musing, thin lips curved into a nasty smile; red eyes gleaming with satisfaction.

Lily, the only one of her family still standing free, tightens her hold on her wand and aims it straight at the Dark Lord who thinks threatening her family is acceptable. Hatred burns in her veins swiftly, hardening everything on its way to her heart.

See, the thing most people forget is that between her and James, Lily is the one who likes to experiment with magic most would think forbidden. That was one of the reasons she and Severus had gotten on so well, after all—a mutual love to push at the limits of what people thought wizards could do.

Did this Dark Lord seriously think that she hadn't started studying the Killing Curse the moment she had heard that he was coming after her son?

She may not know how to counter it without dying herself—yet—but she knows how to cast it.

After all, all one needs is willpower and the burning need to see someone dead—and right now? With Voldemort threatening to destroy all that she loves? Finding that motivation is absurdly easy.

"Let them go," Lily hisses, wand tip burning green.

"Ooh, looks like the kitten has grown some claws," the Death Eater standing over James mocks. "Too bad it won't save you, or them," she laughs, and oh, Lily would recognize that laugh everywhere—it belongs to Bellatrix Lestrange, Sirius' crazy cousin.

"I won't repeat myself," Lily states, eyes steady on Voldemort. The green glow gets brighter.

"Mummy, I'm scared," Harry cries, and Lily's heart break as she forces herself not to look at him.

"It's going to be okay, Harry; Mummy's going to take care of this, alright?"

"Alright," Harry sobs. From the corner of her eyes, Lily can see James takes Harry's right hand in his, holding it tightly and running a soothing thumb over its back. Merlin, could she ever love this man more?

"She's bluffing, my Lord," Bellatrix reports, voice shrill and mocking. "A light witch, casting a Killing Curse? She will never dare."

Lily bares her teeth, burrowing her eyes straight into Voldemort's inhumanely red ones. "Your people are threatening my son. Do you really believe there's anything I wouldn't do for him? For my husband?" She narrows her eyes. "Do you?"

The Death Eaters shift uneasily and Lily lets her lips curl upward into a smirk.

To her surprise, Voldemort just starts laughing, a mad sound that makes Lily shiver.

"You have spirit. Lord Voldemort appreciates this in an opponent. For that, he will grant you a boon." His lips stretch into a cruelly amused smile. "Bella, dear, if you would?"

Bellatrix doesn't seem all that happy with her master's request, but she complies with barely a protest.

Lily's blood runs cold as the Death Eater pushes James forward, causing him to topple to the ground in front of Voldemort, who simply chuckles.

"Now the boy, Rodolphus," he orders, and as silent as his wife, the man drags a crying Harry to the forefront, pushing him to sit beside his father, kneeling in between Voldemort and Lily. Rodolphus and Bellatrix move to the sides, keeping their wands aimed straight at James and Harry.

"Perfect," Voldemort purrs. "Blood traitors, in the rightful place," he jeers, and his followers laugh as Lily seethes.

"I was asked to leave you alive," Voldemort muses aloud, fingers caressing his wand slowly. He turns his head slightly to address his Death Eaters. "Lord Voldemort always rewards his loyal followers."

Lily feels like she can't breathe—like something is squeezing her chest, tight. Who could ever ask for such a thing?

The answer comes all too quickly, and Lily swallows back bile. Severus. It can't be anyone else—when (if) they get out of this alive, she will destroy him for this.

"I would rather die," Lily spits, keeping her head straight.

James' head jerks up, wild eyes staring at Lily pleadingly. Lily tries to send him her best reassuring look before Bellatrix snaps a stinging hex his way, forcing him to turn back around.

"You might still get your wish, mudblood," Bellatrix sneers, fingering her wand lovingly. She anxiously looks in Voldemort's direction. "If my Lord allows, of course."

Voldemort's laugh is horribly fond. "I'm sure my loyal follower would forgive me if my generous offer was refused," he says. "After all, who am I to change the minds of mudbloods?"

Bellatrix's and Rodolphus's laughter is cut short with Voldemort's next words. "Enough," he says, refocusing on Lily. "Now, where were we?"

"You were about to 'grant me a boon," Lily scoffs, channeling her hatred and fear into her wand, keeping the words for the Killing Curse at the tip of her tongue.

Voldemort smiles. "Oh yes, that was it." He laughs, and in a movement more fluid than anything Lily could ever hope to accomplish, he has his wand strained on James, causing Lily to take an instinctive step forward that she barely catches in time.

"See," Voldemort starts, "you hero, Gryffindorish types have the tendency to always believe yourselves better than us, all high and mighty—well, it's time to show you that you aren't." His smiles widen. "Choose, Lily Potter. Choose who lives and who dies tonight—your husband," he says, keeping the wand strained on James, whose shoulders tighten, "or your son," Voldemort continues, wand now pointed at Harry, who is trembling all over.

"Your choice—but choose quickly, I don't have all evening."

At first, the words don't register. She gapes, not understanding, and the only reason she doesn't drop her wand is because her grip is now so tight on it that she can't unclench her fingers.

"I-What?" Lily stutters, heart hammering in her chest.

"My Lord asked you to choose, mudblood," Bellatrix snarls. "Between your blood traitor of a husband and your sorry whelp of a son."

Lily snarls back, wishing the woman wasn't wearing that ugly white mask so Lily could stare into her eyes—eyes that she yearned to gouge out right now.

"So, Potter, what will it be?" Voldemort taunts. "Which of these two people you claim to love will you sacrifice?"

"I can't, I can't choose," Lily whispers, eyes watering with tears as dread pools in her stomach—she doesn't think she'll find a way out of this. "I won't choose," she says louder this time.

"Well, in that case I could just kill them both," Voldemort replies, shrugging. "Again, your choice. But perhaps some motivation might help you along first," he adds, wand now pointing at James again. "Crucio!"

Lily will never forget the way Harry screamed as his father collapsed, limbs contorting in unnatural ways, mouth open to let out silent screams—and Merlin, she's never been glad for anything these Death Eaters have done before, but she's more thankful than she's ever been that James is silenced right now.

She doesn't know if she'd have managed to stay rooted in place if she had heard him scream.

"Stop it!" Lily screams, her voice as raw as if she had been the one tortured; and miraculously enough, the spell is lifted.

Lily wants to collapse on the spot, to gather James and Harry in her arms and cry for a week, but she can't. Later, she promises herself. She'll take that luxury later; once they're safe.

"Your choice?" Voldemort asks cruelly.

"I can't," Lily sobs. "I can't choose."

Voldemort smiles at his followers. "Maybe some more incentive, then?"

"My Lord, please allow me," Bellatrix simpers, bowing her head.

"Lord Voldemort appreciates your eagerness, Bellatrix. However, I have another idea…" He trails off, slightly raising his wand over James again, chuckling when James flinches. Lily just stares, helpless—waiting for her moment to act, should it ever come—as she is sure her husband will get tortured again. It makes her wish she could just close her eyes and wish all of this away.

But the torture curse isn't the spell that falls from Voldemort's lips this time. Instead, it's a simple, "Finite!" that lifts the silencing spell resting on James.

"Go on, Potter, tell your dear wife who you think she should choose," he taunts.

James' eyes are red with tears when he twists around to stare at Lily, and he's trembling a little, but the tremulous smile he gives her is just so him that Lily wants to swoop down and kiss him.

"Hey, Lils, you good?"

"Yeah, James, I'm good," Lily laughs through her tears.

"This is all very touching, I'm sure," Voldemort drawls, interrupting the moment. "But this isn't what I asked you to do—or do you need me to freshen up your mind a little?"

"Fine," James bites, eyes burning with fever-bright hatred as he sends his darkest look toward Voldemort.

When he turns back to Lily, his brown eyes are soft and sad. "It's okay," he says, whisper-soft. "You know what to do—it's okay, I forgive you."

Something in Lily's chest shatters, its sharp edges digging into her lungs. She feels like she can taste blood at the back of her throat. "I'm sorry," she sobs. "I'm sorry."

James' hands twitch in her direction—Lily understands that feeling perfectly. She, too, would give anything right now to hold his hand.

She looks at him intensely, taking in all these features she loves so much—his brown eyes that she can get lost into for hours, his flyaway hair that she loves to tug on, these crooked lips she can never get enough—and trying to engrave them in her mind.

"I take it you've made your choice, then." Voldemort looks at her eagerly—hungrily, even.

Lily squares her shoulders, and blinks her tears away—she refuses to let this monster witness her moment of weakness.

"I have," she says, hoping her voice is as steady as her wand.

"And…?"

"I choose myself," Lily states, suppressing a flinch when James yells out, "NO!", jerking in her direction, Harry twisting around with a panicked expression on his face.

Voldemort laughs again. "I'm afraid that wasn't part of the bargain—your husband or your precious son, these were your choices. Your only choices. You don't get to make another."

"It's okay, Lily," James tells her, pleadingly. "Just pick me, please. It's okay."

Lily almost lowers her wand to stare into his eyes. "I…" James nods, sharply—sadly. Lily looks back up to Voldemort's red eyes, hating the glee dancing in them more than she's ever hated anything.

"James. I pick James," she says, feeling her heart break all over again—but this was never a choice. Not for her, and not even for James: if there is one thing they both love more than life itself, it is their son, this precious, perfect being they helped create.

Voldemort's lips stretch into his worst smile yet. "Very well—remember, you chose this. Avada Kedavra!"

And to Lily's horror, the green light doesn't strike her husband, but her son.

The scream that is ripped from her lungs is inhuman as she rushes forward—too late already, she's too late already—James' own scream echoing in her ears, and Lily forgets that they're surrounded by Death Eaters.

In this moment, this half second, nothing matters more than her son's body falling to the ground like a puppet which strings have been cut, collapsing forward and toward his father's open arms in what might be the last hug he'll ever get.

She doesn't care that they might die, now that she doesn't even have the threat of maybe taking down this Dark Lord with her—but it doesn't matter. It can't matter, not when her son is dead.

Oh Merlin, her son is dead.

It happens in between one breath and the next, as Voldemort gloats over finally getting rid of the boy from the Prophecy—"Now, I am truly invincible," he laughs, and Lily burns.

The green light that leaves her wand surprises even her in its intensity, but what's even more surprising is that it is echoed by a reflection starting from Harry's body, a ripple that Lily barely gets to see before the room is blown away in a concussion wave.

James, already sitting, and Lily, through whom the wave passes harmlessly, are the only one untouched. Voldemort's body seems to burn inside out when the curses strike him, his scream terrible but still not justice enough for the loss of her son.

His Death Eaters are unconscious or dead, crumpled by the living-room walls, masks and robes astray.

Lily falls to her knees and crawls to James' side, Harry's head tucked on his laps. He's caressing his hair softly—if it wasn't for the tears streaming down his face, the broken sobs falling from his lips, Lily could almost fool herself into believing that Harry's just sleeping.

But he's not. He's not asleep—at not from a sleep that he will ever wake from.

Her trembling fingers find James', and that first touch is like a flood, like opening a dam after a drought, and Lily's collapses into James' hold, sobbing.

"I'm, sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she babbles, one hand gripping James' fingers tightly, the other caressing Harry's cheek tenderly. "Oh, baby, I'm so sorry—things weren't supposed to go this way."

Harry's skin is still warm—still vibrant with a life that has already left him—and somehow that only makes Lily's sobs redouble, James tightening his hold on her.

"I know, I know," he whispers in her hair. "I know."

It feels like days have passed when someone finally stumbles inside their house, shouting their names.

Lily and James don't reply. They don't even move, not even when Remus almost falls into the room, running frantically. His face loses all color as he takes in the scene, and he only remains standing by leaning against the wall.

"Oh, sweet Morgana, no," he breathes, and it's only then that Lily manages to drag her eyes away from her son's too still face.

"Remus," she greets, voice flat and as dead as her son is. "Voldemort is dead," she announces, and the words don't taste as triumphant as she'd always dreamed they would be—she would let that monster live a thousand lives if it meant her son would take just one more breath, if she could see him smile at her just one more time.

She feels numb inside, now that she doesn't even have anyone to turn her anger onto, like a ghost, almost.

"Harry?" Remus asks hesitantly.

James knees creak as he stands up, Harry cradled in his arms. Lily follows him silently. "He's dead," James replies, knuckles white against Harry's dark clothing. "He's dead," he repeats, and he has never sounded so defeated.

"I'm so sorry," Remus whispers, even if the words aren't enough. Nothing, he knows, will ever be enough to make up for this loss. "Fuck, Prongs, I'm so sorry—I came as soon as I could."

James laughs bitterly. "Well, that wasn't soon enough. It fucking wasn't soon enough."

"I-" Remus swallows thickly. "Do you need anything?"

"I need my son to be alive, Moony," James says tiredly. "But somehow, I don't think you can give me that, do you?"

Remus shakes his head mutely.

"Thought so," James replies, humorless smile playing on his lips.

An awkward silence settles over them as Remus moves to check over the two fallen Death Eaters, quickly conjuring binding but leaving them where they are.

"We should leave this room," Remus finally says, because this living-room feels like death now, and it's a creepy feeling that weighs on his shoulders.

It's a feeling the Potters don't need right now.

It's a silent procession that follows Remus out of the house—James in the middle, Harry in his arms, and Lily half a step behind, who can't bear to be any further away from either of them, but who also can't stand to get closer.

When the cracks of Apparition echo in the garden, Remus is the only one to raise his wand defensively, though he lowers it almost immediately. "Professor Dumbledore," he breathes, relief clear in his voice. "You came."

"Of course, my boy. I came as soon as I got your message," he answers. "What-" he trails off, shoulders falling as he takes in the too small body in James' arms, and Lily's broken expression. "I see," he says. "James, Lily, I am so sorry for your loss."

"Thank you," Lily replies, the words falling from her lips without her registering them.

Dumbledore creeps in closer, the rest of the Order spreading out silently behind him, some of them slipping into the house behind James and Lily. His wizened hand reaches for Harry's forehead, where an ugly lightning shaped cut stands starkly against the death pale skin, and Lily's hand snaps out to stop it.

"Don't," she hisses, welcoming the warmth of her anger as it spreads through her veins again. Anything—anything—is better than the cold emptiness she was feeling before. "Don't touch him."

Dumbledore takes back his hand. He looks very old like this, Lily notes, and not anywhere near as wise as she used to believe he was.

"I'm sorry, Lily. You have to believe me when I say that I'm truly, deeply sorry."

"Sorry? You're sorry?" Lily laughs, the sound bitter and sharp. "You told us that we were safe, that you would take care of the problem—well, guess what? You didn't, you failed, and now my son is dead! My son is dead, so don't tell me you're sorry," she snarls.

"I know, and for that I can't ever apologize enough," Dumbledore replies, bowing his head. "But, Lily, James, I need to know what happened here—this could be vital to the war."

Lily snaps, fist hitting bone with a breaking sound that shouldn't sound so satisfying. Dumbledore stumbles back, hands flying to his nose, blood already dripping on his robes.

"Screw you," Lily hisses darkly. "Screw you and your war—we just lost the best thing that ever happened to us because of this war you couldn't stop."

James' eyes, when they meet Dumbledore's, are an empty pool of darkness. "You'll find two bound Death Eaters inside—your Dark Lord's body vanished, but he's dead," James states, tone as dark as his wife's. "Now, if you'll excuse us, I think we need to see a man about making arrangements for our son's burial."

.x.

Harry's funeral is a much grander affair than Lily thinks it should be. She doesn't even know half the supposed mourners, but the entire British wizarding world, or so it seems, wants to pay their respects to the child hero who vanquished the Dark Lord through his brave death.

There had been nothing brave about Harry's death. Her son had been terrified, and he had been crying—but worst of all, her last words to him had been a lie.

Lily had promised him that he would be okay, that she would save him, but she hadn't. In the end, she had just watched him die, his bright light extinguished in an instant.

She thinks about that a lot.

The service is still beautiful, though. She's glad for that at least—her son deserves the best in death, if she couldn't give him that in life.

She stands in front of the crowd, James' hand warm and grounding in hers, as she raises her wand and the coffin (too small, much too small) slowly disappears from sight as she heaps pocketful of brown dirt on top of it.

When that is done, she flicks her wand again and in golden light, her son's name burns its way into white marble.

James is the one to make the epitaph, the words glowing golden as they float away from his wand and onto the stone.

'Someone has to leave first. This is a very old story. There is no other version of this story.'

And beneath it, a phoenix, burning.

"It's perfect," Lily whispers, letting her head rest on James' shoulder, shuddering as he presses a soft kiss on her hair.

Tears start to burn behind her eyes, and Lily doesn't try to blink them away. "It's perfect," she repeats, throat tight with emotions, and she just lets herself be held.

"The world will never be the same, will it?" she asks, whispering it for James' ears only.

James wraps his arm around her shoulders, drawing her in. "No, it won't be. But we're still here."

Lily's lips curve into an almost smile. "But we're still here," she repeats. Had it been anyone else telling her that, she'd have hexed them—but it's James, who understands what she's feeling right now, and so she won't.

She's still not alright—they're not alright—but maybe, one day, they will be.