Authors Note: Thank you so much for the the faves, alerts, and reviews. I'm really glad you are enjoying this little story of mine. I have a general idea of how this story will progress, but I'm always open to new ideas, don't be afraid to share.

Yet again Thank you Phonetically Write for editing and giving me new ideas, Your the best.

[-c.o.n.t.i.n.g.e.n.c.y-]

[Chapter Two]: -Bathilda-

I found myself mesmerized by the image before me. It was a simple one; it was showing off what I could only assume were the competitors of the Triwizard Tournament, all lined up. There were four youths; a beautiful young girl with long, light-colored hair framing her face, followed by two strapping lads who both looked far too confident. None of these three mattered to me; the one who set my heart on fire was the one who looked exactly like James, his hair was messy and sticking up in every direction. His chin and nose were the same as my husband's. Though I could not see for certain, for the photograph was not in color, I knew his eyes were the same as mine. I knew he was my Harry. His face showed his inexperience and youth in comparison to the three others. He was, by far, the shortest amongst them. His gaze shifted from side to side, looking at someone not in the picture, to the three he stood next to. He looked uneasy.
I wondered how he had gotten himself in that position. He obviously did not want to be amongst the competitors, but there he was.

He looked exactly as I had imagined him, so many months – no, years – ago, when he was still a baby. I would dream of him, standing there alongside us, looking happy. Content. Looking so much like his father, but with little traces of me sprinkled about. Then there he was, my baby; grown, on the brink of adulthood.

'The-boy-who-lived' is what the article called him. I could only assume the meaning behind it. He had survived, where no others before him had. On the night that Voldemort attacked us, Harry had lived.

I found myself crying, now; not out of fear or confusion, but out of happiness. Our boy had lived. He had made it. I was able to save him. James' sacrifice was not in vain.
My train of thought was brought to an abrupt halt by the slamming of a door somewhere to my left. I looked up to where a row of cottages stood, to find a young lady standing on the porch of one, looking quite agitated.
"Sarah, come back inside!" I heard an older female yell from within the home. The young woman spun in place to face the door and screamed back inside, "No mother! Not until you admit your wrong!"

As I watched the scene before me, I realized who this young woman was. She was Sarah Philips. The last time I had seen her, she was a rambunctious two-year-old. The Philips' were a Muggle family, who were always very kind to James and me. The mother, Mary, was expecting another child around the same time I was pregnant with Harry. We were going to set up play dates between them. I remember joking with Mary, about how our boys would be best friends.

As I watched Sarah go through her teenage tantrum, I realized that the future I had once envisioned was now gone. There would be no play dates between our boys. There would be no ghost stories told by James to a squealing little Harry, far past his bedtime. There would be no house full of little Potters.
James was gone; and with him, so was the life I had imagined.

Not only was my husband gone, but my baby was already grown. He would be 14 now. A teenager, only 7 years younger then I was. I had missed out on my boy's life. The birthdays; shopping for his first wand; sending him off to Hogwarts. He had grown up without us. Hopefully, he had been living a happy life. A life where the thought of his deceased parents probably didn't even cross his mind much.

I moved from the place near the trash bin, and continued on down the road to where Bathilda lived. Her house was much the same as the one in which I lived. As I first caught sight of it, it looked the same as when I had last seen it; I could see lights on, within her home, and smoke coming from the chimney. Thank Merlin she was home. I don't know what I would have done, otherwise.
I knocked on her door, lightly at first. Some part of me was scared to confront my old friend. I was supposed to be dead. How would Bathilda take seeing me, very much alive, in front of her?
"Coming, coming!" I heard her muffled voice say, from somewhere within.
She opened the door and, just like her home, she looked very much the same as when I last lay eyes upon her.
"Yes?" She said, when first saw me "And what would you like, Miss Evens?"
She didn't even flinch at my sudden appearance.
"I told you before, Bathilda. I married James. My last names Potter now." It was like nothing had changed - as if we were as we had always been; ex-student and professor, now good friends. After my words, Bathilda took a second glance at me.
"Wait..." she said it in a low voice, a look of confusion on her face. It seemed she finally realized that her old pupil should not be standing before her.
"Lily Potter should not be standing on my doorstep." She seemed to be talking more to herself then to me.
"You died." Her gaze changed to meet my eyes.
"Yes." I said, my voice soft and distant, "I don't know why I'm here, and I don't know how."

She continued to stare at me for what seemed like ten minutes, taking in every detail of my being.
"Well, no use standing outside, come in." She moved out of the way to allow me passage.
"Thank you," I breathed out my gratitude as I passed her, into her home.
She led me in to her sitting room that I was surprised to find had, in the past fourteen years, changed very little.
I sat down on the couch opposing the chair she settled herself in.
"If this is some trick, I will be rather unhappy. I was always fond you Lily, and to find this a hoax will leave me quite displeased," she said, in her raspy voice.
"This isn't a trick Mrs. Bagshot, it's really me." I smiled at my old professor.
"Well, then. You have some explaining young lady," she said, settling further into her cushioned chair. Her face was stern, as if she still didn't quite believe what I was saying.

And so I told my story; what I knew, and the parts I put together. My eyes watered during a few parts, but I didn't let myself cry. I would let myself grieve, but now was not the time. When I was done explaining, a silence fell upon the room. Neither of us spoke; there was only the sound of our breathing and the crackling of the fire.

"Interesting, indeed. I must say, when I first realized who was on my doorstep, I thought it some dark magic that was reanimating the dead. You are clearly no Inferius, though. Those rotten corpses have no light. And light, Lily, is one thing that you have in abundance." She spoke at last.
"You've assumed correctly, for the most part. It's been fourteen years. There has been no war. That boy, from what I understand, grew up with his Muggle family. Your sister, I believe." Her words surprised me. It wasn't that I didn't trust my sister with the care of my son. Rather, it was that James and I had agreed that, should anything happen, Harry's godfather, Sirius, should take custody.
"Petunia? But what about Sirius?" I knew that he loved Harry and wouldn't give up the chance to raise him.
"Did anything happen to him? He was supposed to raise him. Is Sirius-" I couldn't finish my question. The thought of Sirius being dead, as well, just broke my heart.
At the mention of his name, Bathilda closed her eyes and took in a long breath.
"That man doesn't deserve to lay eyes on young Harry, let alone raise him." Her words were shocking.
"This may come as quite an unpleasant shock, Lily, dear, but Sirius was responsible for betraying your location to the Dark Lord."
"That's not right, Bathilda. Sirius wasn't our secret keeper. He couldn't give away our location." Bathilda looked shocked at my words, just as I was shocked at hers.
"No, that cant be right. He betrayed you, then went after poor little Peter. Killed him, he did, along with a bunch of Muggles."
"No. Sirius would never betray James. Never. As for Peter, he was our secret keeper. If anyone could have given our location to the Dark Lord, it would-" I stopped my words as I realized what I was saying. Peter, betray us? Impossible. Somehow, though, the Dark Lord did find us. He got through the charm, and the only way one could do that...
No. Not Peter. Please, don't let it be true that he would betray us.
"Was Peter's body recovered?" I asked, my voice low.
"No. Only a finger was left of him, after Sirius had his way. They caught him, thank Merlin, and locked him up. He escaped just over a year ago, I'm sad to say."
I was silent as I took the new information in.
"Bathilda, could I send a letter to Albus?" I asked the elderly women before me. I had to talk to Dumbledore. He would have the answers I needed. More importantly, he could get me in contact with Harry.