Chapter 10

Lily stood in the doorway of Harry's room, the moonlight spilling through the window like silver paint across the floorboards. In her hands, she held a navy blue lace dress, its fabric cool and delicate between her fingers. It was simple, yes—but there was something timeless about it. Something that whispered of old memories. She could almost see a younger version of herself spinning in front of a mirror, red hair flying, laughter bubbling out as she imagined herself stepping into grand ballrooms or dancing under fairy-lit trees.

She turned the dress over, as if searching it for an answer, then looked toward Harry. "What do you think of this one?" she asked softly, trying to sound casual, but her voice betrayed a flicker of nerves. "Too plain?"

Harry glanced up from where he was sorting his school things, his tie half-knotted, one sock on, the other missing. He looked at her like only a son could—with a blend of affection and exasperated amusement.

"You look beautiful in every dress, Mum," he said simply, then added with a smirk, "Even Mr. Filch would say so."

Lily barked out a laugh before she could help it. "Oh, goodness me." She shook her head, but her lips curled into a smile. "That is not funny. That's terrifying."

Harry chuckled to himself as he tossed a few owl treats to Hedwig, who ruffled her feathers proudly and hooted with approval, like she agreed with him.

Lily turned and headed back to her room, her fingers brushing the fabric of the dress as if it could steady the unease creeping into her chest. She slipped it on slowly, letting it settle over her shoulders like a memory coming to life. In the mirror, she looked… put together. Composed. But inside, she felt like a string pulled too tight—just one more tug and she'd unravel.

She walked back into Harry's room, smoothing the fabric nervously. "Would you be okay going on ahead to Hogwarts without me?" She asked, trying to sound light, casual, like it was no big deal. But her eyes searched his face, desperate for reassurance.

Harry frowned, eyes narrowing. "What? Now?" He looked over at the clock on the wall. Five o'clock. The sky outside was already blushing pink and gold, the sun slowly dipping toward the horizon.

Lily nodded, forcing a calm she didn't feel. "You can stay with Ron. I'll send a letter to Arthur—ask him to pick you up. That way you won't have to travel alone." Her voice stayed even, but inside she was hoping he wouldn't ask why. That he wouldn't see through her smile. "It won't take long. I promise."

His brow furrowed, that stubborn crease appearing right in the middle—the same one James used to get when he didn't agree with something but wasn't ready to argue about it just yet.

Lily ruffled his hair out of instinct—messy as ever—and the gesture caught him off guard. It felt… final, somehow. Like she was trying to capture a moment that was already slipping away. She blinked, fighting off the sting in her eyes.

"Mum, stop," he said, not unkindly, but with that teenager tone that always made her heart squeeze. He was growing up so fast. Too fast. And yet, there was still so much boy in him. Still so much softness in those green eyes that mirrored her own.

"Okay, okay," she said, laughing quietly. "You win." She pulled him into a hug, brief but full of unspoken words.

He hugged her back, and for a second, just a second, she felt the years folding over each other. Her baby boy in her arms again, small and curious and safe. And then it passed. He stepped back. Time moved forward.

"I'll see you at Hogwarts soon," she said, her voice warm, but her thoughts drifting to the thing she couldn't tell him yet. Not until she was sure. Not until she understood what it meant. There was something tugging at her—something in the air, in her dreams, in the way her heart kept skipping when it shouldn't. A warning? A memory? She didn't know. But she had to find out. For him.

As Harry turned back to his trunk, muttering about needing to find his other sock, Lily lingered in the doorway. She watched him for a moment longer than she needed to, imprinting every detail—the way his hair stuck up, the curve of his shoulder, the little hum he made when he thought no one was listening.

She smiled to herself.

"Don't forget to pack a sweater," she called.

"I'm gonna be wearing the Hogwarts robe," he replied, not even turning.

"Still," she shot back, and his laughter was the last thing she heard as she walked down the hall.

Lily sat stiffly across from Professor Dumbledore in his warm, familiar office, but nothing about this moment felt comforting. The flickering candlelight danced across the high shelves, casting long shadows over ancient books and strange magical artefacts. It should have felt safe here, in the heart of Hogwarts. Instead, she could barely sit still. Her pulse pounded in her ears, and her hands trembled in her lap, clutching at the worn edge of her cloak.

"Good evening, Lily," Professor Dumbledore said, his voice calm and kind. It almost undid her. "You've arrived before the Assembly. I wonder if there's something on your mind."

Of course he knew. Of course he saw it on her face. Her fear must have been written in bold letters across her skin.

She tried to respond but faltered. Her mouth moved, but the words scattered like leaves in a storm. Finally, she forced herself to speak. "Yes, Headmaster. I… I came because I need to ask you something. Something strange."

Professor Dumbledore tilted his head slightly, watching her over his half-moon spectacles. "What is it that troubles you, my dear?"

Lily swallowed hard. Her throat felt raw. "Have you ever had déjà vu? But not the normal kind. The kind where you know it's not just in your head. Where you know something is going to happen before it does—and you know it's real. A vision. But not from being a Seer."

His eyes sharpened with interest. "You mean a premonition of the future?"

"Yes. But I'm not a seer. I've never been one. I've never had dreams or… flashes like this before." Her voice cracked. "And now I can't stop thinking that something's coming. Something terrible."

Professor Dumbledore's expression grew serious. He folded his hands on the desk in front of him. "Tell me everything, Lily."

She hesitated, unsure where to start. Her thoughts were a tangled knot of memory and dread. "It started at home. Just small things. Harry knocked over some papers—just an accident. But I… I felt something. A ripple. Like it had already happened. Then he cut his finger while slicing vegetables. Just a little scrape, but I couldn't breathe. It felt like a warning."

She paused, blinking fast as the sharp edge of fear sliced through her chest again. "Then a stranger spilt his drink. Then Arthur dropped an ink bottle. They were all silly things, meaningless things—but they all matched… matched what I'd seen before. As if I'd already watched them happen. I'm not making sense, am I?"

Her voice sounded too high, too thin. She hated the way it shook. She hated feeling like she was losing her grip.

"You are making sense," Professor Dumbledore said gently. "You're describing a pattern. An unfolding sequence you already knew was coming."

She nodded, too tightly. Her mouth felt dry. "And then that vision or dream, in Hogsmeade, I saw them. Death Eaters. They didn't do anything—they were just there. But it felt wrong. Like a shadow passing over me. The vision was clearer than any of the others. Harry was stabbed. I felt it happen. I felt him slipping away, and I knew—I knew it was real. But then I saw him this morning, and he was fine. Laughing. Oblivious."

The contrast had been too much. Seeing Harry alive and carefree after such a vivid nightmare had made her feel like she was going mad. She clenched her fists in her lap now, trying to keep the panic from boiling over.

Outside, thunder rumbled low in the distance. Rain had begun to fall, soft and steady against the windows, as if echoing the chaos in her chest.

Professor Dumbledore stood and crossed to the tall bookshelf behind him, running a hand along the spines of several heavy volumes. He didn't speak for a long moment. When he finally turned back to her, his face was grave.

"It is rare, but not impossible, for someone without Seer lineage to experience glimpses of the future. Premonitions like yours, especially when accompanied by physical sensations, often suggest a deep magical disturbance—one tied to fate or to trauma yet to come."

Lily's heart dropped into her stomach.

"There may be forces moving now that we do not yet understand," he continued, "and it's possible you're sensitive to them. You say your son dies in your vision?"

She nodded, unable to say the words again.

"And despite what you've done," Dumbledore said quietly, "the events have continued to unfold the same?"

"I tried to change things. I kept him close. I stopped him from cutting vegetables this morning. I cleaned up before anything could spill. But something else just happened instead. It's like it's… fixed. As if everything I do still leads us right back to the same moment."

A lump swelled in her throat. She stared down at her hands, at the way they shook. She felt helpless. Useless. As if she were trapped in a nightmare she couldn't wake from. How could she protect her child from something that was already set in motion?

"I can't lose him," she whispered. "I won't."

Professor Dumbledore moved back to his desk and sat down slowly, his eyes never leaving hers. "Then we will do everything in our power to prevent this. We will study these visions, we will search for signs, and we will not let darkness win without a fight."

But Lily wasn't sure that would be enough. 

Professor Dumbledore's brow furrowed, lines creasing his face like folds in old parchment. He began to pace, slowly, his grey robes trailing behind him in soft, whispering folds that seemed to speak secrets to the stone floor.

"I've heard similar rumours," he said, more to himself than to her. "They're called death omens. Said to be harbingers—warnings of something terrible on the horizon."

Lily felt her breath catch. The room suddenly felt colder. "A Death Omen?" she repeated, the words tasting foreign on her tongue. Her stomach twisted into a tight, nauseating knot. "I thought those were just stories. Tales to frighten children into behaving."

Professor Dumbledore stopped and turned to look at her. His blue eyes, usually so calm and kind, now gleamed with something sharper—curiosity tinged with unease. "Have you ever heard the Tale of the Three Brothers?"

"Yes," she said slowly, uncertain. Her mind was still caught on the phrase Death Omen. "But what does that have to do with—?"

"The brothers thought they could outwit Death," he said, sitting down in the high-backed chair by the fire. "And perhaps, for a time, they did. But Death is patient. Death is clever. In the end, Death always finds a way."

Lily's hands clenched into fists at her sides. Her nails dug into her palms, grounding her in something real—something physical—to fight back the rising panic in her chest.

"So… are you saying we're dealing with Death? Actual Death?" Her voice trembled despite her efforts to steady it.

"I'm not sure," he admitted, his voice gentle, almost sorrowful. "But I suspect something… unnatural. Whatever this force is, it cannot be allowed to touch Harry again. You said he was stabbed?"

Lily's chest tightened at the memory. "Yes," she breathed, her voice cracking. "He was. I tried everything. Spells, charms—I couldn't heal him. The wound… it wouldn't close. I think the dagger was cursed."

Professor Dumbledore leaned forward slightly, his gaze sharpening, his fingers steepled. "A dagger that resists healing magic… that is rare. I've never encountered such a weapon myself, but there are legends. Some ancient families passed down dark heirlooms—items forged in blood and bound by magic older than most remember."

"The Lestranges," Lily said suddenly, the name leaping from her mouth before she could stop it. Her heart pounded, racing to keep up with her thoughts. "It might be them. I think… in the vision, I saw Bellatrix holding it. Just for a second. I couldn't see clearly, but—"

Professor Dumbledore considered her carefully. He didn't question the vision. That alone unnerved her more than anything. "It's possible," he said finally. "They're deeply entrenched in the old ways. If the events in your visions are coming to pass, then we need to act now. Harry must be protected."

He stood, and Lily rose with him, her body taut with dread.

"I will assign members of the Order to watch over you both," Professor Dumbledore continued, calm but firm. "Quietly, discreetly. We don't want to cause panic or draw unwanted attention."

Her throat tightened. All of this—so sudden, so surreal. It was like a nightmare unfolding in slow motion. She had lived through a war, but this… this was different. This was colder. Older. Like something had stepped out of myth and made its home in their world.

"I want to teach you a charm," Professor Dumbledore said, breaking through her spiralling thoughts. "Something ancient, but powerful. It draws its strength from the caster's intent. Your love for Harry—use that. Channel it. Let it guide the magic."

Lily nodded, though her legs felt unsteady beneath her. She swallowed hard, pushing down the lump in her throat. "I'll do anything," she said quietly. "Anything to keep him safe."

Professor Dumbledore stepped into the centre of the room, raising his wand. The air around them shifted, humming with quiet energy. He moved with a graceful precision, tracing delicate patterns in the air. A swirl of light blossomed in front of him, silver and gold threads weaving together like strands of starlight.

"Focus on him," he said. "On Harry. On your love for him. That will be your greatest power."

Lily closed her eyes and saw her son—his bright green eyes, the way he laughed without restraint, and the little wrinkle in his nose when he was thinking hard. She felt it then—a fire in her chest, wild and fierce and alive. Her hand didn't shake when she raised her wand. She followed Professor Dumbledore's motions, the incantation leaving her lips like a promise.

The magic answered her. A soft, glowing shield bloomed around her body—warm, comforting, protective. For the first time in days, she felt something other than fear. She felt hope.

Professor Dumbledore's smile was small but genuine. "Very well done," he said.

Tears pricked Lily's eyes. She blinked them away, not wanting to seem fragile, but her voice came out as barely a whisper. "Thank you. I don't think I could bear it… if something happened to him."

"You have a mother's love," Professor Dumbledore said quietly. "And that is stronger than you know. It's a kind of magic even the darkest forces struggle to comprehend."

Lily stepped closer to him, gratitude and fear warring inside her. "He's just a boy. He doesn't even know how cruel the world can be yet."

"Then let's keep it that way, as long as we can," Professor Dumbledore said. "Let him dream. Let him grow. We will fight the shadows—so he doesn't have to."

Lily nodded, her throat thick with emotion. She felt the truth of those words settle in her bones. With one last glance at the headmaster, she turned and left his office, her steps slow, almost reluctant.

The corridors of Hogwarts stretched before her, dim and echoing. Her shoes clicked softly on the stone floor. Every shadow seemed deeper now. Every whisper of wind down the hall sent her heart skittering with unease.

She couldn't shake the feeling that something had already been set in motion—something that couldn't be undone.

Her thoughts turned to Harry. She needed to find him. She needed to see him. The urgency built with every step, a mounting ache in her chest.

Please, she thought, not sure who she was begging—Fate? Magic? Herself? Please let me be enough to protect him.

And with those silent words burning in her heart, Lily walked into the castle's depths, chasing the only thing that still mattered.

Hogwarts.

Half past six.

The entrance hall buzzed with life.

Laughter, chatter, footsteps. The kind of noise that could make someone feel safe—if they didn't know better.

Lily stood just inside the massive oak doors, her breath caught somewhere between her throat and her lungs. The air felt too thick. Too loud. Her fingers tugged at the hem of her robes as she tried to shake off the tension clinging to her spine.

Everyone looked so happy. Parents catching up. Students bursting with excitement. Faces shining with joy and expectation. It was meant to be a celebration.

But to Lily, everything felt just slightly… off. Like the hall was too bright. Too polished. Like someone had drawn a smile over a crack in the wall and hoped no one would notice.

She scanned the crowd. Too many faces. Too much movement. Her eyes flicked over students' heads, searching for one in particular—untidy black hair, glasses slightly crooked, and green eyes.

Where was Harry?

She tried not to panic. He's just late. Or maybe he's already inside. Don't be ridiculous, Lily. And yet, her stomach churned with the same unease that had been gnawing at her since the dream.

That horrible, vivid dream. The one that hadn't felt like a dream at all.

She swallowed.

A familiar face appeared through the crowd—Hermione Granger. Bright-eyed, standing a little taller than most of her peers, her bushy hair bouncing with every excited step. Her parents hovered behind her, looking slightly out of place in the enchanted castle, but smiling nonetheless.

Lily smiled, relieved. If Hermione's here, Harry can't be far behind.

"Hello, Hermione, is that you?" She called out, her voice a touch too loud. Her heart jumped when the girl turned.

"Oh, hi, Mrs. Potter!" Hermione's smile was radiant. Lily felt some of the tightness in her chest ease.

Introductions were made quickly. Hermione's parents—kind, polite, and clearly nervous—shook Lily's hand. Their eyes darted around the ancient stone walls, as if trying to take in everything at once.

"You look beautiful, Mrs. Potter," Hermione said warmly.

Lily chuckled, brushing a loose strand of red hair behind her ear. "Thank you, dear. That means a lot."

But her gaze was already wandering again. Searching. Worry circling just behind her eyes.

"Have you seen my son?" she asked, trying to sound casual. Calm. Normal.

Before Hermione could answer, a sudden shift in the crowd drew everyone's attention. A wave of motion swept through the hall as the massive doors creaked open again.

Lily's breath caught.

There he was.

Harry, flanked by the Weasleys, his eyes bright and his grin wide as he spotted her. That familiar messy hair. The way he moved—quick, confident, unmistakably him. She rushed forward, her heart surging as he waved to her.

And when he reached her, she wrapped him in her arms like she was afraid he might vanish if she let go.

"You're here," she whispered into his hair, tightening her embrace.

Harry laughed, a little out of breath. "Course I am, Mum. Did you finish what you had to do?"

The question caught her off guard.

He was watching her closely, she realised. Not just looking—really watching. He could sense something was wrong. He always had.

"Yes," she said gently, forcing a smile. "Everything's taken care of. I came early. I didn't want to miss the Assembly… or you."

Harry beamed. That smile. That innocence. Her heart ached with the weight of loving him and fearing for him all at once.

"Thank you, Arthur," she said as Arthur approached, grateful for the calm his presence always brought. But even Arthur looked unusually tense.

He leaned in close, his voice low. "Before we Portkeyed here, we got a message from Dumbledore. Is everything alright?"

Her blood went cold.

She glanced at Harry. He and Ron were now joking with Hermione, completely unaware of the heavy conversation happening just inches away.

Lily turned back to Arthur, lowering her voice to a whisper.

"That dream I told you about," she said quietly. "It's not just a dream. It's starting. I can feel it."

Arthur's eyes sharpened. He straightened subtly, casting a wary look around the hall.

"Is that why Dumbledore's calling the Order after the Assembly?" he asked.

Lily nodded once. Her throat felt dry. She hated how fast her heart was beating.

"Something's… shifting," she said. "Like the air's changed, and no one else notices but me. I don't know what it is yet, but I feel it. Watching us. Circling. Waiting."

She stopped herself. It was too much. The laughter around them, the smiles, the sense of safety—it all felt like a paper-thin illusion she was seconds away from tearing apart.

She looked back at Harry.

He was teasing Ron about forgetting something, Hermione rolling her eyes but laughing.

So normal. So safe.

But it wasn't.

Lily forced a smile onto her face and moved closer to her son again, pretending nothing was wrong. Pretending she wasn't gripping her wand beneath her robes. Pretending she didn't feel the shadows crawling just out of sight.

Please, she thought, her heart echoing the silent plea. Let this be nothing. Let this be a dream I'm wrong about.

But deep down, she already knew she wasn't.

As the grand double doors of the Great Hall creaked open, a wave of warmth and sound swept over Lily like a tide. Excited whispers, soft laughter, the buzz of a hundred conversations—it all flooded in at once. She stepped inside with Harry at her side, feeling a little breathless, a little overwhelmed, but undeniably thrilled. The enchanted ceiling above shimmered like a living night sky, stars twinkling between floating candles that bathed the room in a gentle, golden glow.

She couldn't help it—her heart swelled. It was just like she remembered and yet so different. The magic of Hogwarts hadn't dimmed, even after all these years. If anything, it felt even more alive with Harry beside her, tall and awkward and far too thin, trying his best to look like he belonged.

He did. Of course he did.

Her eyes flicked over the sea of students and parents crowding into the hall. Laughter echoed against stone walls, and the glimmer of golden plates on round tables replaced the traditional long ones. A nice touch, she thought. More intimate. Less house-divided.

Harry's shoulders tensed beside her, and Lily followed his gaze to the head table—there stood Albus Dumbledore, his calm presence as commanding as ever. When his eyes met hers, she felt the smallest smile tug at her lips. He gave a little nod, and she could've sworn it was just for her. But maybe she imagined that.

She hadn't been back here in so long.

Navigating the hall felt like weaving through a living tapestry—students calling out to friends, hugging, laughing, and shoving playfully. Lily tried to smile through it, but nerves danced in her stomach. What if something went wrong? What if Harry felt unsafe? What if—

"Here," Harry said, guiding her gently toward one of the tables.

The Weasleys and Grangers were already there, waving them over. Lily exhaled. Safe harbour.

Ron dropped into the seat beside Harry with a dramatic huff, leaving an obvious gap between himself and his parents. Lily caught the quick glance he gave them—equal parts guilt and avoidance. Teenagers. She knew that look well.

She sat down, smoothing her robes, stealing glances at Harry from the corner of her eye. He looked tired. He always looks tired these days. Her chest tightened.

Professor Dumbledore rose, and the hall quieted in an instant.

"I welcome all students and parents here tonight for our recognition assembly," he began, his voice warm but steady. "We are proud to honour another group of students who have not only shown wit and talent but also dedication to pursuing their dreams and ambitions. But before that… let us tuck in!"

"Oh, thank Merlin," Ron muttered, immediately reaching for his utensils with wide eyes.

There was a shimmer in the air, like heat off pavement—and then the food appeared. Plates overflowed with roast chicken, mashed potatoes, thick slices of bread, steaming vegetables, and golden Yorkshire puddings that made Lily's stomach growl.

She reached instinctively for the ladle, scooping generous portions onto Harry's plate before he could protest.

"Mum," he said under his breath, cheeks reddening, "I can serve myself."

"You never eat enough," she replied without missing a beat. "Look at you. One good breeze and you'll blow away."

"Let him be, Lily," Arthur chuckled. "You'll have him rolling back to school if you keep that up."

Lily laughed despite herself, passing the potatoes. "That wouldn't be the worst thing. He could use a bit of cushioning."

Harry sighed but didn't argue, shovelling food into his mouth as a distraction. She let him. She knew the signs—he was embarrassed, sure, but also grateful. He just didn't want to admit it.

Across the table, Hermione had unrolled a parchment that had appeared in front of her, her eyes scanning the list like it might bite. Her brow furrowed with concern, lips pursed in quiet dissatisfaction.

"Oh, look!" Ron suddenly pointed at the scroll. "Harry's got top marks!"

Hermione didn't look up. Her face twitched into something like a smile, but it didn't quite reach her eyes.

Lily leaned in to read the parchment. Her heart stuttered at the sight of Harry's name right at the top. A bolt of pride surged through her.

"Well done, sweetie," she whispered, reaching beside her to squeeze his hand. He looked startled for a second, but he didn't pull away. "I'm so proud of you."

He gave her a small, crooked smile. Just a flicker—but it was enough. Enough to tell her that, for one moment, he felt seen. Safe.

"I don't see your name listed, Ron," Molly said, peering over Hermione's shoulder. Her tone was lightly teasing, but Lily caught the sharp edge beneath it.

Ron shrank a little behind Harry. "Probably a mistake," he mumbled, stuffing his mouth with bread to avoid further comment.

Laughter rippled around the table, easy and warm. Lily laughed too, but her thoughts strayed to Harry again. He laughed, sure—but his eyes looked tired, still. The shadows under them didn't vanish with praise or food. Something deeper lingered there. Something she couldn't quite reach.

She hated that feeling.

But tonight wasn't the night to push. Tonight was a celebration. She could worry tomorrow. For now, she'd pile his plate high and squeeze his hand and try, just try, to pretend everything was as magical and light as the candles floating above their heads.

Laughter, clinking forks, the occasional whoop from one table or another—it was all chaos, but the kind that made Lily's heart ache in the best way. She glanced sideways at Harry as he half-listened to Ron and Hermione's bickering. His hair was messier than usual. His shirt collar askew.

And he looked so… grown. Too grown. Too fast.

She leaned in a little closer, lowering her voice to a hush only he could hear.

"I still remember when you couldn't sit through dinner without flinging mashed potatoes at the wall."

He blinked, turning to her with an expression halfway between horror and amusement. "Mum—no—"

"You were three." She grinned, nudging his shoulder with hers. "And you insisted the potatoes were alive."

"I don't remember that."

"Oh, I do. I scrubbed them off the wallpaper for a week."

Harry let out a soft laugh, real and unguarded. It melted something inside her. He hadn't laughed like that in weeks. Maybe longer.

"Thanks for coming," he said suddenly, eyes flicking to her and then away, like he wasn't sure if he meant to say it aloud.

Her breath caught. She reached for his hand again and held it this time, firm and steady.

"There's nowhere else I'd be," she said quietly. "You know that, right?"

He gave a small nod, but he didn't answer. His fingers curled around hers for a second before he pulled away, embarrassed again. Always embarrassed. Always holding just a little back.

It made her want to scream. Or cry. Or both.

But instead, she smiled and picked up a roll from the breadbasket. "Eat this. You skipped breakfast, didn't you?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Maybe."

"I knew it."

He gave her a look. "You don't know—"

"I'm your mother. I know."

He muttered something about "stalker instincts" and buttered the roll with a bit more aggression than necessary. But his lips twitched. She counted that as a win.

Around them, conversations buzzed—Neville telling the Grangers about his latest Herbology discovery, Ginny laughing so hard she nearly choked on pumpkin juice. It was loud and messy and imperfect. But Lily soaked it all in.