Well, I live here with a woman and a child.
The situation makes me kind of nervous.
Yes, I rise up from her arms, she says, "I guess you call this love."
I call it service.

Why don't you come on back to the war? Don't be a tourist.
Why don't you come on back to the war, before it hurts us?
Why don't you come on back to the war? Let's all get nervous.

Lily lay in bed, looking out at the rain streaming down the windowpane, glad not to have to move just yet. The changes in her body caused her to tire easily these days, and despite its reputation, the Mediterranean coast was not as balmy in January as one might wish, and was no competition for a warm, comfortable bed. She wallowed and luxuriated, listening to the rush of water and off-key singing that was James in the shower.

Lily's pregnancy meant that they had resorted to Muggle transportation for their honeymoon, and James had been so taken with the idea that he had insisted that they live the entire week "as Muggles". This was all well and good for Lily, who had been born and raised outside the Wizarding world, but James's pure-blood heritage meant that relatively simple things like light switches, telephones, and electric kettles were an endless source of amusement and consternation. Now, on the third day of their honeymoon, he finally seemed to be getting the hang of it, but Lily was sure it would not be long before he gave up and retrieved his wand from the bottom of their luggage.

A moment later, he came into the bedroom naked, steaming and rubbing a towel over his head. He tossed it aside and collapsed onto the bed beside her with a sigh of contentment. Rolling over, he looked at her for a moment, grinning.

"Gaius," he said.

She wrinkled her nose. "'Gaius'? Really?"

"It's a good name," he replied, affronted. "What's wrong with 'Gaius'?"

"It's fine," she soothed, stroking his still-damp back. "If, as I have mentioned before, we were giving birth to a Roman emperor."

"You don't like any of my suggestions," he complained.

"It's not that I don't like them," she said carefully. "It's just - well, they're all either names of your friends, or emperors. I think the only emperor you haven't suggested yet is 'Severus'."

"You wouldn't," James said in horror.

"It's no worse than your suggestions," she admonished.

He shot her a dirty look, then sat up and began counting on his fingers. "You said 'no' to 'Sirius' for this time, you said Moony said 'no' to 'Remus', and you know we can't use 'Peter' if we're not going to use 'Sirius' or 'Remus'. You said 'Albus' sounds too old, 'Rubeus' sounds too big, 'Alastor' sounds to paranoid, and 'Aloysius' sounds too much like the Minister for Magic." He threw up his hands in theatrical disgust.

"It could be a girl, you know," she said critically.

"Great!" replied James. "There's a whole new list of my suggestions you can turn down!" He closed his eyes and lay back against the pillows, still gently steaming in the cool air.

Lily crawled over to rest her chin on his chest. "I have an idea."

"You get to pick the name?" he said without opening his eyes.

"No," she told him. "Or maybe. There was a tradition in my family. Well, not a tradition, but it's what my parents did. My - my mother told me." She swallowed a lump in her throat and continued. "She said that she and my dad couldn't agree on names for us, either, so they decided that if the baby was a girl, my dad got to choose the name, and my mum got to choose the godmother, and if it was a boy, Mum would choose the name, and Dad, the godfather."

James's eyes were open now, and he was staring thoughtfully at the ceiling. "That sounds fair," he said at last. "What's a godfather?"

It turned out that girls' names were harder to choose than boys'. While traditional wizard names tended toward greatness bordering on pomposity, the witches of ages past all had names that made them sound like great aunts, and James was loathe to inflict any of them upon a helpless infant. In the end, he had to ask Lily for help.

"What about family names?" she suggested as they boarded the train that would take them north across France. "Surely there are a few to choose from?"

James made a face. "My grandmothers were 'Iphigenia' and 'Furdena'. Mum and Dad didn't have any sisters."

"What about your mum, though?" Lily asked gently. "'Eleanor' is a pretty name."

"It is," he agreed.

James did not really feel ready to think about either of his parents very much. Their loss still cut him deeply. But to name his child, conceived on the day of their deaths, for his mother seemed somehow fitting.

Maybe she'll even look like Mum, he thought.

It was the first time he had thought about the baby in anything but abstract terms. He took a deep breath and stepped away from the chasm of grief.

"What was your mother's name?" He realised he had never asked.

She blushed slightly and turned her eyes toward the train's window, where the vineyards and countryside flashed past. "Rose."

He grinned. "Lily, Petunia, and Rose, eh?"

She smiled in acknowledgment. "Daddy would call us his Flower Girls. Mum always rolled her eyes, but it made me feel - special. Like I belonged."

"Rose," he repeated. "Eleanor Rose Potter. I like it."

"I do, too." She kissed him softly.

"Have you picked a name yet?" he asked curiously. While she had offered many opinions concerning his suggestions, she had made none of her own.

She hesitated a moment and glanced at him. "I thought I might - name him for my father. When I first found out I was a witch, I was a little bit scared," she explained. "But he was so pleased for me. You should have seen him when we went to Diagon Alley the first time. He was like a kid in a candy shop. He - he loved fairy tales and - and he was so excited to find out it was all r-real."

Tears slipped down her cheeks, and James gathered her into his arms. He held her in silence, resting his cheek against the crown of her coppery head until the moment had passed.

"What was his name?" he asked gently.

She sniffled and wiped her eyes with a handkerchief she had found in his pocket. "Harlow. But he hated it," she added hastily, though he had made no immediate objection. "Everyone called him 'Harry'. I thought maybe -"

James kissed her nose. "'Harry' it is, then," he declared. "Have you picked out a middle name as well?"

She smiled at him and sniffled again. "I rather like 'James'."

"Ow!" cried Sirius as the chair beneath him toppled and he landed gracelessly on the floor.

"If you can't reach," James admonished, "then get Moony to do it, Padfoot."

"Moony's getting drinks," Sirius replied, rubbing his elbow. "I can manage."

"The baby's not due for another five months," Lily reminded him. "I'm sure it can wait until Remus gets back from the kitchen."

She was not certain how Sirius, the shortest of the three men, had landed the job of hanging the Quidditch mobile above the bassinet, but he seemed determined to complete the task himself.

The four of them were spending the bright, March day setting up the nursery in Lily and James's new home in Godric's Hollow. Well, James and Sirius and Remus were setting up the nursery. Lily had been informed in no uncertain terms that she was not to lift a finger, so she sat in a rocking chair, presiding over the arrangements, viewing the enthusiastic father- and uncles-to-be with amusement.

Remus returned carrying a tray. "Beer," he announced. "And tea."

As if compelled by a Summoning Charm, James and Sirius dropped what they were doing, and homed in on the chilled brown bottles, as Remus set the tray down on the changing table and passed Lily a steaming mug and a plate of chocolate biscuits. James and Sirius savoured the foamy nectar in silence for a moment, before returning to their self-appointed task of trying to make the pastel-coloured animals on the nursery walls move.

Remus sat on the floor next to Lily, cradling a second mug between his hands. "Padfoot says James has asked him to be the baby's godfather," he said.

Lily nodded. "I was wondering when he'd get around to asking him."

"I was surprised," said Remus. "I didn't think Prongs or Padfoot knew what a godfather was."

"Well, it's definitely not a Wizarding tradition." Lily smiled. "But I explained it to James, and he seemed to like the idea of having an extra guardian for the baby. If anything should happen to us -"

Remus reached up to squeeze her hand. "Things won't be like this forever, Lils," he assured her.

"I know," she replied. "But it certainly can't hurt for the baby to have someone else looking out for it."

Remus smiled, but looked slightly troubled. "I'm sure Padfoot will do a good job. You should have seen him when he told me. I thought he was going to cry."

Lily read his look correctly. "Sirius is his best friend," she reminded him. "You know he's always going to choose him. It's not that he thought you wouldn't do as good a job."

"I know." Remus looked wistful.

Lily could not hide a grin. "Oh, what the hell," she said. "I was going to wait and tell you after dinner, but I can't. Remus, I want you to be the baby's godfather."

Remus looked confused. "But - Prongs already told Padfoot -"

"You know how Sirius is," Lily smiled. "He gets all excited, and forgets to mention the details. James and I agreed that he gets to choose the godfather if it's a boy, and I get to choose if it's a girl. I know that, technically, for a girl, I should be choosing a godmother, but -"

"But a werewolf fairy godfather is just as good?" Remus said with a wry grin.

She laughed at that. "No, I just couldn't imagine choosing anyone but you, Remus."

"Oh," he said, and grinned. "Well, I'll try not to be too disappointed if it's a boy."

She returned the grin. "If you lose out this time, next time I'll insist on you. James will have to learn just how stubborn the Evans women are eventually."

"I look forward to the challenge," said James, coming to join the conversation.

The wide-eyed, fluffy bears on the wallpaper appeared to be rolling around in agony, but Lily decided to ignore them for the moment, as James bent to kiss her. She could always re-charm them later.

James sat down opposite Remus to finish his beer, but Sirius stood, looking at her oddly.

"What's up, Padfoot?" Remus asked, reaching a hand up to his lover.

Sirius shook his head. "I just wanted to say - Lily, Prongs - James, I mean -" He went to his knees before her, hands clasped together as if in prayer. "I want you to know - both of you - I swear to you that, whatever happens, and whether this baby is a boy or a girl, it will have both of us. And I will do everything in my power to guard it from whatever comes."

Lily's throat felt tight. She had never heard such sincerity from Sirius before, but she suddenly understood why both James and Remus esteemed him so highly. She laid a hand on his shoulder.

"Thank you, Sirius," she said. "It's a comfort to me to know that, whatever may happen, my baby will be loved and cared for." She smiled. "Not that it will need much extra protection, with an Auror for a father."

"Nevertheless," Sirius replied, "I swear it."

His eyes were fixed on her midsection, and Lily gently took his hand and placed it on the slight bump that was just beginning to show. She took Remus's hand as well, and she felt their fingers clasp tightly together, cradling her child. She looked into each of their faces - Remus, pale and intent - Sirius, awed and determined - James, capable and fiercely proud - and she smiled with the knowledge that none could harm her child while these three stood in the way.

As the child grew within her and she began to feel its movements, Lily's thoughts turned more and more to family matters. She thought of her parents, and often wept that she could not talk with her mother about her pregnancy - that her father would never hold his grandchild. And she thought about Petunia. She had not tried to contact her sister again since before the wedding, but she found herself wondering if their shared condition might not reconcile them, as their differences had once torn them apart. Family was so precious, and she had so little; she made up her mind to do whatever she could to bridge the gap between their worlds.

James insisted on going with her this time. "She's my sister now, too," he said. "I want to meet her."

After hearing stories of Lily's parents, he could not believe that they could have raised a child unreasonable and closed-minded enough to disregard a family bond for reasons which could not be helped.

"I don't even know why it happened," Lily confessed to him as they made their way to Little Whinging. "She stopped writing to me at school in sixth year, after Dumbledore let her visit over the Christmas holidays, but I figured she was busy. And then, when I came home for the summer, she was always out. I was sad, but I thought we were just growing apart."

"I take it that wasn't the case?" James asked.

She shook her head. "I went to her room to try and talk to her one night, a few days before going back to school. I started to tell her how sorry I was that we hadn't spent more time together that summer, but she laid into me. She has a sharper tongue than me." She smiled ruefully.

"Hard to believe," replied James, shaking his head. "What was the problem?"

Lily's brow furrowed. "She never said exactly. Just started going off about 'my kind of people', and how disgusting and unnatural they were. I was so surprised, I couldn't think what to say. I didn't come home that Christmas or Easter, and by summer my parents had -" Tears spilled from her emerald eyes. "I saw her at the - funeral. Sh-she didn't speak to me at all then."

"Hush," murmured James, giving her a squeeze. "Don't worry. Even if things don't work out this time, there'll be other chances to smooth things over. You never know; she might have a little witch or wizard in the cauldron as we speak."

Lily hiccoughed and giggled at that. "Oh, she would hate that! But she'd have to face it then - our world."

"Of course she will," James replied encouragingly. "And we'll have the sprogling over all the time. I'll teach the wee cousins to play Quidditch, and -"

He broke off as a two cloaked and hooded figures stepped from the shadows, wands in hand. James sidestepped them and drew his wand, but Lily was not so quick. One of them grabbed her arm. Her cry of surprise was cut short as she and her captor Disapparated with a pop from the quiet Muggle street.

"Where is she?" demanded James. He and the second figure circled one another, wands at the ready.

James saw the edge of a slow, cold smile within the shadows of the cloak's hood. "Kill me," hissed a soft, female voice, "and you'll never know."

The baby kicked hard, and Lily thought she might throw up. Clearly it objected to Apparition. Lily was not very enamoured of it at the moment, either. She was in a cold, damp room. Torchlight flickered from the stone walls, and was swallowed up by the dark robes of the three hooded figures who stood with their wands trained on her.

Her eyes flickered to the room's only door, but the instant she moved, there was a loud bang, and black cords wound themselves tightly around her wrists and ankles. She stumbled and would have fallen, but one of the hooded figures grasped her arm. His other hand deftly extracted her wand from the inner pocket of her robes and probed her belly with rude familiarity.

"Are you with child, woman?" he demanded in a harsh voice.

"What if I am?" she spat through gritted teeth, trying ineffectually to pull herself away.

"When did you conceive?" he asked, grip tightening painfully on her arm.

"I don't see how that's any of your damn business," she said icily. "Where is my husband?"

A second, larger figure stepped forward and slapped her hard across the face. "When?" he demanded, voice edged in brutality.

"October," she admitted reluctantly, not seeing how it could possibly make any difference.

With a pop, James appeared in the room, hands bound behind his back. His face was bruised, and a short, cloaked figure held him by the arm, two wands in its free hand.

"James!" she cried.

"Lily! Are you all right?" He appeared shaken but unharmed.

"This is your husband?" hissed the man gripping her arm. His voice was full of loathing.

"Yes." She tried to look him in the eye, to see if she could recognise him, but the hood was pulled forward to hide his face, and the dim lighting kept him in shadow.

"Very well," he muttered, then raised his voice. "The Dark Lord has graciously allowed you both this one chance to bind yourselves to his glorious cause."

Lily's mouth dropped open in shock, but the words were met with a storm of protest from the other Death Eaters.

"That wasn't the deal," screeched the woman holding James.

A thin man inclined his head toward James. "He can join. The Dark Lord said that was all right. Not her."

"She dies," declared the man who had slapped her. "We all heard. The Dark Lord told us where they would be. Two members of the Order, he said, and we were to make sure the woman was dead. Besides," he added scornfully, "she's a mudblood. You know that as well as I do."

"Even mudbloods may have their uses," replied Lily's captor. "Now that I see her, I recall that she is most skilled in the art of Potions. The Dark Lord may have a use for her."

The brutal man snorted. "I've already put that one to the only use she's good for. Not that I'd mind having another go before we finish her off," he added.

"What?" Lily's voice was blank with shock and confusion. "Who -?"

Her husband was viewing the big man with an unreadable look on his face.

"James!" she cried. "It's not true! I never -"

The man holding her gave her a violent shake, and she bit her tongue.

The big man was laughing now. "She doesn't remember me! Well, I remember her. "

The thin man turned to James. "Very well, then. Join us," he said almost lazily. "Or we kill you, and all of us will have your whore before she dies."

Lily set her jaw in defiance. She was damned if she would let any one of them harm James or the baby.

James was red-faced and sputtering with rage. "The man who touches her, dies," he declared.

"I have a better idea," said the big man, laughter still dripping from his words. "Join us, or I kill the woman, then have her, as your spawn struggles and dies inside her." His teeth flashed in the candlelight as he grinned. "Then maybe I'll let you taste her one more time before you die. On my cock."

James cursed and struggled against his bonds as Lily screamed with rage.

Take my wand. The voice cut through the white-hot fury of her mind.

"What?" she gasped, looking around. "Who -?"

Know me, the voice echoed in her ears, though no one else seemed to hear it. The other three hooded figures had turned their attention from her and her captor for the moment, and were laughing and taunting her enraged husband.

She turned her eyes toward the man who held her. "Severus?" she breathed.

His grip on her tightened painfully. Shut up! said his voice in her head. Don't look at me. Look at them.

She turned her face back to her struggling husband and his tormentors, just as the big man raised his wand.

"Crucio!"

James's scream drowned out Lily's heart-cry. Snape's thin fingers dug into her flesh.

Take my wand, said his voice. Quickly, while they are not looking. Take it! Confund them.

She did not wait to be told twice. The others were still watching James writhe in agony as Lily fumblingly grabbed the proffered wand in her bound hands. Snape waited for her to get a good grip on it and get it pointed at the little group before he gave a cry of feigned surprise, and fell backward, as if pushed. All eyes turned toward her.

"Confundio!" cried Lily.

The three Death Eaters stood blinking stupidly at her. James lay staring at the ceiling, as though unsure what it was.

Snape swiftly helped her remove her bonds, and handed her back her wand, plucking his own from her fingers.

"Go quickly," he said, not looking at her. "Take your - husband and go."

She stared at him. "You're with them. The Death Eaters."

He nodded curtly.

"Voldemort wants us dead - me dead - and my baby. Why?"

He pursed his lips and shook his head, touching his finger to his throat. An Unbreakable Vow, the words were harsh in her mind, as if it pained him to tell her even that much. "Go!" he rasped.

She touched his arm. "Why are you doing this for us?"

"For you," he told her. "I've wronged you, though I did not know it until today. I must ask your forgiveness, though I may not tell you why." His eyes met hers at last. "This one thing I can tell you: if the child is born female, she will be safe - as safe as any - and so will you."

"Severus -" Tears welled up in her eyes and her throat tightened with an emotion she could not name.

"I would have been good to you, Lily," he said softly.

For one brief instant, her lips touched his. "You have been good to me, Severus," she whispered. "Thank you."

She turned away then, and dropped to her knees, grabbing her Confunded husband's hand and plucking his wand from the limp fingers of the female Death Eater. And then they were gone.

James shook his head and glanced around suspiciously. He was in his own sitting room, but somehow that seemed wrong. His entire body ached abominably, and his wrists appeared to be tied together behind him.

"Lily? What are we doing?" he asked his wife, puzzled.

She was behind him, tugging at the cords binding him.

"You don't remember?" she asked in a low voice.

"No."

With a final tug, his hands were free. He rubbed at the red marks as Lily guided him to the sofa. She sat with her arms wrapped tight around him for a moment, not saying anything. When he laid a hand on the back of her neck, she looked up at him, eyes filled with tears, and it all came rushing back to him. He began to shake.

"Oh, God!" he cried, gathering her into his arms. "Oh, God, Lily! Are you all right?"

She shook her head, sobbing against his shoulder. He took her by the shoulders and held her at arms length, examining her critically for injury.

"Did he hurt you? Did Rabastan Lestrange lay a hand on you?" he demanded.

"Lestrange?" she sniffled. "Was that him? How do you know?"

James's eyes dropped away from her face. "I - er - well, who else could be that twisted? Did he hurt you?"

She stroked his cheek. "I'm not hurt, Love," she assured him. "But I'm not all right either. James, they were after me - after our baby."

James was shocked. "What? Why?"

Lily shook her head. "I don't know. Severus couldn't say."

"Snivellus!" he cried. "That bastard was one of them?! I'll kill him! I should never have saved him!"

"James!" She squeezed his hands tight in hers. "James, yes, Severus was there with them. But he's the one who let us go."

She told him briefly about the voice in her mind, and as much as Snape had been able to tell her about their child, but she did not go so far as to mention the kiss.

"He knows something," James said, stunned. "About the baby. And Voldemort does, too."

"He knew more than that, James," she said softly. "He knew where to find us in a place where we wouldn't be protected. How did he know that?"

James shook his head. "If Voldemort had them looking for us in Little Whinging -"

"- then someone must have told him we'd be there," she finished for him. A lump of ice settled in the pit of her stomach. "Who did you tell, James?"

"I should have informed you sooner." Dumbledore said regretfully.

The three of them sat in the headmaster's office the morning after the attack. Lily had just given a reasonably full account of events, and voiced her suspicions concerning the existence of an informer.

The old wizard sighed. "A prophecy was made this past winter concerning a boy to be born at the end of July," he admitted. "A boy who may be the one to defeat Voldemort once and for all."

"A prophecy?" Lily inquired skeptically. She had never thought much of Divination. "Made by whom?"

"That does not matter," Dumbledore told her. "What matters is that Voldemort knows it was made. As long as he believes it to be true, no child who fits the terms of prophecy is safe."

Lily rested a hand on the swell of her belly. "He knows when my baby is due," she said. "And he knew where we would be last night."

Dumbledore's usually smiling mouth tightened. "Someone will have told him."

"But," Lily protested, "most of our friends know when the baby is due!"

"Whoever gave Voldemort this information is no friend to you," the old man reminded her gently.

"I told them," James said miserably. He had spoken very little since their narrow escape, and Lily suspected that he felt ashamed at not having been able to protect her. "I told Sirius and Remus and Peter we were going to visit Lily's sister. But it can't be. Not one of them. Someone must have overheard."

"No one else knew of your whereabouts?" Dumbledore asked.

James ran his fingers through hair already standing on end, and shook his head. "Not that I know of, Sir."

Lily was struggling not to cry, but between the horrors of the previous evening, the sleepless night that had followed, and the surging hormones of pregnancy, it was difficult to stop the tears from coming. Her husband's three best friends, and one of them perhaps a traitor. It was a terrible thought.

"Is it our child, then?" she asked. "Severus said that if it's a girl -"

Dumbledore's frown deepened. "I do not know. There may be others, but to my knowledge, the only magical children due near the end of July are your own and Frank and Alice Longbottom's."

Lily gasped. In her fear and worry, she had forgotten that Alice's baby was due so close to her own.

"You have to tell them!" Lily cried. "Are they all right?"

Dumbledore raised his hands, gesturing for her to calm herself. With a wave of his wand, flagons of cold spiced pumpkin juice appeared before them.

"The Longbottoms are well," Dumbledore assured them. "They, too, were attacked last night by a second band of Death Eaters, but they were also lucky enough to escape without injury. Frank informed me right away. I told them of the prophecy, and they are taking precautions."

James looked up. "What sort of precautions? What can we do?"

Dumbledore laced his long fingers together. "I will have someone from the Order come and strengthen the protections on your home. Alastor Moody, perhaps."

"Constant vigilance," murmured James.

He and the headmaster exchanged a brief, rueful smile. Both of them knew from firsthand experience that none were more scrupulous about protection charms than the paranoid old Auror. Lily, too, knew his reputation, and she immediately felt better at the thought of having matters in his capable - if eccentric - hands.

"What else can we do?" asked Lily.

"Keep your friends close," Dumbledore told them. "Do not turn against them. True friends are beyond value in times of difficulty. It may be that Voldemort obtained his information in some other way."

Lily and James nodded solemnly.

"On the other hand," the old headmaster continued, "it may be the unfortunate truth that you have a traitor in your midst. Watch carefully. James, use your training. The more time you spend in your friends' company, the more likely it is that you will be able to discover the identity of the traitor - if there is one. But be careful what you say, and to whom. Be vague about your movements and your plans."

"We will," James promised. "And if we suspect anyone, we'll let you know straight away."

Dumbledore nodded. "I can ask no more of you than that."

They rose to take their leave, but Lily turned back at the door. "Headmaster, do you believe in prophecies?" she asked.

He sighed. "I have seen too much in this life to rule out the possibility entirely. However, it is my experience that prophecies are most often fulfilled by people who believe in them. Do you understand, child?"

She nodded hesitantly. "I think I see. People believe something will happen a certain way, so they make their plans accordingly, which indirectly results in fulfillment of the prophecy."

"Quite right." The familiar smile was back on his lips. "I always thought you were one of the brightest witches ever to attend this school."

"Well, then, let's just hope I'm bright enough to beat this thing," she said with an answering smile.

She was looking at her hands through the gray dishwater when he came up behind her and slid his arms around her, cupping her bulging belly protectively and kissing her lightly on the ear. Almost all the suds had gone.

"Did you forget again, Sweetheart?" he teased.

She shrugged him off and snapped, "Forget what? Did I forget to do every little thing with my wand? Or did I forget that I'm not supposed to do bloody anything because of my 'delicate condition'?"

He put up his hands in a gesture of surrender. "Sorry, Lils. I didn't mean - you're dripping on the floor." He reached for a towel to wipe her hands.

"Don't patronise me, James Potter," she muttered, snatching the towel from him and scrubbing savagely at her soap-reddened hands.

He sighed. "Don't snap at me, Lily. You know I didn't ask for this any more than you did."

She knew it was true. She did not like how irritable she had become of late, but her fears about the future had her wound tight as a spring, and the muggy summer weather did not help.

She looked away. "I'm sorry, James. It's just -"

"I know," he said, patting her arm reassuringly. "It's hot. Things are crazy. Go sit down. I'll bring you some iced pumpkin juice."

She went into the sitting room, which was marginally cooler than the kitchen, and stared moodily out the window at the very ordinary street beyond, not seeing it. Normally, it was James who sat here, alert, watching. Every sound made him jump - every movement was a potential threat to his family. Her fears ran deeper. She knew they were safe enough here, but the future was a terrifying unknown.

James brought in two glasses, and a plate of Ginger Newts. Lily normally loved the spicy, lizard-shaped biscuits, but she was awash with nerves, and her throat felt too dry to swallow. Instead, she took a sip of juice.

James grinned and raised his glass in a toast. "To my brave and beautiful wife," he declared. "And to Incipient Potter, saviour of Wizardkind and the stuff of legend."

He was trying to lighten the mood and put up a brave front, she knew, but it was too much.

"You just don't understand, do you, James?" she said heatedly, setting down her drink. "This is just another adventure to you - one more thing you can brag about. 'There goes James Potter! You know he's the father of the man who destroyed Voldemort?' You hope it's a boy, don't you?" she asked suddenly, green eyes sharp with accusation.

"I never said -"

"No, but you do, don't you?" she cut him off. "You want our child to fulfill this stupid prophecy and be the one to bring down Voldemort and be this big, famous thing, but you don't get it, do you? A baby is not going to end this war. It doesn't matter if the prophecy is true or not; until that evil bastard is dead, the three of us are at the centre of a war zone. Is that what you want for your child?"

"No!" he said quickly, before she could cut him off again. "It could still be a girl. And it could still be born in August."

"But I don't want to have to hold my breath and wish for that, James." There were tears in her eyes now. "Girl or boy, July or August, I want my baby to have a normal, boring, ordinary, safe existence. I don't want him growing up under that kind of pressure, with people whispering about him and treating him like an oddity, thinking he has some sort of destiny, and can't choose his own path. You may think it's brilliant and exciting, but you would have hated it if it had been you. Don't tell me you wouldn't."

James deflated as if she had stuck a pin in him. "You're right," he admitted. "I would have ignored it and denied it and tried to fight it. And I probably would have been ten times more arrogant that I was, thinking I was some kind of living legend." He looked at her. "I want this war to be done with. I don't want this child to even remember it, except as something in books - some boring old war his elders never stop going on about. If there's a way we can make it happen, we'll find it. If I can help it, this child will never even know there was a prophecy."

Lily's time was drawing near. The days were long and hot, and the nights were not nearly cool enough for an expectant mother. No matter what she did, she could not get comfortable. The child squirmed impatiently inside her, and she kicked off the covers in disgust.

The days and nights of July crawled past, and the month seemed to stretch on into eternity. She would never make it to August. She would go mad waiting for a month that would never come.

My baby's not even born yet, she thought. And already people want him dead - people I don't know - people I've never even seen. And one person I do know. Maybe.

The thought brought a chill with it, but not a welcome one. It was one thing to know one had chosen a side in something that might mean one's death, but it was something else entirely to know that the other side meant to do whatever it could to kill one's child. Anxiety compounded the nausea of pregnancy, and she hardly ate anything anymore. Sleep came only with utter exhaustion.

She was bored and irritable. She and James hardly left the safety of their home - an unexpected memo had been sent from the Ministry's Department of Mysteries to the Auror office, granting James extended paid leave - and they barely spoke to one another anymore either; there was only one thing on their minds, and talking about it only made it worse. He tried to distract her with games, or by reading to her, but she could not focus on anything going on outside her own body, and neither could he.

There were things she could have done. She could have been cooking, which she normally loved, or tidying around the house, but James would not let her do anything. He treated her like an invalid. She understood why, of course, but she still hated it. He was trying to prolong her pregnancy as much as possible; trying to ensure that their child would not be born a moment before the stroke of midnight which heralded the coming of the eighth month.

The only thing she could do to distract herself without James having a fit, was make more baby clothes, and she was fairly certain that her child already had enough to see him through his first year. If Voldemort let him live that long.

She was not sure when she had begun thinking of the baby as a "him". Part of her - the part still attempting rationality - told her that she was only trying to prepare herself for the worst. But the rest of her knew. She talked to him when James would not hear. She called him Harry. There would be no little Eleanor. Not that year, and maybe not ever. Harry moved more restlessly within her every day.

Remus and Sirius tried to distract her, as well. She was grateful to them, and they tried to come by as often as they could, but they were very busy - Remus with the Order, and Sirius at the Ministry - and their visits brought a different kind of anxiety.

Is it one of them? she wondered. Which one?

She found herself looking for clues in tone, inflection, body language. She found none, and too many.

Worse, they knew it. After she and James were attacked, Remus and Sirius had been frantic, but they were not stupid, and they quickly worked out that it was something more sinister than a random attack.

James had never been able to keep a secret from his friends, but Lily wished that, just this once, he had kept his silence. Instead, he had told them that Voldemort was after them, and about Dumbledore's suspicions of a spy. At least he did not mention the prophecy.

Now, whenever they were there, Lily caught them casting glances at one another; suspicion, speculation, worry, fear, despair. Watching them crumble broke her heart by inches.

Our doom is spreading to poison our friends. Voldemort will take all our joy until we wish he had killed us after all.

She was squinting at a crooked seam, cursing her sweaty, swollen fingers under her breath, when the owl arrived on the twenty-ninth of July, its wings catching the evening light. She did not recognise the bird, but the handwriting was unmistakable.

F has informed me that he and A have summoned a midwife.
- AD

She knew what it meant: The Longbottoms' baby was coming before theirs. James heard the clatter of the owl's talons on the wood of the windowsill, and came to read the message over her shoulder.

He said nothing, but she knew what he felt. She felt it too: the guilty hope that the Longbottoms' baby would be a boy, and the cloud of doom hanging over their own heads would dispel. But she could not wish it. Not on her friends.

Better them than us, whispered a tiny, nasty voice. She immediately squashed it.

That night, she could not sleep. So she prayed. She prayed silently to anyone or anything that might be listening. There were no words to her prayer; only names.

Alice, she prayed. Frank. Their baby. James. Remus. Sirius. Me. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry - She squinched her eyes shut tight, and gritted her teeth, as if to make the prayer stick by sheer force of will. Her fingers stroked the tight curve of her belly.

When morning came, she struggled out of bed more weary than she had come to it, and went to make a pot of tea. The day passed in near-silence. At every sound, they turned as one to glance out the nearest window. Dumbledore would send word again when he knew.

It was growing dark once more when word arrived on wingbeats and talons. This message was as brief as the last. Alice had given birth to a son, Neville. Mother and child were in good health.

Poor Alice, Lily thought. Her health may be good, but her mental state is likely as frazzled as mine.

"But that means it's them, doesn't it?" asked James, breaking the silence.

Lily shook her head. "The prophecy isn't real, James; only Voldemort's belief in it. We could still have a boy, and he could still be born before midnight tomorrow. And he will be," she added softly, touching her husband's hand.

James looked at her, concerned. "Is it starting? How do you feel?"

"I'm all right," she assured him. "But it will start soon. I can feel it."

That night, she slept. And she dreamed.

She can feel the baby coming. It doesn't hurt - not exactly - but she can feel it. James is standing beside her. There is a scar on his forehead.

"Where did you get that?" she asks.

He raises a hand in surprise to touch it. "You did that," he tells her. "Don't you remember?" His eyes are wrong. They look too much like her own.

"The baby's coming," she gasps, reaching for him. "Help me."

He shakes his head and steps away. "She's dead," he tells her. "A life for a life."

"She? But - it's a boy. I know it's a boy."

"It's the boy who lived," he says, laughing bitterly. There is blood on his hands.

"No!" she cries, hands going to her belly.

She presses her fingers into her flesh, trying to find some movement - some sign of life. Pain seizes her like a fist.

She was awake and struggling against hands in the darkness.

"Stop!" cried her husband. "You'll hurt yourself!"

"James!" she sobbed, clutching at his wrists. "James, the baby's dead!"

"What?! Are you hurt, Lily?"

She breathed once, twice. Everything seemed quiet except the pounding of her heart.

"I think I'm all right," she said uncertainly.

His hands left hers and went to light a candle beside the bed. The flickering light reflected off the tears on her cheeks. He lay back down beside her and gathered her into his arms.

"It was just a bad dream, Lily," he said, kissing her ear. "Hush, now. It's gone."

"But he's not moving," she sniffled. "And it hurt."

"Where does it hurt?" he soothed, stroking her belly gently.

"There!" she gasped as the flesh rippled under his hand. All the muscles in her abdomen seemed to clench at once.

"Jesus!" James backed away from her in alarm. It took him a moment to realise what was happening. "The baby's coming now, isn't it?"

"Yes," she said through clenched teeth, as the pain receded once more.

Aside even from the pain, the loss of control over her own body was terrifying. It felt like the opposite of the complete abandonment of self which came at the moment of climax, and she knew she had had only a taste of what was to come. She reached to grasp her husband's hands.

"James, I'm scared." She could not keep a tremor from her voice.

"It's going to be all right," he said, but he sounded almost as nervous as she was. "Should I call the midwife now, do you think?"

"No, not yet. Just - stay with me James. Talk to me. Tell me stories."

"Stories? What kind of stories?"

"Tell me - tell me about the Marauders. Good things. Happy things. Stuff from before -" She broke off with a gasp as another contraction gripped her.

"Go on," she told him when it had passed. "Tell me something funny."

"All right," he said, a little uncertainly. "Well, there was this one time Sirius made Polyjuice potion -"

She laughed breathlessly. "Polyjuice potion? Why have I never heard about this?"

The night wore down into the dawn. Red head and black bent together, talking and breathing by turns, terrified, but also excited. Lily knew she should get up and walk to help move things along, but unspoken, they were still trying to prolong the inevitable. August was less than a day away now, but in her current state, it seemed like forever.

When her water broke shortly after sunrise, James summoned a St Mungo's midwife in the fire, and sent messages to Remus, Sirius, and Dumbledore. They would want to know.

"But what if it's Remus or Sirius who -?"

"It's not," he cut her off. "It can't be. Not one of them."

It didn't matter. Word would get out, in any case, once the child was born. They were as safe as they could be in their home.

The midwife arrived first. She was a kindly, no-nonsense woman of middle years, tall and wiry with flyaway gray hair. Lily had had several meetings with her over the course of her pregnancy, and before that, knew her from her work at St Mungo's.

"Good morning, Renata," she said, smiling a little shyly.

"Good morning, Lily. James," she nodded to him. "How are we doing so far?"

They gave her the details of Lily's condition, to which she half-listened with her eyes closed and her hands resting lightly on Lily's belly.

"Is he all right, do you think?" Lily asked anxiously. "Only, he hasn't been moving much since last night."

"They usually don't once things get started," she assured the young couple. "Everything seems fine."

"How long do you think it will be?" asked James, biting his lip and glancing at the clock.

"Hard to say," Renata replied, checking Lily's vital signs. "Things don't seem to be getting down to business just yet. Could be hours. Could be more. Could be less. First pregnancies usually mean a long labour. You've probably got time to fix us a pot of tea," she hinted.

Remus and Sirius arrived not long after the tea, and James brought two more mugs into the bedroom. Remus still looked pale and drained from the full moon only a few days before. He took Lily's hand and kissed her on the sweaty forehead while Sirius grinned at James.

In the excitement of the moment, their friends seemed to have forgotten their suspicion of one another. They held hands in white-knuckled excitement during Lily's contractions, and cast one another shy, foolish grins every time it seemed like progress was being made.

It was a long day. The three men took turns running and fetching for Lily and the midwife. They encouraged the young mother to take small sips of water between her contractions, and brought her a continuous stream of cool, damp cloths. It was too dangerous to cast a cooling charm on an expectant mother; a sudden drop in body temperature might harm the baby.

Around teatime, James sent another message to Dumbledore. No word yet, it read. Will let you know. - JP.

The hours crawled by.

"Hold on just a little longer, Love," James begged her.

The midwife did not understand. "It's better to get it over with quickly," she told James. "Can't you see she's wearing herself out? She can't keep this up forever, you know."

"I know," replied James, blushing. "It's just -"

"We were told -" Lily gasped as another contraction came on, "- that a July birth would be - ill-omened."

Renata clicked her tongue, and Remus and Sirius looked surprised. Lily had never been one to set much store by Divination.

"Nonsense," the midwife said, patting her firmly on the knee. "Don't pay any mind to such folly. Omens! Pah! You'd better make your minds up to it, my ducks, since a July birth is what you're likely to have."

Night fell, and the faces inside the cottage showed the strain of the long, anxiety-filled day. It was not until just before midnight that an owl swooped away into the night on silent wings. Not that they truly needed to send word to Dumbledore; the name of every magical child in Britain was recorded in the Hogwarts Book at the hour of his birth, and no doubt Dumbledore was watching for this one.

Harry James Potter, it read in a simple, elegant script, just below the entry recording the birth of Neville Augustus Longbottom. Born upon the 31st of July in the year Ninteen-Hundred and Eighty, to James Albus Potter and Lily Moira Evans.

There was nothing to indicate that this child was anything other than a perfectly ordinary infant wizard. No new star shone in the night sky. No witch saw anything startling in her teacup. No one awoke suddenly without reason. Just a quill, quietly scratching down the names, and an old man watching it and smiling sadly.

In the cottage in Godric's Hollow, the young parents were laughing and weeping, and James was trying to kiss Lily and the baby at the same time.

Sirius clapped James on the back. His eyes shone with emotion, and the corners of his smile trembled slightly.

"Sorry, mate," he told his best friend. "Looks like he got your hair after all."

Remus almost crawled out of his skin with impatience, waiting for his turn to hold the baby. Lily held him first, of course, and then James. Then it was his godfather's turn. Lily saw Remus and Sirius's eyes meet in a look of unfathomable longing over the black fuzz of her newborn son's head, and she felt a tiny spark of hope for them.

At last, the sleeping infant was passed into the arms of the werewolf, and James and Sirius stepped outside for a moment of quiet and cool, fresh air. The temperature had dropped sharply, and the night was unseasonably cold. They could see their breath as they grinned and clinked their bottles of butterbeer together in a silent toast.

"What happens now?" Sirius asked at last.

"I don't know," said James. "It's August now," he added.

"And a July birth is ill-omened?" Sirius raised an eyebrow. "You know it's not me, don't you Prongs? If you don't trust me -"

"I do," James assured him. "There are just - things going on. The fewer who know about them, the safer we all are."

Sirius nodded grudging acceptance. "But it can't be Moony, either, can it?"

"No," said James, looking up into a sky spangled with stars and lit by the waning moon. "I don't think so. I hope not."

They were silent for a moment.

"I never wanted it to end," James said then. "Us. The Marauders. But it's done now, isn't it? I've got Lily and the - and Harry to think about now. Peter's hardly ever around anymore. You and Remus - I know we see you guys all the time, but you have your own stuff, too, don't you?"

"It doesn't matter," Sirius told him, a hand on his shoulder. "We had that time, and so long as we remember, we always will. The Marauders may be done with, but we're still here for you, mate."

James looked in through the window. The room within was golden with candlelight. It reflected and sparkled in the copper of his wife's hair as she bent her head, smiling, tired eyes drooping, over their son.

"You see that woman?" he said. "That's my wife. And that's my child - my son - she's holding. I look at them, and all I can think of is how afraid I am of losing them. I've no family left, and there's hardly a person alive I can trust."

He looked away from the window, and into the eyes of his best friend. "They are my family now," he said earnestly. "My home. My heart. My nation. Lies, murder, Dark magic; there is nothing I wouldn't do to protect them. I don't know what you'd call that, but I call it service. Are you with me?"

Sirius swallowed, licking his lips nervously. "I am," he said. "Whatever it takes, we'll do it. And if you should fall, I'll see them safe. You have my word."

~ THE END ~