Written for Jilytober, my take on the "If Lily and James Lived" AU. Trigger warning for mentions of death. Harry Potter isn't mine, though I probably wouldn't have killed his parents. Then again...

Thank you so much for asking me to participate in Jilytober! I'm honoured to be alongside so many other amazing authors. This is my "if they lived AU" – as I am incapable of writing anything short, I've posted it here to make use of the read more. Enjoy :) [Tw: death mentions]

The facts, relayed several days later in the Daily Prophet, are these: Alice and Frank Longbottom, respected Aurors both, are attacked in their own home by the wizard styling himself Lord Voldemort on Hallowe'en, 1981. Frank's body is discovered downstairs; upstairs Alice's lies in front of their fifteen month old son's crib. Neville is unharmed. His Grandmother, Augusta Longbottom, refuses to comment.

The facts, not relayed in any newspaper, are these: on Hallowe'en 1981, Lily Potter makes spaghetti. She makes enough for three—they're expecting Sirius Black—but the third portion ends up in the bin. Harry, their fourteen month old infant, has a good night, waking only once. Eventually, dawn breaks. It's raining. James gets Harry up. Lily eats some toast. She contemplates cleaning the bathroom, mostly for something to do. Shortly after lunch, Remus Lupin appears on the doorstep.

And then all hell breaks loose.

She's been living off adrenaline and probably too much Firewhiskey when Minerva McGonagall knocks on their door. She fights off the urge to lengthen her skirt and wipe off her lipstick whilst making her former favourite teacher prove her identity. She doesn't remember the question she asks, or the response the Professor gives, but she remembers being satisfied that it's safe as she invites her in. "Sorry about the mess," she says.

"It's quite alright," says the Professor. "How have you been?"

Lily swoops Harry up in her arms as they enter the living room, cradling him into her as she offers the Professor the good armchair, and murmurs some response she can't remember either. "And yourself?" she remembers to ask.

Professor McGonagall waves a hand. It suddenly occurs to Lily that it's a random Monday in November, and that she should probably be at Hogwarts, but instead here she is, in her living room. "Where is James?" she asks.

If her hands weren't full of her son, babbling happily on her lap, Lily would wave a hand, too. The gesture would suggest she's fine with the fact that her husband has been gone more than he's been here since they got the news, that she's not spending every moment he's away alternately terrified of what could happen to him and desperate to be with him, furious that she has to be the one to stay at home. That's what she hopes, at least.

"He's...with Sirius," Lily says. "They're...out." Her sentences are vague, rambling, and the Professor nods again. "They're trying to...find out what they can."

"Of course," nods the Professor. "And how—"

"Dwagon!" bellows Harry, pointing at the professor.

Lily flushes. "Peter taught him," she says. "He bought him a book. And one of the words to learn was 'dragon'. So he did. Harry, I mean. But I don't think he's quite got it..."

"Of course," says Professor McGonagall again. She waves her wand and conjures a miniature stuffed dragon that she passes to Harry. He is entranced.

"Say 'thank you'," Lily commands, but he doesn't, babbling away to himself. "Thank you," she says, on his behalf. The Professor inclines her head. "Is it true about the Longbottoms?" she bursts out.

Professor McGonagall looks away for a long moment, and when she returns her gaze to Lily's, her eyes are shining. Lily feels momentarily unseated: she's never seen her so emotional before. Tears gather in her own eyes on instinct. "It is true about Frank and Alice," says the Professor gravely.

A sob escapes before she can stop it, and Harry drops the dragon immediately, reaching out to his mother. She clutches him so hard he begins to wail too, but she can't—will never—let go of him. "I don't want to believe it," she says.

The Professor's lips turn white as she presses them together for a long moment before replying. "I...do not want to believe it, either," she says. "But it is true. The child, Neville, is healthy. He is with his Grandmother."

"Does she—is he—"

"I would direct any help you can offer towards her," Professor McGonagall says. "And I regret to inform you that I cannot pass on any more information about...about You Know Who. But...I had to check you were alright. Albus said, but..."

"We're all okay," Lily promises. It's not true, but it's true enough. They're not dead, at least.

They make small talk for a few moments, then the Professor says she has to go. "I have fourth years to teach after lunch is over," she says, and Lily nods, because of course. The greatest Dark Wizard of all time might be gone, but that shouldn't stop anyone's education. She shows her to the door, taking Harry with her this time. He's still clutching his dragon.

"Thank you," Lily says, and she's not sure if she means for the dragon or for coming.

"How are you feeling?" asks Professor McGonagall. "Really?"

"I'm angry," Lily says. It slips out before she can think of a real response, before she can second guess herself, but it's true. She's blindingly furious at everything, powering herself on pure rage and she thinks it might be the only reason she's still upright. She hasn't slept in two days, her husband has gone, but she's functioning. Because she's angry.

Minerva gives her a tight smile. "Hold onto that," she says. "We'll go far with it."

James comes back hours later than he promised, covered in blood. "It's not mine," he says, which is reassuring for a millisecond until he steps aside and reveals Sirius. The "It's his," is fairly unnecessary. Concern give ways again to anger as they both refuse to tell her what's happened, who they've seen, where Remus and Peter are. She grabs the bottle of Blood Replenishing Potion and slams it down on the kitchen table, then stalks off to Harry's nursery.

She puts on his favourite record of lullabies, conjures a mobile of twinkling stars and bites the curtains to stop herself screaming out loud.

"I'm going to go and see Augusta Longbottom," she says next morning. "I'm going to take her some lasagne."

"Lasagne?" James asks, mystified.

"She'll need to eat. And she won't feel like cooking. So I'll take something she can freeze, and eat it when she can. Lasagne. Everyone sends flowers when someone dies," Lily says. "But what good are flowers?"

"But...she might not like lasagne," James ventures. "And she probably has a House Elf."

She pinches the bridge of her nose. "I am trying," she snarls.

James looks away. "I know."

It's Bonfire Night. "Do you want to go and see some fireworks?" James asks. "We can take Harry. He'll love it." Lily considers this for a moment. For months, years really, they've had to plan their every move carefully, living under a constant cloud of secrecy that turned into full on hiding. Now, Frank and Alice are dead, and Voldemort is gone, and they can go anywhere whenever they want.

It's time to be spontaneous again. "Yes," she says, and James smiles.

They have a wonderful evening. The go to the display at the muggle primary school in the next village, and there's a bonfire with a guy to burn, and pretty fireworks that are nowhere near as good as the wizard ones and somehow much more special for it, and toffee apples and candyfloss and a merry-go-round. Lily goes on once with Harry, then James goes on five times with him, riding on one of the pretend unicorns and laughing as Lily races around, chasing them.

"Honestly, sometimes you wonder if you've got one kid or two," says a pretty woman waving at a man and a young toddler on the horse next to James and Harry. Lily laughs and agrees. "I'm Miriam," says the woman, holding out a hand for Lily to shake.

"Lily," says Lily, smiling back. "It's lovely to meet you." She doesn't have to pretend any more, give a fake identity or wonder whether this woman, implausible as it might seem, is a Death Eater in disguise. Miriam chats with her about children and babies, invites her to the Mums and Tots club in the village hall every other Tuesday, and Lily thinks she might actually go.

She and James stumble home with Harry, talking and laughing and glowing like the bonfire, and she feels a happiness purer than anything.

They round the corner, and see the Dark Mark hovering over their home.

Screaming, shouting. Panic. Confusion.

Muggles appearing, more confusion, fear.

Later, Order members. Aurors.

And a body, lying on the kitchen floor.

They don't go back inside their house; it's not safe, the Aurors need it for investigatory purposes, and the thought of crossing the threshold makes them both feel ill. Lily's just wondering where on earth they are going to go, where can possibly be safe now, when Minerva McGonagall turns up, looking grim. Lily looks grimly back at her, the two of them stay locked in this grim stare that seems to power them both.

"You'll come and stay with me, at Hogwarts," she says, guiding the three of them away from the scene. "There is nowhere safer."

James and Lily look at each other and nod; Harry senses a change in the air and stops his crying for the first time. Lily is allowed inside, under escort, to collect some things. Mostly she took clothes and toys for Harry, who now seems delighted to be at the school.

All day and into the evening, updates come from James. Lily takes them down to the Transfiguration classrooms, where Harry is an instant hit with all of the students, who don't seem to notice that their headmaster is gone again, that their normally strict Professor is distracted beyond reason.

She's approaching thirty seven hours of no sleep when James returns. Professor McGonagall has come to sit with her; her husband is there too, and so is Madam Pomfrey who tries to examine Lily and get her to sleep; Professor Sprout, who is pacing the room and puffing on a pipe with vigour; Professor Flitwick, entrancing Harry with little charms despite his mind clearly being elsewhere.

All eyes turn to James when he enters the room. "Sirius," he says, "isn't going to die."

There's a murmur of relief from the teachers, a glimmer of hope as they relax one iota. Lily can read her husband better than them, though, and her heart starts beating faster.

"Bellatrix Lestrange, her husband, his brother, and Bartimus Crouch thought that we might have information about where Voldemort has vanished to," James says dully, like he's reading out the financial report in the Prophet. "They came to our house. Sirius got word of what they were planning. He came to warn us, but we weren't there. The four of them attacked. They used the Cruciatus curse so much that—so much so—"

His voice breaks, and Lily finds herself staring at the school matron, who has turned paler than any ghost.

"He's not going to die. Now. He'll live a long and physically healthy life. But." He can't go on, doesn't need to.

"Is there...any hope of recovery?" asks Professor McGonagall. James closes his eyes.

Madam Pomfrey answers. "The curse isn't just Unforgiveable because of the physical pain it causes," she says. "Used too often, it can cause very severe mental damage. Many succumb to death; those who do not may in time recover from their physical injuries, but as yet, there is no cure for any mental harm. We can hope, though, that in the future..."

There's a stillness on James's face that suggests he's already heard this, resigned himself to it. And Lily looks at him and thinks she will rip apart with her bare hands, if she has to, the people who did this to Sirius, the people who caused her husband so much pain. To take away his best friend—

"James," she says suddenly, "where are Remus and Peter?"

Something in his expression changes, but she can't read it, at least at first. "Remus is safe," he says, and there's a sigh of relief from one corner. "I left him at the hospital with Sirius; he's unharmed."

"And Peter?"

She works out what that look is. It's betrayal.

Sirius, somehow, had managed to take down three of his four assailants. The third, Crouch, had fled, but was soon captured by the Aurors. Theirs was to be a show trial, life imprisonment in Azkaban for what they did to the handsome, good-hearted son of an old Pureblood family. (And never mind, thought Lily, that what remained of that family hadn't bothered to visit him in St Mungo's.)

There was to be another person in the dock, too. Peter Pettigrew.

James cries and rages and despairs and shouts and sits by Sirius's bedside, numb and unspeaking, for hours. Even his silence is loud; his feelings fill the room, hot and red and ever-present. He goes through it all: sadness and denial and anger and depression, cycling through the emotions at warp speed. And Lily tries to do the right thing for every one, even when all she can do is stand by his side and repeat "I'm here, I'm here, I'm not going anywhere."

Lily's emotions aren't loud or numerous. She is quietly, intensely furious. Her anger glows white and blinding, and it powers her through it all.

They go to the trial of the Lestranges and Crouch first. It takes twenty three minutes to sentence the four of them to Azkaban for life. Harry comes, too. They hadn't wanted to take him, wanted to shield him from everything, but there was no one left to trust, no one they could leave him with, except maybe Remus.

But Remus was coming to the trial too, and Peter's actions meant that now, she couldn't even fully trust him. She felt guilty for pushing him away, when he needed them most, but she couldn't—wouldn't—risk anything happening to her baby. She wasn't going to let him out of her sight for a moment. They had trusted Peter. And they had been so, so stupid.

During the trial, Bellatrix Lestrange keeps her manic eyes fixed on Harry, except until the very last moment before the sentencing, when she slowly, deliberately looks up at Lily and winks. And if Lily has felt anger before, it is nothing, nothing to what she feels now, a primal rage and fear and urge to protect Harry that's stronger than anything she's ever felt before. She would fight that woman with her teeth and nails if she had to, to protect her son.

Peter's trial begins next. It's longer and more complicated, full of he-said she-saids and lawyers arguing about Merlin knows what, and if she's honest, she stops listening. It's the only thing that stops her standing up and screaming at him.

James and Remus say nothing throughout the trial. Then they go home and keep up a conversation all evening about Quidditch. Lily makes Shepherd's Pie, mashing it up for Harry who manages to eat the most, despite his much smaller stomach. And they talk about fouls and the Cannons' chances and who the best Chaser in the League is and what brooms the Arrows should get next season. Neither Sirius nor Peter are mentioned.

His trial concludes two days later. Guilty on all counts, life in Azkaban too. James and Lily and Harry and Remus watch as he is led away. Lily tries to keep her face impassive, but it's hard because Harry has picked up on her mood and is wriggling and crying on her lap, and she can feel James trembling next to her, from rage or sadness or exhaustion she doesn't know, and then there's a buzz of chatter, people talking all around, and a reporter asking Remus if he'll comment—

And then Peter locks eyes on them across the courtroom and shouts, "I had to, I had to save Harry, I told them Frank and Alice's address so he would be safe—" James makes a strangled sound, and Lily feels a sudden rush like she might faint, and she thinks of kind-faced, ruthless Alice Longbottom, thinks of the outrageous joke she'd told her on their first meeting, about the Hag, the Wizard and the Bishop, and it almost makes her laugh again until she thinks of little orphaned Neville, and the idea of Harry being dead. She clutches hold of him so tightly that he beings to properly cry, loud wails that turn heads towards them.

"They were going to kill me," Peter shouts, as the Hit Wizards try to drag him away.

"Then you should have died, rather than betray your friends," James shouts back, "because it's what we would have done for you!"

He is led away.

November slides into December, and things slowly get back to normal. New house, new neighbours, a normal life. Their concerns become mundane concerns: is Harry getting a cold? What colour should they paint the new living room? Is Remus okay on the full moon? Across the wizarding world, lives begin to return to normal, too. People forget, or move on.

Lily and James can't forget. They call on Augusta and Neville nearly as often as they visit Sirius in hospital, who shows no sign of improvement and never will, according to the Healers. Lily can't decide which visit leaves her feeling more guilty.

One night, when Harry has been particularly fractious and the visit to St Mungo's was particularly bad, Lily is slumped on the kitchen floor with James and a bottle of Firewhiskey. James's face sports a huge bruise and a black eye—Sirius doesn't know who they are, who anyone is, and in his confusion and terror he had punched James. He refuses to let Lily, or the Healers, use magic to get rid of it.

"I can't forgive him," James says, and Lily is surprised for a moment, thinking he means Sirius for the punch, until he adds, "yet." And she realises who she's talking about.

"I will never forgive him," she replies. "Never, ever. Not if I live to be a hundred."

"I think of him in Azkaban," James continues, like she hadn't spoken. "He must be so scared. Again. He must have been scared before, that's why he did it. And there...there were times, when we were in school and younger and idiots that Sirius and I, we'd find him a bit irritating, and he knew. He must have known. And if we hadn't done that, maybe he—"

"No!" Lily shouts so loudly that they both instinctively look up, but there's no sound from Harry's bedroom. "It's not your fault he did what he did, and the fact that he was scared was no excuse. I was scared! I'm a Mudblood, and whatever my last name is won't change that. Remus is a werewolf for Christ's sake, and he was the one you all thought—"

"I told him that, and apologised," James says faintly. "And he said that he understood...but I'm worried about him. He's not doing so well."

"None of us are, James," Lily cries. "Us, Remus, Sirius... Frank and Alice, they're dead! That counts as not doing so well, I'd say. And Marlene McKinnon, she's dead, too. Dorcas Meadows. Fab and Gid. Benjy sodding Fenwick. All dead. Dead dead dead. Do I need to go on?"

"I know," James says, and he touches his black eye almost unconsciously.

"And that is all Peter's fault," snarls Lily. It's not the Firewhiskey talking, as such, it's just the alcohol making her feel like she can let out some of the anger she's been holding in. Just a tiny trickle, though. If she lets the whole dam burst, she could lose everything.

"I don't think it's all his fault," James says after a moment. "Some of it...some of it must be the other Death Eaters. And him..."

"Who knows how many of our friends were killed because of Peter's information?" Lily asks. "What if it was us, dead? Or Harry?"

James moans. "Do you think I don't think about this? All day, every day, it feels like. But he was our friend, but then so was Sirius," he says. "All the good times we had together—do they not count, anymore?"

"James," Lily asks carefully, a thought having just struck her. "Peter is an animagus."

"I know," he replies at once, sounding suddenly sober. "I know. And I've thought...but yeah. I don't know."

"That," Lily says, "was illuminating."

"It's not that I'm scared of getting in trouble," he says quickly. "I'll own up to it at once, take any punishment they give me for being unregistered. But I just don't think his ability will make any difference to him in prison. I can't see how it would. But then again...if he was to transform, he's only small. A rat. He could slip out between the bars, and..."

"Exactly," she says softly. "And what then? What damage could he do, again?"

James bites his lip. "I don't want to betray him."

"You are not betraying him," she says forcefully. And then, ever so gently, she touches his black eye.

Something in James's face changes. "I will talk," he says, "to Professor McGonagall. She'll know what to do." Lily nods. It's a good decision, she thinks. "But," James adds, suddenly sounding rather tipsy again, "I think I will wait until the morning."

Lily downs the rest of her glass, then gets unsteadily to her feet. "Good choice," she murmurs, and they lean into each other as they stagger up the stairs.

Lily thinks again of forgiveness as she's writing Christmas cards, hungover, the next day. To Vernon, Petunia and Dudley she writes, and signs it love James, Lily and Harry. She's going to leave it at that, the typed 'Season's Greetings!' in the centre enough, until, at the last moment, she adds, It would be lovely to meet for lunch some time. We could come to you, or you could come and see our new house then neatly prints her address.

No one's more surprised than she when Petunia's card, arriving two days later, contains a telephone number. She has to go into the village to use the phone box, but it's so nice to hear her voice again that she uses up all her muggle change, feeding it into the little machine. They don't make any plans to meet yet, but Lily says she'll ring again next week, and she heads back home feeling a tiny spark of hope.

Harry is unimpressed with how distracted she is, but she can't concentrate on the story she's supposed to be reading when James is two hours later home than he said he would be. He's gone to meet Professor McGonagall, to tell her all about the animagus issue and seek her advice about what this would mean for Peter, in prison, and his chances of escape. He said he would be back by three, but it's gone five, and even though things aren't as dangerous as they once were, she can't dull the panic that's steadily rising in her chest.

Harry is playing "pull the cat's tail" much to the cat's distaste when James eventually does arrive back, but Lily's long past caring. "What did she say? Are you okay? Are you in trouble? What's going to happen? What about Peter? What's going on?" she asks, all in about three seconds.

"Well..." James says, and for a moment she fears the worst: her husband, illegal animagus, is going to be thrown in prison. But then he gets that old cocky half-smirk on his face and says, "She was really, really proud of us for managing it."

And Lily throws her head back and laughs and laughs.

It's January of 1982, a year she thought she might never see.

They have a quiet Christmas, just them and Remus, though of course they visit Sirius in St Mungo's. He has no idea who they are. New Year's is even quieter: the two of them are alone and only up because Harry has a cold and isn't sleeping. They toast midnight with Butterbeer, but James gets his mixed up with Harry's Pepper-Up, and she worries that it isn't a good omen for the coming twelve months, but then realises that they can't be any worse than the last twelve.

Slowly, things are starting to change and get better. Normality grows with each passing month. But first, there's one more Order meeting to be held.

It's a small one, with most old members now dead—or worse. Augusta Longbottom brings Neville, and sits straight-backed and proud as Dumbledore leads a glowing tribute to her son and daughter-in-law. There are memorials for the other dead, and Harry, like Neville and Hestia Jones's daughter Megan, sit quietly throughout, as though they understand the gravity of the situation.

"I regret," Dumbledore says heavily, once the tributes are done, "to tell you that Voldemort is not dead." There is no murmur of surprise that runs through the room, but the tension grows a fraction stronger. "He is, of course, very weak. And I do not believe we are in any immediate danger from him."

"Do we know where he is?" calls James. "If he's weak, now's the time to finish him off." There are nods and agreement, and Dumbledore looks pained.

"Alas, I have found no evidence of where he has gone," he replies. "I would suspect abroad, but there is a whole world to be searched, and the Ministry is concentrating on making arrests of other Death Eaters, believing Voldemort's threat to have been eradicated. I must reiterate that I do not think he will be back this week, or even perhaps this year. But in five years, ten...I suspect he may try to rise again. I could—and indeed do hope—that I am wrong. But if he does, if it happens: can I count on you all to join me again?"

Lily feels the old familiar anger come back. They have given so much, and now he wants more? It hasn't been enough. But it's damn well felt like enough. If she gives any more, there will be nothing left of her to give.

And then she glances down to Harry, now asleep, on her lap. James leans over and takes her hand, and she clings on to him. It helps, knowing that he will always, always be with her. And she looks up, looking not at Dumbledore, but at Minerva McGonagall, who meets her eyes in a hard stare and holds her gaze as she gives her the tiniest of nods.

Hold on to that anger, she'd said. And she will, but she won't let it take over her life. If Voldemort comes back, she will use it against him, and she joins in with the cries of assent from the other Phoenixes.

But for now, she'll live with her husband and son. And that will be more than enough.