This is one of my several Ficmas in July stories. If you like it please vote for me at ficmasinjuly . org...Thanks!

Also, this might seem a little OOC but I really enjoyed this tone. I wrote it while listening to Rihanna's new album, Talk that Talk. SO GOOD.

The woman working behind the bar was probably one of the prettiest women he had seen in a long time. He recognized her too, which was surprising considering his current location. Lily Potter, the Potter heir's Muggleborn wife. Lord Voldemort had seen their wedding announcement in the Daily Prophet along with the rest of the Wizarding World. It had been a milestone wedding. It was extremely rare for a Pureblood from an ancient line to marry a Muggleborn. Not to say that it was uncommon for Purebloods to love Muggleborns.

Voldemort was certain that if the social pressures of Purebloodism didn't exist, there would be many more marriages like that one. He wondered what she was doing here. The wife of a wealthy Pureblood had no business working a pub in the Muggle World. He shouldn't have been there either but at this stage in the war he had to go to the Muggle World in order to be alone.

She was pretty, he noticed. Her eyes were a sparkling emerald that looked even more colorful with the dark make-up surrounding them. Her long red hair reached to just the small of her back and her dark skinny jeans and tight Rolling Stones t-shirt made her the target of every man in the pub. Unlike the other women she had an air of naturalness about her even with the thick make-up. But Voldemort had known from the brief glances he'd had of her that she was just a pretty girl to begin with. He crossed the dark pub and took a seat on the stool at the end of the bar.

She looked at him and even though his red eyes were hidden with a well cast spell he could tell that she recognized him immediately. Her face took on an expression of complete shock and then her eyes darted around, probably looking for Death Eaters. When she caught his gaze again he quickly shook his head and subtly gestured for her to come closer.

The woman didn't look happy about it but she came closer. Lily was a Muggleborn and the last thing any of them wanted was for a Muggle to be harmed. There were too many potential victims in this place for her not to comply.

"What are you doing here?" she asked as soon as she was close enough to whisper. She leaned forward slightly to be able to talk more privately and he noticed that from that position, with that shirt cut the way it was, he was able to see amble amount of cleavage. He rather liked the view.

"I'm not here to fight," he said.

"Then what do you want?" she asked, obviously nervous yet unwilling to back down from a potential confrontation with a well known enemy. A true Gryffindor.

"Whiskey," he said with a teasing smirk. She simply narrowed her eyes in suspicion.

"Can't you drink where you're wanted?" she asked but she set a glass on the bar and poured him some whiskey. He welcomed the burn. She'd given him the strong stuff. And probably the very expensive stuff too.

"Whatever do you mean?" he asked.

"Your little bitches didn't want to share their whiskey with you?" He raised an eyebrow at the wording, the tone, and the question in general. Is that how the Muggleborns saw the Death Eaters? In many cases it was true but his closet Death Eaters were not exactly his 'bitches'. They followed his orders true, but they had more say in what was happening than most people thought.

He shrugged at her question knowing she would want an answer.

"Sometimes you don't want fame," he told her and it was her turn to raise an eyebrow.

"Meaning?"

"I just want to drink some whiskey," he said. "I don't want favors or brownnosing. I just want to relax."

"Genocide becoming too stressful for you?" she asked sarcastically. He actually smiled. She was feisty.

"You're clearly one of Dumbledore's," he said with a short, sarcastic laugh as he took another deep drink of whiskey.

"Meaning?"

"Despite what the old man may have told you," he snapped quietly, well aware that she had many drunk admirers who might be keen on eavesdropping, "the goal was never genocide."

"Then what was your precious goal?" she asked, once again leaning forward and giving him her undivided attention. He actually felt smug as he felt several pairs of eyes on the two of them. He leaned forward as well, putting his full weight on his arms. Their faces were inches from each other and had they been anyone else and had the situation been different, it might have been romantic.

"Change," he said. Her eyebrows went up again in a silent challenge. "The Wizarding World is one of the most stagnant communities on the planet and the British Magical World is the worst."

"So?"

"So, don't you, as a Muggleborn, think that's a recipe for disaster?"

"Of course it is," she said and refilled his glass after noticing that he'd finished the first drink. "The Muggle World passed them a long time ago." It didn't escape his notice that she didn't include herself in the Magical World. He tipped his glass to her in agreement.

And with no prompting at all, he told her what the mission was supposed to be. How the world had stagnated, how the Muggleborns deserved to take their place in the Magical world, and how the Pureblood culture had degraded on its own and his hopes to revive it to what it had been. He could tell he'd surprised her with his talk. However, he did leave out the fact that he thought Magical and Muggle relations was both stupid and unrealistic. Should he win this war, he would have the Muggle World shut out completely. There would be no movement between the two worlds; not even for the Muggleborns.

"It wasn't the Muggleborns that caused the degradation of the Dark Arts and the Old Magics," he told her. "It was wizards like Dumbledore who flaunt tolerance by attacking an entire branch of Magic. If used right, the Old Magics can do more for mankind than anything he could do."

"And you practice that stuff?" she asked and he could tell that she was fascinated. It was nice for him to be able to talk to someone about these things. The Death Eaters were either too scared or too interested in social climbing to take his lessons in the Old Magics seriously. She seemed to be more interested in what he was saying, not who was saying it. It was the only reason he would ever talk to a Muggleborn. The Muggleborns were more interested in listening than being overly judgmental. They were a group that was willing to accept things for what they were and not what they appeared to be. It came from their transition to the Magical World. They were much more willing to accept new cultures and ways of doing things.

"Yes," he answered. "I do practice those arts. One of the few who still do."

"What's it like?" she asked. "To do Magic like that? To connect with the Earth like that?"

"It's the best feeling there ever is," he said. She looked extremely thoughtful. He had no idea what she would do with what he'd told her but he knew that he'd given her something to think about. "What about you?"

"What about me?" she asked. They'd been talking for nearly two hours before he'd managed to flip the conversation back to her. It was pushing three in the morning and most of the patrons had already gone which left them to talk in relative privacy.

"What is the wife of the Potter heir doing working in a Muggle Pub?" he asked and he could instantly tell that he had said the wrong thing. Her eyes snapped with pure indignation and he was surprised that the emerald green orbs didn't shoot an Aveda Kedvra at him.

"I may be the wife of the Potter heir but I'm also Lily Evans," she snapped and he could see that he'd touched on a sore spot. "I'm a Muggleborn, not the typical Pureblood trophy wife." He nodded. He was well versed in the breed that was the Pureblood wife. They were meant to sit there, make their husbands look good, do their little social circles, and make sure the children were raised properly. Few were taught to be more than that. It was one of the things he hated most about the Magical World. It might surprise most of his detractors but he had a tremendous amount of respect for women. After all, it had been his mother who had given him life with her dying breath, not his father.

"So you choose a pub?" he asked. If she was that determined to be a woman worth anything why was she bartending? She looked away from him for the first time in hours. Clearly, this was a topic she was embarrassed about.

"It hasn't hit the tabloids yet," she said. "But we're separated."

"What happened?" he asked truly curious. She sighed and then finally looked back at him with resignation. Before she answered him she poured him yet another drink. It took a lot for him to get drunk but he was starting to feel the slight buzz of the alcohol hitting his system.

"He thought that marriage, a baby, and a Hogwarts certificate of completion would be all I would ever want in life," she said. "Apparently, I'm supposed to shop and go to little social events with the other wives. He wants me to be okay with the concept of House Elves and of being nothing more than a pretty face. It's not me. It's not how I was raised."

"How were you raised?" He was always curious about how other people were raised be they Pureblood, Halfblood, or Muggleborn. He liked to hear the different perspectives of growing up. It was one of the things that he found fascinating about people.

"To work," she said. "I came from a working family. Dad was a career soldier and was away a lot and Mum picked up the slack by being a waitress. I wasn't raised to sit around and look pretty. It makes my skin crawl."

"But why a pub?" he asked again. "Of all the places you could work, why here?"

"Because it's the last place a Pureblood would ever be," she said. "Isn't that why you come here?" He nodded.

"You're on the run," he said. She nodded.

"Sort of," she told him. "James wants to raise Harry one way and I don't agree with it. I don't want my baby to be raised as nothing but an heir. I want him to know that he has more potential than that. That he's worth more than just some inheritance."

"You took the boy?" he asked, honestly surprised. Mothers didn't just take sons from Pureblood fathers. Not in the Magical world. Once that hit the papers it would be the scandal of the decade. A Muggleborn takes the heir of a powerful Pureblood family and runs to the Muggle world. Such things were only whispered about. Nobody ever actually knew someone who had gone through something like that.

"He's my baby." It was the only thing she said and to her it was the only thing she would need to say.

"And what happens when the courts catch up with you?" he asked.

"I fight," she replied. "Don't get me wrong. I love James; he's the father of my child, but there are some things I won't do. I won't be something I'm not and I won't let Harry get sucked into that lifestyle. They have no respect for each other, for themselves. My son's better than that."

"So you just took the baby and have been hiding in the Muggle world ever since?"

"More or less," she said. "No judge will give me custody over a Pureblood father with a fortune sitting in Gringotts." He nodded at the truth of that. He felt bad for her. He honestly did. She was in a very sticky position. Either she could work out her differences with Potter, she could stay with him in order to remain in her son's life, or she could keep running and probably lose her child forever.

"And where is the baby?" he asked.

"With my roommate," she said and she seemed as surprised by her honesty as he was. But then she'd taken some shots with him earlier in the evening. Perhaps the alcohol had finally hit her system as well. They stared at each other. His night had taken an interesting turn. The only reason he ever came to the Muggle World was to get away from the war, the pressure, and the Death Eaters. He went to get away from everything Magic for just a few hours, to ponder, and take a moment to truly breathe. He had never expected to run into this feisty Muggleborn with more attitude in her little finger than most Pureblooded women had their entire bodies. At least, the Pureblooded women he associated with outside of the Death Eaters. It was strange to think that the two of them could have a conversation. That they could connect on any sort of level.

He actually found himself respecting her not just as a Muggleborn but as a woman. She was powerful; he could feel it in his bones from simply talking to her. She had no problem speaking her mind or letting other people know that she thought they were idiotic. She was proud of her heritage and she held no regrets for the decisions she'd made in life. And she seemed to have no sympathy for what Potter might be going through in his empty Manor, wifeless, and missing a child. He wasn't entirely sure if he could respect her decision to essentially kidnap her own son but she could understand the process behind her reasoning.

They kept speaking while she moved around the pub after closing. He watched her wipe down tables, sweep and mop the floor, take care of the dishes and the trash. She was the only employee left and he wondered if that was by design. She seemed to like this part of the night the best, when she was alone and could be left to her own thoughts in the monotonous task of closing the pub. He let her get on with it in silence and didn't even protest when she took the glass right out of his hand and told him that he had to pay. He also didn't protest the fact that she made him pay for the drinks she'd taken for herself. When he didn't leave a big enough tip she raised both eyebrows and silently demanded a little more. He couldn't help but smirk at her ability to get what she wanted.

She put on her leather jacket and he followed her out. He even waited for her to lock up and offered to walk her home. He felt as if he'd just been on a date and despite the fact that he wasn't looking for anything from her, good or bad, he did feel as if he should make sure that she got home to this baby she was so in love with. After all, it was four in the morning. The hardcore partiers were all stumbling home at the moment and this wasn't the safest of neighborhoods. He was positive that she could handle herself even though he had no idea where she might be a hiding a wand in those jeans.

"Why are you being so nice?" she asked. "We're actually enemies."

"Not tonight," he told her. She looked at him in slight confusion. "I'm off duty." She actually laughed at that.

"I didn't know Dark Lords only worked nine to five," she said. "I thought it was a lifestyle." He shrugged and smiled.

"If I let it be a lifestyle," he said. "I would go insane." He didn't bother telling her that he was probably not the sanest person that walked the Earth. He had racked up a body count that outshone Dumbledore's and he had already split his soul six ways. He wasn't human. He wasn't Light. He wasn't even Dark. He was something else altogether and he was certain that she knew that. Knew and ignored, because in the end, their goals were the same. It was the methods she didn't like and fought against. But she was dealing with other things at the moment and he and the politics that surrounded him wasn't what she was worried about.

"I'm pretty sure you've passed insane," she said. "But if you insist on being a gentleman tonight, I guess you can walk me to my building."

He held out his arm and she rolled her eyes but took it anyway. She pulled him down the sidewalk in the direction of her home.

"Normally, I just Apparate to the alleyway across the street," she said offhandedly.

"It's a nice night for a walk," he said and it was. The moon was nearly full, the sky was cloudless, and it actually wasn't that cold considering it was November.

"I feel stupid," she said, "for letting you know where I live."

"I'm not interested in your life," he said. "Or your death." And he honestly wasn't. He rather liked this woman. She might have been fighting him and his cause for the last few years but she as a person was someone he could actually find himself respecting.

"If I find out your lying I'll haunt you till the day you die."

He couldn't tell if she was kidding or not.

Her flat wasn't far and they reached it in just under twenty minutes. They didn't talk about him coming up but he did anyway. The small flat had two bedrooms and wasn't really decorated. It looked as if they had just thrown whatever furniture they could find or afford into the living room. Everything was old and a little tattered but it looked comfortable and usable. That was all that really mattered.

The place was dark and she quietly led him back into her room. There was a crib in one corner and a very small bed in the other corner. He was almost going to call it a cot. The woman turned off the baby monitor sitting on the three drawer dresser. He assumed the receiver was in the roommate's bedroom but there was no reason for it when Lily was home. She seemed comfortable enough to leave him to his own devices. He went to the crib and looked in at the tiny little boy while she went to her closet and rummaged around for a change of clothes.

The littlest Potter was healthy. He had a little bit of black hair and he could tell that it would eventually be impossible to control. The baby slept on his back with a little fist wrapped tightly around a blue baby blanket. Voldemort reached out and stroked a finger up and down the baby's smooth cheek. He was fascinated by the child. He could practically feel the Magic spilling out of him. He would be a powerful Wizard. Of that, Voldemort was certain. Perhaps it was prudent to keep the mother on his good side.

He actually ended up spending the night and slept next to Lily in her tiny bed, pressed against warm skin. He slept soundly. It was the best night of sleep he'd had in a long time even though it was interrupted by a crying baby only three hours after they'd laid down. She got up to feed the infant and he was once again surprised that she was comfortable enough to breast feed in front of him. But then, she was comfortable enough to let him sleep in her bed with her. It was an odd situation and he couldn't help but wonder if she had some sort of end game of her own.

She had to sit on the bed to feed the baby and he reached out to rub her back through the button down shirt she was wearing. It was a man's and he could tell instantly that it was custom made. It belonged to Potter. As an orphan-mostly by his own doing-he was fascinated by the concept of a mother willing to move heaven and Earth for her child. He liked the concept. This image of his feisty enemy was something he liked. And he rarely liked anything. He wasn't human after all. When she finished she straightened out her clothes and just held the fidgety baby as he went through his digestion.

It was at that moment that the door opened.

"Lily, sweetheart, oh!"

A woman with olive skin and dark brown hair burst into the room, clearly not expecting him to be there. Not that he even expected him to be there.

"Sorry," she said, looking very embarrassed.

"It's okay Linda," Lily replied. "What do you need?"

"I just wanted to make sure you were alright," the woman said. "I know those night shifts are tough."

"Yeah," Lily agreed. "I'm cool. Thanks. Are you headed out?"

"Yes," she said. "I get off at five. Bye!" The woman left before the redhead could respond.

"Is she a Muggle?" he asked quietly. Lily shook her head.

"Squib," she said. "She works at the Leaky Cauldron." He nodded. He wasn't entirely sure where they were but he knew the little Wizarding pub wasn't far. She put the baby back in his crib but Voldemort could see that the child wasn't interested in sleeping. The boy simply sat up and looked over at them. He gurgled, gave little burps, and played with his toes.

"What's his name?" he asked as the woman climbed back into the bed.

"Harry." She was asleep again soon after that and he followed suit.

00000

He continued to sneak out to see her. He couldn't put his finger on what it was about Lily that kept drawing him back but whatever it was, it was fascinating. They didn't date; they never had sex. He wasn't interested in that from her. She seemed mostly disconnected from the events of the Wizarding World beyond the fact that her husband had started his long fight for custody. Sole custody.

He would often meet her at the pub while she was working and then escort her back to her flat. Sometimes they would fall asleep and other times they would simply stay up and talk. She had an opinion about everything from culture, to war, to art, to music. He had never found another person with whom he could talk so freely. Lily was remarkable in that she didn't judge until the proper moment and even then it wasn't too harshly. She felt sympathy for the plight of the werewolves, the vampires, and the many other creatures that the Ministry constantly tried to suppress.

She gave him no pity though. Never did she admit that what he did was right and she refused to believe that Muggles had to be cut off and ignored. She believed, quite strongly, that the wizards and witches of Britain could learn more from a Muggle than a Muggle could ever learn from a Magical person. Those were the only points of contention between them though. He didn't really mind.

Harry was another part of Lily that fascinated him. He could feel the Magic growing inside of the child. He knew this baby could potentially be an incredibly powerful boy. He pondered that. There was no telling where little Harry would end up. Between himself, Lily, and Potter there were far too many factors in the child's life to say where life would take him.

Voldemort particularly like playing with the baby. Harry wasn't scared of him, had never shown any fear of him. Most babies-primarily the Malfoy baby-would scream when they caught sight of his piercing red eyes and felt his dark aura encompass a room. Harry-much like Lily-seemed capable of looking past all that. He would giggle when you poked him in the right part of his tummy and he would gurgle happily when you talked to him. Voldemort found that he rather enjoyed laying on Lily's couch, watching the telly and letting Harry sleep on his chest. The hypocrisy of what he was doing was lost on no one.

But he had finally found a friend. A person that could help him retain just a semblance of the humanity he'd thrown to the side in his quest of domination. Lily wasn't stupid enough to swallow his prettily packaged words. She knew what he was, what he was capable of, and she still looked past it to see something worthy of her friendship or at least her companionship. Lord Voldemort rather admired that about her.

She talked to him about her impending custody battle with her soon-to-be ex-husband. He talked to her about almost nothing concerning himself. After that first night they rarely talked politics. He used his agents inside the Ministry and the Daily Prophet to make sure that her name was never printed. The public never found out about what was happening to the Potter marriage. He knew-again from his agents-that she was still talking to Dumbledore, still a part of the Order even. She was apparently trying to work through her issues with Potter out of court as well. Wormtail managed to tell him that. The nasty little rat had also been able to confirm-albeit unknowingly-that Lily had told no one of their odd little relationship.

Their friendship managed to grow remarkably fast in those next few months. And it was his friendship with the redheaded Muggleborn that made him hesitate when he heard the news.

A prophecy.

There was no doubt in his mind which little baby boy that prophecy referred to and he made no qualms about letting his Death Eaters know that he knew. But he never told anyone how he knew. Little Harry would be the only one capable of killing him. Of this, he was certain. He had felt the sheer raw power bubbling inside of the child. How many times had he held the baby? How many times had he slept in that flat not ten feet from the crib that housed his death?

The news actually made him hesitate in his next actions. He knew he should have immediately Apparated to the flat and killed the boy. It would have been so easy. It would have all been over. At this time of night, Lily would be at work and the only thing standing between him and the baby would have been an unarmed Squib.

But he allowed weakness to swallow his common sense and he ended up hesitating in this actions for two weeks. He saw Lily once in all that time. He'd actually held little Harry and as he looked down at the baby he'd realized just how stupid and naive Lily had been to allow the Dark Lord to come anywhere near her or her son. But he had been telling the truth the night they'd started this secret friendship. He hadn't wanted her life. He still didn't. He wasn't even sure that he would be able to kill the little baby. He was a monster, inhuman, and possibly the worst thing to ever happen to Britain. But there was a small part of him that respected Lily in a way that he had never respected anyone else. And it was out of that respect that he hesitated.

He would usually see Lily two or three times a week. He waited so long to see her, to gather his strength, that he was certain that she knew something was wrong. When he finally did make it to the pub he couldn't bring himself to go inside. It felt foul all of a sudden. No longer a safe haven from the Death Eaters and the Order of the Phoenix it was simply a Muggle pub. A place that felt vile for simply being Muggle.

He waited across the street, his hands jammed into the pockets of his tweed coat, as he watched the pub go through its motions of business. People came in, they stumbled out. The girls working the bar and tables left one by one. And finally, Lily, in a leather jacket to fight off the sting of the late September air, came out. She saw him the second she turned away from the door.

It was just the two of them in the street. No people, no cars, and no reason to hesitate. He stepped off the curb and walked into the street. She met him in the middle of the street, her own hands in the pockets of her coat. When they were within a few feet of each other she gave him a smile of greeting.

"Where have you been?" she asked. "I haven't seen you."

"Things have been picking up with the war," he told her blankly. She cocked her head to the side as if curious. He knew then. She knew why he was there and why he hadn't been around. Lily was never curious about the war. She never let him talk about it. "You know."

All of her friendliness evaporated. She stood tall and sighed. Ruby red lips pursed in a sign of pure displeasure.

"Of course I know," she said. "It's all Dumbledore can talk about. James wants to have Harry trained."

"And what do you want?" he asked.

"I want Harry to be happy," she said. "I want him to live. I don't him to be turned into some sort of mythical weapon because some crack fortuneteller whispered some vague words to an old man desperate to win."

Voldemort raised his eyebrows in amusement. Clearly the news had not ruined her spirited opinions. It was good to know that some things would never change.

"Regardless, the prophecy is real," he said. "I have personally felt the power your son possesses and I'm sure you have as well." His words were confirmed when she lifted her chin defiantly but she remained silent. He continued. "The both of us cannot live."

"So you've come tell me that you plan on killing my son?" she asked sarcastically. "Because there was no reason for you to come all this way. I knew what you would choose."

"You did?"

"Yes," she snapped. "I'm not an idiot. I know who you are. I know what you are. You will always put your cause and your vendetta before me, my kid, or even humanity in general."

He was honestly hurt by her words regardless of the truth in them. He had thought she thought a little better of him than that.

"You think low of me," he observed.

"It's not you I have a problem with," she replied. "It's this mission you seem to think is the be end and end all of your existence. It's suicide to think that you can rule the Muggle world. They'll kill you."

"Have you thought this all along?" he asked, glad to be seeing the true side of her. He had never truly known her politics; she wouldn't talk about them. But now-in the glow of the street lights and the knowledge that he would kill her child-her ferociousness was free to come to the forefront of her personality in all its glory.

"Yes, I have."

"Then why befriend me?"

"Honestly?" she said and even to his own ears she sounded broken and tired. "Because there was something about you. Something hypnotic. Something I can't explain."

"What do you plan on doing?"

"Like I'm going to tell you that," she said and she was once again using a sarcastic tone that could rival any Slytherin's. "But just so you know, Harry's no longer at the flat. And neither is Linda. Everyone's going underground."

"I didn't expect anything less," he said.

"You shouldn't have."

"You're going back to him, aren't you?" he asked. She raised her eyebrows in question. "You're going back to Potter?"

"What's it to you?"

"He doesn't know how to treat you Lily," he told her and her curiosity quickly overshadowed her defensiveness just like it had the first night. "James doesn't love you. He loves that you were stubborn, that you wouldn't swoon and give him anything he wanted at a snap of his fingers. He loved that you can't be tamed and that you aren't the same as those Pureblood trophy wives. He doesn't know how to truly treat you with respect."

"And you do?" she asked, incredulous.

"That's not what I said," he said honestly. "But Severus Snape does. He came to me. He begged for me to spare you."

"That's all very sweet and romantic," she replied. "But I'll bet everything I own that he didn't ask for Harry's life to be spared. Am I right?" He didn't know what to say, so he said nothing and she took it as the confirmation that it was. She snorted slightly and shook her head. "And that's why I could never love Severus."

"You know what this all means?" he asked her, wanting to make sure that she understood what he was doing. Just like she always had.

"Yes," she said. "I know exactly what this means."

"AVEDA KEDVRA!"

"EXPELLERIAMUS!"

He had whipped his wand out of his sleeve in a second. But she had been ready for him, bringing her wand from her own sleeve in a fluid movement. Their spells met at the halfway point and the backlash pushed the both of them back a couple of feet. He almost lost his balance and she had to bring up her other hand to steady the wand and the outpour of Magic. They were able to hold the line between them for several long moments, each battling for control of the pure Magic connecting their wands, before a sudden, second backlash sent the both of them flying in opposite directions. He landed on the street with a hard thump and grunted as he quickly got back to his feet. He looked at her, red hair rumpled, hands cut from where they'd been scrapped along the ground, and pure fire in her emerald eyes.

"Don't make the mistake of thinking this is over," he snapped and fled back into the alleyway he'd come from. Before he Apparated he heard her shouted reply.

"Don't think I won't be ready!"

00000

The next chance he got to kill the Potter child, he took it. The opportunity came quicker than he thought it would. Wormtail finally worked up his nerve to give up the location of the little family of three the night before Halloween. Lord Voldemort despised Wormtail, partly because he truly thought him a rat, and partly because he had the gall to be such a blatant traitor. There was no honor in what Wormtail had done and Voldemort vowed to kill the man once the deed was done.

He knew that was a gruesome task and he honestly didn't want to do it. But his army was relaying on him. This fight had to be won and not even his favorite Muggleborn and only friend could prevent him from going through with it. He had started this war; now he would finish it by any means necessary.

He went on Halloween night. It was simple to get past the wards, child's play really. The only real protection the house in Godric's Hallow had was the Fidelius Charm. He was surprised that Lily had not bothered to add anything else should that protection be compromised. Regardless, an Alohomora opened the door and he burst into the living room with noise and light charms designed to confuse his targets.

"Lily! He's here! Take Harry and go!"

That would be the husband. The Pureblood with all the money, power, and influence of any heir from an old family. The man Lily had chosen to be the father of her only child. Voldemort didn't understand it.

He ducked around the man's spell, blocked the next three, and simply waited for the man to make his first mistake. It came soon enough and for the first time in last few weeks he didn't hesitate.

"Aveda Kedvra."

The Potter heir fell quickly. Lord Voldemort passed his body without a second glance. He went up the stairs and followed the sounds of whispering. The house was incredibly quiet. He paused outside of room listening carefully through the partially closed door.

"Mummy loves you Harry, Daddy loves you."

She was talking to the child. Clearly trying to keep him quiet and calm. Or saying her good-byes. Either option was equally possible with Lily. Finally, unable to listen to it anymore, he opened the door. She stood up to greet him and used her body to block his view of the crib and its little occupant. He stepped into the room and raised his wand. She didn't attempt to bring forth her own. She simply stood in front of the child, refusing to move, and refusing to show any fear to him. He admired that about her; rarely did a Gryffindor understand the true meaning of bravery.

"Move."

"No."

"Move and I will spare you."

He didn't expect her to move but he felt he had to at least make the offer. As expected, she refused to move.

"No. If want him, you'll have to take me first."

"You're certain that's what you want."

She didn't move, didn't nod, or shake her head. But her face did soften. And he knew exactly what she was about to say next based upon the look she gave him. He'd seen it before when people began to plead for their lives. He expected her to begin pleading for herself and then her child but she once again surprised him.

"Please, spare Harry. This has nothing to do with him."

"This has everything to do with him."

"Please, not Harry."

He couldn't help but look into her eyes one last time. And what he saw in those emerald orbs would haunt him in his sleep and on the battlefield years later when he would face off against her son. Hope, anger, hurt, stubbornness, and a pure fire that he would only ever associate with her. The boy would only ever give him that same look once. And in the years that would come for him, he would always believe that it was from her that the boy got his strength, Magical and otherwise. And unlike the rest of the Wizarding World, he would always know that it was her, not the baby, that had been the true reason his body was destroyed. It had been her Magic, still lingering, still protecting, that would cause a backlash so powerful that it would destroy him in but a moment, taking most of the house with him.

And if only he had known that before he cast the spell.

"Aveda Kedvra."