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Chapter Text

She wakes.

She hears a soft, pittering cry, a cat, she thinks at first. 

But she doesn’t own a cat.

Slowly, she opens her eyes. Dust is in the air, even in the darkness, she realizes that it is a heavy plume. She can taste it, in every one of her breaths. The second thing she realizes is that the building she’s in- The roof is gone. Clean blown off. Only the charred remains of support beams reaching up for what is no longer there. All she sees is a near cloudless sky and stars, and a moon that’s tinged red.  

Was I in an explosion?

The thought doesn’t seem right. The ordinariness of her life seems to be so juxtaposed with the thought of such violence. She was a tailor, for fuck’s sake. Why would her flat explode? Then she realizes it’s not her flat. Her ears are ringing, but it must be because of the toddler whose small, pudgy hands are reaching for her through the charred bars of their crib, shrieking to high heaven. Lillian Powell is confused, greatly, by the toddler. She can’t think of anyone she knows having a kid that age. But she realizes, it doesn’t matter. The baby is bleeding. A small cut, maybe, but as a head wound, it's gushing.

“Hey,” her voice creaks, dry, and she feels grit in her throat, on her tongue. She wobbly sits up, head rushing, but she is already reaching for the toddler, “Shh, kiddo. It’s okay, shhh.”

The toddler hesitates at the sound of her voice but is still whimpering, still crying.

“Mama!” they cry, voice high and wobbly. 

She winces. 

No mother was to be found. She didn’t even hear a creak in the empty room around her. She was alone, with a sobbing toddler who wanted their mother. 

“Shh,” she whispered, even as she wobbly got to her feet, “I’m here. Sorry baby, I'm not Mama, but I'm here.”

She stumbled. Her legs ached. Her entire body did. She felt like she could barely stand. She made her way to the crib. She crumbled. 

The baby whimpers. 

Lillian tries again.

She tries again. 

She reaches the crib. The seemingly insignificant six feet feels like a marathon. She’s heaving by the time she all but collapses over the crib bars. The baby wails. Carefully, hoping they weren’t hurt beyond their gushing head, Lillian dared to reach with her spare hand to the baby. Places a gentle hand on the side of their head. They’re a beautiful toddler, even past the red of a wailing face, she sees the chubby cheeks, the wild mop of messy black curls. Their eyes are such a beautiful green even in the dark of the night. She guesses the baby is a year or so old. They launch their own hand on her own soot and dust-covered hand. They grip bruise tight. Blunt nails dug into the meat of her slender hand. She soothes with a soft hum. Carefully, she checks the baby with her other hand. They don’t seem hurt, to her own unexpert hand, just shocked and covered in that ghastly cut. 

“I’m here, baby,” she whispers, “I’m here.”

The toddler drops her hand, desperately reaching for her, classic ‘uppies’ pose, classic baby pleading. 

“Mama!” he demands.

She winces. 

Hesitantly, remembering her Aunt drilling into the importance of proper head support and keeping them steady, Lillian lifts the baby into her arms, even as she aches as she does. Her legs tremble. She fights to keep upright as the baby settles in her arms.  Her chest hurts like a bitch, and she wonders faintly as the baby, stuffing its tiny face into her neck, starts to whimper in soft little bursts if she has broken ribs. She vaguely remembers that being common in explosion victims. The shockwave of the blast, or something.

The baby is warm in her arms. A steady weight that soothes her own panic neatly. Because the toddler needs her more. The more she stands, the more stable she feels. 

Help them, she thinks to herself, focus. 

Slowly, she starts to rock the toddler, humming vaguely, skimming through her knowledge of soft songs before she settles on ‘ Here Comes the Sun ,’ by The Beatles.

The toddler’s whimpers ease, and all she hears is her own soft hum, their soft puffing breath, and the slight creak of her weight on the hardwood floor beneath her socked feet as she carefully starts to walk and rock.  

Chapter Text

The toddler eased after wobbly hummed rendations of  ‘ Here Comes the Sun, ’ and ‘ Octapus Garden ’. Lillian wasn’t a bad singer- she could keep a pitch if pressed. But she was still utterly surprised that the kiddo fell asleep at a stranger’s voice. They really were a precious toddler. Ebony curls, soft, chubby cheeks. Their skin was velvet soft as she carefully checked again for any other injuries. They seemed okay. The bleeding was easing. But the kiddo’s skin was swollen and inflamed. It was a small, jagged cut, perhaps an inch or two long. The toddler twitched, fists curling in her jumper, face pressing desperately against the hollow of her neck. Their breaths were slightly shallow, and the baby whimpered occasionally. 

But they were asleep.  

Tension slipped off Lilian’s shoulders. 

At the first few bars of the ‘ Octopus Garden ’, those gorgeous emerald eyes had dropped, and she had thanked her lucky Ringo Star the child had fallen into a fitful sleep. But it was sleep nonetheless. She wondered, gently, if their parents sang ‘ Octopus Garden ’ to them, and that’s why they fell asleep so quickly. She rocked them a little more, pacing softly on the soft, dust-covered carpet. She winced with every creak and shuddered violently in the cold air. She was vividly aware of the gaping hole above her, and the side of the house. She realized with a dreadful swoop to her stomach that she was in a two-story building, and she was on the second floor. 

I need to get out of here with the kid before the house collapses on us.

It was freezing. Thirteen degrees, maybe. She shuddered.

Babies need to stay warm. 

Carefully, she reached and grabbed a wool blanket from the crib. She tries not to balk at the fact that the wool of the blanket feels impossibly soft, impossibly expensive. Cashmere, she thinks. Lovely dyed a fetching crimson that she calculates to be super expensive as well. Natural dyes, she guesses. And it seems to be the toddler's room, the intact furniture telling her that she is in the toddler’s nursery fairly quickly. She tried to remember who this child was, who they belonged to, and who she was to them. The expense of the fabric beneath her palms told her they might be a client. Lillian worked at a posh shop adjacent to the garment district in London. While they occasionally did work in alteration and custom clothing for some well-to-do, their main specialization was theater costumes for West End. 

She has never personally done a house call. Too green, and her specialty of embroidery had little reason for her to interact with anyone outside the shop.

So why would I be in a client’s house in the middle of the night?

None of her friends had children this age or were expecting children. The closest was Alicia, who had a girl of about five that Lilian had never met. All her relatives lived in Mexico, which meant her gaggle of baby cousins and the like were very far away from her. She carefully pressed the cleanest part of the blanket against the cut and gave the lightest of pressures. The baby whimpered and jerked away slightly. They didn’t wake, so Lillian persisted. The baby let it happen, and whimpered again, but still didn’t wake. She frowns- and realizes as the baby curls their hands unconsciously into her jumper that-

She’s dressed strangely. 

Lillan looks down at her clothing, a long-night dress, thin and what she guesses is silk. Real silk. The material is a lovely soft off-white, flows down her like water and she’s thrown a jumper over it, knitted and chucky and too large in a brilliant scarlet and gold, more expensive wool. Cashmere as well. Soot and dust-covered. She grimaces. She has doubts she could ever wash that out. She’s wearing mismatched socks, more expensive cashmere and high, also red and gold. 

Lillian tries to remember if she owns a night-dress. Or even a dress this long, down her ankles. Made of silk. She thinks sleeps in biker shorts and whatever shirt she feels like. On occasion it would be perhaps a matching set-

She freezes.

There. 

At the threshold of the room. Just left of the door. Sprawled awkwardly against the wall. 

It’s a corpse. 

Chapter Text

She quietly hopes it’s not a corpse.

But the wide, unseeing eyes, and the still chest, tell her otherwise. Tentatively, Lillian checks for a pulse either way. Her eyes keep flickering to the sleeping toddler, to make sure they don't see the body. 

She nearly throws up when she touches the body, it is still warm . Their skin, beneath her palm is still soft, so it shouldn’t have been that long. But somehow, she can feel its emptiness. She tries. The person’s eyes are glassy, and red staring at nothing. She doesn’t think she’s ever seen such red eyes before. At first, she thinks they are contacts because they're dressed in long dramatic robes that must be a costume- When she looks close enough, she doesn’t see the tell-tell bulge of a color contact, nor the outline in the iris. Their eyes are really that red.

Eerie. 

Unsettling.

Inches from their long and pale fingertips, there’s a wand. Pale wood, not plastic. Carved in intrinsic patterns. A very good costume, expensive costume, if the velvet of their robes is telling her anything. Because it is real velvet. It's not a polyester imitation. Wool, she thinks by the heavy feel. Elaborate snakes a shade slightly darker than the rest of the fabric are woven into the design, and Lillian knows it must have cost a fortune. Embroidery of the tiniest skulls decorate the long, bat sleeves, and the high collar. It makes her fingertips itch just looking at it. It's a masterwork that would have taken her the better part of a couple of months to even attempt it.

It's giving Harry Potter, and Lord of the Rings vibes if it was Victorian. It's an excellent costume, something Lillian would have been proud to have worked on. 

The sheer amount of fabric- would be nearly forty to fifty pounds per yard, alone. She estimated maybe twenty yards, max. The obviously meticulous construction was another small fortune. She tries to remember the date. Last she remembers it was the beginning of September. Yet, this person is dressed for what must be Halloween, or perhaps from theater? Their face leans on the masculine, sharp, chiseled features, fine, with frightfully pale skin that is so smooth she wonders if they're wearing theater makeup. The effect of the long robes and their startling red eyes was striking, an amazing costume of some sort of wizard or sorcerer. 

Their pulse isn’t present she realizes, even as she presses more firmly into their neck. She grips their wrist, careful and sure as she counts out the beats on her head. She drops her head to their chest, waiting for a heartbeat. For their lungs to move. Nothing. They're dead. Gently, Lillian closed their eyes, worried about when rigor mortis was going to set in. Leaving their eyes staring forever as they rotted. It felt cruel to allow such. 

Perhaps the blast had stopped their heart, as it had hurt her ribs. 

Their face is soft in death, frozen maybe in mild, unrelenting, and furious surprise.

Quietly, Lillian prays for their peace.

Chapter Text

Stepping over the corpse feels off. Disrespectful. But with a fussy toddler in her arms, she can't move them. And the house is starting to creak alarmingly. She swallows.

“I'm sorry,” she mumbles under her breath, even as she carefully places a hand over the toddler's eyes. They're still asleep, but she can't fathom the thought of them seeing death so soon in life. 

Even if they will never remember this being so young, the thought is horrifying for her. A curling stairway leads down into the dark of a house. A jack-o-lantern sits proudly at the corner of a table in the posh-looking hallway. Posh because it's fine mahogany, charred, but fine nonetheless. She knows good quality when she sees it. The walls are lined with what looks like antique wallpaper. The furniture is inlaid wood, with mother of pearls and gold fixings. The carpet looks antique.  

Half of the house is blown away.

She frowns. It’s a heavy juxtaposition to the intact part of the house. Even with the residue of the blast, the dust. The jack-o-lantern is still fucking lit. It must be near Halloween. October. She's confused. The dead person behind her, they're dressed like they're ready for a costume party. She looks down at herself. She's dressed like she's having a semi-casual night in, silk nightie aside-

She freezes. 

She didn't realize it before, too preoccupied with the baby and the dead person, but her hair is red.

Auburn.

A deep, rich red that certainly isn't her real hair color. It’s so saturated it seems almost unnatural. 

She thinks she has short-term memory loss, staring at what must be a new haircut and dye job. Extensions as well, her hair is typically thinner than this, and only to her shoulders, versus the length that extends neatly past her waist. She's lost what looks like a month of time if the jack-o-lantern is to be a good clue. She breathes. Deeply. Last she checked, she had dyed her boring dirty blonde hair a lovely faded lavender. Now, she's a Crayola Red-Head. Or well, nearly. She frowns. Posh person, the hallway is decorated nicely and almost eerily good for Halloween, with floating candles, and at least three jack-o-lanterns.

The picture on the wall moves. She jumps. A posh person indeed. She's seen digital frames before,  but never so big or ornate. It's a trip to see a man jolt out of frame with such a look of devastated surprise. The GIF is now seemingly stuck without its subjects, and she wonders if they’ll walk back into a frame or just pop in place in a standard loop. 

She swallows. She's frightened of the stairs. The explosion evidently took off the entire roof and half the house, and she was scared of the structural integrity of the house that was left standing.  But she can’t stay on the second floor, not with the child in her arms. She can't find her phone. It wasn't in the room, and she didn't think the owner of the posh house would be so outdated to have a landline, or even, indeed, still have electricity now that the House had been blown up. She needed to leave and find someone with a phone, hopefully, the authorities had already been called. But she has no idea where she is if anyone was near enough to hear the evident explosion-

She freezes. 

There. On the stairs. Body sprawled. 

Someone else died tonight, she realizes. 

Chapter Text

Another corpse, more glassy eyes. They are younger, an older teenager, maybe in their early twenties. The body in the nursery was older, at a dubious age, she couldn’t quite pinpoint. They were an ageless, handsome adult. This-

They were evidently so fucking young. 

They had baby fat, for heaven’s sake.

She felt something curl over her chest, a heavy weight of sheer grief and disbelief of someone dying so young.  Her hand trembles as she checks for a pulse. They are related to the toddler, she realized. 

They look startlingly similar, despite the age difference. A very young parent, or a very distant sibling. She has to guess. 

Their face is handsome and soft in youth. High cheekbones, a plush set of lips she can only call mischievous, curled in such a way she thinks would have naturally fallen into a smile, or smirk. They’re set in a grimace, curled downwards in what she can only see as determination. Their chin is rounded, and firm, their face thin-  Even after checking for a pulse, it's half an effort. It- His young face is set in sheer, grim determination in death.

She realizes she’s crying, silent, dripping tears at the sight of more death.

She carefully touches their curls, messy, as if they were windswept. Glasses, and tortoiseshells, are askew on their long nose. She adjusts the glasses, crying, as she pats carefully at the hair. Hopeless curls do not settle.

She wonders if they had struggled with their curls in life, or if they had allowed their nature of them to do as they would.    

She closes their beautiful hazel eyes, gently.

“I'm so sorry,” she whispers gently.

She walks around the corpse. She has to get out of this house. She must. The baby needs her to go. She stumbles, and grips tightly at her precious charge. 

She keeps walking.   

Chapter Text

There was a cat after all. A squashed-faced orange, long-furred little kitten that meows at the sight of her, waiting at the foot of the stairs. Soot and dust covered as her and the baby. Their orange eyes are bright, yellow things that focus on her.

They’re alive. 

There’s something alive, beyond her and the baby, in this house. 

Not missing a beat, Lillian kneels for them. Drops as gently as she can, to not startle the baby or the kitten. Extends a trembling had to have it scent her. The kitten meows again, and buts their squashed little head against her hand. Purrs softly into the side of her palm. Carefully, she scoops it up, and she is impressed when it carefully settles on the opposite side of the toddler, perched almost comically like a parrot on her shoulder. It does not fight the perch, or her hand coming to curl gently on the scruff of its soft fur. Fingertips pressed against the way their lungs shift—proof of life, proof that she isn't alone beyond the baby. 

“Hey kitty,” she mummers, and she hiccups, blinks past tears, even as she keeps moving, “Welcome to the party.” 

The front door is open. Nearly blasted off its hinges. She wishes, desperately, that she had shoes as she rushes out of the house. She knows her socks will be a mess- There’s a man waiting for her at the edge of the white picket fence. His face is pale in the red moonlight. His face is drawn, horrified. 

Grey eyes staring at the destroyed house.

She feels like she can breathe. 

“Hello?!” She calls desperately, “Hello, please help!”

She dashes. Her heart is thundering as she races past a neat little garden to the fence. 

“Lily!” He calls, voice raw and devastated. 

That draws her up short. She skids, wincing as her feet scrap harshly against the paved walkway leading to the door. She cannot think of anyone who calls her Lily. Lils, maybe, but Lily? More evidence to her, that she’s lost time. 

“Where's James?!”

She flinches back. She doesn't remember James. Beyond a boy in primary, someone she hasn’t thought of in ages. No adult she knows personally has the name, maybe a surname? She can’t remember.  

“Sir, please,” she shakes her head, “I don't know what's happening- The toddler might need medical attention- Can you call the police?”

He lifts what she thinks is a torch at her. Whisp thin, edge illuminated-

She squints. Not a torch. A wand, like the dead man upstairs. It must be Halloween, she thinks, catching the motorcycle on what seems to be a residential lane. The man is dressed in a curious, molted leather duster nearly to the floor, and heavy boots of a similar leather. Maybe crocodile or ostrich? The dye is a curious black, that sheens purplish in the moonlight. A chest heaves in a silk black pajama shirt. His pants are matching. Evidently, he was joining her in her slap-dash nightie costume. 

She's so confused. 

“What was the first foul word you called James when you met?”

She frowns at him. On her shoulder, she feels the kitten hiss, feels the strands of its long fur stand on end. She soothes her fingertips into their fur. 

“Sir, I don't know who James is! Please, I need you to call the police-” she cries.

That cry wakes the toddler. He starts crying, repeating, ‘Mama’ in increasingly distressed shrieks. Lillian swears, even as she rocks the toddler back and forth in sheer desperation. 

“Hey, no, no, kiddo, I'm sorry. You're okay. We'll find you help, I swear. It's okay. Well find your parents-”

She tries not to think of the man who looks like him. She tries not to think of the half-charred house, and who could have been in the debris. If it was a costume party, how many people were buried in the rubble on this cold, deathly still night? 

“Lily,” whispers, the man, voice serious and firm, “Lily can you look at me?”

She looks up from the fussing toddler. The man is still pointing the stick. His gray eyes are brilliant in the starlight. 

“ Legilimens.”

Chapter Text

She isn't Lily. 

That is Sirius Black's first assumption. That this person, is a poor attempt at trickery, polyjuice doesn't transfer memories or mannerisms. Maybe clever transfiguration could get the shape of a face more or less correct. He also knows that his adrenaline is spiking, and his hands are shaking even as he keeps it pointed at what must be an imposter. 

But she had Harry in her arms. 

Or maybe Harry. He thinks, furiously thinking, breath hitching as she cries for the police, as she cries to the maybe!Harry that she would help find his parents- It could be more polyjuice, or transfiguration at hand in the baby as well. He tries not to flinch at the gentle, distressed confusion on the person wearing Lily's face.

At the fact that the baby is crying out, Mama, Mama, in quiet distress and horror. 

Because if it is Harry, that is not his mother, and Sirius would save the little Prongslett if it is the last thing he does.  

Slipping into their mind is an inelegant, furious action. Filled with anger and a fierce panic that this monster used Lily’s face to trick him.

It’s within a second that he realizes something is very, very wrong . 

One cannot simply read the mind like one reads a book. 

Lily had been the only one of them who had been eager to learn Occlumency. James had been trained, of course, in the barest of ways as a Pure-Blood, his Black mother would allow little else to her child. Remus's furry little problem had made him incapable of learning the art, but had also been a natural barrier… Peter had already known the skill, much as James had. Lily had been eager, curious, and a fiercely quick learner. Sirius, as the one who trained her, was very familiar with her mind. And it had always been like a verdant summer forest, lush with life and brilliant sunshine that could blind you, confuse you. Twist and turn you amongst the trees that served as her construct of memories and boundaries and leave you as lost as any true forest-

It was Lily. It was Lily, and-    

Her forest.

Her beautiful, wonderful Forest- Once strong, staggering trees that towered over you- It was like a forest fire had ripped through it. Ashes, a deep-seated destruction that was still fucking smoldering amongst the charred tree trunks that still stood. It is a dark, soot-filled mist in the air that has him flinching as he tries to wade through it. 

Then he sees.

Catches memories constructs, little saplings desperately trying to lift above the ash-filled ground.  He latches on.

Memories, disconnected and disorientated flow through him. 

Confusion. The night sky. A crying toddler reaching for her. Reaching for him without knowing she is his mother, only responding to a poor child in distress. Gently closing fucking Voldemort's eyes. The fact that she sees James's body and only feels the same confused remorse and grief of a young life.  He hears no thoughts, as he once would have when Lily’s forest was alive, unharmed, all he feels is emotions Heightened, fear and grief, and confusion. He wrenches himself out of Lily Potter's mind with a gag, before he has to throw up his pitiful dinner of alcohol and chips from a local bar. Lily’s mind was a mess, warped by whatever fucking Voldemort had done to her. Damaged, fragmented.

James is dead.

Voldemort is dead. 

Lily doesn't remember . He did something to her, Oh fucking Merlin, he ripped her apart. 

“What the hell did you do to me?” She screams, and she clutches Harry to her chest. Takes a step back. 

Falls. Drops, rocking Harry to her with a devastated cry. Lily Potter has lost her memory. The fucking Mad Man did this to her before he tried to kill Harry. 

“ Lily-”

“ How did you do that? Who are you? What are you- ”  

“My name is Sirius Black,” he soothes gently, “I'm a wizard, and I'm your friend.”

“I don’t understand!”

“The baby? That little boy? He’s your baby, Lily. He’s yours. You were attacked by a Dark wizard.”

She stares at him. Tears running tear tracks down her dust-lined cheeks. Her mouth opens and closes, and he can read ‘Sirius Black’ mouthed. She stares down at Harry. Who looks up, a crying face and brilliant emerald eyes.

They meet Lily’s own emerald eyes. 

She makes a half, disgruntled sound of a wounded animal that turns to horrified sobs.  

Sirius places a hand on Lily's trembling back. His burning urge to run after Peter stops. Turns from a mute roar to a distant whisper.  Lily is alive. Hurt. Torn apart mentally. Harry is alive. Crying and begging for ‘Paddie to help Mama’. They’re both vulnerable. Sirius drops to the ground next to them. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, “I’m so sorry Lils. I had to make sure-”

“What’s happening?” she whispers back, “What- how is this real?!”

“I’m so sorry.”

He is shocked when she all but collapses backward into his arm. He has to bring his other arm to brace her.

He steadies her as she sobs helplessly in his arms.  

Chapter Text

A sharp crack has Sirius fucking Black, a fictional character, snapping up to his feet, his fucking magic wand in his hands. He shifts in front of her and Harry fucking Potter. Who sniffs in confusion. 

Right there with you, kiddo. 

She soothes a hand against his round face. He buries his face into her neck. She rocks. Him. Herself. The kitten, miraculously still on her shoulder, meows in soft affection as it buts its head against her. 

She's gone absolutely fucking mad.  Lily. She's Lily Potter, Madonna complex six feet under woman in the fridge-

She gulps. 

This isn't real-

Her thoughts die at the sight of who could only be Rubeus Hagrid, stumbling at a clumsy, if serviceable instant transport. A spell with an A. She’s trying to remember it, squirming in stupefied denial-  

Half-Giant. 

Too large to be real. In her world, the tallest record of a man was well under the eleven or twelve feet this man is.  No human could possibly be that big in real life. 

Her jaw drops. 

I'm in a children's story. In a dead woman's corpse. 

Lilian clutches at Harry Fucking Potter-

She freezes. 

Lungs still. 

Harry James Potter. 

‘I am about to die.’

A seventeen-year-old boy had to get himself killed for the world. A pig raised to slaughter.

Black spots dance. She looks at the baby. The baby with sweet emerald eyes and whose small, pudgy hands grip frantically at her face. 

“Mama,” he soothes. 

Lilian can only do one thing.

She faints.  

Chapter Text

Sirius is holding his wand at Hagrid. Hopefully? Hagrid. Polyjuice could only do so much. Matter could not be created nor destroyed, and Hagrid’s great bulk was harder to make than most. Not to mention, as far as Sirius knew, his body parts were immune to the potion. A natural magic resistance. 

“Sirius- oh Sirius, Lil, and James!” He sobbed. 

Sirius opened his mouth. 

Only for Harry to scream fucking bloody murder. Sirius winced, and cast a silent protego, before he whipped around. 

Lily, collapsed. Harry desperately clutching at her face. 

“ Fuck,” he hissed.

Hagrid began to howl, fists beating at the spell desperately. Sirius paid little mind. Running back to the witch, her head was lolled desperately to the side. By some miracle, baby Harry was perched perfectly on her. Sirius ran a soothing hand down his red little face. 

Carefully, he cast a quick diagnostic spell. 

Fainted. 

He let out a breathe he hadn't realized he had been holding. 

She was alright. Carefully, he pressed a hand on her face. She was pale. Sirius sighed. He cast the cushioning charm, a warming one, and then he carefully shrugged off his dragon-leather coat atop of Lily. He picked up Harry, even as he screamed into his ears. He carefully stood. And he started the soothing rocking back and forth motion Lily had taught him. Careful to support the boy’s head, even thought he was more or less able to hold it up on his own. He swallowed. 

Hagrid? Was howling. 

Sirius looked at him.  A quick dip into his mind was all Sirius needed.

It was Hagrid. 

He nearly sagged in relief. 

“HAGRID! Sorry, sorry, had to check-”

The giant hiccuped. 

“Lily’s fainted. She- She’s forgotten everything, Hagrid. She didn’t even know Harry was her’s.”

“Dumbledore said she was d- dead .”

Sirius swallowed. 

“James is,” he said, simply, even as he rocked Harry back in forth. 

The reality of it seemed impossible for Sirius to really understand. Half of him expected James to pop out of the remains of the Potter Cabin, roaring with laughter at the shit joke.  Part of Sirius wondered if he was in a nightmare when his brother did not. Harry felt too real in his arms, a steady, warm weight that Sirius knew so well.

His chest ached with the clawing panic he felt there.

His head was throbbing.

He knew he was awake. He knew James was dead.

He-

Sirius focused on Harry. On Lily. It was what James would have wanted. 

“Peter was the Secret Keeper,” his voice sounds small, even to him, “Hagrid, I killed two brothers today. It’s all my fault. I thought we were being clever. And now-” 

He looks helplessly at Harry. Harry with his sweet emerald eyes like his mum and the innocent, innocent love in his ‘Paddie’. 

“Paddie, Mama hurt!” he said, and he sobbed and reached for Lily.

“We must meet with Dumbledore! I was to take Harry straight to him!” cried Hargid. 

Sirius swallowed.

“I can pop the sidecar on my bike?” 

"Yer what?"

Chapter Text

She wakes in the sky, and Lillian can admit it. 

She screams bloody fucking murder. Only it comes out silent. Her throat won't physically vibrate to make a sound. Even as she feels air past her lungs, go across her throat and lips and tongue and teeth. She looks around wildly. 

She's in the sky. 

A cloud drifts by. Its- it's daytime. Early morning, she can guess.  Sirius steadied her. Held her shoulder to prevent her from dipping forward. She's in a motorcycle sidecar, all but in the man's lap.  The man in which is named Sirius Black. That  Sirius Black. The fictional character.  Who is holding Harry Potter? The other fictional character. In the sky. Atop of a flying motorcycle sidecar. In the sky. She whimpers. Unaudiably. 

“Alright Lils?” He whispers, “Sorry. I can-”

He makes a gesture with his magical wand.  A strangled gasp. Sound comes out of her throat. An audible whimper. 

“Fuck,” she whimpers, hands coming to her throat. 

“Fuck!” Cheers Harry, clapping his hands. 

Sirius helplessly snorts.

“All that fuss making sure not to swear in front of Harry. And you're the one that-”

She grips the lapels of his silk pajamas. He yelps as she drags him forward.

“Do not do that again without my consent,” she hisses. 

His gray eyes are wide.

“Er. Right. Sorry. I- Harry was asleep and-”

“Did you give him medical attention?” She snarls. 

He gives a small, frightened nod.

“Merlin. Good to see you haven't actually changed. Memory or no memory.”

Her stomach swoops. She keeps her grip on his silk shirt. 

“Any injuries?”

“Erm, you have-”

“I meant Harry. ” 

“Cursed cut. Sorry, Lily. It's- I'm not a trained healer. Even the Dittany did nothing. We can go to Saint Mungos, but, Dumbledore-”

“What the fuck is a Dumbledore?” She demands. 

She knows.  Of course, she does.  But, well, she's now Lily Potter. Fanfiction has taught her one thing. She needs to keep Harry Fucking Potter, and herself, away from his bullshit.

“Blimey!” A Voice. Deep. Hoarse from what she suspects was tears, “Yer really forgot, Lil’!”

She blinks. Looks up, and up, at the warm, dark brown eyes of Rubeus Hagrid. 

Keeper of Keys, and Grounds of Hogwarts. 

She took a breath. Her heart raced. Another fictional character. One of her former favorites. 

“Right. Hello, sir. Very obviously a magically large man.”

He grinned. Wobbly and emotional. 

“Good mornin' , Lil. 'm Rubeus Hargid.”

She swallowed.

“Yes. Well. Hello. Lovely to meet you. What is a Dumbledore?”

Hagrid, fucking Hagrid sniffed.

“One of the greatest wizards ter ever live.”

She swallowed. 

“Is he a… Healer?”

The man blinked at her. 

“...no?”

“Law enforcement?”

Sirius swallowed and shifted uncomfortably in front of her. 

“No.”

“Why the actual fuck,” she says with false pleasantness, “Are we going to him then?”

They gaped at her. She glares. 

“Harry needs medical attention. Proper medical attention,” she hisses. 

“But- Saint Mungos can’ be safe Fer yer Lily or lil Harry-” starts Hagrid. 

“Do you know any Healers? Neutral in this fucking bonkers world I’ve just woken to?” She snapped. 

“... There's Poppy,” Sirius says, voice small. 

She bared her teeth at them both.

A fucking school nurse. A school nurse?!

“Turn this fucking flying bike around and get this baby medical attention from a licensed Healer or so fucking help me! ”

“She can appear at the location we've been told to-”

She gripped Sirius's lapels again. He yelped. She looked him straight in his brilliant grey eyes. 

“Will we be safe?!”

“No safer place than with the most powerful wizard ter ever live-”

“Do you swear to me, Sirius Black,  Rubeus Hagrid?”

“Yes.”

“Of course, Lily.”

Her hand was trembling. 

“That boy is my son,” the words feel off in her mouth, “I need you to promise that he will be safe with this Dumbledore, with this Poppy, absolutely.”

Hagrid did not hesitate. Assured her heartily. 

But Sirius did hesitate. 

Stared at her with a gaping mouth.

She swallowed. She looked at his grey eyes and she realized he understood. Understood her fear. 

“I'll protect you both with my life, Lily. From anyone.”

She looks at his earnest eyes. 

She nods. 

“Call your fucking healer to meet us there then.”

“Yes, ma'am,” Sirius squeaked. 

Chapter Text

Poppy Promany appears with a crack and Minvera McGongall has her wand up. So does Albus.  The Healer of Hogwarts looks frazzled. Her lips are pursed. Her own hand goes to her hips. 

“Well then,” her voice was a stiff, a near hiss, “Is it correct that you have requested a baby, injured by a dark wizard, to not be checked by a certified healer?”

Minerva blinked. 

Once.

Twice.

And turned round to Albus. The Headmaster flinched. Minerva felt her own jaw clench in response.

“Poppy-”

“You have a scar of the London Underground, above your knee, Albus. You Minerva, were an illegal animagus for a good year before you inquired your Master to instruct you.”

Minerva coughed, but she lowered her wand. Poppy sniffed, adjusting the Healer's satchel at her side. She primly pressed down on her robes. 

“Poppy, why are you here?” Asked Albus, and she did not think she had seen the Headmaster so off foot in a good ten years since she had begun to work for him.

“Why? Why?! Because Sirius Black has some sense in his foolish head of his.”

Albus went very, very still. 

“Sirius Black betrayed the Potters tonight.”

Minerva could not breathe. She remembers a boy, nearly dying because of Sirius once upon a time. She remembers pranks gone a touch on the edge of cruel. But- She remembers boys, her boys, holding tight to a friendship she saw as unbreakable. 

“That is impossible. James was a brother to Sirius. He is the boy's godfather-”

“He was not the secret keeper, whatever that means,” Poppy interjected and she glared at Albus.

“ What ?”

Chapter Text

She has a sister. 

The thought occurs to Lillian as they touch down just down the street from number four on Privet Drive. 

Lily Potter has a sister .

A twenty-three-year-old sister who is sleeping, peaceful in her contempt and rejection of her younger sister. And she is in the body of her sister, who allowed one boy, spiteful, obsessive, the very definition of unhealthy in relationships, to get in between them. The complexity of an inferiority complex riddled with familial rejection, and the mockery of a fragile teenage or preteen child-

Well. 

Lillian never thought that Petunia’s growth into abuse and neglect to her nephew was good. Like many who had enjoyed the series before the author had spun and tarnished its legacy, she had seen the character as a binary of evil. Of jealousy and ridiculous spite. 

And she sits in the sidecar, a one-year-old toddler in her arms, in the body of a dead woman, Lillian remembers that Petunia is twenty-three. 

My body is twenty-one.

Lillian blinks. Once, twice. 

Our brains haven’t even fully developed. And Lily is dead. Its… Petunia lost her. Lost her, and saw the justification of her hatred towards magic. Of the ‘freakish’. It took her parent's esteem. Her sister’s affection and the ease of their relationship. And in the end, it took her sister completely. And what did it give her? A toddler to protect, on pain of his death if she tries to refuse. Bond more by magic to the responsibilities of keeping her nephew alive. All she was forced to undertake, with a very real threat to her very young family.  None of it was her choice. Hell, it wouldn't have been  James and Lily's choice. 

Because one man said ‘For the Greater Good.’

Lillian breathes.

And all she can remember is that the most horrid of figures in history had claimed their actions were for the Great Good. 

“Oh god, Tuney ,” she mourns, remembering the nickname. Sweet little Tuney in awe, innocently jealous of the magic of a flower blooming. Of her sister flying higher, longer.

Icarus.  

She rocks Harry, hand trembling on his little head. He presses his little face deeper into her neck. Next to her, Sirius Black jumps. But she barely notices.  Then she sees him. Albus Dumbledore. Beard and all. Sparkling robes. Elder fucking wand in hand. 

Where is the cloak? She wonders. 

Lillian is out of the sidecar, cradling Harry, unconsciously, but expertly, with one arm. She is marching up the dark streets of predawn, with one purpose. 

She is going to punch Albus Dumbledore in his crooked nose and break it again.        

Chapter Text

Minerva McGonagall feels her breath kick out of her lungs like she was blindsided by the sight of Lily Potter, marching up the neat garden of number four, Privet Drive. Furious. Emerald eyes gleaming. Red hair was brilliant even in the dim light. Minerva is agog and keeps being agog, when her former student plants her feet in front of the headmaster, pulls back a fist, and swings.  With all of her weight. 

She very likely broke the man’s nose.

He certainly loses his footing and loses a grip on his wand. So astonished by the sight of Lily Potter. Alive. She is glaring at Albus. Her mouth set in a snarl. The young woman’s chest heaves. She blinks. Once. Twice. Shakes her fist loose. 

“Huh,” her voice is shocked, yet with an unmistakable tone of fury, “I would think Wizards would have better reaction time.” 

“Lily!” cries Sirius Black. 

Lily Potter continues to glare down at Albus.

“I punched Dumbledore in the face, Mr. Black,” she calls back, and she bounces Harry Potter. 

Minerva blinks stupidly. 

“Oh Merlin, don’t call me that,” Sirius hissed, running a shaking hand through his hand.

Lily Potter. Lily Potter blinks. She breathes. She lives. She looks at Sirius with careful, earnest emerald eyes. 

“I’m sorry.”

Sirius Black gives a helpless little shrug. 

“Don’t worry about it. I have issues with my bigot relatives. Why did you punch Albus Dumbledore in the face?”

“Because he thought spiriting away an injured baby without giving them medical attention was a brilliant idea?”

“Lily?” Albus sounds astounded. 

“ The reports of my death, ” she spits, “ Are greatly exaggerated .” 

Albus snaps up his wand. Points it at Lily’s face. 

“ Legilimens !” he howls.

A silent Protego is cast before Minerva can blink. Her chest heaves. Her hand is up. As is Sirius’s and Poppy’s.

Lily's chest heaves. She glares down at him. 

“ What the fuck is wrong with wizards?! ”

She snatches Albus’s hand with surprising quickness. Darts back. Bares her teeth. 

“You will get this back when you can behave like a rational adult. Now . Where the hell is the healer?! ”

Poppy steps forward. 

Lily Potter steps forward, and thrusts baby Harry at the school nurse. 

“Please,” she says simply, emerald eyes firm, “Help this child.” 

Chapter Text

She can admit it. 

Punching someone was probably the worst thing she could do. She doesn’t think she’s a violent person by nature. And the sheer amount of rage that had overcome her was honestly unsettling. But so fucking satisfying, she thinks, even as she tries not to think about the fact that she has the fucking Death Stick in her left hand. Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore wouldn’t stop staring at it.

Honestly, tell me it's an important magical object without telling me, you fucking-

Mind reader. 

Lillian grips tighter at the Elder Wand. She wonders if he needs a wand to activate the mind bullshit. Canon had only ever done it with a wand, as far as she can remember, but fanon and the movies had played it loosely goosely-

She sighed. 

She makes it a point not to look him in the eye, however, even when he tries to address her.

“Lily-” he starts.

“Nope. I don’t care. Well, how’s Harry?” she asked, Poppy, anxiously. 

The woman hummed. Her lips twitched in her blatant ignorance of the most powerful wizard alive, in a body, at least. Poppy Pomfrey was her sort of person. And dressed in a lovely, dress and robe of warm red wools and cottons, all neat and lovely. It was simple, unfunctional.  

“He sees fine. A little underweight for his age, but healthy. Whatever… The spell used has not harmed him beyond a small laceration. It, however, is filled with dark magic. Not innately harmful, but it will not heal beyond the natural way. It will scar.”

She frowns. All things she expected for the Healer to say. She didn’t expect the Horcrox to register at all on Harry. He had had magical medical attention in the books, after all, and no mention of a parasitic soul had ever been brought up. All of this she expected…  except for one thing.

“Underweight?” she demands.

“It’s common in Potter children,” soothes Poppy, “Knobbly knees, skinny faces- Wait until puberty, he’ll gain some meat on his bones.”

“Just like James,” pipes up Sirius, and his voice wavers, “Was a right stick when he was a first year.”

Lilian swallows.

“...My husband?” she looks back at Sirius. 

Winces. Because his expression is terribly sad and she’s really uncomfortable about it. But she’s already claiming to be mostly blank when it comes to her memories.  

“Yes. Your husband.”

She nods.

Looks up at number four. 

“And this… This is my sister’s house? Tuney?” she whispers. 

Sirius sighs. 

“Yeah, Lils.”

She jolts. That- That nickname she’s actually used to. It’s jaring however, hearing it from Sirius.

“My name is Lily P-Potter,” she stumbles, reciting the information they had given her in the day-long ride, because as fucking Mental as it was, this was her reality, “It’s November first. I have lost my memory, my h-husband. I am twenty-one, and I have a son. I am a witch. ”

“A thumping good one!” calls Hagrid. 

She sends him a trembling smile. 

“Thank you, Rubeus.”

Rubeus Hagrid goes pink like his first name is all too suited to him.

“... Everyon’ calls me Hargid,” he coughs, pink-cheeked.

She smiles gently.

“Rubeus is a fine name, I’m sorry, do you not prefer it?”

“...’S fine,” he says, gently but with a touch of gruff. She smiles at him.

His face is pinker.

Her smile grows. She looks back at Poppy. Swallows. Presses a hand against Harry Potter’s face. He giggles. Sweet and calm as he can be in Poppy’s arms. 

“Someone tried to kill my son,” she whispered. 

The tension is sudden and quick. And it takes a her a moment, as she hold’s Harry’s face between her palms. 

“And someone else will try again,” she finally looks at Dumbledore.

She glares at his eyebrows. 

“So let’s make sure that doesn’t happen.”

Chapter Text

“... I don’t know what any of this means,” Lily says, her brow is furrowed, and she’s bouncing Harry carefully in her arms. She is looking at the parchment of the spell matrix carefully, a scowl on her lovely pale face. 

It is the most complex spell Minerva has ever seen, and she is surprised that Albus had decided to draw it when Lily had demanded it. He was one to cast, and then emphasize the importance of it without explaining the particulars. But perhaps it had been the hellfire in her emerald eyes, perhaps it had been the very deliberate raise of her fist with his wand, but the man had complied. Did not attempt to retrieve his wand. Only asked quietly for Minerva to transfiguration or summon up parchment, ink, and quill. 

Now Lily is staring at his work with a furious scowl. Minerva swallows thickly. Her fingertips however above the drying ink, following the meticulously drawn spiral that Albus had drawn. The look of frustration on Lily's face is familiar. A look of concentrated, furious affront at not understanding something before her. Lily had been a fantastic,  and incredibly tenacious student. Even if her talents had laid in Charms and potions, and she had little aptitude to the rigid structure of Transfiguration, she made up for it in study and stubbornness. And though her behavior had never centered on the violence beyond her language, Minvera suddenly sees that her memory loss has done little to change the muggleborn. 

She was still stubborn and centered on understanding whatever was thrown in front of her. 

It had made her break Albus's nose. And Minerva said not a word when she realized that Poppy didn't bother to fix it. She knew from the Healer Witch could mend a nose in three seconds flat.  So it was very evident that the witch didn't want to . In this case, Minerva would refer to her excellent judgment. 

“We have to… Anchor. A bubble of magic into the natural lay lines of the earth,” Sirius says, his voice careful, brows furrowed as he studied the matrix, the same boy she had offered an apprenticeship come his fifth year, “By using blood. Family blood. The more, the better. It extends the protection that… That Dumbledore says you cast when you stood in front of Harry.”

“... And it will reject anyone with Magic?” 

“If you are not keyed into the Wards.”

 Lily frowns. Carefully traces her fingertips against the matrix.

“It is a tapestry. Woven within the lines of the Earth. No. Stitched, ” she breathes, “The Earth is fabric, and you carefully stitch my protection within it. Embroidery premade added to a formed garment, to adorn it. Not muddle what is already present.”

Minerva blinked quickly. She is not very well versed in Protection Magic herself, but it seems sound enough a metaphor. She knew Lily had spent a brief summer working at Madame Malkins. Was she drawing on that experience, unconsciously? 

“Why was my protection of Harry enough?” She demands. She is not looking directly into Albus's gaze. 

She, always, is a quick study. She avoids his eyes, even as Albus has attempted to draw attention to them. Minivera tries not to think how instinctual the intent is. Or the fact that Albus was adept enough to wandlessly use Legilimens . 

Did he use this on my students? Illegal magic on the children?!

“What?”

“... The man that was my husband. He died. Why is it not his blood? Why are you so sure that it is mine?” 

Albus frowned. 

“A Mother's love is a special kind of magic. You grew your babe within your womb. He is of your marrow, of your-”

“So sperm doesn't tie one deeply to one's child? It's half of what you need,” Lily snorts. 

“It is not what you need. It is the time spent. There is an initial bond within it.”

“Post Partuem Depression says fuck your magic,” Lily says simply. 

Poppy snorts. 

“Merlin's pants, Lily,” muttered Sirius. His hand tugs desperately at his locks. 

“How do we key in people?” 

“Two ways,” Albus says, simply, “Written within the spell matrix or blood sharing.”

Lily frowns. Brows furrow. 

“How do you write yourself in?”

Albus touches the document, eyes intent on it now. He traces alongside. 

“These runes-” he presses against the runes meticulously drawn, “This is you. It is ‘Othala’ meaning ‘home’ and ‘Berka’ , home. in Nordic traditions. This is the rune of blood. This is allowance in protection-” 

Lily's eyes dart across the parchment. Her lips purse.

“Add Sirius,” she traces across the matrix, following it.

“He-”

“He has gotten what Harry needs. He is my husband's brother in everything but blood. He is written into the matrix.”

Albus frowns. Looks at Minerva. She changes more plants. Carefully he begins again. 

“Add Poppy. I’d very much like to have a Healer on hand for my son.”

Albus hesitates. Nods.

“Anything else, Mrs. Potter?”

Lily huffs.  

“Write yourself out of the matrix.” 

The silence that hits them is sudden and oppressive. 

Lily's jaw is clenched. Her hands are on Harry's shock of raven hair. Her gaze is still hellfire green. 

“Lily-”

“I don't trust you.”

“Lily-”

“You had a spy in my House.”

“Wha-”

“The Portraits. How else did you confirm that James was dead? And thought I was?”

Albus is pale. 

“That was for your prote-”

“You seemed to have done a pretty shitty job of that. I do not want you near us. As a show of good faith, write yourself out of the Matrix.”

Lily points to the series of runes that must represent Albus, as he had not pointed them out and they are on the same spiral arm as Lily’s representation. Wisdom. Fire. It could only be Albus. 

Lily was always a quick study. 

“I-”

“You brought me to my estranged sister's house. She hates magic. You would have given my son to someone who hates magic. Why? Why spy on us? Why-”

“Why did you change Secret Keepers? You remember Petunia. You seem intent on distrusting me. Why?” Responded Albus. 

His face was intent. Lily closed her eyes. Breathed a beat. She snatched up the parchment. Lifted Albus's own wand to his face. 

“ Leave .”

Chapter Text

Sirius Black always knew that after the first year, Lily Evans, now Lily Potter, scared the absolute piss out of him. 

He would never admit it, but there was something terrifying about the redhead that had soundly outwitted, outhexed, three pureblood boys and a half-blood her first year. He may not be a bigot, but he knows for a fact that he, James, Peter, and Remus should have had a leg up when it came to hexing that early in their Hogwarts years. Lily proving him wrong, well, it had been a good fucking thing.  But terrifying. Not that he would admit it.  Maybe he would now,  however, as she had fucking told Albus Dumbledor greatest Wizard in the Western Magical world, to essentially, fuck off. 

“We are going,” Minvera said, after a moment, voice soft.

Always did love Mini, he thinks, blinking quickly. 

“Minerva-”

“You, Albus, have overstepped. We are going back to the school.”

“These Runes would be a good representation of myself,” Poppy said softly, and she carefully drew on the parchment. 

Albus turns to her.

“Poppy!”

“Can I be, ah, added?” Hagrid asks,  tentatively. 

“Sirius?” Lily looks at him, “Could you make this matrix? And add Rubeus?”

The groundskeeper turned a violent shade of pink. He smiled, black eyes gleaming. 

“... You would trust me?” Sirius asks, surprised. 

“With Harry’s life? Of course. You’ve actually listened to me.”

Sirius sniffs. 

“Yeah. I can do it.”

“Perfect. Everyone else? Kindly go away while I knock on my sister’s door at, oh, probably four in the morning. I want to keep the wand. Is it too far if I keep the wand?” Lily asks, dryly, looking over at him. 

Sirius winces. 

“Too far.”

“Poo. I’m handing it to Minerva. Professor, would you return it to him when he’s sensible?”

“He may never have his wand again.”

“I don’t remember you, but I think you’re awesome. ”   

Chapter Text

The woman who opens the door is so fucking young. Lillian holds in a breath, clutching at the reassuring weight of Harry in her arms. Harry had been ungenerous to his Aunt in his description.  Yes, her face was long, but Petunia's face wasn't without its own beauty. Her skin was near flawless, and her almond-shaped blue eyes were like the cool of a spring after a frost. Arresting and as catching as emerald, in her mind. Her hair was pale blonde, a color that many would spend an arm and a leg to achieve. Her neck was long, but that was as elegant as the dancer's form. Lithe, and graceful in stillness.

What did her dirty was the garish 80s robe and dressing gown, a vivid orange that washed out her skin, with unflattering lace. The silhouette of it was fine enough, workable but in her mind, she was already thinking of darts at the back to cinch in her tiny little waist and a fuller skirt for her slim hips. Yes, it was a dressing gown, but if you were going to wear a dressing gown, you might as well go all the way with the glamor. 

The fact that her gown was no doubt made of plastic made her twitch. 

The small posh shop she had worked in London had only ever used upcycled plastic fabrics, with very rare exceptions for their larger theater work. She knew certain productions needed hundreds, if not thousands of garments, and sometimes costs had to be cut in certain avenues. Natural materials were one of her shop's selling points, and they were meticulously accountable for where they sourced their fabrics.

This garment would outlive them both, and would never lose the garish color. Petunia has head curlers, and Lillian tries not to think that curling irons might not be that much of a thing at this moment. 

In the 1980s.

Oh my god, she thinks, I pulled a Marty McFly. 

Lillian bites her lip. 

“Hello,” she greets, and she knows it is lame as all hell. 

But. 

What else could she say? 

Hi, Petunia Dursley, the estranged sister of the body that I took. Hello, your sister is dead and gone, sorry to bother you so early.

Her headaches at the thought.

“Wait,” she stares, “Why did you answer the door, alone at four in the morning? Do you know how dangerous that is?”

Petunia lips purse.  Her hands clutch at the door. And Lillian feels that she might slam the door in their faces. 

“You can't be here. It's, as you say, four in the bloody morn-” Petunia starts with a vicious snarl. And then she seems to take in the bandage on Harry's head. Her dust-covered body, Sirius, slouched behind her. Petunia blinked owlishly, “What on earth happened?”

“May we come in? Please? This is urgent?” She asks. 

Petunia peered over her shoulder, lips pursing further at Sirius. Her jaw works, and for a terrible moment, Lillian thinks she is going to slam the door in their faces.  

“Quick. Before the neighbors see.” 

Lillian will take it. Even if Sirius grumbles behind to her. She reaches back and holds onto his shoulder, and tries not to react when he flinches at the gentle contact. Petunia's couch is a crisp, perfect pale blue, she realizes, as she glances into the living room. Lillian holds in a swear. They're filthy, the pair of them. And the couch must be plastic fabric too. The stains would never get out. 

“Wipe your shoes- Lily , you don't have shoes,” Petunia frowns as Sirius gingerly closes the door behind him. 

Lillian blinked. Looks down at her socked feet. 

“Oh. Right. Right. Sorry- Sirius, can you put my socks in your pocket or something? They're filthy.”

“You want me to stuff it in the same pocket as Cat? Bugger is dead asleep. Might wake the thing up.” 

He points, rather dramatically to his long leather coat. Which, she wonders a little desperately, if it’s-

Is that dragon leather?!  

“Is his name really just Cat?” she wonders, and she rubs at the supple, buttery-smooth nature of the coat. Sirius slowly leaned into her curious inspection of the material, his brow furrowed slightly as he looked down at her hand on his shoulder.  

She was not familiar with much leather, as it wasn’t typical for her own personal or professional work. It was notoriously difficult to source ethically, and even then, it was a material that was quite an art beyond her experience. The shop she worked in didn’t do leather work, with, again, specialty exceptions of client orders. And usually, they outsourced those orders to actual leatherworkers. But she owned a vintage leather jacket that she adored. For sheer craftsmanship of the material, and because it had been her Abuela’s. The leather of Sirius’s jacket was incredibly strange. And she realized, the smallest bit of embossed work. 

A constellation. 

Canis Major. As much as Sirius Black disdains the beliefs of his family, something in him remembers something of it all too well.     

“Y-yeah,” says Sirius, blinking at her.

She gives a small smile. 

“How Holly Golightly.”

Petunia snorts.  It causes her to turn back to her, and slowly drop her hand from Sirius’s shoulder. 

“Wait here, I- I have some spare slippers. Do not make a mess of my carpet runner.” 

She left with a sniff. Lillian sighed. 

“Why are we even here, Lils. We can leave-” Sirius hisses, leaning closer to her. 

Lily wasn’t a tall person. She was around Lillian’s own height. Sirius was much taller. 180 centimeters, maybe taller. She wasn’t quite sure. But she did not feel crowded, or intimidated. Just touched by his presence. 

“She's my sister, isn't she? She deserves to know.”

Sirius went quiet. She wonders, grimly, how he had felt when his brother had gone missing. He was dead. Petunia wasn't. And the woman deserved to at least know something of her sister's fate. They may have been estranged, but she thinks of her youth and all the lingering regrets in Petunia. She remembers when she first read the last passage she was in ‘Deathly Hallows’, Lillian had felt so fucking sorry for her . Not because of what she had done to Harry, the swing with the frying pan made her so furious, but because she had been settled with responsibility and danger that had evidentally taken a toll on her. ‘ Deathly Hallows ’ had given a glimpse, of the guilt she had held, and that was years after she had learned to possibly suppress any emotion on the subject.  

I might be the master of the Wand, Lillian thinks, absently. 

Lillian sighs. Not her monkey, not her circus. Dumble dear can deal with that mess. 

“They'll be big,” Petunia scowls, and she tosses a plastic sheet over the coach in an offhand, angry way, “But you won't muck up my house.” 

Lillian takes the black slippers gently and uses Sirius's shoulder to balance herself and slip them on. They were big. Two sizes, Lillian thinks. 

“Thank you-”

“I can shrink them, Lils.”

“You are not doing magic in my sister's home without her permission,” she tells him, sternly. 

He scowls at her. All 70s punk bluster. She shakes her head. She doesn’t know much about Petunia, but she knows that she hated and resented magic. No need to shove her nose in it. 

“Please, Sirius.”

“Fine,” he scowls, and he throws himself over the back of the couch. 

Petunia winces. Lillian realizes that she's got pearls on. A bracelet. To bed . Curlers and pearls seem odd. She's judging, for a moment, until she realizes that Petunia is nervously working the bracelet in circles on her wrist. French tip nails tapping at regular intervals. A nervous gesture?

Lillian gives her a tired smile. 

“I'm sorry. I-”

She falls silent. The space between them suddenly feels like a chasm. She looks at her wary, blue eyes. 

“Tuney. I call-” she swallowed, “I call you Tuney.”

Something tightens in Petunia's everything. 

“You called me that. Don't be stupid, Lily, I have a perfectly fine name. None of that childish nonsense.” 

Lillian swallowed. 

“Oi, don't talk to her that way-” Sirius jolts up, hands fist at his side, around his wand. 

“Don't!” She scowls at Sirius, “Just don't Sirius Black.” 

“She has no idea-”

“Exactly. All she knows is her estranged sister showed up at four in the bloody morning, disheveled, and without shoes, Siru-”

“Did your husband hurt you?” Demanded Petunia. 

Lillian froze. 

Looked back. There was a nervous sort of fury to the young woman. 

“Did he hurt you? Is that why you are here, Lily?” she jabs furiously at Sirius, “  Is that why you’re here, with his Best Man? Did that bastard hurt you? I told you, I told you not to marry off to a man that knew nothing of a normal life!”

Petunia furiously hiss, and Lily swallows. 

“Tuney, there was an attack,” she said, simply, as gently as she could, “My husband is dead. I- I was hurt. I cannot remember much, Tuney- what is it short for?”

Petunia went very very still. Her eyes wide. 

“You- you don't remember my name?” 

She looked at her. Lillian hated at how small her voice was. 

“I remember Tuney.”

Petunia's face- Lillian will remember it first the rest of her life. The quiet, horrible sort of sorrow and affection that seemed to destroy her. 

“You- you gave me a vase,” Lillian struggles for details. For aspects of this very young woman, versus the woman she would become, “I- I think I hated it? Cat knocked it ove-”

“I bought an awful one on purpose,” Petunia confesses. 

Lillian laughed. Spitul, and petty. But it was such a sibling thing to do. 

When she thinks of family, she thinks big. Messy. Unkind at times. But with so much love it hurts to be without it. 

“I think with Magic I could have fixed it. I don't think I did?” 

Petunia burst into tears. 

“W-would you like tea? So I can- So we can sit down and talk?” She cried. 

Lillian swallowed. 

“Please.” 

Chapter Text

Lily's sister had always reminded Sirius of his Mother. The comparison, he is sure, would have infuriated both women. It is a comfort to think of their reaction. The plastic tarp beneath him crinkled at every slight movement, and in his nerves, his leg was jiggling up and down in furious agitation.

Lily placed a hand on his knee, and she looked at him with unknowing brilliant emerald eyes.

“Alright?” She whispered.

Lily had lost her memories. But she had not lost her kindness, nor her tactile nature. It- it helped Sirius more than he would admit. It was really only his friend, Lily the most prominent person who simply reached for him, gently… And James. James who was always so set on gripping his shoulder, of leaning against. His friends who could touch him without causing him to be terribly upset-

I never realized how much I missed that, he thinks, and he quietly mourns James again. Mourns he will never feel that familiar, reassuring weight of James’s holding his shoulder.  

“ ‘m Fine,” he lies. 

“You’re a shit liar,” she tells him, gently. 

He smiles.

“Not really. You’ve always seen through me, got me in right trouble at Hogwarts,” he murmurs. 

She smiles. Gently. Tilts her head to the side.

“Sirius, what on Earth is Hogwarts?”

“Good lord,” Petunia said, carefully placing down a tea tray, with oh, Jammie Dodgers and custard biscuits, “You really don’t remember anything . It was your m-magic school. A finishing school… A-levels and-”

“I only finished the equivalent of A-levels? ” Lily blurted, affronted.

Sirius blinked. He didn’t quite understand. But, it had something to do with her level of education?

“You completed an apprenticeship!”Sirius said, hotly, “You are a certified Charms witch!”

“Well, that’s nice, but what does it mean?”

“You told me that it was the equivalent of a Master's,” Petunia said, and Sirius was shocked by the fact that her voice was gentle, at least at first, “Wizards take A-Levels early, some bird nonsense. Then the lizard tests and things, the equivalent of a bachelor's. You were very clear on that.”

Sirius felt his fists clench at the fact that there was bitterness at the end of her words. That it had chipped away at the gentleness in her voice. She looks at Lily and he cannot unsee the envy there, the very real pain in them. 

“Tuney?”

The woman stopped. Her fingertip, tapping away at her pearl bracelet- it was trembling. 

“I hated that you said you were so educated,” she blurts, blinking quickly, “It made me feel small.”

Lily stared. 

“You started working right after A-Levels. Blasted through your trade-school for secretary work top of your class. You bought your own car before anyone else our age,” Lily replied. She blinked. 

The other woman blinked quickly. 

“You remember the oddest things,” she whispered. Pink colored high in her cheeks. 

Lily looked down, gripped tightly at the bundle of Harry in her arms. 

“I remember being proud of you. And sad I couldn't join such a normal milestone with you.”

Petunia Dursley nee Evans always reminded Sirius of his mother. 

But in that moment her gazing expression staring at her sister- it reminded him of his brother. The last few times he saw him, across the Great Hall before his disappearance. 

“I can teach you how to drive!” Petunia all but begged, “It's a practical skill, Lils, honestly-” 

“That would be great. Thank you, Tuney.”

Petunia beamed. 

And quietly, Sirius wondered if Regulus, who mostly was too much of a coward, or perhaps did truly did agree with the shit that spewed out of his mother's mouth would have- 

Would have reacted so happily to an obvious olive branch? 

Did… did Regulus ever want to be on better terms, as so obviously these two sisters did? 

Where is he? He wondered. 

He did not know.

He cannot remember the last time he heard anything about his brother. 

Chapter Text

They talk for hours.

Petunia Dursley cannot remember the last time she talked so much, she cried so much. Perhaps on the day of her parents’ funeral, she had cried so hard, but all she remembers of the awful day was that Lily hadn’t even looked at her. Let alone spoken to her. Petunia does not think she got half way through her written eulogy, before she had fallen quiet and simply stepped away from the Father, sat in the front row, and said nothing else for the rest of the day, tears pouring down her face as Lily stood up and talked quietly of Daisy and Alan Evans. Part of Petunia had wondered if she blamed Petunia for not contacting her via the chimney nonesense, the day of the accident. Even though it was the quickest, surest way to reach Lily.

But Lily does not remember that. 

Does not connect that petty, horrible action to her. 

Just as Lily doesn’t remember the pity in her pretty face when she tried to explain about the letter sent to her by the Headmaster of hers. Or that the Boy had given Petunia a concussion when he had made the branch fall on her head. No, this Lily is trying to piece together both her own life and learning Petania beyond the barest, strangest memories that live in her.  Petunia Dusrely does not think she has spoken this much to her sister since before that boy threw himself at her. Part of Petunia thinks of him now- how could she not? He was what had caused such strife between her and her sister. He had disappeared from Lily’s life the summer of her fifth year, and Petunia remembers. And he had never darken their doorstep again. 

But the wound between the two of them had never healed, and Petunia will always regret that. Especially as Lily looks at her with such open, kind eyes without years of resentment and hateful actions between the pair of them. 

Petunia talks and talks and talks, and even she doesn’t notice the fact that it is neatly past dawn until a voice interrupts their tenative peace. 

“PETUNIA!” A screech from the depths of the house. 

Somewhere far away, Petunia Dursley heard the wails of her Dudley start up. She jumped. Nearly spilled half her tepid cup of tea down the front of her dressing gown. 

“Oh,” she said, simply, looking up at the ceiling, “I-” 

“PETUNIA!” 

“Your husband?” Lily asked, eyes wide and looking ceiling as well. 

Petunia felt her cheeks color. High, blotchy. Unflattering, her Mother had often lamented. But Lily only looks at her with soft emerald eyes- They’re father’s eyes, she remembers, and it makes something shift in her chest. 

“Yes,” she whispers. Embarrassed. 

Because he’s- he’s yelling again. It must be only five or so in the morning now, and he’s yelling and Dudley and-

My magical sister is in my fucking house, with her very punk, up to no good-looking friend. Dishy as he is. 

This would not be good, nonetheless. 

“I-” she swallows thickly, control yourself, “One moment.”

“Of course, take your time,” Lily says, gently. 

A surge of affection, so vivid, so sharp, nearly has Petunia blubering again. She starts to stand- A door slams. Pounding steps. Despite herself, Petunia flinches.  

“PETUNIA, WHAT IN BLAZES ARE YOU DOING HERE? OUR BOY IS-”

He stops. Midwind. 

Because he sees Lily, sweet, beautiful, perfect Lily, half turned towards the thunderous noise, and he stops.

Because everyone sees Lily and stops.  

“Oh. I- We have company, and-”

Reality seems to catch up with him. It is, after all, very early. 

“What in the blazes are you doing in my home, so early?”

Sirius Black palms his wand. 

Petunia flinches.

Lily does what she has never done before. She carefully places a hand on her friend’s arm to de-escalate the situation.

“You must be Vernon,” she murmurs, after a second, flickering her gaze to Petunia to confirm.

Petunia can only helplessly nod. 

Lily rises, turns with a soft, quizical smile. 

“Hello,” she murmurs, gently, “My name is Lily Potter, and I am your wife’s sister. I don’t believe we’ve met.”

Petunia tenses. Through the clauses of Magic, she had confessed everything to her husband. She showed him her sister’s queer textbooks and a music box she had gifted their parents just before they passed. The music box was in the bouquet of lilies, daisies, and petunias, which would open and close when the box was opened with its key. Despite being nearly six years old at this point, it smelled like her mother’s favored perfume. Charmed that way. It was stashed away in the attic, and she could not bear to throw it away, no matter what Vernon wanted. 

Vernon stared, and then looked at Petunia. His face tightened. 

“Pet?” he told her, strangled. 

“There was… An accident,” she told him, “Lily’s… Well, Lily was hurt, and her husband p-ppased. She was just- We only-”

“You what?! ” he snapped.

And it just got worse from there. Because Lily frowned. 

“Excuse me, I understand you’re not happy, but don’t speak to my sister that way. She’s had a rough morning.”

Petunia felt her stomach clench. 

Because Vernon blinked quickly, he looked at pretty, delicate Lily with her vivid red hair and her quite pretty face like steel. 

“She’s my wife. I can speak to her however I like.”

Petunia flinched. 

“She’s my sister, and no, you can’t. ”

“Lily’s staying!” she blurts, because what else could she say? 

Lily turned. 

“I am?”

“Of course. Your house just blew up.”

She blinked and smiled. And of course, Vernon all but blew up himself. 

Chapter Text

“ You pretend she doesn’t exist ! ” Vernon boomed. 

Lilian frowns. She really doesn’t like how he speaks to Petunia. 

“Well, she does!” Petunia returned, calmly, “And she needs me!”

Lilian keeps her eyes on the man, brows furrowed. She wonders if he would work himself into an ulcer. She can’t really recall many details about him. He was always a bookend plot point in the books. She tries not to think of Harry’s abuse, the physical manhandling, the fact that he starved Harry. His sanctioned bullying via his son… She doesn’t approve of this man, in general terms. Not because of his wish for ‘normalcy,’ whatever the fuck that actually meant. Anyone who can do that to a child in their power was automatically on her shit list. Especially, because unlike Petunia, he had no points of sympathy. His reaction to the unknown had been bigoted, violent. Petunia’s had been spiteful, of course, and just as violent.

The fucking frying pan.

But this man was physically, at least, double Harry’s size for most of his life. The books had implied mostly neglect, but violence had always been with an undertone of that neglect. Anyone who could do that to a child made her wary automatically. 

“So, we haven’t met before?” she asks him, primly, distantly noting that little Dudley was screaming to high heaven. 

He sniffs. Haughty little sound. Her esteem dips just a little more. He does seem to lack a bit of neck, Lilian noted, but again, Rowling’s description of unpleasant people tended to lean on unpleasant. He had the look of a footballer(American) who had gotten on in years. Handsome in the ' I got hit in the face too much', and his mustache was very much Mimai in the 80s. As a child, Lillian had found the unpleasant descriptions funny. As an adult, in retrospect, Lillian did not.

“No!” he snarls, as if the very idea is offensive, “No, we haven’t!”

“Well,” she replies, a little tersely, “My name is Lily Potter, according to everyone I met, I am a witch, a new widow, and have been recently hurt via a megolmanical Wizard, and this is my son, Harry, Mister Dursley.”

She holds out a hand to shake. 

Vernon Dursley does not take it. Looks like it's a snake. Vaguely, she wishes she remembered more spells to try and make that real. Because.

Rude. Her esteem dips more. Especially because he turns to Petunia with a frown.

“Petunia, I don’t want her here. In my home.”

Both spouses fall into quick bickering. Lilian watches it as it goes, frowning. 

“We could always stay at my flat,” Sirius mutters, eyes narrowed at Vernon, who had turned that infamous color of Puce.    

“It’s an olive branch. And besides that, people will expect me to be bunking with you.”

“... Your memory may be gone, but you’re still the smartest person I’ve known. My worry is protection-”

“You can do some make-shift, whatcha call it, wards, right?”

“Yeah. Can make do in a pinch.”

She pats Sirius’s arm.

“Lovely. At least until I can get a home- Oh my god, I’m homeless. I’m a widowed, single mother, and I’m homeless . ”

Overwhelming and freaky, let alone the whole ‘jumped universe’ thing.  God, her head hurt. Sirius pressed against her. 

“You are not homeless. Just… Displaced from a place to live.”

“Sirius, honey, that’s homeless.”

“...Oh.”

Chapter Text

Somehow, a tentative peace. 

Petunia doesn't expect it to last. She makes breakfast, full English, and prays that this won’t be another fight until Vernon leaves for work. Vernon- Vernon is a particular man. He likes his … Well, his peace. His normalcy. She understands that. It was one of the things that had attracted her to him. 

“Oh, sweetheart,” Lily murmurs, as Dudley wails, “It looks like he's teething something awful. That's why you're so upset.”

She gives her son an ice cube, and her boy, who has just learn the word ‘won’t’, sniffles as he gnaws at the ice desperately. All but shoving it into the back of his mouth. Petunia. Petunia hadn't known. She feels as if someone had punched her in the stomach. 

“He's teething?” She asks, tentative. 

Is that why he loves ice cream so much?

“Yes. It's his back teeth. No wonder he's so fussy.” 

Petunia feels as if she swallowed a lemon. Lily fusses over Dudley, naturally, her little boy on her hip. 

“Don't you think you should make yourself presentable?” Vernon says sharply.

And Petunia is unsure if he means Lily or Sirius. Pajamas. Leather . The younger man stares at her husband, his sharp, handsome jaw working. 

“I beg your pardon?” Lily sips her coffee before seamlessly switching to spoon-feeding her boy some small bits of egg.

Little Harry eats it with no complaint, humming with happiness. Vernon does as he always does when a pretty woman speaks to him. He puffs up, voice taking on a sort of authoritative light as he looks down at her.

“ Presentable. I don't know about… Your lot, but isn't it normal for a woman to make herself presentable when in company?”

Sirius Black takes offense. His hand dropped to where he had stashed his wand. Petunia winces.

“She’s eating breakfast, for Merlin’s sake,” Sirius snarls, “We’ve been up since midnight. Whatever for would she be presentable?”

Vernon frowned. 

“Now see here, in my home-”

“No, you don’t get to demand a woman who just lost everything put her bloody face on you, psychopath."

“I will not-”

It was gonna turn into a proper row. Petunia gripped her pearls, making sure to tap each pearl exactly three times, as she moved them around her wrist. Lily slammed her hands on the table, rattling Petunia’s everyday china. Petunia winced. Both men stopped and turned to her. 

“Excuse me,” her voice was calm, even, “We can discuss any rules of this house after Sirius and I have had time to have a bath, and some sleep. Mr. Dursley, I wish to finish my breakfast, and you wish to finish yours, before you leave for your employment, correct?”

Vernon stared.

Lily looked at him, her vivid emerald eyes narrowing.

“You have your employment, and I am tired, sir. So please eat your beans and toast and go to work.”

“I- Well. In my own home-”

“Can I hex him?” snarled Sirus. 

Lily placed a gentle hand on the man’s shoulder. 

“Don’t commit assault.”

“ ... You did. ”

“Dumbledore had it coming.”

“I mean, yes, but so,” he jerks his thumb at Vernon, “Does this guy.”

“Please don’t, eat your own beans and toast.”

“... I hate beans and toast.”

“ Padfoot. ”

The men ate their beans and toast. 

Chapter Text

Lillian tries not to freak out. Because here she is, mother of Harry Potter, and-

Does she have fucking Tom Riddle's soul attached to her?

Bile rises in her throat. She touches at the scar between Lily Potter's breasts. The scar she had missed underneath her nightdress and sweater. The movements of the curse that had pointed at her son. Dumbledore, in his theory, had mentioned that the soul had attached itself to the nearest living soul.  

But-

Was she alive when Tom fucking turned his yew wand to my baby?

The possessive startled her. The sheer disgust in her- She could barely contain the urge to scream. She instead hunches, crouches in the shower, spray beating across her bare back. And quietly, so no one can know, Lillian rocks back and forth to soothe herself as she follows the path of her new wound. Lichtenberg figures, scars going out from the center of her chest, following Adava Kadabra's path. If she must step in front of Voldemort’s wand to get rid of his soul-She does not know if she can. She is no savior. No chosen one. She is no equal marked by the not!Nazi.

She's- 

She's just a normal person. She's homeless. She has a dependent. Yes, she has financial stability, but she also inhabits a body with magic. In a world that would want to kill her dependent when he was just eleven years old. 

Quietly, Lilian weeps.  

Chapter Text

Lily cried in the shower. 

That much, Sirius can see when she walks into the spare bedroom of Number 4. Unless she had gotten what’s it called, shampoo? In her eyes, she had cried. 

James, if I could trade places with you, I would, he thinks, wretched and fighting back his own tears. 

“Is that a cot new?” She murmurs, blinking at the small transfigured dresser. 

Sirius winced.  

“Well, they don't have another bed- Sorry. I know you said not to do magic-”

“... Can you just-” she shudders, and her voice grows very, very small, “Can you just share the bed with me?”

He stares at her. Stares at her red-lined eyes. The hurt and fear in them. 

“Y-Yeah,” he returned gently, “Suppose I can.”

“Thank you.”

He transfigures the dresser back. She smiles, wane and small and so fragile his throat closes. She slips into the bed and opens her arms for Harry. He gently leaves her sleeping son in her waiting arms. 

“Just be a second.”

“Take your time.”

He takes the quickest shower he can. Rushes back with a wand to his head to dry his hair. Lily is still awake, running a hand down Harry’s back. 

She’s singing Octopus Garden.  

Sirius slips into bed after a second of hesitation. It’s not the first time he’s shared a bed with Lily Potter. Marauders had never been for personal space. The second she had seen James had taken his head out of his arse, Lily had accepted all of their friendship easily. She lays her head against his chest. Sirius pulls her to him. 

Quietly, Sirius cannot help it. 

He cries. 

And cries.

As quietly as he can. 

After a moment, Lily reaches for his hand. Holds it. 

She starts up Octopus Garden again.

Sirius Black keeps crying until he’s asleep.