The Lament of Flowers

"Not Harry, not Harry, please, I'll do anything -"

"Stand aside, you silly girl...stand aside, now."

"No, not Harry, please not Harry, take me, kill me instead-"

"Stand aside, girl! Stand aside, now!"

"Not Harry, please...have mercy, have mercy..."

"Stupefy!"

_

Lily stands in a world painted red.

The house is a smouldering, broken wreck. It is the same house that Harry would ride his toy broomstick through, squealing with laughter. It is the same house where she would cook breakfast for James, and where he would smile upon biting into her homemade cauldron cakes and say, "Oh, you did it again, Lily-flower.", and Lily would blush, and then Harry would inevitably ruin the moment by mashing eggs on the wall. 

It is the same house Albus Dumbledore first came to when he informed them of the prophecy - the one that would change their lives, even if they didn't know it at the time. Back then, when Lily and James were new parents, still bright and unwavering and unprepared for the harshness of the real world, it had seemed a dream. Power to vanquish the Dark Lord...

And their Harry, a hero. And the world, safe.

Of course they had been worried. How could they not have been? But reality had not set in. They heard end the war from Albus's lips, and that was that. It had been a beautiful thing, their hope. No more hiding. No more Daily Prophet articles reporting odd disappearances or mutilated bodies.

Then they went into hiding, and it wasn't quite so much of a dream any longer. Still, Lily had James, and James had Harry, and they all had each other, and the outside world was a far-away thing.

Lily remembers Sybil Trelawney from school. She had been four years above them, a bug-eyed slip of a girl always spouting off some nonsense she called "predictions".

Still. Albus was certain. And so they were certain too, unwavering in their belief that the war is going to end.

They were such fools.

It is the same house they put under the Fidelius Charm, certain that this would hide them, certain that Peter would never betray them, Peter was too weak-

The lower floor is still on fire.

There is a Dark Mark swirling through the sky. Lily can see it clearly, as there is no longer any roof.

She stands upon rubble, her hands on the rails of her baby's crib. Inside, Harry's broken body is splayed upon the mattress, cheeks lifeless and pale, eyes unseeing.

Dead. Gone. And it's her baby, her Harry, and he was supposed to be safe -

Safe. Safe. Safe.

The corpse on the bed doesn't look "safe" to her. But Albus Dumbledore promised, and Albus knows everything, so why does her baby look so broken? 

Lily isn't crying, though. Or maybe she is. Maybe she just can't tell.

Harry isn't dead, is he? Harry is too young, and she said it, she said she'd give her life for him, that should have triggered the circle of Dark runes she wrote on the floor, all those months ago -

Only, Lord Voldemort hadn't said Avada Kedavra. He had said Stupefy.

And then Lily fell, and there was green light, and her baby was going limp -