Lily stared at her cramped little desk, fingers resting idle on the stack of paperwork in front of her. She couldn't concentrate. Her thoughts kept drifting back to the morning she'd just spent with Harry—her sweet, awkward, endlessly curious son. It had been one of those rare mornings where everything felt… right. Sunlight warming their faces as they walked side by side through the quiet streets. Harry had cracked silly jokes, talked about his latest obsession at school, and even linked his arm with hers at one point. That small gesture had made her heart swell.
It was the first time in a long while she'd felt truly alive. Ever since James died, she'd been moving through life in fragments—tired, dim, and worn thin. But this morning? She'd remembered what joy felt like. What hope could taste like.
A soft knock pulled her back to the present.
Arthur stuck his head through the door, his usual crooked smile in place. "So," he said, stepping fully into the room, "how was your morning with your boy?"
Lily's face lit up. "It was really nice, actually. We've never just walked like that before. Not like that. I don't know how we let so much time pass without something so simple."
Arthur leaned against the doorframe, arms folded, nodding as if this confirmed something he'd long suspected. "Sounds like it did you both good. You look lighter today." Then he grinned. "Excited for the Hogwarts assembly tonight? Got any surprise gifts stashed away for your star pupil?"
The smile faded from Lily's lips. A furrow crept into her brow. "Oh no… I didn't forget again, did I?"
Arthur tilted his head, mock-shocked. "Lily Evans, forgetting twice in a row? That'd be impressive, even for you."
She sighed, rubbing her temples. "I definitely forgot it yesterday. But today? I don't know. Everything feels… off. Like my brain's wrapped in fog."
He stepped closer, concern flickering beneath his teasing. "You alright?"
"I don't know," she murmured. "I feel like my mind is running, but I'm not getting anywhere. There's this… buzzing. And the weirdest part is everything feels familiar, but not in a normal way. Like I'm repeating something I already lived."
Arthur squinted at her. "Déjà vu?"
"Sort of, but deeper. Like I dreamed it all before, and now it's happening again." She paused. "Does that sound ridiculous?"
Arthur shrugged. "Not really. I mean, dreams can be strange little mirrors."
Lily stared at him. "Wait. Are you wearing the same shirt you wore yesterday?"
He looked down at his chest, mildly horrified. "Merlin's socks, I think I am." Then he muttered, "That's the third time this month."
She laughed softly, grateful for the break in the tension. "Well, I guess you're just keeping the universe in balance. If I keep forgetting time, someone has to forget laundry."
"I'm always happy to take one for the team," he said with a wink.
But Lily's smile faltered again. Her thoughts tugged her back to that quiet, unsettling feeling. "Arthur, can I ask you something? Properly?"
He nodded, sensing the shift. "Go on."
"Have you ever had a dream that… blends into the real world? Like the next day feels shaped by it? I keep getting this sense that something's about to change. Like I'm standing on the edge of something important, and I'm not ready."
Arthur's teasing dropped away completely now. "Actually, yes. More than once. Dreams are… strange things. Sometimes, I think they know more than we do."
"You think I should listen to it?"
"I think you already are," he said. "The fact that you're asking means something."
Lily glanced at the clock and startled. "Oh no—I really am going to be late."
Arthur gestured toward the door with dramatic flair. "Then go, noble mother. The hour of destiny awaits. Or at least, the sorting ceremony."
She chuckled, gathering her things. "Thanks, Arthur. For the distraction. And the wisdom. And the laugh."
"Anytime. Now go make Harry proud. And if you have another one of those dreams, maybe write it down. Could be worth remembering."
As she rushed out the door, Lily couldn't shake the feeling that something was coming. Something real. Something important.
And maybe she was finally ready to face it.
Lily's heart pounded as she stepped into the meeting room, her palms damp against the folder clutched tightly in her hand. Her eyes darted to the door—then to the clock—then back again. Tick. Tick. Each second slammed into her chest like a fist. She tried to steady her breathing, but her thoughts were already spiralling. Today was supposed to matter. The Chief Auror was reviewing her research. Weeks of work. Careful preparation. Long nights and missed meals. And yet, none of that felt real compared to the heaviness sitting in her gut.
Something's wrong. Something's going to go wrong.
She swallowed hard, trying to shove the thought down, trying to believe her own voice when she told herself she was just being paranoid. But the last conversation with Harry still echoed in her ears—sharp words, raised voices, his face twisted in something she couldn't name.
It had left a crack in her. And now that crack was yawning open.
Lily shifted uncomfortably as she took a seat at the far end of the table. The Chief Auror was already there, shuffling through parchments, speaking quietly with two other staffers. A few others nodded politely at her, but their eyes lingered just a second too long. Could they see it? The panic crawling just beneath her skin?
She forced a tight smile and nodded back. Sit still. Focus. You've done this before. It's just a presentation.
She tried to steady her nerves, reaching for the familiar weight of her briefcase. Her fingers brushed the blue folder—and then the door creaked open.
Lily froze.
Her pulse spiked so fast it felt like her body might give out. Panic seized her, and before she could stop herself, the words tumbled out of her mouth like a shot—
"I knew it! I knew you'd be here!"
Her voice cracked like lightning across the room.
She looked up—
And her breath caught.
It wasn't Harry.
It was just an Auror. Young, clean-cut, holding a coffee cup and a confused frown. He paused in the doorway, blinking like he'd walked into the wrong room.
Silence fell.
Lily felt heat flood her face, her stomach twisting. Everyone stared.
The Chief Auror raised a brow. The woman beside him exchanged a glance with the older man across the table. Someone coughed.
"Oh," Lily stammered, straightening so fast her chair nearly tipped. "Sorry—I… I thought you were someone else."
The Auror chuckled awkwardly. "No problem. Happens, I guess."
Lily nodded stiffly and dropped into her seat. Her hands were shaking. She forced them still, gripping the folder like it could tether her to the moment.
Get it together. Just keep going. Just—breathe.
The Chief Auror cleared his throat. "Shall we begin?"
Murmurs of agreement filled the space, and Lily managed a nod. The folder opened with a soft rustle, and she kept her eyes locked to the paper. The words blurred.
Think about the project. Think about the stats. Think about anything but that damn door.
Still, every creak of a chair and every footstep in the corridor sent a jolt through her spine.
What if he still comes? What if he's just waiting? What if he storms in halfway through—throws everything off the rails, again?
"…Ms. Evans?"
Lily blinked.
The Chief Auror was looking at her expectantly.
"Your assessment on the spell-tracking anomalies?" he prompted.
"Oh—yes," she said quickly, flipping a page with fumbling fingers. "So the layered detection charm we applied to the border was meant to isolate cross-jurisdictional spellwork. The jump in false positives last week—uh—it wasn't a failure. It actually confirmed the presence of an illegal masking charm. Meaning someone tampered with the data stream deliberately."
There was a pause. Then a few heads nodded, murmuring in interest.
Lily let out a breath.
Good. That was good. Just keep going.
But then she heard it again—another sound by the door. A soft thump. Her heart lurched.
She didn't look. Couldn't.
The Chief Auror kept speaking, but his voice sounded distant.
Would he come in? Would he keep talking in front of everyone like he did? Would he pretend nothing had happened? Would he—
Her throat tightened. She pressed her nails into her palm beneath the table.
He's not coming. He's not here. You're safe. For now.
The meeting dragged on. Lily offered answers when needed, but she felt like she was underwater, struggling to stay afloat. Each minute that passed without Harry appearing brought a sliver of relief—and a wave of guilt.
Was she overreacting? Misreading everything?
But her instincts had never failed her before.
So why, even as the meeting drew to a close and Harry remained absent, did she still feel like something was about to go horribly, horribly wrong?
Lily stared blankly at the stacks of parchment scattered across her desk.
She inhaled deeply, trying—and failing—to push the earlier meeting from her mind. The shouting. The pounding headache. Her voice rising against her will. It had all spiralled so fast. One moment she was presenting facts; the next, panic had choked her. Her own fear still echoed in her ears like an aftershock.
What was wrong with her? She was usually composed. Steady. But today… it had felt like something was cracking open from the inside.
A soft knock pulled her from her thoughts.
Arthur peeked in. His hopeful voice broke the tension in the room. "Did you get the approval, then?"
Lily blinked, disoriented for a heartbeat, then nodded. "Yes." And then, absurdly, she started giggling. She clamped a hand over her mouth, unable to stop the sound. It wasn't joy, not really—more like pressure releasing in the strangest way. She felt jittery and breathless, like she'd been running for miles and only now realised she hadn't moved an inch.
Arthur stepped in, eyebrows raised. "What's so funny?"
She shook her head quickly. She didn't know how to explain it. The laughter wasn't funny. It was nerves, tension, and something too strange to name. She couldn't tell him that, not yet. Not when she didn't understand it herself.
Arthur tilted his head. "Come on, what is it?"
Lily sighed, giving in. "Remember that weird dream I told you about? From last night? The one I couldn't explain?" Her voice dropped a little. "Today… it felt just like that."
Arthur's brow furrowed. "You mean—like you went back in time or something?"
She let out another shaky laugh. "No Time-Turner involved. Just… everything felt familiar. Too familiar. Like I'd already lived it."
Arthur scratched his head. "That's… odd. No wonder you were grilling me about dreams earlier."
Before she could answer, the image hit her again—so fast and brutally it took her breath away.
Harry. Bloodied. In her arms.
The phantom memory twisted her stomach. She swallowed hard, blinking it away, but the dread stuck fast like tar. "I couldn't stop thinking about it," she whispered, barely aware she'd spoken aloud. "Harry said it felt like déjà vu."
Arthur's tone softened, his concern obvious. "Lily? What's wrong?"
She pasted on a smile, the kind she'd worn since the war, since the sleepless nights with baby Harry. "Nothing," she lied without hesitation. "Why are you here anyway?"
Arthur didn't push. "It's about the silver dagger—"
"The one with rune markings that can kill in a single stab?" She interrupted, a nervous chuckle slipping out before she could stop it. Even saying it aloud sent a cold prickling across her skin, like the blade was already close.
Arthur chuckled, missing the edge in her voice. "Yeah, that one. Sounds like someone finally read the report."
Her smile faltered. Her gaze dropped to the parchments on her desk—pages heavy with information, heavier with the responsibility of what it all meant. "I just…"
Arthur's voice cut gently through her fog. "Lily?"
She straightened abruptly. "Yes! I did my assignment." Her tone was too bright, too forced, but Arthur didn't comment. "And before tonight's assembly, I want to talk to Professor Dumbledore about it."
"You think he might know something?"
"I don't know," she admitted. "But I can't shake the feeling. Like we're missing something. And if anyone sees the bigger picture, it's him."
Arthur looked doubtful, but Lily didn't care. She trusted her instincts more than ever now—especially when they screamed at her like this. There was something urgent tugging at her chest. A thread she had to follow, even if it unravelled everything.
Arthur leaned forward, enthusiasm returning to his voice. "Well, I might know a place that could offer some clues—if you're still interested."
She watched as he reached for a quill, knocking over a few stacks of papers in the process. Her stomach tensed. He was always clumsy, but right now, the smallest accident felt unbearable.
He grabbed the nearest ink bottle and dipped the quill.
"It's empty!" Lily said quickly, snatching it from his hand. The urgency in her voice surprised even her. She tucked it away in a drawer and handed him a full one, masking her nerves with a smile. Her hand shook slightly as she set it down.
Everything felt fragile today. Too many little things were going wrong. Too many signs she couldn't ignore.
"I prefer self-inking quills," she mumbled, trying to sound casual. "Less mess."
Arthur just grinned and shrugged, uncaring, and lifted the new bottle.
Too fast.
The bottle tipped.
Black ink spilt like a miniature flood across the table, soaking into notes and trickling between stacks of books.
"Blimey!" Arthur jumped back.
Lily's heart sank.
Of course it spilt. Of course.
She pressed her lips together, swallowing a curse. "It's fine," she said tightly, grabbing her wand. But her hands paused mid-air as she stared at the dark liquid spreading in thick, chaotic lines.
It reminded her of blood. Of Harry.
The ink bled between the pages like a warning. Like a sign.
Arthur apologised, reaching to help, but Lily barely noticed. Her mind was spinning again.
What if they didn't find the clues? What if they were already too late? What if that dream wasn't a dream?
Her glasses—they had to be the key. She could feel it, like a pulse just beneath the surface of her thoughts. Everything connected to them. The flickers of déjà vu. The shadows in her dreams. Harry.
Her hands tightened on her wand. She had to act. She had to find Professor Dumbledore. Before the feeling in her chest grew too loud to ignore. Before the future she feared became the present she couldn't escape.
Lily slammed the button for the ground floor, her fingers trembling. The lift doors creaked shut, and the descent began, but it felt agonisingly slow. Her heart pounded against her ribs like it was trying to break free.
Come on. Hurry. Please.
She stared at the flickering light above the doors, her breath catching each time it dimmed. The air inside the lift felt thinner today—closer. Claustrophobic.
This wasn't how the day was supposed to end. Then again, nothing was supposed to happen the way it did yesterday either.
If it even was yesterday.
She didn't know anymore.
All she knew was the dagger. That damned dagger. It had slithered into her life like a whisper, and now it wouldn't let go. She couldn't concentrate. Could barely think. And every time she closed her eyes, she saw blood. Harry's blood. Her baby boy, gasping in the street while she screamed and screamed and no one came.
She pressed her back against the wall, trying to steady her breathing—but her thoughts spun, spiralling down like the lift itself. She should be focused on research, on finding answers, but all she could see was his body crumpling, her hands stained red, and time folding in on itself like a cruel joke.
Then the doors opened—and there he was.
The same old man. The same black suit, same dusty fedora, same tired eyes that looked like they'd seen centuries.
Her stomach dropped.
No. No, no, no.
"You've got to be kidding me," she breathed. The words barely escaped her mouth. She gripped the railing behind her like it could anchor her to reality.
The man tilted his head. "Pardon?"
Lily's throat clenched. "You were here yesterday." Her voice cracked, louder now, sharper. "We talked. You said things… you knew things."
The man smiled, soft and unreadable. "That's possible. At my age, I know many things."
He said it the exact same way. Word for word.
She staggered forward, panic rising like bile. "No. You said that too. This can't be happening. This isn't real. This is—this is wrong."
Her breathing quickened. Her chest ached.
"If you're here again, if this is repeating—then that means—" Her voice broke. She could feel the terror building, a horrible truth blooming inside her like poison. "Then he's going to die again."
Her legs nearly gave out. She braced herself, fists clenched, shaking all over.
"Harry walks out. Hogsmeade. He turns the corner. There's a scream. Blood. And then—and then—" Her voice gave out, completely. She couldn't say it again. She wouldn't. It hurt too much. It was too much.
She stared at the old man, eyes wild. "Will it happen again? Is this a loop? Am I stuck? Are we all stuck?"
He didn't answer. Of course he didn't. He just looked at her, calm and unreadable, while she unravelled.
Her thoughts raced.
What if I don't let him leave the house? What if we stay in? What if I take him far, far away? Maybe the dagger only finds him in Hogsmeade. Maybe this day only ends in blood if I let it.
"What if I keep him inside?" She said, more to herself than to him. "What if I never let him leave my sight again?"
Her voice was rising, teetering toward hysteria. "I'll lock every door. I'll take him to the middle of nowhere. I'll burn the damn dagger if I have to—"
"Tell me what to do!" she screamed suddenly, whirling on the old man. "Tell me! I'll do anything. I'll break time, I'll rip the sky open, I'll give up my magic, just—tell me how to stop this!"
Silence.
The lift shuddered and stopped. The old man adjusted his coat and gave a small, polite nod. "This is my floor."
She wanted to scream. Grab him. Shake the answers out of him.
As he stepped out, he paused—just once—and turned.
His eyes locked on hers, and the smile was gone.
"Cherish him," he said quietly. "Just love him."
The doors slid shut before she could speak.
Lily stood frozen, her whole body shaking. Her mind was racing so fast it hurt. Her hands clutched at her chest, as though trying to hold her heart in place.
Just love him.
What kind of advice was that? What good was love when time was a noose tightening around their necks?
But something in his voice had cut deep. Final. Like it was the only truth she had left.
Tears blurred her vision as she whispered, "I'm trying. I am."
The lift began moving again, but Lily couldn't tell if she was going down—or just sinking deeper into the nightmare.
She had to stop this. She would stop this.
Even if it broke her.
Lily's heart pounded as the lift doors slid open and she bolted out, barely registering the blur of people swarming the Ministry's Atrium. Laughter, footsteps, voices—they all bled into one meaningless noise. None of it mattered. Not now. All she could think of was Harry.
Please be home. Please be safe.
She didn't remember how she got through the Floo or how she unlocked the front door—only that it creaked too slowly for her frantic hands. The moment she stepped inside their flat, the stillness hit her like a punch.
"Harry?" she called out, her voice high, tight.
No answer.
Her stomach dropped.
The warmth of home, once comforting, now pressed down on her like a weight. She moved from room to room, panic creeping in as each one stood empty. Her breath caught in her throat. Where are you? Why aren't you here?
She ran upstairs, the old steps groaning beneath her. Every creak felt like a countdown, like time slipping out of her reach.
His room smelt like him—books, parchment, that faint mix of old quills and peppermint toothpaste. For a second, her chest ached with tenderness. Then her eyes landed on the note on his desk.
A letter. Open. Left behind.
Her hands shook as she picked it up. She recognised Ron's handwriting immediately—hurried, uneven.
Her eyes scanned the words. A joke shop.
Weasley's Wizard Wheezes.
Of course. That ridiculous, wonderful place. Harry had talked about it non-stop since Ron and the twins first described it. A store full of tricks, laughter, and mayhem.
She didn't stop to think. She bolted back down the stairs, barely hearing her own footsteps. A second later, with a loud crack, she Disapparated.
The noise of Diagon Alley slammed into her. Owls hooted overhead. Children shrieked with joy. A cauldron somewhere exploded. None of it mattered. Her eyes darted from shop to shop, her breathing shallow.
Focus, Lily. Find him. Find your son.
She walked fast—almost ran—pushing past clusters of chatting witches, weaving through robes and broomsticks and the familiar blur of magical life. She barely registered the smell of roasted pumpkin or the sparkle of spell-laced window displays.
Stay sharp. Don't lose him again.
As she passed Ollivanders, her heart twisted. She remembered Harry standing right there, wand in hand, eyes wide with wonder. She remembered her own first wand too, the excitement of it all.
But that memory felt like it belonged to another life. One where things were still safe.
Now, everything felt wrong.
Something was off—she'd felt it. The strange vision or dream. That moment yesterday where time skipped, like a page torn out of a book.
And now he was gone.
Please, let me be wrong.
She turned the corner and spotted him.
That messy hair. That walk. It was him. Disappearing into the shop.
Weasley's Wizard Wheezes.
Relief hit her, fierce and hot—but it didn't last.
Why didn't you tell me you were going? What if something's happening to you—something bigger?
She pushed through the door. Bells jingled. The shop exploded in light and noise—walls lined with rainbow potions, enchanted fireworks crackling above the shelves. Customers laughed. Spells fizzed in the air.
It should've been a place of joy.
But today, to Lily, it felt like a trap.
She stepped inside slowly, her breath quickening. Every sound was too loud. Every burst of laughter felt like it was mocking her. She glanced around, heart in her throat, eyes scanning every face.
Where are you? Where did you go?
The colours hurt her eyes. The crowd pressed in.
And under it all, her fear returned—cold, heavy, unshakeable.
Something was wrong.
She could feel it.
Like the air had shifted and no one else noticed.
Like she was the only one awake in a dream that was starting to twist into a nightmare.
As Lily wove through a group of giggling witches gathered around a garish "Love Potions" sign, her nerves frayed further. The noise, the lights, the smell of too many sweets and perfumes—it was all too much. She was barely holding it together. Please, just let me find him.
Then—finally—there he was.
Ron stood among piles of joke products, looking flushed and a little dishevelled, but unmistakably at home. Relief surged through her like a wave too strong to stand against.
"Ron!" she called out, her voice sharper than she meant it to be. Her chest tightened as he turned toward her.
"Mrs. Potter!" Ron grinned, brushing sweat from his brow. His genuine warmth only made her heart ache more.
"Have you seen my son?" she asked quickly, eyes darting past him, scanning the cluttered shop like he might vanish again.
Ron blinked, startled, then turned and pointed. "There he is—at the back!"
"Thank you." The words rushed out, and she was already moving.
The noise around her dulled into a meaningless hum. Her pulse pounded in her ears. The seconds stretched unnaturally as she pushed past students and shelves, hands slightly trembling, trying to breathe evenly.
Please let him be real.
When she reached him, she paused—just for a heartbeat—afraid that if she spoke, he might disappear.
Then she reached out and tapped his shoulder.
He turned.
Surprise flashed in his eyes, then something brighter. "Mum?"
His smile—so open, so like James's—undid her.
"Harry," she whispered, pulling him into a hug before he could ask anything else. Her arms clung tightly to him. She didn't care who saw. He was solid, warm, and alive. He's here. He's safe. For now.
"What are you doing here?" Harry asked, pulling back just enough to look at her. His voice was light, but she heard the confusion in it, the worry just beneath the surface.
Before she could answer, Ron reappeared, arms full of dangerously leaning boxes.
"Uh—everything okay?" he asked, clearly sensing something had shifted.
Lily straightened. Her thoughts snapped back into focus. No time. No explanations. Just move.
"Ron, I need to take Harry. Right now."
Ron blinked, trying to balance a box under his chin. "Uh… sure, Mrs. Potter." He looked at Harry, then back at her, clearly sensing the edge in her tone.
Harry turned toward her, alarm beginning to creep in. "Mum? What's going on?"
She looked over her shoulder as if someone might be watching them, then leaned in. Her voice dropped, low and tight. "It's happening again. Yesterday, today… it's all starting to blend together. I don't know how or why—but something is wrong. We need to leave. London's not safe."
"Leave London?" Harry echoed, brows drawing together. "Mum—what are you talking about?"
Lily's hands tightened around his arms. She felt his tension, his resistance—but she couldn't stop now.
"I don't have time to explain. Not here. But something's coming. I can feel it, Harry. We need somewhere quiet—somewhere safe. Just until I figure this out."
Harry looked at Ron, as if hoping he'd chime in with some rational explanation. Something to ground him. Instead, Ron just gave a small shrug and stacked another box.
"She's serious, mate," he said. "You should probably go."
Harry turned back to her. "But I have the school assembly tonight…"
"I'll make sure you're back in time. I promise," Lily said, her voice firm despite the ache in her chest. "Just come with me."
He hesitated, and for one terrible second, she thought he'd say no. That he'd pull away and vanish into the haze of this broken day like a dream slipping from her fingers.
But then he nodded.
She took his hand immediately, holding it tight like a lifeline, and began steering him toward the front of the shop.
She barely heard the laughter anymore. Everything felt muffled—off. Like the world was out of sync and only she could feel the tremors beneath her feet.
Something's wrong. Something's very wrong.
And she needed to protect her son before it was too late.