The storm hadn't yet broken, but Lily Potter could feel it gathering.
The air around the Potter Cottage in Godric's Hollow was unusually still. The sky, though clear, had a charge to it—as though the world itself was holding its breath. Inside, the scent of honey tea and old wood filled the sitting room, but the atmosphere was anything but cozy.
Albus Dumbledore sat in the armchair by the fireplace, his hands steepled together, and his face more grave than Lily had ever seen it.
Two days ago, he had arrived unannounced, bearing a prophecy that, until now, she had chosen to ignore.
Lily sat across from him, arms folded tightly over her chest. She had always been skeptical of Divination—an imprecise art at best, and utter nonsense at worst. Crystal balls, tea leaves, and vague pronouncements were not things she placed her trust in.
"I don't believe in prophecies," she said flatly, staring at Dumbledore. "You know that."
Dumbledore nodded slowly. "Yes, Lily. You've made that clear over the years. But it is not your belief that matters. It is Voldemort's."
In the corner, James Potter leaned against the mantle, his brow furrowed, eyes fixed on the floor. Harry was asleep upstairs, unaware of the darkness gathering around his world.
"Tell her again, Albus," James said quietly.
Dumbledore reached into his cloak and pulled out a small vial. He held it up between two fingers. The swirling silver mist within it glowed faintly in the low light.
"This memory," he said, "was given to me by Professor Trelawney, our new Divination teacher. The prophecy came to her unbidden while she was interviewing for the position."
Lily's jaw tightened. "And she wasn't under Veritaserum? She wasn't pressured? What if she was just… putting on a show?"
Dumbledore placed the vial carefully on the coffee table. "I have no reason to believe it was deception. And the words she spoke were recorded exactly."
He flicked his wand toward the Pensieve he had brought with him, and the memory unraveled into the air, echoing through the room in a voice not quite human, not quite earthly.
"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies... and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not…"
The room fell silent. Lily looked at James, then back at Dumbledore.
"Harry," she whispered. "Or Neville."
James nodded. "We've defied Voldemort three times already. And so have the Longbottoms."
Lily stood and paced the floor. "So he's going to kill children now? Babies? That's his great answer to the future?"
Dumbledore did not answer.
"And what does this 'power' mean?" she pressed. "How can a child have a power Voldemort knows nothing about?"
"That," Dumbledore said slowly, "remains to be seen. But I believe it is connected to the child's nature. To the choices he—or his parents—might yet make."
Lily turned, her voice rising. "So our choices could doom him?"
"No," Dumbledore said gently. "But they might save him."
She sank onto the sofa, rubbing her temple.
"I didn't sign up to raise a soldier," she murmured.
"You're not raising a soldier," James said, kneeling beside her. "You're raising our son."
She looked at him, eyes brimming.
"But if Voldemort believes this prophecy, he won't care about the details. He'll act."
"And he already has," Dumbledore said grimly. "There are whispers. My spy in his rank brought word that Voldemort is investigating families who recently had children. Those born in late July. But he has not chosen yet."
"So what do we do?" James asked.
"I've arranged protections," said Dumbledore. "But they may not be enough. I must urge you to prepare yourselves for the worst. The Fidelius Charm may be necessary."
The sun dipped lower on the horizon, casting the Potter Cottage in a golden hue. From the outside, the house looked quiet and serene—a cozy home tucked into the quaint wizarding village of Godric's Hollow. But inside, war was already being waged. Not with wands, but with wards. With ancient texts, whispering spells, and a mother's unrelenting resolve.
Lily Potter stood in the drawing room, wand raised, the air around her humming with restrained power.
The Fidelius Charm was notorious among even the most experienced of witches and wizards. Complicated, fickle, and dangerously binding. But Lily was no ordinary witch. She had always excelled at Charms—Professor Flitwick once said she had a talent he hadn't seen in decades. And now, she was calling on every bit of that talent.
A shimmer of light burst from her wand like the wings of a phoenix. The room held its breath.
Then, silence.
James, watching from the corner with Sirius Black beside him, let out the breath he hadn't realized he was holding.
"You did it," Sirius whispered.
Lily lowered her wand, sweat beading on her brow. Her green eyes glinted with steely pride. "Of course I did."
The parchment lay on the table, the final seal glowing faintly. It bore the name of the Secret Keeper: Peter Pettigrew.
"It's done," Lily said. "Peter is our Secret Keeper now."
James moved toward her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. "You're incredible."
But Sirius's face was solemn.
"I don't like lying to Remus," he muttered. "Or anyone. But this is the only way."
Lily nodded. "If Voldemort thinks you're the Secret Keeper, you'll be the target. All the attacks will come to you."
"Exactly," Sirius said, flashing a half-grin. "Let the snake come slitherin' after me."
"But when someone must be told the secret," Lily said, turning to him, "it has to be done like we planned. You'll pass the parchment Peter wrote. No one must ever suspect him."
Sirius tapped his wand against the table and watched the parchment vanish in a wisp of smoke.
"They won't," he said. "I'll make sure of it."
The days that followed were filled with a strange blend of quiet and chaos.
James reinforced every protective ward he could think of. Sirius dropped in and out of the cottage like a shadow, barking news and cracking jokes to lighten the mood. And Lily—Lily delved deeper into magic than she ever had before.
If there was a way to ensure Harry's survival—no matter how ancient, how forbidden, or how dark—she would take it.
Sirius watched her one evening, sitting on the staircase as Lily hunched over a heavy grimoire bound in dragonhide. Her wand was clutched in her fist like a dagger, her lips moving as she rehearsed the unfamiliar incantations.
"You're serious about this," Sirius said.
She didn't look up. "Of course I am."
"Even if it's dark magic?"
"I'm not summoning inferi or drinking unicorn blood, Sirius," she snapped. "But if I have to bend the rules—just a little—to protect Harry, then yes. I'll do it."
He tilted his head. "Dumbledore doesn't approve."
Lily finally looked up. "Dumbledore isn't Harry's mother."
Sirius was silent for a long time, then nodded slowly.
Rain drizzled faintly outside the windows of the Potter Cottage, soft taps echoing against the glass like a ticking clock. Inside, Lily and James sat in the kitchen, sipping from mismatched teacups. The tension of the past few days had, for the moment, melted into a rare stretch of quiet.
Harry slept upstairs, his soft breathing faintly audible through the baby monitor—a Muggle device James had insisted they keep despite Sirius mocking it as "unnoble."
The sudden crack of Apparition outside startled the quiet. James stood halfway up before the door burst open and Sirius Black strode in, his cloak flaring behind him and his hands holding something large and wrapped in oilskin.
"Lily!" he called out with a grin wide enough to split his face. "I found you something!"
Lily raised a brow, clearly amused. "That's not how you usually enter a home."
"Be glad I didn't come through the chimney," Sirius quipped, unwrapping the package. "This... this is a relic. A treasure of my house. And for once, it might be useful."
He placed a heavy black tome on the table with a solid thud. It was thick, worn with time, its leather binding cracked and flaking. The edges of its pages were browned with age, the corners curled like parchment left too close to flame. An ancient rune, faint and almost burned into the cover, shimmered when it hit the candlelight.
Lily leaned forward. "What is it?"
Sirius grinned with pride. "The Noir Codex. It's a Black family grimoire. Passed down secretly for centuries—hidden even from most of my family. We've been writing in it for generations, updating it with dark spells, lost rituals, and forbidden knowledge. Only a few of us ever knew how to find it."
James crossed his arms, frowning. "And how exactly did you get your hands on it? Last I checked, you were still persona non grata at 12 Grimmauld Place."
Sirius's expression dimmed a little, but his voice remained steady. "I met Regulus."
James stiffened. "What?"
"He reached out to me," Sirius said, lifting his eyes to James. "Said he's done with Voldemort. Said he's seen what following that man really means—and he wants out."
"You believed him?" James asked coldly.
"No," Sirius admitted. "But when I asked for the book, he brought it to me. No tricks. Just handed it over and told me to use it well." He leaned back. "And for what it's worth, he looked scared. Properly scared. Not of me. Of something else."
James remained silent, suspicion thick in his eyes.
But Lily wasn't listening. Her eyes were already scanning the pages of the tome, flipping gently through the fragile parchment as if afraid it might crumble. Her lips moved silently as she read, fingers trembling as they traced faded ink and ancient diagrams.
Then she stopped.
Her eyes locked onto a specific page. The candles flickered.
"This is it," she whispered.
James and Sirius stood behind her and looked down. The page was marked with a glowing rune that pulsed faintly beneath Lily's touch. The title above it was written in Elder Futhark, but translated beneath in ink:
"Ritual of the Divine Seed: To Bind Flesh and Power"
A drawing of a child encircled by runes, lightning crackling around him, stared up from the page.
"It's a ritual," Lily said, voice calm but intense. "One that allows a mortal to be bound to the power of a god. Not just blessed. Transformed."
James squinted. "Used by the Blacks?"
Sirius nodded. "Only in secret. If a future heir was born weak in magic, the family would use this to replace one parent with a godly source of power. Most of them used Norse gods—Thor, Tyr, Loki... even Freya once."
Lily's hands trembled as she read. "The child gains divine essence. But... the ritual is dangerous."
Her voice caught as she continued reading.
"Only those with a pure, protective purpose may invoke it. One parent's lineage is overwritten by the divine. The caster must give their life freely in exchange for the bond."
The room went utterly silent.
James swallowed. "It kills the one who casts it?"
Lily nodded slowly. "Not right away. Only when the final words are spoken. When the threat comes."
Sirius leaned on the table. "You'd be swapping one of you for a god. Replacing part of Harry's blood. That's not just protection—it's transformation."
"I don't care," Lily said, eyes blazing. "If it means Harry lives, if it means Voldemort can't kill him, then I'll do it. If I have to give my life... I will."
James stepped back, pain and pride warring in his face.
Sirius, trying to lighten the tension, chuckled darkly. "So, which divine father are we giving Harry? Can we vote?"
James raised a brow. "You're not seriously suggesting—"
"Loki," Sirius said, nodding seriously. "The guy's smart, charming, stylish. Mischievous streak a mile long. Sounds a bit like me."
Lily shot him a look. "No. If we're going to give Harry anyone, it'll be Thor. God of thunder. Warrior of justice. Protector of the realms."
Sirius sighed. "Typical Gryffindor."
"We'll need storm-iron, elder runes, and a trace of divine invocation. And we'll need to time the start of the ritual under a thunderstorm," Lily continued, ignoring the banter. "Everything else... is already here."
James looked between them. "So... if the worst happens—if Voldemort comes... we let the ritual complete. And you—"
"I'll do it," Lily said softly. "I'll give Harry a chance."
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