What Could Have Been

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/50012665.

Rating: Not Rated

Archive Warning: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Relationships: James Potter/Lily Evans Potter, Sirius Black/Remus Lupin, I'll add more
once this gets more developed I promise
Characters: Lily Evans Potter, James Potter, Harry Potter, Sirius Black, Remus
Lupin, Peter Pettigrew, Albus Dumbledore, Severus Snape, Hermione
Granger, Ron Weasley, Arthur Weasley, Molly Weasley, Pandora
Lovegood, Mary Macdonald (Harry Potter), Neville Longbottom, Alice
Longbottom, Frank Longbottom, Draco Malfoy
Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fix-It of Sorts, What if
Scenario, James Potter and Lily Evans Potter Raise Harry Potter, Sirius
Black Gets a Trial, Harry Potter Gets the Love He Deserves, parenting
struggles, Lily Evans Potter Lives, James Potter Lives, Remus Lupin &
Lily Evans Potter Friendship, Voldemort Attempts To Return, I'll add
more tags as I go-- this is such a big work in progress right now ohgod,
Betrayal, Growing Up, Post-War, Blood and Injury
Language: English
Stats: Published: 2023-09-11 Words: 3,946 Chapters: 1/?
 What Could Have Been
by RoseWateredInk

Summary

The infamous Halloween night of '81 is where everything changes. But not in the way that
everyone thinks.

(A fix-it/alternate universe fic where Lily and James survive after Voldemort's attempt on
their lives and get to be parents to their son: Harry, while also having to navigate through the
Wizarding World post-war going through the journey of parenthood, the watching eye of the
Daily Prophet on not only them but as well as their son, and with the ever-whispering rumor:
Is the Dark Lord truly gone?)

Notes

Hello hello all,

Posting another work in progress here-- I have so many fics in the works at the moment that
it's not even Funny but I wanted to post this so badly!!
This is very much a big work in progress (as are many of my works right now) but this is the
one I've planned the least amount out of all of them [grimacing emoji] I have plenty of ideas
that I want to write in this, it's just a matter of how to string a majority of it together ... I also
promise that Harry is not going to be shoved aside just because Lily and James survive-- this
story is still very much about him in a lot of ways but I will be exploring some point of views
from the Marauders side as well.

But as always, I hope you all enjoy <3

She can see James’ body sprawled across the hallway from the doorway of the nursery. The
sound of weight impacting the ground making her nerves flinch— her arms pressing Harry
closer to her like the precious thing that he was.

“James!” Lily calls out before a wave of cold hits. A familiar chill that many knew, and knew
the figure that it followed. With one last glance to her motionless husband, she shuts the door
to the nursery as patient and eerily carefree steps begin to ascend the stairway.

Even with the awareness of the lack of time— she carefully places Harry into the crib. Big
green eyes staring up at her with drying tears. Her own welling tears threaten to spill, but she
takes a breath. A palm smoothing over dark hair.

“You are loved.” She whispers, wanting these words to be between them and them only.
“Please remember that … you are so very loved, sweetheart.” Despite the sorrow in her voice
and features, she smiles tearfully. Pressing a kiss to her son’s forehead. Silently wanting the
warmth of her magic to surround him in comfort for the last few moments they have together.

With the crack of wood and a flash of white with a whirlwind of magic— the nursery door is
barged down, splintering into the far wall across. Instinctually, Lily curves over Harry to
protect him from debris that dared to harm him— but the sheer force tumbles her to the
ground.

The fearful cold chill is no longer something she can ignore.

Straightening her back, hands bracing against the edge of a rocking chair, her head turns to
look over her shoulder. Turning to face the monstrous man (or what was left of one) that had
invaded their sacred home. They had been ratted out— that much they knew for so many
protective barriers to be broken and ripped apart.

“Lily Evans.” Voldemort greets— form hooded and draped in black fabric that dragged
amongst the floorboards and carpet. She can see the stark white wand in his palm. Despite it
being at his side, it was still armed and dangerous. The very thing that she knew had most
likely killed James. And she was next.
“It seems a chance of mercy has found your way. One, you would be foolish to decline.” He
speaks, continuing to step forward. Moonlight silhouetting his form from the window behind.
Making him feel spectral in nature.

“Step aside, and I will spare your life in exchange for your son’s.” With the conversational
motion of the wand addressing Harry, her heart jumps with panic. Her palm reaching forward
to grasp the corner of the white-painted crib. A mixture of fear and angered determination in
her eyes.

“No. Not Harry. Please.” Her head shakes, eyes never wavering from the other. Bravery and
sheer spite holding her ground, “Take me. Kill me instead.” There is crackling of grief and
fear in her voice, but she continues to hold strong in the face of death. Brows furrow as she
notices the subtle twitch of disappointment upon Voldemort’s lips. Unnatural eyes shrouded
by shadow and dark linen.

“This is my last warning.” His wand raises towards the infant. Lily forces herself to take a
breath— she feels as if she’s choking on too much at once. Fear, grief, sorrow, and fury.
Defiance is heavy in her blood. She will not die in cowardice.

“Not. Harry.” She repeats in stubbornness through bared teeth and a tightened jaw. Without
further consideration, Voldemort turns his attention away from Lily. Pale fingers tightening
across the carved bone body of his wand. Already thin patience broken.

As lips part to inhale breath and speak, Lily’s eyes widen.

“No!” She moves as the deadly incantation is hissed with no remorse— Stepping between the
unmistakable green flash of the Killing Curse and her son. Arms spread outwards like a
shield. Willingly ready to sacrifice herself if that meant for her son to live.

There’s something that beats strong in her heart. And it causes something extraordinary.
A faint barrier of a shield appears— pulsing with her heartbeat. Wind from the wisps of
magic colliding, making her hair look like flames. It happens all so quick, yet it feels like
time slows in this moment. She expects the breath from her lungs to be taken and the world
to fade to black— but here she still stands.

White thin lines appear in a jagged motion across her barrier of protection as the impact of
the spell hits. Breaking apart at the shield as it violently shatters.

Eyes squeeze shut as Lily turns her head with the sheer brightness that explodes through the
room. Bursting through the interior of the house with snaps and crunches of wood and thatch
as glass shrieks into shards.

Her own uneven breaths are deafening in her own ears. Eyes keeping shut. A few beats of
silence begin to sink into the room. A new cold breeze blowing in. With a quiet noise from
Harry behind her, she lets her eyes hesitantly open.

Glass and wood scatters the floor. The window to the nursery shattered and broken as the
night breeze gently waves through the ripped curtains. The nighttime crickets begin to sing
again. The night sky visible up above from the damage now caused to the roof. A gaping hole
being left in its wake.

Eyes blink in disbelief, surveying the damage as she stands in shock. Another noise from
Harry grounds her once again. She turns to see Harry sitting within the crib with nothing but
a jagged cut upon his forehead. A breath of relief collapses from her as she leans over to
inspect him.

“You’re alright, sweetheart— You’re alright—“ She whispers to him, the events of
everything setting in. It’s not long until he begins to cry.

“I’m so sorry darling—“ Lily apologizes, picking him up into her arms as she attempts to
soothe him. Holding him close with soft hushes. Her heart then drops as she looks to the
hallway once more. A wave of grief returning, knowing well what fate James has faced.
Feet move forward with the crunching of glass and wood— hesitantly approaching the
doorway. Not caring if bare feet are cut or splintered.

The body of James Potter can be seen limp upon the top of the stairs. She keeps Harry’s head
turned away, a comforting hand being placed on his tiny head. Lily cautiously approaches.

She needed to know. To have it confirmed that he was gone from this life.

Slowly, she crouches, adjusting Harry into her left arm to cradle as her right-hand reaches
outwards to James’ chest. She swallows back a cry that gets caught in her throat— fingers
barely tracing across his chest before her attention moves to his face.

Merlin, that face. The face she knows so well and adores. Features soft, as if he had faded
into sleep. Her form leans forward, an ear hovering by his lips as her free hand rests upon his
jaw. She waits, and listens.

The silence is agony, ready to let the worse sink in before she feels it.

A shallow warm breath.

He was alive.

But for how long with the onslaught of blood continuing to drain from his body— she did not
know.

A shuffle of footsteps then echoes from downstairs at the front entrance which no longer held
a door.

“James?! Lily?!”
Lily’s breath hitches in recognition, head whipping to the bottom of the stairs.

“Sirius—“ She barely speaks into the air. Sucking in another breath she musters more
strength into her voice: “Here, Sirius!”

It’s not long until the disheveled figure of Sirius appears at the foot of the steps. Out of breath
with beads of sweat upon his forehead. He wastes no time in moving up the stairs to crouch
by Lily’s side.

“He’s still alive—“ Lily speaks, knowing what question laid on his tongue. “He needs a
healer.” Sirius breathes in relief before a hand raises to Lily’s head, pulling her in briefly to
press a kiss on the top of her head. His eyes frantic as he overlooks both herself and his
godson.

“Are you alright— Is Harry—“

“We’re fine— Unbelievably, we’re fine … He just has a scratch.” She explains, turning Harry
to face Sirius. Harry’s face lighting up with the sight of Sirius. A small hand reaching out
with a quiet whine.

“I— Voldemort—“ Lily pauses, head shaking, “I think he’s gone Sirius.” There’s a moment
of silence that wavers between the both of them. Sirius’ gaze carefully flicking over into the
ruined nursery before his eyes return to Lily.

A million questions waver in both of their eyes. Ones that cannot be answered in this
moment. The buzzing inquiries would have to wait. There were more urgent things at hand.

Sirius looks to James. A palm reaches out to his shoulder, firmly squeezing it in reassurance.
Hoping that James could feel it despite his unconscious and fading state.

“We’ve got you, Prongs … Hang on a little longer, yeah?” He whispers, not wanting to let
James, Lily, or Harry out of his sight. A short breath of relief is given before he speaks again:
“Bloody lucky you are … All of you.” Sirius softly states, his hand prying away from James
to reach out to trace across the fresh cut upon Harry’s head. Harry’s features distort with quiet
discomfort at the contact against the wound, head turning to bury his face into his mother’s
neck. The weight of the situation returns to Sirius’ eyes in a dark shadow.

“We need to move— Get you all out of here. It’s not safe here anymore.”

“How did he know where to find us— The only other people who knew was you,
Dumbledore and—“

“Peter.” Sirius states. A frown prominently curling at his lips. Both exchange looks with one
another. Lily’s setting disbelief and Sirius’ simmering anger.

Another set of steps approaches the stairway, more heavier in sound. A taller and heavyset
gentlemen appearing.

“Non-magic folk are startin’ to flock about Sirius…” Hagrid says before giving a relieved
smile to Lily. “Glad to see you still standing Lily— Is the little tyke alright?” Lily tries her
best to return the smile, nodding in response.

“Good.” Hagrid’s attention moves back to Sirius. “What’s the plan then Sirius?”

“Take them to the Weasley’s, take my bike if you have to— James needs immediate medical
attention. Now. Let Dumbledore know what’s happened if he doesn’t already.”

Sirius stands, giving a light ruffle to Harry’s hair and a comforting hand on Lily’s shoulder.

“I’m going after Peter. Stay low, stay safe.” He says quietly to her before scoffing, a hand
running through his hair, frustrated with the thought of Peter. Lily blinks, watching Sirius
begin to rise as he stands— a detail then pinging into her mind.
“Wait— The wand—“ She shifts to look back into the nursery behind her, her words falling
short as the Dark Lord’s wand is no longer there. Lily frowns, quickly standing as brows
furrow.

“It was just there— The Dark Lord’s wand— I swear—“

Sirius’ eyes follow her gaze before he sees a shift from behind the window’s curtains being
fluttered by the night breeze. His features run cold. There was no doubt in his body that he
saw a rat make it’s escape from the broken window. He curses through his teeth.

“Can’t believe the bastard was under our noses the whole time— He was here— Go with
Hagrid, I’ll meet with you all later.“ He hisses, wasting no time in making determined strides
down the steps, ushering Hagrid upstairs as he turns to make his way through the kitchen and
out the back door.

Lily can’t speak a word in time, Sirius already out of sight and gone into the backyard.

Hagrid wastes no time in picking up James. The blood beginning to seep through his shirt,
the fabric practically soaked in crimson at this point.

“They should get James all healed up in no time.” He says in hope and a flash of a tight
smile. “Last I checked, Pandora was still with the Weasley’s ‘elping the wounded they ‘ave.”

Lily attempts to flash a smile back— grateful for the attempted reassurance to try and calm
her worried heart. But the brightness of the smile flees as quickly as it arrives. A horrible
sinking lingers, one that starts in her chest and sulks into her stomach.

Peter— a dear friend to all within the Marauders had betrayed them. And all she could ask
herself was: why? She wonders how many other incidents were linked to him— how many
deaths— how long he had been turned— the very thought makes her nauseous.
As Hagrid and Lily make their way out of the ruined cottage, sleepy and groggy-eyed non-
magics were starting to gawk from afar. As she settles into the small sidecar within the bike,
she knows the Ministry will have specialized wizards sent out to deal with obliviating
memories.

She cradles Harry close as the motorbike roars to life, Hagrid balancing James in front of him
— large arms acting as a barrier to keep his limp body from sliding out. Green eyes take one
last glance towards the wrecked property with a frown as they rumble down the road.

Stay safe Sirius, she whispers mentally as they begin to lift off into the night air and out into
the clouds once out of sight from non-magic eyes. Whisking themselves away off towards the
Burrow.

Man turns into animal with a shift of shape. A familiar black-furred form taking hold. Peter
had only been here about a month before to discuss making him the secret keeper instead of
Sirius out of precaution. Padfoot growls to himself, despising how he didn’t see the subtle
warning signs— how easily everyone had been played. Were they truly that blind?

They had shared a table with him— secrets with him— their lives with him— and he had
pawned it off like it was nothing. A short wave of guilt then hits him. He had almost been
convinced Remus had been the spy— and at behest of Peter’s nudging comments and
Remus’ incessant secrecy that Sirius wish he broke as everyone else had. The lingering guilt
doesn’t last long as it’s boiled away with resurgent anger.

Attuned nose searches through the mixing scents of grass, wildlife, and soil. It’s not difficult
to pick up on Peter’s scent— form of rat or not. He smelled the same. Padfoot treks through
the backyard and through the shrubbery that connects to the front. Wormtail might be quick
— but he can’t outrun Padfoot.

Trotting out onto the sidewalk, head lifts to the air, pointed ears perking forward as he looks
down the dimly lit streets. A form disappears behind a corner— the stride hurried. A stark
difference between the empty streets and the rare citizens awoken from their late-night
slumber.
Padfoot bolts forward, gliding across stone and asphalt— following the scent he had grown
to know so well, just as he had with all the Marauders.

Claws scrape stone, sharply turning a corner. Attentive nose and eyes scanning the darkened
streets. It’s not difficult to see the now human form of Peter Pettigrew beginning to cross the
dead street of asphalt.

Drifting from the sidewalk, Padfoot sprints diagonally before launching himself. Jaw opening
and snapping to one of Peter’s arms. A short yelp escapes Pettigrew, heels digging into the
ground as he halts suddenly, shoulders turning to try and move away from his perpetrator.

Canine teeth tear into fabric— brown and beige plaid blazer now having a chunk of wool
missing from its sleeve.

Out of breath and wide-eyed, Peter briefly dabs a hand to his arm to check for blood. Not a
speck of crimson appears on his palm. There’s a temptation to breathe in relief, but with a
shift of form out of the corner of his eye— He’s met with the blazing eyes of Sirius Black
and the point of his wand.

“You fucking traitor.” Sirius bares through his teeth, head shaking with betrayal and disbelief,
only one question lingering on his tongue: “Why?”

Peter stares— deer-like in the rageful presence of Sirius. Feet stumble upon uneven ground,
attempting to step back— but the distance is kept the same as Sirius steps forward. Sirius has
seen this before with Pettigrew when they had been caught red-handed with pranks. Fear
ridden and shaking hands.

Guilt through and through.

Words are caught in his throat— almost looking as if he’s going to vomit them upon the road.
But what happens next is something Sirius will never forget. Peter Pettigrew unsleeves his
wand from his jacket, violently and suddenly casting a slicing spell upon his right index
finger. Letting a yell rip from his lungs— the noise reverberating off the neighborhood walls
before he shouts in tandem:

“HELP! SOMEONE! ANYONE! IT WAS HIM! SIRIUS BLACK WAS THE ONE WHO
BETRAYED THE POTTERS! HE WAS THE ONE!”

The shrieked words echo off of the neighborhood houses— some warm interior lights
flickering on within a few windows at the disturbance. Sirius glances to the surrounding
houses that begin to awaken before his gaze returns to Peter— who was already readying to
cast another spell.

A disarming spell is on the edge of Sirius’ lips— but he’s a second too late.

High ringing silence vibrates in his ears— seeing Peter mouth a curse beneath his breath as
his wand flicks to the left behind Sirius then the right. Blooms of flame and destruction rip
into the houses causing Sirius to curl inwards, attempting to shield himself from stray debris.
The impacts muffled against his hearing. He attempts to straighten his posture, squinting
through the chaos to retaliate before he sees Peter aim at the space between them.

The blast is enough to send Sirius flying. Stone and flame exploding horrifically into a burst
of oranges and reds. His wand is lost from his grip, hitting hard against the ground— breath
knocked from his lungs. A groan escapes him, eyes squinting shut as features scrunch.

It takes him a moment to steady his vision and gather himself from the ground. He scrambles
for his wand— aimlessly pointing it armed and ready to deflect—

But Pettigrew is gone. Nowhere to be seen within the rising smoke and embers.

The curse was enough to reveal water and sewer pipes beneath— one already broken and
spraying liquid in heaps upon cobblestones. Soot marks Sirius’ face, hair wild, and eyes
frantically searching. He doesn’t even hear the sound of apparating figures appearing behind
him further down the street until a voice speaks out:
“Sirius … What have you done?“

He turns, hardened and fierce features instantly dropping at the sight of Remus Lupin. A
short breath of relief and sorrow escapes Sirius at the sight of him. He wants to smile, but as
he sees Remus’ features stare upon him in a mix of concern and wariness— he notices the
other pointing his wand at the ready.

Aurors pass by, beginning to survey the scene. Sirius gives little attention to them— keeping
his gaze upon Remus a little longer before he begins to take in the scene around him.

It’s only this time does he notice the bodies. All of varying ages. All dead. Either slumped
within rubble or sprawled out amongst the road in a heap of blood and debris.

Sirius is at a loss. Now his own words getting caught in his throat. Never in his life could he
imagine Peter having the stomach to cause something like this.

“Over here!” An auror calls out. Levitating an object within the air with their wand. Another
approaches, visible magic weaving out from their wand in turn.

Sirius looks to Remus again, realizing the gravity of just what he was standing within. He
moves to step forward, almost pleading—

“Remus—“

The other’s form tenses, wand raising a little higher in caution.

“I’d advise you stay where you are, Sirius.” Remus warns in a whisper. His words on the
edge of sounding pained. It’s then Sirius’ wand is disarmed from his grip as two more Aurors
approach— Hands grab harshly at Sirius’ arms, restraining him.

“Sirius Black— You’re under arrest for the murder of multiple muggles and Peter Pettigrew.”
“What?” Sirius spits, that fierceness returning to his gaze as he glances at one of the Aurors
on either side of him. Attempting to drag him forward.

“No— You don’t understand— STOP!” He shouts, fighting against the iron grips of the two
Aurors with a growl, “It was Peter— He set this up— I’M BLOODY INNOCENT! REMUS!
YOU HAVE TO BELIEVE ME!”

Remus steps aside as he watches the Aurors take him away further down the road. His heart
heavy as he lets his wand drop to his side. White knuckled grip loosening as features break
from their usual hardened mask. Sirius’ words are sucked into nothing as the three apparate
into the air.

The werewolf’s gaze then returns to the scene before him. The other two Aurors who were
busy gathering potential evidence placing the previously found object into a container.

Nausea biles up in the back of his throat as Remus realizes it’s a severed finger. Already
knowing well it was Peter’s from the gold signet ring that was still attached to the base. A
graduation present Pettigrew had received years ago from his mother. A hand is pressed to his
mouth, turning away from the scene with a muffled noise of revulsion and shock.

Remus had already seen the state of the Potter house before they had heard the explosions
further down Godric's Hollow— another team of Auror’s already being dispatched to handle
statements and observation. The usual damage control. He prays that James and Lily are
alright and not buried beneath broken wood and drywall.

A new ache pulls at his heart at the thought of Sirius. Given the scene— it didn’t bode well
for him. And Remus doesn’t know what to believe anymore. He wants to believe that Sirius
didn’t do this— that he wasn’t capable of such horrors.

With so many of them being pushed past their limits during this forsaken war— carrying out
deeds that none of them would have imagined they’d have to do at their ages—
Perhaps he too had finally been pushed past the bar as well.

He’s left in the middle of simmering destruction, lost, watching as Aurors litter the area—
scavenging and covering up whatever was needed with flicks of wands and incantations.

The Hall of Prophecy hums in silence and odd whispers. Dumbledore’s feet are light against
the polished ground. Robes gliding with him at every stride, a pale blue light guiding his way
from a free-floating orb that stays close to his side. He would be in and out before anyone at
the Ministry would know he was even in the building.

Navigating the never-ending hallways stacked with clouded and swirling handheld globes of
crystal and glass, his eyes flicking through numbers written on yellowed parchment attached
with string. It’s not a far walk from the entrance— finding prophecy number 97.

Before the old wizard even approaches the shelf, observant eyes already notice the empty
spot within the shelf. As he grows closer— light shines upon shards of glass. Some globs of
waving magic still lingering across the sharpened and broken edges like mist. Frowning
deeply, Dumbledore’s hand flicks upwards— one by one the pieces floating upwards to form
a faint shape of what had been.

The prophecy he remembers vividly being stated with such haunted eyes from Sybil
Trelawney was shattered.
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