Author's Notes: Why sleep when you can write perfectly delightful H Po angst?

I do love my feedback, you know …

That Night at Godric's Hollow

For my grandfather, Poppy

Who had it all, before he lost it.

Once, Lily Evans had everything.

She had the perfect husband, and the most darling little boy, and closest circle of the best friends a girl could ask for.

She had coffee at midnight, the warm mug steaming with caffeine because once again, Harry had woken up crying and neither she nor James could sleep. She had his soft weight in her arms, breath steady, little fingers clutching at her t-shirt. She had a rocking chair that was a masseuse and doubled as a wireless that James had built for her after they'd found out about the pregnancy.

Once, she was too brave to cry. Too in love with life to even think about the permanence of death. Once, she'd always known that her son would reach his third birthday, and his fourth, and his tenth, and his eighteenth.

Once, her wedding cake had read: Lily and James … a couple even before they were a couple.

Now, Lily Evans has nothing.

She has a broken lock on a nursery door, the body of the man who used to be the perfect husband on her living room floor, his murderer on her stairwell and no where to run but the wrong way.

Once, Lily Evans had all the time in the world.

Now, suddenly, she's run out.