Lily Evans Potter-crouching over her son protectively-felt not fear, not sorrow, but only the fierce determination that comes from the love of a mother for her baby.

"Let him even try it," she snarled, looking at the door with a feral ferocity, "I do not fear scum such as Voldemort."

She had unconsciously tightened her grip on Harry, who lay in her arms. The boy whimpered in discomfort and Lily loosened her hold slightly.

Harry did not cry. He looked up at his mother with large, innocent eyes, unafraid of the intruder in their house. From the very beginning, Harry was brave; he was meant to be a hero.

He got that from his parents.

Every muscle that Lily possessed was tensed in anticipation, her breath hitched as she strained to hear the movements below her. She could hear an occasional crash or blast as Voldemort moved around downstairs.

'He's toying with me,' she realized, 'like a cat with a mouse.' Lily gritted her teeth in maternal fury; this mouse would scratch and bite.

When she heard his step on the hall to Harry's room, she hid her baby slightly beneath a pile of blankets, before turning towards the door, crouched slightly in preparation.

The door was blasted off of its hinges, and Lily felt herself tossed against the wall like a rag doll. Blinking away the spots that threatened to block her vision, her breath froze in her throat as the killer advanced on her infant.

Before the words left his lips, Lily knew Voldemort's intention as he stalked towards Harry.

Without even needing to stop and consider the action, Lily flung herself between them, protecting her infant's life with her own.

Death didn't hurt, Lily reflected afterwards. After a moment of great pressure against her chest, it was like she was floating up.

With sorrow, she looked down at her baby, but not without a thrill of victory. She had won this fight against Voldemort. Such is the strength of a woman's love.