Behind her she could hear the horrible high-pitched laughter of the Dark Lord, and her husband throwing spells as fast as he could and she knew, she knew, it couldn't possibly be fast enough. James was an impossibly skilled fighter, but he was no match for Voldemort, not alone. She wished she didn't know that, that she could lie to herself and believe he would be fine, but she knew. She ought to help him, she wanted to help him, more than she'd ever wanted anything in her life ... But she'd promised, she'd promised she'd keep Harry safe, and as the tears poured down her face, she ran. She was reciting under her breath the words to every protection charm she knew, because even if there wasn't really a point (I am going to die) she had to at least try ...