James Potter had many joys in life. Growing up as the only child of an elderly and prominent pureblood couple, he had been spoiled. He got almost everything he wanted. At five he had gotten his first broom. At eleven he beamed with joy as the Sorting Hat called out "Griffindor!" At fifteen he had been named captain of the Griffindor quidditch team, and by seventeen he had lead them to victory during the House Cup three times. At sixteen his best friend Sirius Black moved in with him. At nineteen he married Lily Evans (now Potter), the most beautiful and brilliant witch he'd ever met and the love of his life. Yes, James Potter had many joys in his life, but they all paled in comparison to the day his son was born.

As he held the tiny pink squealing baby Harry in his arms, James was overcome with a kind of joy he had never felt before. He forgot every moment that had ever made him happy in the past. They didn't matter. He had never been truly happy until this moment and he knew it. This infant, this child, would not have existed without him. He and Lily had, in the time of war and destruction, created something wonderful – something beautiful. In all the mess and the chaos they had created this tiny beautiful life.

The baby already had a light dusting of dark hair – James's hair. He just knew that it would be a point of contention in the future. Lily would struggle to have it lay flat but, like James's, it just never would. And those eyes, Merlin, those eyes were Lily's. They were bright green and vibrant, already skittering around, eager to learn more about the new world around him. James wanted to show him that world. He wanted to take his son and show him everything. He wanted to take him out into the light, and to walk along the beach. He wanted to show him how to get into Diagon Alley through The Leaky Cauldron, and just which bricks to hit. He wanted to show Harry how to ride a broom. He wanted to show him how to skip rocks and how to de-gnome a garden. He wanted his son to know a world without war, a world without Voldemort. And he swore that he would do just that.

He would stand up and he would fight for his son. On that day, as he held him in his arms, James swore that he would stop at nothing to end the war and to make the world a safer place for his son.

It was that memory, that precise thought, that echoed through his head the evening of October 31st 1981 as he stood in front of the stairs staring down that wretched dark lord. It was that wish that propelled him forward even though he had no wand. It was that wish that permanently etched itself into his mind as the room flashed green and he fell to the ground like a marionette who's strings were cut.