Her name was Lily Evans. She had auburn hair, emerald eyes, and was a true romantic at heart. She planned to meet the love of her life at Hogwarts, the one place where she had truly fit in. She would fall in love immediately-oh, yes, because being in love was finding your other half in a sea of people, and she was sure that she would know her other half. They would be the power couple of Hogwarts, the one that everybody looked up to, and everybody envied. They would graduate and find a flat where they would live for a year. He would propose near the Black Lake in the fall, her favorite season, with the changing leaves falling picturesquely around them. They would get married in the spring on the countryside, she in a simple but elegant white dress that flowed around her in drifts of silk, and a veil that covered her hair, but not her face, he in a black tuxedo with a black bowtie, waiting for her at the end of a lily strewn white carpet near the ivy covered arbor with honeysuckles and bluebells. The priest would marry them, and they would be off to a honeymoon in Paris, the city of love. When they came back to Great Britain, they would settle down in Godric's Hollow and raise a family; the eldest a boy and the youngest a girl. It would be perfect. Any girl's dream.
And then she met James Potter.
They fought for the better part of six years, before coming to a gentle, fragile friendship of sorts. They fell in love in their seventh year in the Heads dormitory, snogging each other with hopeless abandon and passion. They broke up at the end of the seventh year-she was afraid that he would be in danger and he couldn't understand that she had to fight, instead fearing for her safety. They met again at an Order of Phoenix meeting, and met for coffee for old time's sake before realizing that they were hopelessly in love with each other and neither could live without the other. In the middle of a battle when they were fighting for their lives, he proposed to her, shouting over the din of curses and hexes being uttered. She never got a chance to reply, as they were forced apart in the uproar, and later, as he was lying in St. Mungo's, unconscious, battered and bruised, and so utterly vulnerable, she had accepted. They had gotten married in the safety of their own home in Godric's Hollow. The war had made it impossible to have a honeymoon, but they had made do with a very, very empty, and quite a few untimely interruptions. A year later, they had found out she was pregnant, and she gave birth to a bouncing baby boy.
Of course, it was nothing like what she had expected, but throughout it all, she wouldn't have had it any other way