Author's Note: First fanfic, be nice and feel free to have a poke at any mistakes. Anyone know who I am? No? Then I am obviously not J.K Rowling. Pity . . .
He didn't expect to survive, he hoped. If James Potter knew anything (and he knew a lot but his lovely wife would then say 'a lot of rot') it was that if Voldemort was hunting you down personally you would eventually die.
But he would be damned if he went down without a fight.
"Lily, it's him! Take Harry and go!"
He was not only fighting for peace but for his life, Lily, Harry, Sirius, Remus.
James also hoped that someone killed Peter, though not Moony or Pads because they did not need murder on their consciences.
James fumbled for his wand; he'd left it on the sofa. Of all the stupid, idiotic things to do, maybe Lily would live. . .
A high pitched cackle (very scary, right?) brought his attention quickly back to the present. He looked Old Voldy straight in the eye and watched the green light soar into his chest
Mischief Managed.