The night they die is a Saturday.
It is not a special day, by any means. James wakes up at half ten, puts on unremarkable clothing and sorts through files for the Order, as he often does. It is not a particularly useful job, and he knows it, but it is this or nothing and he is restless enough as it is. Their cottage is already painfully neat from his excess energy.
The night they die is a Saturday, and not a soul could see the light leave their eyes.
It is painful, being in hiding. Not just in the sense of being physically constricted, but the limitations on their capabilities cause an air of tension and sadness on far too many nights. Harry is more than a year old, and he hasn't gone outside their backyard in weeks. There are eyes everywhere, and they cannot be too careful, especially without the cover of James's invisibility cloak.
James can admit he is part of the problem. He knows being in hiding has brought out his childish side. He craves interaction, to fight in the war, the ability to take his kid to the damn playground without wondering whether or not they'll make it back. He wants it, and he cannot have it; it makes him more short-tempered than he should be. He feels a constant restless ache in his legs, urging him to run and take his family somewhere where they can run free. He knows the idea is selfish and dangerous, but hiding his emotions was never his strong suit.
Lily is everything he could ask for, though she too, is slowly being driven to madness. She is more patient than he, but two such active fighters cannot be made to sit idle without consequence. To fill her time, she has taken to writing obituaries for fallen friends that will never make it into any newspaper. James wonders privately if she has thought of their own.
Harry eats mushed peas at lunch while James prepares leftovers for him and Lily. They share grins when their son somehow manages to get food in his hair. The two Potters give the youngest a bubble bath afterward, and with Harry sitting in the tub, clapping bubbles between his small fists, James feels the ache in his legs lessen.
They do not indulge in any festivities of the day. There are Muggle children sporting costumes in the village that Harry watches curiously through the window, but their house goes unseen. They cannot get supplies to decorate anything without James's cloak, and for reasons they do not know, Albus Dumbledore has decided he needs it more. (James does not pretend to be without resentment toward the fact.)
All the same, they try to keep each other entertained, as they always do. When Lily and James set Harry down for a nap, they retreat back to their bedroom and run their hands over each other like they are teenagers in Gryffindor tower, not young parents struggling to hold onto their sanity while doing all they can to keep their child safe. When James grabs Lily's hip with one hand and the headboard with the other, he is not James Potter, father and soldier. He is a twenty-one-year-old man uniting with the woman he loves. When he collapses beside Lily, he notices that they've lapsed into a pattern of trying to forget themselves. It never lasts for very long.
At seventeen minutes past eight on October 31st, 1981, the Fidelius Charm is broken. Within minutes, Voldemort is upon them. When James hears the creak of the door, many wishes run through his mind.
He wishes he had said more to Lily in his last, rather than inanely discussing whether or not it was time for Harry to go to bed. He wishes that he had told his family he loved them more, that he had better held his temper, and not whinged internally so much about being stuck inside a cottage with the two people he loved most in the world. He wishes Sirius were here to help his family get away, and that his friend would not blame himself (though James knows he will, and it will kill him). He wishes he could say something wise to his son, or at least tell him how much he cares, but there is no time. So instead James lies to Lily and says he will hold Voldemort off, as if he will be joining them, and steps into the hall to buy them time.
The boy and girl lie crookedly, further apart than they'd ever want to be. The baby fills the empty house with cries for them.
The night they die is a Saturday, and though the day itself is not remarkable, not a soul in the wizarding world forgets it.