Chapter 1: The Stag and the Doe

At the end of your lifetime, when laying back and reflecting on what has passed, you would not recall the majority of your memories. You would not fondly remember the hours spent pouring over a book, or sitting in traffic. Any evening spent alone with a hot drink and a pet by your side, while pleasant, is nothing ground-breaking or life-shaking. The memories that return to us in our final hours are our defining moments; the motions we went through that put the stories of our lives on course.

Lily Evans had an old soul. She was creative and imaginative. She drew great comfort from the world around her and the lessons available to her. During her years at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Lily loved to feel magic in her hands. She loved the solid woodgrain of her wand against her palm. She craved the cool crystal of Potions vials between her fingertips. She revered the gentle movement of a living, breathing magical creature under her hands. Lily loved books - the novels of her Muggle childhood and the tomes of her enchanted adolescence. She told herself she would be a writer someday. Her happy place was outdoors in the natural world, whether that was under the sparkling expanse of the night sky or laying on a blanket of wildflowers with the breeze playing across her skin. She adored flowers. All flowers, except for lilies. She hated a cliché.

James Potter was a free spirit. He resented his lessons at Hogwarts; not that he resented the castle. Hogwarts castle was his favourite place on earth. He would much rather explore it, discovering secret passageways and befriending the portraits, than sit in a classroom and discuss 15th century cross-species conflicts. He lived for flying, for escaping from the oppressive rules of gravity and soaring into the sky on his broomstick. James' happy place was amongst the clouds, above the highest trees, where the air grew thin and his lungs ached and his cheeks did too, from grinning so much. He told himself that he would grow up to play professional Quidditch, as it was the only thing in which he loved to excel. That being said, James also had a knack for Transfiguration. He strived for his professor's approval; mainly because she was the only teacher in the entire school who could not be charmed by his scruffy hair and easy confidence. He loved a challenge.

These defining moments were plentiful to Lily Evans; her life was overflowing with meaningful memories, with purpose and destiny. At the end of Lily's lifetime, it would be inaccurate to say that her life 'flashed' before her eyes, as so much importance could never have been compressed into a single flash. Lily saw the first time she realised she was magical, hearing those words fall from the lips of a best friend, a traitor, an enemy. She saw the first time her fingers wrapped around those ten and three-quarter inches of willow, and the sparkling wisps that erupted from the tip, so closely resembling flower petals. She saw the the first time she met James Potter, eleven years old and so filled with promise, not knowing how deeply their lives would intertwine.

The series of events that led to the deaths of the Potters could have started at any of these, Lily's, defining moments. Maybe it did start with Lily and James sat together in a carriage on the Hogwarts Express, their entire lives stretching out ahead of them. Then again, maybe it started in their third year, when Severus Snape spat those poisonous words at his best friend that he would never be able to take back. Perhaps it started decades earlier, when Merope Gaunt deceived the handsome Muggle Tom Riddle, and conceived an evil creature with no capacity to love.

The Marauders started in their second year, in 1972, when four young boys solemnly swore to always protect and follow one another, against great odds, through magical transformations (voluntary and otherwise), for as long as they lived. Lily and James started in their seventh year, though really, it was a long time coming, as any of their friends would happily and exasperatedly tell you.

Moments and lifetimes as precious as these naturally have to reach an ending. In some ways, they did; the Marauders were torn apart, Lily and James left the mortal plane and their wands forever left their hands. Then again, I don't need to tell you that their love and friendship endured so much longer than their lifetimes. The spirit of the Marauders passed onto Harry, the only son of the Potters, in the form of a bewitched piece of parchment. The names of Harry's parents lived on in his children, who returned to Hogwarts and caused more than one double-take when aged professors saw their names written down. And who are we to say their stories will ever reach an ending?

But I'm getting ahead of myself. Allow me to relay to you these defining moments belonging to the Marauders, to James Potter, and to Lily Evans.