Author's Note: I really wish it were mine. -sighs and shuffles away morosely- Rated a little for language.

A slightly angsty flash fiction that provides an insight into James' last moments.


He senses the palpable change in atmosphere almost immediately, and that is when he realizes the horrifying truth that his Secret Keeper HAD, in fact, ratted him out, contrary to what Sirius thought. He thinks, almost in derision, about how he might murder Wormtail unless he had a damn good reason, and Merlin, Lily and Harry!

His mind blanks out on him as soon as he sees the black cloak of Voldemort appear in the doorway of their home and feels the tangible darkness feeding on their vulnerability. He takes in a sharp breath; in preparation for the fierce battle that lay ahead; in fear, not for himself, but for Lily and Harry.

"Lily, grab Harry and run!" The voice that comes out is not his own. It comes from a husband, a father, a man with duty. He doesn't want this responsibility, really, he doesn't, but he has to follow it through, because he loves them. It hurts when he loves.

Nothing matters anymore, as he stares down the face of Death. It doesn't hurt anymore, not when he's protecting. He's no hero, he knows, but he's still protecting.

He smiles, and a little part of him suddenly wishes Harry would grow up to be a star Quidditch player…and a hero. Yes, he'd like that very much. Harry James Potter, the hero.

Surprisingly, there's no pain when the avada kedavra strikes.


Review, please? (: Even if you don't like it, constructive feedback makes me all the more happy!

(Oh, and, it's meant to be this short, so don't come hounding me about the length! :X )