Ok, this is technically my second fanfic, even though I never finished my other one, for many reasons... writer's block, my disk broke and I lost at least five chapters, I revised it and still noone reviewed... Heh... I like this one better I think.
This prologue is short, but the next chapter is really quite long I think. Be expecting it soon. I really hope that you like it. If not, I do... and that's good enough for me. Anyway, I'll stop babbling now.
Prologue
I disclaim... I really own none of this, but I'm sure that you all now this...
Dear James,
Your hair is so black. It's like the night shy when the moon isn't reflecting that sun's rays so that every thing is dark, and all that you can see is the midnight sky. Your hair is more free than all of the flowers in a meadow on a breezy day. I wish that I could run my hands through it. It's so soft. Like silk. It inspires me.
These words are just some of the many words that have been written about James Potter. Of course, they only approach the subject of his hair and not his "milk chocolate eyes," or his "creamy complexion," or his "oh-so- kissable lips."
These words, like many before them, would never make it into the hands in which they had been intended for. They would be crumpled into a tight ball, and thrown into a waste basket, and would latter find their way into the fire in the Gryffindor common room...