My Lily/James.
Standing by the window, staring outside into the pouring rain, my wife Lily Evans, now Potter, was the most beautiful creature I had ever laid eyes on. Her long, curly, red hair, that was usually held back in a ponytail, cascaded to her waist and twisted around her ivory- coloured face. Her green eyes, though bright, were glazed over with contemplation, and her mouth was a faint ghost of a smile.
"Hey Lily," I said. She startled and turned to look where I was standing by the fire.
"Yes?" she replied.
"You look like a goddess standing there," I told her simply.
"I do not. I was up all night with Harry and haven't even had a shower yet," she said, looking amused.
"You're the most beautiful woman I have ever laid eyes on! In my eyes you are a goddess!" I continued on. I knew she would give up eventually. Oh, how I loved to charm Lily! She simply turned to the window, looking out into the street through sheets of rain. I looked around the room, enjoying our place. The fireplace was fairly large with a nicely carved mantelpiece that was covered with various brightly colored knick- knacks and framed photographs. On either side of the fireplace were mismatched armchairs and in-between the two windows on the back wall was a small red couch, well worn and comfortable. Familiar like an old pair of jeans. The windows had floor length, plum purple drapes that we never closed and the floor was a dark stained wood with a small rug over it in-between the armchairs. That room had always been my favorite room in the house. I had so many memories there.
I walked over and put my arms about Lily's waist and dropped a kiss on the top of her head. She smelled sweet; like apples and strawberries and baby powder. It was a scent I knew well.
I stared out the window along with her, watching the rain come down in drizzles and sheets. Watching the occasional man, woman, or child scurry down the street, covered by a brightly coloured umbrella. Watching drops fall from the leaves of the tree in our front yard and from the ivy wound around it's trunk.
"It's beautiful isn't it," she murmured, crossing her arms so she could intertwine her fingers with mine.
"Not nearly as beautiful as you are," I whispered back, this time in complete seriousness.
"Love you, Lily,"
"Love you too, James," and she kissed me softly over her shoulder. Life was perfect.