James Potter considered himself strong. Those around him considered him strong. He was a leader, and even in the darkest of times, he was the type to stay positive and ready to move on. No matter what he was against, or who; he could pass it, for not only did he have his followers, but he also had his friends—no, brothers, his family. And no matter what obstacle lied ahead, he would not show fear nor back down, for with those two things: He could take the world on headfirst.
Growing up, he could be described easily as vain, spoiled, arrogant, rebellious, immature, self-centered, stubborn, and pretentious. Until he met her; Lily Evans, the woman who made him see he was not – no matter how hard he tried – the center of the universe. That he was a spoiled brat, who got everything he wanted, that is except her. When and only when, he found out this was all true and changed his ways, did he get her. His life, true, changed drastically, but he liked to think for the better.
He pondered over all this as he stared out the window, watching the snow slowly fall to the earth and spread out in a pure blanket across the dirty streets. It was odd, he pondered. In his lifetime, he could only remember crying, really crying, two times. Both times in such a short amount of time, and both when he least expected it. He'd always considered crying a weakness, something men would never do unless they were weak. Maybe he was weak. He was scared, if that counted.
His forehead hit the cold window, and his hand rose to touch the glass, slowly sliding down and making an annoying squeaking sound which fell upon deaf ears as he watched through blurred vision as a family of muggles made their way down the street of Godric's Hollow. He wanted that. The secure feeling one would have to walk down the street in the middle of the night with one's family. He hoped to have it after the war was over, but little did he know, that he would never have that. For on this night, he and his wife would be dead.