Author's Note – This is a Fanfiction, not a biography of James Potter, so certain events have been tweaked. I have not, and will not to the furthest extent of my knowledge, change any of the major plots. Disclaimer – I do not own (however remotely) any rights to the Harry Potter Series. Those rights are retained by J.K. Rowling, until, of course, she decides to sell them over e-bay. In that case, the rights will pass on to the buyer, whoever he/she is.

Now without further ado, I present to you…Chapter One.

Chapter One: Death be not Proud

The room was sweltering hot, or at least, that's what it felt like to James Potter. He was suffocating, slowly dying in face of the oppressive heat, yet he made no move to escape. Common sense and self preservation dictated for him to get out of the inferno, but clenched tightly in his mind was one thought: He mustn't leave. Lily and Harry had to be given time, and he, only he, could provide them with it. So what of life? What would life be worth living without those who he loved? For everything he held dear, James knew he must stay to detain that…thing. It was the only option he had: to stand and fight like a man, to stay and die like a man.

First, however…he had to find the strength to rise to his feet.

The yellow haze slowly dissipated from the doorway, and the silhouette of a man (of course, man was quite a farfetched description for this mangled-looking being) came slowly into view. Images of black robes fluttered, and fear crept near. James froze at the sight, and before he realized it, his mind had come to a single conclusion: He was going to die. Strangely, however, the announcement of imminent death aroused no fear on his part, but rather awakened a hidden courage, and provided the strength to rise up, stand tall, and face the enemy until the end. After all, why should he hesitate now? There was only path he could take, and it was the path of a good and righteous man. Some may call what he was doing suicide, yet he couldn't see it as a sin; dying to save your family could never be a sin.

The figure of the Dark Lord grew clearer, and James gasped at the creature's appearance. The rumors were true then; He who must not be named was easily one of the most gruesome beings that one could see, yet never, in all of his nightmares, had James been able to perceive a wizard so openly revolting. It took almost all of the will-power he had to be able to stare this creature in the eye. Those captivating blood red irises, unblinking and lifeless, seemed to look inside the soul, his soul…and steal it away. Blood, yes, blood would be spilt this night.

Time itself seemed to have stopped as the two wizards gazed at one another, eye-to-eye. Finally, the Dark Lord broke the silence. "Out of my way," commanded he, "I didn't come for you. I've come for your son, and if you've any desire to live, get out of my way. You'd be stupid not to do so."

A chance at life…what could he say? For the briefest moment, James felt his previous resolution wane, yet the moment passed. Once he accepted his fate, he could pass on in peace and serenity, with quite dignity even in his last moments. The consequences were final, and he had resigned himself to them.

"No."

"No? I see you have courage, but is it really worth your pride to keep up this farce?" With a cold chuckle, the contender pulled out his wand, and uttered, "Imperio."

Sudden lightheadedness came over James. The pain from the heat was gone, and he awoke in a tranquil paradise. "Step out of your Master's way," a gentle voice hissed. "It'll go easier for you that way."

"No."

Again, James found himself in the hellish reality. Another curse was cast, and this time, the elder Potter felt a wrenching pain blast through his flesh, causing him to writhe spastically upon the floor. It burned, froze, twisted, pulled, and was every form of torture, meticulously employed all at the same time with sadistic ease. Though hurt as never before, he knew that as long as he was cursed, Voldermort's full attention had to be employed upon him…meaning that Lily and Harry would be safe.

With a knowing smile, the Dark Lord suddenly pulled the pain away. "You're right, James - although this little charade with you has been quite amusing, I really should hurry and accomplish what I came here for - Avada Kedavra."

A jet of green light shot out of the monster's wand and hit James squarely on the chest. The latter coughed slightly and then slowly crumpled backwards. The rush of life leaving wasn't so terrible as he'd imagine it to be…not as bad as, at least, the fact that he couldn't have given his loved ones any more time. Darkness fell, and after that came the blissful silence.

Upon his lifeless visage was not an expression of fright, but one of defiance and calm. Here lay another martyr who lost his life trying to establish harmony in the world. Here lay James Potter, eternally preserved in his glory. On a shelf in the adjoining room, a phial, filled with silvery liquid came to life, its contents rippling to and fro, flowing gently until a scene was formed. Thus was the pensieve of James Potter...