"We've got ourselves a Seeker here, Lils!" James exclaimed, grinning down at his son propped up on the coffee table. "Come and see!"

Lily drew open the door to the living room and watched as James summoned a glimmering puff of smoke from the tip of his wand, this one golden and small as a Snitch. Harry laughed and reached up for it, closing his fist around the dispersing wisps.

"He's got brilliant reflexes already," James said. "Look how fast he grabbed that!"

"I saw," Lily murmured, smiling a little. "I knew you'd start training him up this early."

"Next I'm going to teach him how to catch the smoke while he's riding around on his broom. At this rate, he'll be a Quidditch player before he can even read."

"Perhaps," Lily said; "but right now, he's got to go to bed. It's getting late."

"No!" Harry yelled—he knew the word bed and did not like it. "More!" he pleaded to James instead, flailing his arms about like he was catching smoke-Snitches again.

Lily shot James a look. "Not tonight," he told his son. "Your mum's right—it's time for bed. Aren't you tired? I know I am." He handed Harry over to his wife and collapsed onto the sofa, yawning for dramatic effect.

Lily kissed Harry on the forehead as he nuzzled his face against her. "Do you think we should put out some candy for the Muggle children?" she wondered. "I've got some in the pantry."

"We should hand out Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans," James replied. "Those poor Muggles wouldn't know what they're getting themselves into."

"James, I swear, you can be such a—"

But James never got to hear what he could be (a prat, most likely, or maybe a toerag), because at that moment a great explosion rocked their house, blasting their front door off its hinges. He leapt to his feet and ran into the front room to find a cloaked man crossing the threshold, lifting his hood as he turned towards James.

Everything inside of James went numb. It was Voldemort. He'd broken through the Fidelius Charm, which could only mean one thing.

Snape had been right: one of the Marauders was working for Voldemort, but it hadn't been Remus at all. Quiet, innocuous Peter, whom neither James nor Sirius had even thought to suspect, had been the traitor all along.

"Lily," he choked out. "Lily, take Harry and go! It's him!" He glanced back into the living room and met his wife's shocked, fearful gaze. She knew exactly who him was.

"Go," he yelled to her; "run! I'll hold him off!"

Lily didn't even think to protest. She spun around and ran for the stairs, leaving James alone with the Dark Lord.

James reached for his wand—but he didn't have it, he'd left it on the sofa…Voldemort, realizing this as well, gave him a small, cruel smirk. James could hardly hope to best the Dark Lord even with his wand—without it, he was hopeless.

He charged at Voldemort instead, wanting to knock him over or distract him, anything to buy Lily more time. Voldemort laughed, flinging him back with a lazy flick of his wand. James's head slammed against the wall behind him, and he found he could no longer move.

He could hear Lily screaming upstairs, crying out for her life. It was one of the last sounds he was ever going to hear, he realized. His last thoughts would be of her, too…her and Harry and his Marauders, Remus and Sirius and the one who had betrayed them all.

Voldemort was still laughing as he crouched down in front of James. "Avada Kedavra," he murmured, quiet as a prayer.

There was a blinding, brilliant flash of green light, the color of sunlit forests and Lily's eyes. It consumed James's senses, his thoughts, his flesh and bones, and when it was gone, so was he.