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James Potter kissed Lily in the middle of the night, and he had heard her groan.
It was like the breath of the wind itself, the sound of the stones moving on the sand, the open air, the sound of the wind outside.
So many times he'd looked at her, wondering why she didn't leave him, why she wouldn't let him be with her. He'd looked away from her and thought, oh, she's just too beautiful to live with me, why can't I love her?
And he knew that it was the same for her. And so he went to him, like a child to his mother, like a lover to his beloved.
The most important thing was that she knew he loved her.
They were blessed with two children, one child that was an incredible miracle, the one who was named Harry Potter, and Lily, the one who had been adopted into this family.
It was hard at first, and James was amazed at how his life had been changing in so short a time, but he was so glad that it was happening. It meant that she was alive, and that they were happy.
So James Potter held Lily in his arms, looking into her eyes and listening to her voice. He knew that he had to show her that he was there for her, that he loved her, that he was there for his family.
So he had a sort of, a momentary, romantic, fantasy of how they would look together, holding hands and looking into each others eyes and saying, "I love you, I love you, I love you," over and over again, in a tone of excitement.
And it was true. He loved her so much, and so was her, and so was all of them.
And so they married.
And it was perfect.
...
And that was when Harry, James, and their children were murdered by Voldemort.
It was a cold, dark, snowy night, as they had all said, and all the world seemed black and frozen and silent, except for them.
And then something snapped.
"Mudblood!" he heard a voice yell.
James Potter raised his wand, and in an instant he was going to curse his son to death, but he did not. Instead, he smiled, and his son smiled back, and the two embraced, and hugged each other.