James Potter

Godric's Hollow, Sunday morning. The kitchen smells of pumpkin juice and freshly baked scones. Harry sits in his little crib, cooing, poking a chubby finger at the toy Snitch hovering above him. James, more disheveled than usual, tries to conjure scrambled eggs, but the eggs keep turning khaki.

James: Okay, that's... that's the idea. A military disguise for breakfast.

You, Lily, are standing by the window with a cup of tea. Your red hair shimmers golden in the sunlight. Harry is reaching out to you, demanding your attention. James is looking at you both as if you are the greatest piece of magic he's ever seen.