A/N: This is a series of oneshots involving the last moments of various characters' deaths, starting from the first ever ones, in chronological order.

I have some choices for names, so review and choose: The Fallen or Last Moments?

I'd appreciate some reviews. B)

Disclaimer: I've gone to a forensics science lab and the experts say I'm not J.K. Rowling.

The Fallen
by ET Brown

Chapter One: James Potter I

Mere seconds before, he had rushed his wife, Lily Potter, along with his year-old son, up to the second storey.

His ruffled black hair was even more ruffled and messy, and beads of sweat were trickling down his brow. His glasses were lopsided, but he did not care.

He was coming, he knew. That was all he knew. He had to protect them.

The night was relatively calm and quiet, except for the occasional hoot of an owl or rustle of trees. It was a dark night, and the moon was hidden behind dense clouds, stars not visible in the night sky. The only light source available were the flickering street lights that were highly unreliable.

It didn't seem to anyone - well, anyone who was normal - that it would be a night for murder.

James Potter I whipped out his wand from his back pocket, and he felt his heart palpitate furiously, threatening to burst out of his chest. No, he had to halt the anxiety and nerves. Those were his weaknesses; he tended to falter under threat. Then again, anybody would falter if they were facing a life-or-death situation.

He ran over the spells quick in his head, knowing that the man would show up anytime. The man, or rather, Voldemort, was stealthy, and he knew how to make not even the slightest sound. Even though the house was charmed with an Anti-Apparation spell, Voldemort always knew ways. He always did.

James Potter didn't see it coming, though he anticipated it. The war, he knew, would never end; he knew that he stood no chance against a man of far greater skill than him. Perhaps Dumbledore could have taken him down, but not James. The pessimistic side of him told his heart that he'd never make it.

Fear grew in his heart, instilling him in a death grip. He was digging his own grave, but there was no choice, was there? In the war, it was all about sacrifices, albeit indirect ones.

Any moment now, he thought, closing his eyes.

In his heart, he noted that it had been Peter - no, wait, Wormtail - who had betrayed them. The little one, seeking shelter and protection. Not Sirius or Remus, thank goodness; but who would have thought? Wormtail, always the timid one. He knew he had made a grave mistake, but it was too late to turn back now...

For a moment, anger raged in his body, directed towards Wormtail. He thought of a punching bag with Wormtail's face on it. However, fear soon overflowed again.

Like a bolt out of the blue, all the almost-useless lamps situated in Godric's Hollow flickered off, and insects no longer twittered in the penetrating silence. The pitch black darkness would have blinded anyone out there in the streets.

Without warning nor delay, the front door of the house crashed down, and there stood Voldemort.

There was a flash of eye-blinding green light before everything blacked out, and his last thought was of Lily. And Harry.