The Definition of Content

I'm not sure when everything changed. He was just a boy. An arrogant, spoiled, self-absorbed, good for nothing boy. I had never considered him the pick of the litter, or the corn of the crop, whichever Muggle term you would like to use. Now, don't get me wrong, it's not as if I considered him the scum of the earth, but he was definitely not an angel. I just always imagined myself being with somebody who's . . . well . . . not him. I'm trying to remember when it happened. Maybe it was when he saved another student's life, whom he hated, when his best friend decided it would be funny to go too far with a joke in fifth year. Maybe it was when he helped a first year pick up her books after she dropped them in the corridors during sixth year. It could have been when he stopped running his fingers through his hair in seventh year. I think, out of all of these, the one thing that really got to me, was when he stopped asking me out. I thought he had finally given up on me, and suddenly, I didn't want him to anymore.

I started calling by his first name, which I swore I would never do. The look on his face was priceless. I can remember it like it was yesterday. Shock and awe, both shining brightly in his eyes. I remember his right hand twitching, probably wanting to mess his hair up, as he often used to do in front of me. Once I became friends with one of his friends, I learned a lot about why he always acted the way he did. I realized halfway through sixth year, that he mostly acted the way he did in order to impress me.

During seventh year, things started to change a lot. He failed to ask me out for two months straight. I became worried that he really did give up on me. I used to think that the day Gryffindor's Quidditch Chaser stopped chasing me, would be a joyous one. I couldn't have been more wrong, which was honestly a shock. I disliked him since the first joke he played back our first year, but when he stopped chasing me, I was hurt.

I can't fully explain why it hurt me. I think that at first I rather enjoyed him always asking me out. After a while, he became nothing more than a nuisance. I had finally decided, during the summer before seventh year, that if he could simply rid himself of some of his immaturity, I would give him a chance. One chance.

After two months of him paying me barely any attention, I decided it was time to approach him, and to hope he hadn't really gave up. After I said my hellos, two of his friends - one of which was also mine - that were standing on either side of him, elbowed him in the stomach, and walked away. One of them turned to wink at me, before leaving. I had never seen him so nervous in my life. One out of two of the most well known people in Gryffindor was nervous, because I said hello. I simply couldn't believe it. Next thing I knew, two days had passed, and he had asked me out. Slightly surprising to him, and even to myself, I said yes.

I was so sure he would try to take me to Madam Paddifoot, the local gooey-gooey make-out pug. He never tried. He didn't even glance in the direction of the horrid building. We had Butterbeer at the Three Broomsticks, special Honeydukes dark chocolate, and even went to Zonko's Joke Shop. By the end of the date, we were laughing and joking around. I hadn't thought, at the time, I could be quite so comfortable around him, but I was. I still am.

Seventh year was over before I really had time to comprehend what was happening. We left Hogwarts and entered the real world. Two short years later, he asked to take me dinner. After dinner, he took me ice-skating. That day, he got down on one knee, told me he loved me and asked for my hand in marriage. I remember it like it was yesterday.

We danced around the ice, well, I did, but he kept stumbling, although his smile never slid from his lips. He had never been that good at ice-skating, but he held his own. He pulled me to the edge of the ice. I looked up at him. His face suddenly grew very serious and quite nervous. He held his hand out to a bench behind us. I sat down. He sat beside me. I was so confused. My legs kept shaking fiercely in a way that had nothing to do with the coldness of the winter night. I turned to face him, about to ask what was going on, when he opened his mouth to speak.

"Y . . . Yes! Absolutely yes! I love you. I . . . I'll marry you. I . . . I'll be your wife." He stood up lifting me up his him and kissed me, unfortunately, he forgot about the ice-skates and we both went tumbling to the ground. His body fell hard on the white snow while I landed on top of him, his arms still around me. I looked at his face, and began laughing. It wasn't long before he joined in. After a few minutes, I looked down at him. He lifted his head up to mine. Our lips crushed together in an unreal passion.

I always smile that memory. It wasn't but two short months later, when our wedding took place. March 15^th 1973. That night was the most amazing night of my life. He was my first. I wasn't sure - still not sure - if I was his first, but I prefer not knowing. I can remember it so clearly. The way he kissed me, the way his hands touched me so carefully, so gently, so lovingly, but most importantly, the way his eyes looked at me. He looked at me as if he had everything in the world. Even with me being a virgin, I knew that what we were doing wasn't having sex. We were making love. I had never experienced anything so wonderful, in my life.

On November 1979, I learned I was one month pregnant. When I told him, his eyes lit up as if he was a child who just heard the best news imaginable. I'm five months pregnant right now. I know it's a boy. I can feel it in my bones. Nearly every time my husband kisses me, the baby kicks. He'll be a lot like his father. I just know it. He'll be a true ball of energy.

I'm content. I'm more than content, I'm happy.

I looked up at my sleeping husband. My head lying on his bare chest, watching as a smile appeared on his face. He looked down at me through half-open eyes. They told of the love, happiness, and the future. He opened his mouth to speak.

"I love you so much Lily Rose Evans Potter." He closed his eyes and fell back to sleep, rather quickly. He possibly did not wake up to begin with. I quietly laughed at the fact. This is not the first time he talked in his sleep with half-open eyes.

I continued looking at him as I whispered, "I love you too, James Edward Wilhelm Potter."

I laid my hand on my stomach, as I felt our baby kick. Life will be perfect.