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Love is Here for a Visit	By : SouthSideStory Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > James/Lily Views: 13408 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, and I make no money from writing this fanfiction.

Chapter List
- 1-Part One
- 2-Part Two
- 1
- 2
Part One

Lily wakes to a ribbon-wrapped box of chocolates and a bouquet of sunshine yellow daisies. From an admirer, is all the note says, unsigned, but she has been James Potter’s classmate for years (and maybe she has paid more attention than she’d care to admit), so she recognizes his handwriting. Lily knows she ought to trash these presents, but instead she finds herself eating sinfully rich truffles for breakfast and conjuring a vase to put the flowers in.
It doesn’t mean anything.
When she sees Potter before Transfiguration, she catches him by the arm, tries not to notice the strength of the muscle beneath her hand, and says, “Thank you for the gifts, but please don’t do that again.”
He scratches the back of his head, ruffling his already untidy hair. “Fine,” Potter says, “but at least tell me you didn’t throw away that Honeydukes chocolate.”
Lily laughs. “I’m pretty sure I ate my weight in truffles this morning.”
His grin is lopsided, awakening a dimple in his left cheek, and she reminds herself that no matter how handsome he is, Potter is still an arrogant jackass. He hexes other students just for irritating him, struts around the castle like a damn rooster every time he wins a Quidditch match, brags about his detentions, and bullies Severus at every given opportunity—not that she cares about that, because she doesn’t.
So when he asks, for the second time, whether she might like to go on a date with him, Lily says, firmly if gently, “No.”

He has tried everything he can think of to forget Lily Evans: focusing on school, on Quidditch, on other girls. Just last week James spent an hour snogging Meredith Valmont, the pretty Ravenclaw Seeker, in the changing rooms after a match. And still, at night he dreams of her, and during the day, when he’s not paying attention, he’ll find himself doodling L. E. across the margin of his parchment like some lovesick first-year.
Lily is not perfect—she’s temperamental, quick to judge, a little self-righteous—but she’s also beautiful and brave, kind and strong-willed, and James has been a little in awe of her since he was fourteen. There was a brief period in fifth year when he was convinced he was in love with her, and a week last summer when he thought he might actually hate her. Now he understands that the reality is somewhere not quite in the middle. He likes Lily, admires and respects her, but he barely knows this girl who has so captured his attention. And really, he has nobody to blame for that but himself.

She finds herself looking at Potter more than she should. In class, in the common room, at mealtimes. Lily doesn’t even like Quidditch, but she goes to the first match of the season just to see him wipe the floor with his Slytherin competition. He breaks a school record, scoring over a hundred points on his own.
At the post-game celebratory party, James approaches her with two bottles of butterbeer and asks, “Have a drink with me, Evans?”
She takes the bottle, feels its coldness and the condensation gathered on the glass. “Sure,” Lily says. “Good game, by the way. I think you might have actually made that Keeper cry.”
His hazel eyes widen. “You went to the game? I thought you didn’t like Quidditch.”
“I don’t really, but I was in the mood to see somebody thrash Slytherin.” She takes a sip of her drink and savors the tastes of butterscotch and vanilla. “I can always depend on you for that.”
He smiles and says, “It’s my favorite pastime.”
They join the card table, where Remus is destroying everyone. James, whose poker face couldn’t be worse, loses spectacularly.
“You might as well be donating your money,” Sirius says, laughing.
James shrugs with the nonchalance of the obscenely wealthy, and Lily pokes him in the arm. “You could at least pretend you don’t have gold to throw away. And I raise you one Galleon.”
Remus is impossible to read, and he ends up with a large pile of coins by the end of the game. Sirius breaks out a bottle of firewhiskey, and they all indulge too much. James, it turns out, is a lightweight, and he gets stupendously drunk after only a handful of shots.
“The thing is,” he says, “the trick to seeing through the Dostoevsky Feint is to—”
“I think you mean Wronski Feint,” Remus corrects.
“Whatever,” James says, “you can always tell by—”
“You’re boring her to tears, Prongs,” Sirius says.
“Mind your own business, Padfoot.”
They’re sitting on the rug by the fire, still taking shots of amber liquor. Lily chases hers with butterbeer, and she’s just drunk enough to rest her head on James’s chest and bury her face in his shirt. He smells so good and feels so warm, and she could happily go to sleep right here.
“You’re beautiful,” he whispers.
“James…”
He kisses the top of her head. “It’s true. You are. And I know you don’t really want to hear it from me, but you should hear it from somebody.”
“Thank you,” Lily says. She yawns, nuzzles closer, and passes out.

James wakes up on the floor before the common room hearth, his head hurting like a sonofabitch, with Lily Evans asleep next to him. He doesn’t quite remember how this happened, but the empty bottle of firewhiskey at his side provides a clue.
Lily stirs, stretches, frowns. “My head is killing me,” she says.
“Mine too.” James pinches the bridge of his nose. “Remind me never to drink firewhiskey again.”
“If you’ll do the same for me.” Lily sits up and rubs her eyes. “Sorry I passed out on you,” she says, sounding a little sheepish.
James grins suggestively. “Fall asleep on me whenever you like, Evans.”
She snatches a pillow from the nearest chair and hits him with it. “You are such a Neanderthal,” she says.
James grabs his own pillow and smacks her back, if gently.
“I am not getting into a pillow fight with you,” Lily says loftily. She stands and straightens her wrinkled clothes, “See you later, Potter.”
“Later, Evans.”
Autumn turns to winter, the house elves decorate the halls of Hogwarts with holly and mistletoe, and Lily goes back to barely speaking to him. But he catches her watching him all the time: when he’s working on a new spell in class, joking around with his friends in the common room, or just eating breakfast. He knows she’s looking, because he’s always looking at her.

Gossip spreads through Hogwarts like Fiendfyre, and so Lily knows a week before the end of term that Potter is going to Slughorn’s Christmas party. If she takes a little extra care with her appearance that night, straightening her sapphire blue dress robes and fussing with her hair for thirty minutes, she tells herself this effort is for no one in particular.
At the party, Slughorn introduces her to a famous potioneer and a Gringotts curse-breaker, but to Lily’s dismay all she can pay attention to is Potter, dancing with Meredith Valmont. The punch smells and tastes like nothing besides citrus, but after two cups she feels slightly lightheaded, and she suspects that someone—probably James—spiked it with Uncle Spearman’s Untraceable Spirits.
When there’s a break between songs, she strides over to James and Meredith and says, “Care if I cut in?”
He looks from her to his irritated date and asks, “Do you mind if I dance with Evans?”
Meredith rolls her eyes, says, “Sure, why not?”
“Thanks for letting me borrow him,” Lily says with forced cheer.
They dance to a slow song, her arms around his neck, his hands on her waist. James smells like winter, cold wind and the peppermint candies he eats incessantly, but his body is warm against hers. She slides her fingers through his messy hair and finds that it’s even softer than it looks. Perhaps she’s being reckless, and she’s not drunk, so there’s no excuse for this behavior, but Lily doesn’t care.
When the song ends, she says, “Let’s get out of here.”
She can see him weighing the possibilities, guilt and want warring, because he isn’t the type of man to come to a party with one woman and leave with another. And Lily isn’t the kind of person who steals another girl’s date, but here they are.
Finally, James says, “Okay. Where do you want to go?”
“Aren’t you the one who knows this school inside and out?” she asks.
He grins, wide and white, and says, “Yeah, I am.”

The place he takes her to is a little-known music room on the sixth floor, tucked away behind a tapestry of Euphemia Diggory playing a lute. The grate is dark and cold, but a quick spell brings a fire to life, and suddenly the space is bathed in a ruddy glow. There’s a harp, a cello, a glass case filled with woodwind instruments. To James’s surprise, Lily takes a seat before the piano and plays a soft melody he has never heard before. She stops halfway through and says, “Listening to me play Muggle music probably isn’t what you had in mind bringing me here.”
“It’s nice,” James says. “You should keep playing if you want.”
Lily shakes her head, stands, and puts her hands on his chest. She looks up at him with impossibly green eyes and says, “That’s not what I want.”
James has snogged a half-dozen girls and never felt the least bit anxious, but when Lily stands up on the tips of her toes and presses her lips to his, he’s almost too nervous to respond. Instinct takes over when she opens her mouth and tastes him, and he kisses back hungrily, pulls her flush against his body so that he can feel the softness of her.
“The couch,” Lily says, and they stumble to the soft, blue velvet loveseat. She ends up under him, kissing like she has wanted this as badly as he has. Tugging at the collar of his fancy black dress robes, then unbuttoning the shirt beneath. She touches his chest and stomach, but her hands still when they come to his belt.
He says, “We don’t have to go any further.”
“I know,” Lily says, but she unbuckles his belt just the same.
“Are you sure you want to—to do this? With me?” James asks, because part of him can barely believe that this is happening. “I mean you wouldn’t even go on a date with me before tonight—”
“This isn’t a date,” Lily says.
James isn’t sure what to make of that, but when she unbuttons the front of her own dress robes, he decides to worry about it later.

Lily dresses herself with shaking hands. Somehow her panties ended up across the room, under the piano bench. How that happened, she isn’t sure. James is asleep on the couch, still half-naked, glasses askew. He breathes slowly and evenly, his sleep deep and undisturbed.
She might not believe what she’s done if not for the ache between her legs, evidence that she fucked James Potter. Lily can’t quite find it in herself to regret her choice, even if she should. She couldn’t have asked for a gentler or more attentive partner for her first time, and whether this was a mistake or not, she thinks she’ll never have anything but fond memories of tonight.
It seems wrong to sneak away without saying goodbye, after the intimacy they shared, so Lily kisses James awake, then says, “I should get back to Gryffindor Tower. My roommates will be worried if I never come to bed.”
“Okay,” he says around a wide yawn. “I think I’ll just stay here for the night.”
They part ways with one last kiss, and Lily returns to her dormitory with the taste of peppermint lingering on her tongue.

James tries to catch Lily the next morning, but she seems to be doing her level best to ignore him. He finally corners her on the train back to London and pulls her into an empty compartment.
“I want to talk.”
“Why?” she asks. “There’s nothing to talk about.”
“Nothing to—we had sex last night, Lily. How’s that for conversation material?”
“I remember,” she says, “but I don’t see why we need to discuss it.”
James rubs his temple, warding off a headache. “Because I have questions. I want to know how you’re doing, and whether or not I can tell my mates about this, and why you did that with me when you won’t even let me take you to Hogsmeade.”
Lily glances away from him and her cheeks pinken. “I’m fine, no you can’t tell your friends, and I won’t go on a date with you because I don’t want to be in a relationship. Satisfied?”
“Not even close,” he says. James catches her chin and tilts her face up. Lily is tall for a girl, but he’s still a good half-foot taller, and he has to bend down to kiss her.
She’s as eager and responsive as she was the night before, and when they finally break away from each other, they’re both breathless. “So,” he asks, grinning, “exactly how long have you wanted to snog me?”
Lily rolls her eyes. “Not as long as I’ve wanted to hit you upside the head. Be thankful I chose to fulfill the lesser of my desires.”
“Right, right, you hate me. That’s hard to remember when I keep thinking about the sounds you made when you—”
“You’re a prat,” Lily says, but she’s just barely holding back a smile. “And I don’t hate you, James. I’ve never hated you.”
“Never?” he asks, suspicious.
She pokes him in the ribs. “Well, maybe in first year when you hexed my owl to meow.”
“That was a good prank,” James says, wistful. “Did you ever get the hex off?”
“No,” she says flatly, arms crossed over her chest. “Athena still sounds like a damn cat, thanks to you.”
They laugh together, and then James says, “I hope you have a good holiday, Evans.”
“Yeah,” she says, smiling. “Same to you, Potter.”

Christmas is excruciating. Petunia comes back home to Cokeworth with a rude, no-necked fiance in tow: Vernon Dursley, a walrus of a man who is as boring and normal as her sister could ever hope to catch. Which, Lily imagines, is exactly the point.
Worse, she finds herself wandering down Spinner’s End, tempted to knock on Sev’s door. She misses her best friend. Misses his sharp sense of humor and how he understood her better than anyone else ever could.
It’s on one of these walks down his street that Lily finally runs into him.
“What are you doing here?” Severus asks.
Thinking about you, she doesn’t say. “I dunno. Just taking a walk.”
“Oh.” Then, “Mind if I walk with you?”
God, it would be easy to forget what he’s said and done. That he broke her heart, piece by piece, over the years. It would be easy because she cares about him more than anyone else in this world. Still, six months after he called her that unforgivable name, she loves him.
“Yes,” Lily finally says, more sharply than necessary. “I do mind, and I don’t want to see you.”
She walks away, but Sev is like a dog with a bone when he wants something badly enough (and she knows that he wants her more than anything else). He follows her, keeping up with her quick stride, and says, “You don’t want to see me, but you’re walking down my street?”
Lily turns at the next corner, onto Weaver’s Lane, and says, “Now I’m walking down my street. Goodbye.”
“I saw you,” Severus says. “The other night at Slughorn’s party, I saw you leave with Potter.”
There’s a vindictive part of her that wants to tell him she slept with James, just to hurt him, like he hurt her the day he called her a Mudblood, but she can’t bring herself to do it.
“That’s none of your business,” she says, and this time when she walks away, Sev doesn’t come after her.

James has never been happier to see the end of the Christmas hols. The break was fun enough, and he racked up a record number of gifts from his parents, but all he could think of was Lily. He finds her in the corridor on the first day back, but she brushes him off and says she’ll talk to him later.
After she hurries to catch up with her friends, Snape hits him in the back with Sectumsempra. James throws a few hexes of his own, and the two of them end up in detention for the rest of the day, scrubbing old cauldrons in the dungeons until the early hours of the morning.
“You haven’t got a shot with her, you know,” Snape says nastily.
It’s three o’clock, and he has two more cauldrons to clean the Muggle way before he’s free to go. “Shut up, Snivellus.”
“It’s pathetic, the way you follow her around like some lost puppy. Trust me, I know her: she sees you for what you are and she’ll never give you the time of day. She hates you, Potter—”
“Hates me so much she fucked me,” James says, before he can think better of it.
“You’re a liar,” Snape hisses. “Lily would never.”
“I’m telling the truth,” James says, and now he glances at the other boy, whose sallow face is so red he looks like a tomato.
He half-expects to get attacked again, but instead Snape just shakes his head and says, under his breath, “Liar.”
The next afternoon, James is rudely awakened by Lily, who shakes him out of slumber and says, “I said not to tell anybody, and you told Severus, you arrogant bastard!”
He sits up, looks around the empty dorm blearily, and puts on his glasses. At least they’re alone.
“Actually, you said I couldn’t tell my friends,” James corrects. “And Snivellus is not my friend.”
“I don’t give a damn,” Lily says. “You had no right to use what happened between us to hurt him.”
“What do you care if he’s hurt? That sonofabitch is a Death Eater in training.” James stands, close enough to Lily that she takes a step backward.
“He used to be my friend and he—he loves me,” she says, looking down. “Telling him was cruel and you know it.”
“And do you love him?”
Lily’s, “No, of course not,” comes a little too slowly to be convincing, but there’s a hard truth there that James isn’t quite ready to accept, so he pretends to believe her.

She barely speaks to James through the rest of winter, but one late night, as the snows melt into spring, Lily goes to the music room and finds him sitting on a blanket in front of the hearth, absentmindedly plucking the strings of a lute. He looks up, but doesn’t say anything. She sits next to him and asks, “How have you been?”
“Can’t complain,” James says. “You?”
“I’m well,” Lily says, even though it isn’t true. She still misses Severus like he’s a sickness that she can’t be cured of. Some illness of mind and body that runs rampant just under her skin. Petunia’s last letter was full of nothing but vitriol, and her parents want to pull her out of Hogwarts because of the war. They can’t, though, since she’s of age, and she refuses to leave, so she’s fighting with her mum and dad on top of everything else.
James sets the lute aside. “I’m sorry that I told Snape.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Lily says, because Severus is the last thing she wants to think about right now.
She takes off her robes, unbuttons her shirt, and straddles James’s lap. “I’m tired of not talking to you, not kissing you.”
“Me too,” he says, and he looks at her with such open tenderness that it frightens her a little. Lily doesn’t want his affection, doesn’t want any man’s. Much as she hates to admit it, she’s still recovering from the blow Sev dealt her heart. Because she knows with a strange sort of certainty that he could have been so much more to her if he hadn’t been drawn to such hateful things. Maybe the love of her life, maybe a husband, who knows? She never will, because he made the wrong choices.
No, Lily can’t take James’s affection, but there’s plenty else she wants from him.
“Kiss me,” she says, and he does.

Her breasts are white and full, streaked with pale silver marks, her nipples the same rosy pink as her lips. She’s lovely everywhere. Narrow hips and narrower waist, round bottom, long legs. This time James learns each inch of her, discovers the brown birthmark on her left hip, the constellation of freckles across her back. He kisses the dip where her collarbones meet, the valley between her breasts, the soft plane of her stomach, then lower. She whimpers his name when she comes, pulls him on top of her, and they fuck until he reaches his own release.
Afterward, James lies beside her, breathing hard, and tries not to think too much about what they’re doing. How she’s using him. How he’s letting her, because he’s too sick with love to do anything else.
“Is something wrong?” Lily asks. “You look upset.”
“I’m fine, just tired,” James lies. He makes himself smile. “You wore me out, madam.”
She shrugs playfully and says, voice teasing, “I do apologize, good sir.”
James tickles her, and Lily starts giggling almost hysterically. It’s undignified and mildly ridiculous, but the sound of her laughter is the most beautiful thing he has ever heard.
“Stop, stop, stop…” she begs, and after another minute he finally lets her go.
Lily smacks his arm and says, hiccuping, “I—I hate you, James Potter.”
“No you don’t.” He kisses the tip of her nose and asks, “Will you sleep here with me?”
“I can’t.” She at least has the grace to look regretful. James tunes out her excuse, something about not wanting to worry her roommates, same as she said the last time they did this.
“Yeah, fine, whatever.”
Lily frowns at him, gathers up her clothes, dresses, and says, “Goodnight, Potter.”
“Night, Evans.”

By some stroke of ill fortune, Slughorn pairs Lily with Severus to make Amortentia. “I need my star students working on this one,” he says jovially. “It’s the trickiest potion you’ll see all year.”
They don’t talk. Sev slices maidenhair roots while Lily pours vials of veela tears into the thickening brew, one excruciatingly slow drop at a time, because too much at once will upset the potion. Amortentia is fickle and demanding, and they have to meet at all hours of the day and night to check on it, add ingredients, or simply stir the damn thing. Clockwise for one minute, counter-clockwise for three, then clockwise again for five. Repeat, repeat, repeat, until the surface of the potion looks like mother-of-pearl.
Lily smells peppermint and crushed herbs in equal measure. One scent for the boy she lusts after and one for the friend she can’t seem to rid herself of.
She doesn’t have to ask Severus what he smells in the Amortentia. Not that it’s any of her business.
“I hate this,” she admits. It’s one o’clock in the morning and the castle is asleep, but here she is, brewing the world’s strongest love potion with the person she loves most. “I don’t think anybody should ever make it.”
“Maybe not,” Severus says, “but you have to admire it, don’t you? The power it has. One little drop and you could make your worst enemy worship you.”
Lily adds the last ingredient, demiguise blood. “You would see it that way.”
There’s nothing else they can do for the Amortentia except let it brew for another eleven hours, so Lily leaves Severus in the dungeons and returns to Gryffindor Tower. She half-hopes James will be there, but he’s not.

He’s in love with Lily Evans, and it couldn’t be plainer that she doesn’t feel the same way.
James keeps away from her for one week before he breaks and agrees to meet her in the music room. It has become their rendezvous spot, the place where they meet to fuck and argue, to laugh and talk about small nothings.
“What are we doing, exactly?” he asks.
Lily shrugs. “I don’t think we need to define it. I just want to enjoy this, whatever it is.”
“Well I do want a definition,” James says. “What am I to you? Do you care about me? Do you even like me?”
Lily lies beside him, staring up at the ceiling as if she’ll find the right answers written there. “I don’t have anything to give you, James. I’m sorry.”
He runs a hand over his face. “Right then. Just forget I said anything.”

The common room is empty except for James and Remus, who are playing chess. Lily pulls up a seat and watches the game, which turns out to be a slaughter. Remus’s queen rules the board, darting from unexpected corners to steal James’s pieces, until the black king finally falls to a white knight.
“You butchered him,” she says. “Well done, Remus.”
To her surprise, James takes the loss well. He even laughs about it and promises to return the ass-kicking he now owes his friend the next time they play.
As soon as Remus retires, James is on her, kissing her neck, tugging at her robes.
“I need you,” he says, and the sound of his voice, so full of hunger, makes warmth pool low in her belly.
The common room isn’t a smart place to do this. Any of their housemates could find them, but the thrill of eluding discovery only makes Lily want him more. So they fuck on the couch in the corner, the most private spot of this public place. This time she’s on her stomach, James pressed so close to her, rocking into her body with slow, deep thrusts that make her shout into the pillows, muffling her cries.
When they’re together like this, the world is simple, reduced to one dimension: his body and her body, meeting in a rhythm as old as time. And for a few sweet moments, Lily feels free.
Then it’s over, and reality comes crashing down. She’s naked and hard-used, pinned beneath a man whose love is laced into every word he speaks to her. Like now, when he says, “You’re perfect.” Lily can hear the devotion in his voice, and she knows she’s hurting him by not returning the same affection.
I should end it. I should.
But she won’t. She’s too selfish to let him go.

James takes Thalia Martin to Hogsmeade and snogs her in Madam Puddifoot’s. Kissing Thalia does little to please him, but word of his adventures reaches Lily by nightfall, if the venomous looks she keeps shooting him are anything to go by. She’s angry and jealous, which only bolsters James’s good mood.
After dinner, Lily pulls him into a broom closet and says, “What the hell is this I heard about you and Martin? Is it true?”
“I snogged her,” James says, casual. “I didn’t think you’d much care, to be honest.”
“Well I do.”
“Why? We’re not a couple. According to you, we’re not anything at all,” he says.
Lily shakes her head. “I don’t care. I don’t want you kissing other girls.”
“Fine then.” He leaves before she can say anything else, goes to the Quidditch pitch, Summons his broom from Gryffindor Tower, and flies. James races over the pitch, then the Forbidden Forest. Tomorrow is full moon, so he and his friends will be exploring those woods again soon. James looks forward to the freedom that comes with changing into his Animagus form, the dependence upon instinct rather than thought. As a stag he has few cares.
But when he changes back into his human self, his worries are waiting for him. James wonders how much longer his father has to live, because the Healers keep saying he has only weeks, and then Dad pulls through and beats their expectations. It would be stupid to hope that he’ll just get better. James learned long ago the futility of wishing for impossible things, but that doesn’t stop him from wanting them.

There’s a war outside of Hogwarts. Sometimes it’s easy to forget, but then the Daily Prophet brings news of more deaths and disappearances, and Lily can no longer ignore that outside of these safe walls the world is burning.
There’s a smaller battle inside the castle. A reflection of its larger counterpart, students split along ancestral lines. Pure-bloods and blood-traitors and Muggleborns tangled up in an ugly, many-sided fight. She sees Severus running around with Mulciber and Avery, helping them torment their opposition, and she remembers quite vividly why she gave up on her best friend. He hurts people. And he called her Mudblood in front of half the school. He used that filthy, awful word that sums up every inadequacy Lily has felt about her place in the magical world.
Today she had to dock points from a Slytherin pure-blood seventh year and a half-blood Hufflepuff fifth-year who were dueling in the damn hallway outside McGonagall’s classroom, of all places. They were lucky it was Lily who caught them and not the Transfiguration professor.
She’s late to Defense Against the Dark Arts because of it. Professor McKinnon waves away her excuses and just tells her to start working on her Patronus.
Lily has been toiling over this assignment for weeks. Half the class already has silver animals hopping and swimming and running around the classroom. Happiness made corporeal, and therein lies the problem. Lily has plenty of good memories, but the issue is that they’re all tainted. Her parents are furious with her for staying at Hogwarts despite the attitude against Muggleborns, the sister she was once so close to hates her, and her best friend is a Death Eater to be. And then there’s Potter. Sweet, conceited, gentle, bullying, intoxicating James.
She closes her eyes and summons a memory from her childhood. She and Tuney playing at the park, her sister swinging her higher and higher, how joyous and elating and simple it was. “Expecto Patronum!” Lily says, but all that comes from her wand is an ethereal mist.
Nothing substantial. Nothing good enough.

“I can’t quit you,” James admits. Lily has fallen asleep in his arms, so there’s no chance she’ll hear his confession. “I love you, and I know I shouldn’t keep doing this, but I don’t know how to give you up.”
The next morning, Professor Dumbledore calls James to his office. He thinks the headmaster may have discovered that the Marauders were responsible for flooding the Slytherin common room with lakewater, but it turns out that this isn’t about his misdeeds at all.
Mum is there, puffy-eyed and dressed all in dark clothes, and James knows before she opens her mouth that his dad is dead.
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Love is Here for a Visit