„Mum?“ James asks, somewhat nervously, as he walks up to his Mother in the sitting room. „Where d’you keep the old photographs, you know, of when I was a kid?“
Euphemia Potter smiles knowingly, placing her book aside to grant her son her full attention. „She finally got you to agree to show them to her then?“ she teases, all too delighted by James‘ girlfriend, whom he’s been talking about constantly since last summer.
James scratches the back of his neck, blushing ever so slightly. „I promised to send one with my next letter…“
„I see,“ Euphemia replies, trying her best not to chuckle at his love struck expression. „They’re up in the attic, I think. Oh, but be careful, dear, if I remember correctly, there’s still a boggart hiding up there somewhere.“
At that, James’ expression unexpectedly brightens. „A boggart?“ he asks, already taking his wand from his jeans pocket.
Euphemia raises a brow at the, in her opinion, rather misplaced excitement. „You’re happy there’s a boggart in the attic?“ she asks doubtfully.
„Yeah, it’s great practice!“ James hollers back, already half way up the stairs.
He rummages through the many, many shelves and boxes for a while, before finally, he notices how his Dad‘s old wooden desk, cramped into a corner, suddenly rattles. „Ah…there you are!“
He raises his wand right at the desk, saying clearly: „Alohomora.“
The box opens at once, a barely visible shadow escaping from its confides.
James readies his wand once again, preparing himself to face Voldemort and turn him into a clown, or maybe rather an old granddad? — but then, for the first time since fifth year, when his biggest fear had changed from snakes to Voldemort (not that much of a change, in his opinion) it isn’t Voldemort‘s pale face or red eyes that he sees…
„No…no, no…“ he whispers frantically, his wand cluttering to the floor as he stares at the body lying there in front of him. „Lily!“ he dives down, kneeling to take her into his arms, her bright green eyes dull and empty. „Lily! No! Lily…wake up, come on…wake up!“ he‘s crying, his entire world shrinking down to the feeling of her, cold and motionless in his arms.
He feels like he’s suffocating. „Lil, please…please…“
He doesn’t hear the footsteps that thump up the stairs, nor does he feel the hands that try to pull him away— away from Lily. He’ll never let go of her. „No! Don’t touch me! Don’t—“
„James! It’s just a boggart!“ he can hear his Mother‘s voice, albeit faintly, like she’s miles away…but he remembers. The boggart.
Though, before he can even look around for his wand, his Mother stands before him protectively, raising her own wand to the changing image which settles, just for a split second, to one of himself — lying there where Lily‘d been.
„Ridikulus!“