Harry stopped in front of the desk and gazed down at his fifteen year-old father. Excitement exploded in the pit of his stomach: It was as thought he was looking at himself but with deliberate mistakes. James's eyes were hazel, his nose was slightly longer then Harry's, and there was no scar on his forehead, but they had the same thing face, same mouth, same eyebrows. James's hair stuck up at the back exactly as Harry's did. His hands could have been Harry's, and Harrry could tell that when James stood up, they would be within an inch of eachother's heights.
" All right, Evans? " said James, and the tone of his voice was suddenly pleasant, deeper, more mature. " Leave him alone, " Lily repeated. She was looking at James with a great sign of dislike. " What's he done to you? "
" Well, " said James, appearing to deliberate the point, " it's more the face that he exists, if you know what I mean . . "