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James: Is that your mother?

Sirius: Where?

James: The other end of the platform.

Sirius: Does her gaze draw the last vestiges of happiness from your soul like a dementor?

Sirius: Does her mouth pull ever so slightly into a grimace, as though she has smelled the foulest stench to plague mankind but will not dare to admit defeat?

Sirius: Does her claw-like hands look as though they're ready to rip the beating heart out of a young child in order to continue her putrid existence?

James:

James: Er - she looks like she's glaring at you.

Sirius: Yeah, that's probably her.

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