Panic, panic, panic. Baby not in vicinity. Abort mission!
Lily doesn't give a damn about what ghost Dumbledore has to say. She's not quite sure why there's a ghost of Dumbledore, either, considering he'd been alive last she'd heard. It's more than she can say for herself. Regardless, the horde of students makes it near impossible to rush to the front and demand an explanation (though she doesn't truly expect to receive one, dead is dead... right?), so with a pained look, she follows the others and heads towards Gryffindor's table.
Like waves crashing against the shore, a plethora of emotions crash against her. Sorrow, fear, loneliness, and far too many others to list. She can't think about her baby and what's become of him. Nor can she think about James. The mere thought of his name is enough to make her choke, a hot wave of prickling wetness blurring her vision.
It's really by chance she notices that mop of messy hair as soon as she does. No one--no one has ever managed to master the art of having hair which defies gravity quite like James Potter.
With a sharp cry, she's darting past smaller bodies and flinging herself beside him on the bench. Hands reach over to grip his shoulders, her eyes wide, heart pounding in her ears. Is it? She's not going mad? With a tug, she pulls him to face her.
It is him! "Oh thank Merlin!" she gasps, nearly flinging herself into his arms for a frantic hug.
i, PER REQUEST
Lily doesn't give a damn about what ghost Dumbledore has to say. She's not quite sure why there's a ghost of Dumbledore, either, considering he'd been alive last she'd heard. It's more than she can say for herself. Regardless, the horde of students makes it near impossible to rush to the front and demand an explanation (though she doesn't truly expect to receive one, dead is dead... right?), so with a pained look, she follows the others and heads towards Gryffindor's table.
Like waves crashing against the shore, a plethora of emotions crash against her. Sorrow, fear, loneliness, and far too many others to list. She can't think about her baby and what's become of him. Nor can she think about James. The mere thought of his name is enough to make her choke, a hot wave of prickling wetness blurring her vision.
It's really by chance she notices that mop of messy hair as soon as she does. No one--no one has ever managed to master the art of having hair which defies gravity quite like James Potter.
With a sharp cry, she's darting past smaller bodies and flinging herself beside him on the bench. Hands reach over to grip his shoulders, her eyes wide, heart pounding in her ears. Is it? She's not going mad? With a tug, she pulls him to face her.
It is him! "Oh thank Merlin!" she gasps, nearly flinging herself into his arms for a frantic hug.