Her expression crumbles. Morphing from something vaguely, guardedly hopeful to scrunched up as she tears up. It's not the first time, but she thinks it might be the worst of it. Big fat droplets trickle down her cheeks, and oh, it's suddenly so hard to breathe, seeing her son right in front of her. A little taller than her. So strikingly like James it leaves her aching.

Mum. He's caught her fingers within his, but she's quick to free herself so that she can throw her arms around his shoulders, hugging him tightly. Her entire body shakes with silent sobs, uncontrollable sobs that are part grief--he's not... dead, is he?--and part joy at seeing her baby.

No, he's not a baby, he's a grown man.

"Harry--" There's so much to say, to learn, to teach, but she's choking on all the words which fight to break out.