[ the questioning causes her to tense again, but lily stops -- really, properly stops at his final question. and for the first time, she actually turns to look up at him, and her eyes flicker toward his face. scanning him, really looking at him.
maybe it's the war, but for half a second, she's terrified all over again. because james asking what she is talking about is impossible. how could he ask her such a stupid question when -- and for another half a second (and, again, the war), she realizes she never bothered to make sure this was james in the first place.
. . . but once she looks at him, that fear is gone, because this is james. her james, and how he holds himself, how gentle his tone is, how he's tiptoeing around making her upset but still asking the necessary question. it is james. but he's still asking a stupid question, and while james asks a lot of stupid questions, he never asks purposefully hurtful stupid questions, and he never plays dumb. not with her. not now.
her voice sounds raspy, from the crying (and, belatedly, she realizes, probably from the screaming): ]
Him. You -- [ no, she is not bending to that foolishness. ] Voldemort.
[ it's soft (and she hates how she nearly hesitates before saying the name, but while her voice is soft, lily forces herself to say it with conviction, every syllable purposeful), watching his face. her hands are shaking, but adrenaline is keeping her in one spot, upright, for the time being.
finally, she retracts her hand from james' shirt, so she can push her hair out of her face. her fingers are shaking. ]
He didn't want me. He wanted Harry. And if -- if he's here, then we need. . .
[ lily stops herself, because she can't allow herself to be panicked again. panic serves no one. she has to keep her head, because now, something is wrong with james, and her priority has to shift to that. because if james is compromised, then lily truly is on her own, here. ]
Did he wipe your memory? [ carefully, gently. ] Do you remember Halloween?
no subject
maybe it's the war, but for half a second, she's terrified all over again. because james asking what she is talking about is impossible. how could he ask her such a stupid question when -- and for another half a second (and, again, the war), she realizes she never bothered to make sure this was james in the first place.
. . . but once she looks at him, that fear is gone, because this is james. her james, and how he holds himself, how gentle his tone is, how he's tiptoeing around making her upset but still asking the necessary question. it is james. but he's still asking a stupid question, and while james asks a lot of stupid questions, he never asks purposefully hurtful stupid questions, and he never plays dumb. not with her. not now.
her voice sounds raspy, from the crying (and, belatedly, she realizes, probably from the screaming): ]
Him. You -- [ no, she is not bending to that foolishness. ] Voldemort.
[ it's soft (and she hates how she nearly hesitates before saying the name, but while her voice is soft, lily forces herself to say it with conviction, every syllable purposeful), watching his face. her hands are shaking, but adrenaline is keeping her in one spot, upright, for the time being.
finally, she retracts her hand from james' shirt, so she can push her hair out of her face. her fingers are shaking. ]
He didn't want me. He wanted Harry. And if -- if he's here, then we need. . .
[ lily stops herself, because she can't allow herself to be panicked again. panic serves no one. she has to keep her head, because now, something is wrong with james, and her priority has to shift to that. because if james is compromised, then lily truly is on her own, here. ]
Did he wipe your memory? [ carefully, gently. ] Do you remember Halloween?