Knocks On The Door
Disclaimer: I am not J.K Rowling. I don't even want to be anymore!
AN: So… It's been a while, huh? I'm still working on the next chapter of Yogwarts (GCSEs are not my friends) but I need to break my writers block and I promised my friend a tiny ficlet and that's what you've got.
Lily and James: The waiting game wasn't fun. James and your friends were in danger but you were essentially useless, stuck at home with a stomach the size of an elephant and about the grace and dexterity of a hippo. You'd sit there for hours, just listening for the door, willing it to knock. When it finally did, you'd leap from your chair, always surprised at how fast you could move when properly motivated.
James would be standing outside, his head tilted to one side, just waiting for you to ask him the safety question. Once it had been answered and you'd ascertained that he definitely wasn't going to murder you in your bed (or at least if you stopped playing Joni Mitchell), he'd hug you as tight as he could and every time he'd say the same thing. "You smell nice, Lil"
There'd been times Sirius had had to hold him outside the door for him to be able to answer the question and days when you could literally see the wounds through his clothes. On one occasion, he'd even been holding his left hand on with his right, but he never, ever forgot to tell you that you smelled like raspberries.
Then he'd follow you into the sitting room, motion you to sit on the sofa and collapse on top of you, his head on the bump, or "mischief" as he like to refer to it. You'd read to him from whatever book you'd been pretending to flick through while you watched the clock and he'd fall asleep.
The waiting game wasn't fun, but the knocks on the door made it worth it.
