And realizes she still has no idea how to actually go about telling him.
"I met someone," she says, finally. "Here. A boy. His name is Harry. He's seventeen and he's from our world but, I don't know, probably twenty-some-odd years in the future.
"And he's my son.
"And ... "
Lily looks down at the table and then back up at Potter, and finishes in a rush, "Andhe'syoursontoo."
James, even in his state of absolute bafflement, would never think it was a bad thing.
But weird?
Oh, yes.
"Definitely weird," he affirms. "Of all the things I figured you might say, the fact that you and I have got a seventeen year old son hanging about this place would not even cross my mind to end up at the bottom of that list."
If not quite as wary as it is necessary to be when he looks smug and pleased with himself.
"Having a good day, Potter?"
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And she will hold him to that.
Lily takes a deep breath.
And realizes she still has no idea how to actually go about telling him.
"I met someone," she says, finally. "Here. A boy. His name is Harry.
He's seventeen and he's from our world but, I don't know, probably twenty-some-odd years in the future.
"And he's my son.
"And ... "
Lily looks down at the table and then back up at Potter, and finishes in a rush, "Andhe'syoursontoo."
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And then, what eventually comes out of his mouth sounds a little like, "Mngwah?"
He clears his throat.
And tries again.
Because he must have misheard that.
"Say that again?"
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"His name is Harry Potter.
"And he's our son."
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Then she can help him through this.
Because there's something not quite clicking, no matter how many times he repeats it in his head.
James shakes his head.
"Bloody hell. That's - a lot to take in, if it's true."
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"Look, he's ... there's no way he's not. There's just no way.
"And, yeah. It's really, really hard to take in."
She pauses, sighs, and then continues.
"D'you remember last fall? You asked me why I was staring at you?
"Well ... now you know."
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He remembers that conversation.
Merlin, he'd been a different person back then.
A lot has happened since.
"No, you're right," he says. "You have no reason to make any of it up."
Hell, between the two of them, he would have more of a reason to make it up. (Not that he would. This is ... far too weird an issue to make up.)
"So ... what's he like?"
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"Well, he looks a lot like you. Only he has eyes like mine.
"Gryffindor. Seeker.
"Thoughtful. Clever. Maybe a little ... impulsive.
"I like him."
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Not going to panic.
Nope.
"He does sound like a decent mix of you and me," he allows.
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"Are you all right?"
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He leans forward a little, looking vaguely overwhelmed.
Not quite all right, actually.
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"No. No, it's good that you did," he says, putting his glasses back on. "I mean - I'd have found out somehow, eventually, yeah?
"And I'd rather you tell me now than one day have our - our son come up to me and introduce himself."
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"It's incredibly weird, though, right?"
Because she finds it incredibly weird.
Not bad.
Just weird.
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James, even in his state of absolute bafflement, would never think it was a bad thing.
But weird?
Oh, yes.
"Definitely weird," he affirms. "Of all the things I figured you might say, the fact that you and I have got a seventeen year old son hanging about this place would not even cross my mind to end up at the bottom of that list."
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"So what did you think I was going to say?"
Just, you know, out of curiosity.
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