James made a dismissive sound with his lips, waving his hand and turning to face Lily. He tried to look as if he found this fact as ridiculous as she seemed to, and nodded. "I know, right?"
He shook his head, leaning forward with his hands between his knees. James had dealt with death eaters, he'd dealt with werewolves, he'd dealt with McGonagall. There was no reason why he should feel this awkward and nervous with his own wife. There really wasn't anything bad going on. If they were pregnant---great! Amazing, even! If they weren't, well, they'd accepted that.
At least, he thought he had. The bubbling in James' stomach, he was realizing, wasn't nervousness about being a father, or having a baby, it was about feeling that intense sense of loss again. It had put them through such a terribly rough spot, and now that they were happy and actually dealing with the life they'd managed to find themselves in with the Order---it could all just revert back to that bad, bad place.
Bloody Alice and her sniffles.
"Because she's all sick and stuff, he was just jumping to conclusions. Moody, too, I think, from the way she was talking in the journals.." James almost felt guilty for making the Longbottoms his scapegoat, but...eh. Frank owed him.
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