“Oh, James! You were so cute! Look at that fuzz, just like it is today,” Lily laughed, ruffling her husband’s hair as she looked through the scrapbook Mrs Potter had brought along to the couple’s new flat.
“Fuzz! You call that fuzz! It’s hair
, not fuzz, you
, my dear, have fuzz,” he replied, his eyes lighting up with cheek. Mr and Mrs Potter were talking to Mr Evans until Mrs Evans found Lily’s scrapbook from the boxes she brought over of Lily’s baby things.
? That’s not my
fault and if you hate it that much then I’m not talking to you,” She said, pretending to be upset as she poked him on the chest and snubbed her nose in the air, turning to face the opposite way. He tried poking her to look at him, but she refused, so he sighed and whispered in her ear, “You know, I don’t care about the fuzz, only about you.”
“Yeah, yeah, liar, liar,” She said, turning to face him again with a smirk, her eyebrows raised in that ‘I-know-what-you-really-mean’
look. She traced his mouth with her index finger and pecked him lightly on the cheek before getting up and asking if anyone wanted a cup of tea.
As she went into the kitchen, James sat there looking through the scrapbook. There he was on page 10, aged five on his first broomstick that flew more than thirty centimetres high. He was so proud of himself that day, even if his did fall off and get a big lump on his head.
And that time at the park! With his Aunty Gem and cousin Jacquie! That’s right, they went on the swings with the other kids and tried to go higher than the other. And there was Sirius as well on the slide, poking his tongue out at his mother in defiance who was yelling at him to “Get down this instant or your backside will be too tender to sit on for the rest of the week!”
Sirius even hated her then.
He closed the book as he heard Mrs Evans coming down the stairs with Lily’s scrapbook. It had white and pink lace around the edging of the cover and a black and white photo of a small little baby with an intricately knitted silk-thread bonnet on her head.
“Oh, look at the little thing, reminds me of that fuzz-ball I married,” James teased and Lily snorted at him.
“At least I’m not trying to copy the dog by drinking out of the toilet bowl,” Lily retorted back and he was horrified.
“You put that photo in there, mum!” He cried, his face red in embarrassment.
“Jaime, that’s what scrapbooks are for; those funny little pictures.”
“Our baby is NOT having those sorts of photos, Hun.” The parent’s mouths all fell as Lily and James smirked, their hands interlaced on her belly.