If she was completely honest with herself, Lily was worse off than she cared to admit. On the outside, she played calm and collected particularly well. Underneath was an entirely different story. She was on edge. She wanted her baby boy with her where she could hold him and see him and could be absolutely certain he was alright. Perhaps he had lived that dreadful night and perhaps her love had been what ultimately protected Harry from Voldemort, but Lily there was still a gaping whole without her son.
There was a significant part of her that was certain she would not get used to this TARDIS and the number of people walking its halls. Perhaps there was plenty of space for everyone, but it still felt cramped. Lily’s mind always wandered to other things: Peter’s betrayal, Harry's strength and how proud she felt despite having not witnessed it herself, Halloween and how it was robbed of them.
“You didn’t wake me,” she admitted. Lily wasn’t sure how long she’d slept this time. Her dreams were often interrupted with visions of Voldemort bursting into their house in Godric’s Hollow, flashes of light, laughter, Peter’s face in the background, poor Harry crying.