The boy. Her son. The son she didn't yet have, but apparently named Harry. The son that in the second war - according to the woman she'd spoken with - defeated Voldemort. It hadn't occurred to Lily to ask when, how, or why there was a second war. How did the first one end?
"Sirius wouldn't," she said softly before she realized she was assuming they would have made him their secret keeper. He would have been James' first choice, and she was sure she would have agreed. Sirius loved James like a brother, and he was warming up to her - finally, though they definitely still had their moments.
Then she wondered if something had happened to Sirius and they'd made someone else their keeper in his stead. That though was entirely too much speculation, and Lily tried to focus herself on the important bits.
She shied away from the idea of dying. Of being dead. Of being ... murdered, most likely. It wasn't as though she would've dropped from natural causes, right? Not if Severus was telling this tale the way he was. "I died," she murmured. "I assume James and ... and my son died as well?" He hadn't mentioned, but she couldn't imagine ... especially if Voldemort had been after her son.