There's a moment where Lily takes everything in. She lets her expression fade to something more distraught even though she's nothing but viciously angry at everything about this other than Sirius himself. It looks just hurt, though. Hurt and upset, like she's getting closer to what the slithering thing inside Sirius wants—leaving. However, it's like she's going for a last-ditch effort, a final plea.

As she approaches the couch there's a lazy flick of her hand to clear a spot on it, instinctive magic moving things aside. It's wandless and wordless and advanced. It's easy and usual, but it's a warning if you're looking for it properly. Still, she settles on the cushion with her feet drawn up beneath her. It looks casual but she doesn't know where the bloody snake is. Just in case.

Sirius' words aren't right. "You certainly should have owled," she murmurs like it's petulant. "Everything is too much, after the war. After... After James and I, you know, things have been so difficult, Sirius." And here's a lie that Sirius, the real Sirius, would absolutely know isn't true just from the set of her shoulders. "We've been fighting constantly. The only thing keeping us together these days is Harry. But we're sticking through it because that's what people do. We're sticking through it and pushing on to better things."

A breath, and this next is absolutely the truth. "I love you, Sirius. You told me you love me too. How could I not come to find you?" She wonders how it will be taken: assumed familial or something untoward.

Her hand is on the arm of the couch, fingers drumming slightly.