She'd not allowed herself to dream, but still every day there was that faint whisper, that web of disbelief that settled over her, the peculiar feeling of near normality. Just a mother and her toddler son, buying fruit at an outdoor market. Browsing a bookshop, tasting sweets, talking to strangers; having actual, earnest, happy conversation, walking around a park at dusk, rather than apparating or taking portkey. It was addictive and unsettling, that feeling. It was like slipping into a favorite old sweater that she'd forgotten she owned. She'd cried the first time it'd happened.