#*fingolfin2

Lily cursed under her breath as the wheel of Finn’s pram became wedged between two cobblestones again. A stone castle was wonderful for aesthetics, but miserable for trying to push her baby around in a transfigured soup tureen. 

With a grunt, she tried to yank it free, statistics about shaken baby syndrome present in the forefront of her mind. She didn’t want to knock her nonexistent upper body strength, but the damned thing just wouldn’t come free. After several tugs, a disgruntled whine came from the bundle of blankets. 

“Nonononono,” Lily muttered frantically, hurrying to the side of the pram, “It’s all fine. You’re alright. Mummy’s here, just–” 

A student hurrying by knocked into her, jostling the pram and triggering a disastrous domino effect. Finn’s whine turned to a distressed shriek, Lily’s books spilled from the undercarriage of the pram and the witch herself contemplated a tasteful mid-afternoon breakdown. “Shit,” Lily dropped to her knees, gathering her things as quickly as she could. “Just leave it I’ll—” she paused to look up and the stress that lined her face softened marginally. “Oh, Dorcas.”