Fifth Year

"Alright, Lily?"

Lily Evans looked up to find Sirius Black taking a seat next to her. Her eyes flicked immediately back to her book. She held perfectly still, a rabbit trying to blend into its surroundings.

"I know you don't like me," he continued, as though it was perfectly normal for him to have a conversation with her. "And I understand. Really. It's my fault. I haven't exactly been kind to you."

Lily didn't know how to respond. He spoke nothing but the pure, honest truth. But that didn't mean she should agree with him. She decided to do nothing. She simply sat, her eyes trained on her text, unmoving. Her hands lay folded in her lap.

She jumped when he laid a hand over hers. Her eyes shot up to his. She tried to pull away, but he held her fast.

"The truth is, I think you're lovely. I always have." She looked away, heard him make an odd sound, like his voice got caught, stuck, somewhere along the way. He cleared his throat.

"I just, I'm hoping you'll give me a second chance. That you'll let me take you to Hogsmeade." His voice rushed now, tripping over itself. "I really think we could -" and then he dissolved into laughter, his head pressed against his hand, which still gripped hers.

"I can't," he said, turning and looking back at his friends, who were huddled behind a bookshelf, watching the scene play out and giggling amongst themselves. "I just can't." He let her go – flung her hands from his – and strolled over to join them. "Merlin. You win. I'll wear the bloody tutu."

More laughter followed, and Lily quietly closed her book. She picked it up, tucked it under her arm, and walked toward the exit, struggling to keep her pace unhurried. She refused to rush, even when their jeers should have chased her out.

Seventh Year

Lily didn't want to go to her room. She'd never particularly liked being in the dormitory, either, but this year would prove – she had no doubt – to be the worst one yet. She was sharing a suite of rooms with James Potter.

She wasn't dramatic enough to say she couldn't imagine anything worse. Voldemort had spent the last several years quietly amassing a following. The more like-minded people he found, the louder they grew. It had become quite clear to Lily that a large portion of the magical world would prefer it had she never been born. The number who would actually seek to kill her was smaller, but not insignificant either.

So sharing living space with James Potter didn't compare, but that didn't mean she wanted to do it. In fact, she was even now on her way back from speaking with Professor Dumbledore. She had tried to return her head badge.

If Potter had earned it, it obviously didn't mean much. And anyway, at the rate public opinion was going, she'd be lucky to get any job. She doubted very much whether Head Girl would factor in at all. She'd just put her head down and focus on her N.E.W.T.s.

Or that had been her plan anyway. Dumbledore had refused to let her resign. And the more he pressed, the sillier she felt for her reasoning. It was just a stupid boy. She could handle a little bullying. She'd managed six years of it. What was one more.

Still, she dragged her feet. Crossing the castle had never taken her so long. When she finally spoke the password the headmaster had given her, resignation oozed from her pores. She prayed he was in his room. Or simply gone. Perhaps she'd get lucky and he and his mates would spend the entire year in the seventh year's dorm.

The door opened, and she knew immediately that luck was not her friend. James Potter lounged on a couch. Two stuffed armchairs and a few end tables surrounded a coffee table, backed by a roaring fire. The other side of the room was comprised of a small kitchenette and a decent sized table, which would do nicely for a bit of work space. The common room as a whole paled in comparison to the Gryffindor version a short distance away, but for only two, it would do nicely.

Or would have, at any rate, if she hadn't been paired with James Potter.

The boy in question looked up on her entrance and nodded. "Evans," he said, his tone polite.

"Potter." She returned his nod, inclining her head in a perfect mirror of his gesture. "Goodnight."

That was all. She walked toward the open door, where she could see her trunk at the foot of the bed. The moment she stepped into her room – her sanctuary – she shut the door. She could bear this. She simply had to keep encounters simple, civil, and as short as possible.

The first threat didn't come that night. They bided their time. It took a full three days before she found one, folded neatly in her Transfiguration book. Short and to the point, as always, it simply said, "Mudblood."

Perhaps she overreacted, calling it a threat. Simply being an insult – one written in blood – didn't make it dangerous. She stared at it for a full minute before shoving it into a drawer in her desk. She tried to finish her transfiguration reading, but gave up after the eleventh time she reread the same page.

She snapped the book shut, pulled the note back out, and set it on fire with a simple spell. She blew one quick breath at the ash that coated her desk, sending it swirling into the air. One flick of her wand, and the window flew open and ushered the remnants outside.

Knowing she still wouldn't be able to concentrate, she closed her book and stomped out to the little kitchen for a cup of tea. She froze when she saw Potter stretched out on the couch.

"Lovely," he said. "I've been wondering when we'd get a chance to speak."

"Not now, Potter," Lily snapped.

He gave a long sigh and sat up, leaning his elbows on his knees and running his fingers through his hair. Why he preferred it messy, she would never know.

"I had a feeling this would happen," he said, sounding much aggrieved. "I know I haven't always been-"

"I've seen this show before," she said, waving him silent. "Let's skip it, shall we? I don't see any reason for us to pretend we're friendly."

He looked taken aback. "Well," he said, messing up his hair some more. "We are going to have to work together."

Lily turned away. "I don't see why," she said, turning on the kettle and getting out a cup. "You focus on quidditch. I'll deal with the rest of it."

"You mean you'll do both our jobs," he said.

"Of course not. Can you imagine me out on the pitch, shouting orders at your team?"

"That's a separate responsibility."

"That's asking rather a lot of you, don't you think? I'm just trying to make both our lives easier."

She glanced over in time to see his raised eyebrows. "How is doing two jobs making your life easier?" he asked.

"Well," Lily said, too irritated with the night to be civil, "I wouldn't have to be around you much at all. In fact, we could make it an even trade. I'll handle all of your Head Boy responsibilities, if you'll agree to a schedule for the common room, so our time in it needn't overlap."

He just stared at her. "Let me get this straight. It's not just that you don't want to work with me. You also can't stand being in the same room with me?"

The kettle shrilled it's whistle. She pulled it off the stove and poured some water in her cup. "Have the past six years somehow given you the impression we're friends?"

"Of course not," he scoffed.

"Then I don't see what the problem is. Why don't I write up a schedule? I'll leave it on the table tomorrow morning. You can look it over. If you follow it, I'll assume we've come to an agreement."

He seemed incapable of responding, so she sent him an approximation of a smile – really more a showing of teeth – and stomped back into her bedroom, cup of tea firmly in hand. He still hadn't said anything when the door slammed shut.