Lily spends the next couple days researching everything she can about him and his accident. Where it happened, how he lost control and careened off the road, how his body had been washed out to sea and his family had buried an empty casket, the memorial services the university had hosted after, the profile the school paper ran on him the year before. It's sort of annoying how well-liked and involved he was, and she learns plenty about the scholarship his family has set up at the school in his name and the red convertible he drove and the legendary parties he was known for throwing with Sirius and his other friends, but none of it really sheds light on what exactly is holding him back.

It probably figures that if he doesn't know, she wouldn't be able to figure it out through a few Google searches, but it's always worth a shot. Still, in James's case… something feels funny. But he's not exactly a public figure, so as far as hoping goes that there might be some online theories about what specifically lead to the crash, it's probably a stretch. What she does find out, though, is that one of his best friends was Remus Lupin. And as it just so happens, Remus Lupin is her RA.

She doesn't really have anything planned when she makes up her mind to talk to him, sort of figuring that it'll come to her on the walk back to her dorm and to his room, but by the time she's lingering outside of his door, working up the nerve to knock, she still doesn't know what she's going to say. It doesn't matter, though, because her fist raises of its own accord to rap against the wood.

It's nearly a full minute – and another knock – before he answers, the soft shuffling on the other side of the door and a muffled, "Coming," the only hint that he's actually home. When he opens the door, he's yawning, the back of one hand pressed over his mouth and the other arm stretching as it opens the door. "Lily, right?" he asks, still finishing a yawn. It's only three weeks into the semester, and he's still learning everyone's names. "What can I help you with?"

She shifts nervously from foot to foot, trying to come up with something casual to say to start the conversation, but all that blurts out is, "Can I talk to you about James Potter?"

He looks shocked to say the least, staring at her as if she's just said something foul, and though she doesn't think he's the type of guy to slam the door in her face she starts edging forward before he gets the chance.

"Sorry, I mean – Can I come in? I really need to talk to you."

Still he doesn't say anything, but this time at least he falls back a step and she takes it as an invitation to duck into the room, squeezing by him through the doorway. His dorm is large, larger than her bedroom in the double she shares with her roommate, and stocked with a full bed, desk, small table and two chairs, even a couch facing an old box TV. It's all a bit run-down, though, the sofa worn in spots and with a patch or two holding the stuffing in place.

"Can I sit?" she asks nervously, and when he nods silently she arranges herself on one end of the couch, smoothing her skirt out over her knees to buy some time. Remus eases himself onto the other end, lowering himself down like his body is tired, and that's when he shows up.

"Stalking me?" he asks as he materializes behind Remus, smirking again with one eyebrow up, and if she'd come up with anything to say it's gone now, the breath leaving her lungs in one big whoosh.

Now she's the one that's mute, avoiding looking at either of them and picking imaginary lint away from the folds of her skirt, face pink and hot.

"Did you know James?" Remus asks, slow and careful, once he's finally recovered from the bluntness of her first approach.

"Sort of," she answers, twisting the fabric in her fingers, and James laughs from behind Remus. "I met him a couple of times at your guys' parties last year. We were just getting to know each."

"Liar," he accuses at the same time Remus says, "I'm sorry," as if he's said it a million times before.

Both feel like a punch to the gut, the guilt of exploiting Remus's experience with his best friend's death just so she can get some info burning through her chest, but there's a point to all of this, a purpose. Something about James's accident just doesn't sit well with her and now that she's on it it's hard to let go. And as much as helping James move on started as a way to get rid of him, it really is what's best. She charges on even as she feels him watching her over Remus's shoulder.

"No, I'm sorry. You knew him way better. I just – I don't know, I keep thinking about it – about the accident – and reading all the articles over again and – I don't know. It doesn't seem right."

She's wringing her hands when she finally lifts her chin to look at him full on instead of just peeking through her eyelashes, and both of them are looking at her, James frowning and Remus confused.

"What do you mean?"

"I don't know," she keeps hedging, shrugging under the heavy weight of both of their gazes. "I mean – like, something about it is off."

Remus is watching her carefully now, eyes just slightly narrowed, and she squirms in her seat before pushing herself off the couch.

"Sorry, this was a mistake," she spits before she can stop herself, moving towards the hall even as Remus stays where he is. "I don't know. I'll see you around, okay? Sorry."

Remus is still on the couch even as she closes the door between them, and only once she's halfway down the hall does she remember to breathe. And then to jump immediately as James appears beside her, keeping pace.

"What do you mean something off?" he asks casually, hands in his pockets and his long strides easily keeping up with hers even as she increases her walk to a clip.

"I don't know," she says stubbornly, keeping her eyes focused down the hall ahead of her and pointedly not looking at him.

"What, like it wasn't an accident?" he scoffs, sarcastic and scornful, but there's something underneath it that makes her stop to look at him.

"Maybe. They never found your body, right? If you can't figure out what's holding you here, it makes sense that it might have to do with how you died. But like I said, I don't know."

He rolls his eyes, exaggerated and unbelieving, as she starts walking again. "Please, as if anyone would want to kill me," he laughs, just slightly too loud – although, of course, the only person who can hear him is her.

"Yeah, yeah," she grumbles, "former fraternity president, supposed to be chairman of the IFC, past member of the student government, basically the winner of every popularity contest on this campus, I get it. I'm just saying it's worth thinking about, okay? And, anyway, unless you've come up with some other idea for what your problem is, it's the only lead I have."

"Don't you have some other ghosts to worry about?"

They're at the end of the hall now, just outside the door to her room, and she leans against it, weighing the likelihood that he'll keep following if she goes inside. Carefully, she opens the door behind her, just wide enough to slip in (and though it's not like the door would stop him, maybe he'll at least get the hint). "Actually?" she asks, hovering in the doorway. "I do." And then she closes the door in his face.