Author's Notes: Written for the 2010 lilyjames_fest's flash fiction round on livejournal. The prompt was Lily's cat.

Liam

An enchantment. That must be it. He'd bewitched her cat.

"I didn't know you had a pet, Evans." Potter bent, skimming his fingers along the cat's coppery fur as he sat on the sofa in their new common room. Lily unpacked her books into the shelves lining one wall. Potter plucked the feline off the ground, plopping him unceremoniously onto his lap. "What's his name?"

"Liam. But don't do that. He's not really…" Liam shifted, then settling contently across Potter's thighs. Lily cocked an eyebrow, "…friendly."

Potter stroked Liam's head. "Chin up, mate. She doesn't speak the best of me, either."

Lily adored Liam, really she did, but she was the first to admit that her cat was ornery at best, often times worse. He and Lily had bonded from the start, but Liam only tolerated a select few others. Her roommates had complained constantly about her grouchy pet, and Lily had suspected it would be the same with the Head Boy. But for whatever reason, Potter and Liam hit it off straight away. Their polar opposite personalities somehow meshed.

Liam became James's.

"Quit stealing my cat!" Lily stormed into his bedroom one afternoon, scooping Liam off the bed where he'd been—as usual—lounging about with James. Liam mewed in protest. Lily clutched him protectively against her chest.

Potter sighed. "Honestly, Evans. We were doing our essay."

"Honestly, Potter, get your own pet!"

"You know, instead of dragging poor Liam off, you could just join us." The grin pulled at the corners of Potter's lips. He patted the empty space beside him. "Bed fits three."

Lily slammed the door on her way out.

But for all that her position as superior human had been usurped, sometimes Lily understood why Liam favoured James Potter. The bloke had his faults, but she could reluctantly admit that he wasn't as giant a blighter as she'd once imagined. He could be genuinely charming when he tried, and though he still laced most of his comments with some sort of double-entendre, Lily found herself minding it less.

Liam had taken to sleeping in James's room, so when Lily woke up early one morning to find her cat patrolling her bed, she was instantly suspicious.

"What? Been kicked out?" She nestled beneath her covers, bitter. "Don't come crying to me."

The crash sounded as Liam purred angrily.

Lily threw on her dressing gown and stumbled down the stairs, Liam trailing at her heels. Even in the pale dawn light, James's collapsed body and the pained expression donning his face were immediately recognizable—so was the red stain blooming down his trouser leg.

"James!" Lily dashed forward, rounding the fallen lamp and crouching next to James's body. Liam followed, mewing loudly.

Sweat glistened across Potter's forehead. "Oy. Tattling, Liam?" His voice was weak. "Bad form, mate."

Lily went for the injury, carefully lifting the bloodied material. The gash was deep.

"He's saving your life, idiot," she muttered.

"Love that cat," Potter wheezed, before he passed out.