Episode 3
On the day of James's one-on-one date with Isabella, he woke up smiling.
Then Algernon jumped on his chest, pushing all the air in James's lungs out in one painful exhalation.
When he'd recovered, he knocked Algernon off. Gently, of course, but enough to get him to move onto the bed.
"What the hell was that for?" James demanded. This was the agreed-upon technique to wake James up when he was super late to work—which was admittedly more often than it should have been—but they had at least an hour until James had set an alarm.
Algernon gave him a look that James did not understand at all. It wasn't his feed me face or his what the hell have you done face. It wasn't even his you're an idiot face.
"After you master fetching," James told him, climbing out of bed, "we'll have to work on spelling."
Algernon's weirdness aside, the day continued in James's favor. Euphemia encouraged Rita to ride in the car with Isabella on the way to the date. Remus, the host for the day, generously offered to ride with them, no doubt to soften Rita's insanity.
James saluted him when Rita's back was turned. Finally, some semblance of friendship, even if it was taking care of James's girl and not James himself.
This left the other producer, a completely bland man James kept forgetting existed, and his mum in the other car. The forced gender separation was crazy archaic.
Once they'd settled in, the producer up front and James and his mum in back, James let his head fall sideways onto Euphemia's shoulder and sighed. She started stroking her hand through his hair and hummed.
"My sweet boy," she said. "I know this is a lot for you, but I've been watching some of the early episode cuts and they're brilliant." She dropped her hand and bent down to press a kiss to his head. "Best television I've ever seen."
"I find that hard to believe," James muttered.
"You know I live for the drama."
He sighed again. "I do. God, I do."
"I know you're indulging me, but it is a bit fun being on the show, isn't it?"
"You mean when they pulled that cruel stunt on Lucinda?"
"Obviously not—"
"Or when Helena shoves her bosom against me without my consent?"
"Certainly there have been downsides—"
"Or every night when I sleep in a stuffy room that smells of cabbage?"
"They did try to fix that," she reminded him. Then she kissed him again. "It's a lot, I know. But you like some of the girls, don't you?"
"I mean...yes," he conceded. "There are, er, certain women present who...are, eh...yeah." He pulled his head back to sit straight up and stared out his window, his face flushing.
"It does seem like one is really a good fit for you."
He nodded, still not looking at her. "Obviously. And some will be good mates."
"But?" his mum prompted.
But he felt like he'd been sold to the devil, or at least loaned. He had no privacy and couldn't use his phone and they kept forcing him to spend time with people he was not remotely interested in. Every second that he was not with Isabella was like walking around with a spotlight. He hadn't been able to be fully honest in days and his true thoughts were about to burst out any moment.
But he loved his mum, and she walked around the sets practically giddy with excitement, and whatever, he had agreed to do this for her and now he was in it.
"But nothing," he said. "Glad it's Isabella's day."
"Don't talk too much about the girls," the producer said from the front seat.
Euphemia reached over and patted James's knee. "It makes for the best television."
But not for her son's happiness, he mentally added, and stared out the window.
If he'd had the date with anyone but Isabella, he might've actually run off set. But it was finally time for them to spend quality time by themselves. No risk of some other woman barging in and prying him away for some alone time.
Probably not, at least, but he scoped out the date site for Helena Hodge all the same. She couldn't be trusted not to have snuck into the boot or something. She was wily enough that if faced with the roadrunner, she might've actually caught him.
At least this date was more normal than the others: he and Isabella had been brought to an archery range to learn a new skill. From the moment Remus explained the date and walked off-camera, James's world narrowed down to Isabella Marks. She'd pulled her dark hair back into a ponytail, and wore a bright pink tank top that showed off her wonderfully toned arms.
"Hi," he breathed, stepping closer to her.
She beamed up at him. "Hi."
He brought his hand forward to hold hers, and was just debating asking whether he could kiss her cheek when a sharp voice said, "Let's get started."
James jerked back from Isabella, dropping her hand, and quickly checked the surroundings. Still no Helena, thankfully. Just a grey-haired woman with square glasses, a stern look, and a bow half as tall as James in her hand.
"Er, hi," he said.
"I'm Professor McGonagall," she said, "and I'll be teaching you the graceful and celebrated art of archery."
"Professor?" James blurted.
McGonagall arched an eyebrow. "Did I lack enunciation?"
"Nope," he said, shoving his hands into the front pockets of his jeans. "You absolutely did not."
Isabella smiled at McGonagall because she was a dear. "It's such a pleasure to meet you."
McGonagall harrumphed. "Were it not for my long-term friendship with Euphemia Potter, I would never have allowed such a despicably misogynistic circus onto my field. The sooner we're done, the better."
James silently hurrahed for McGonagall, at least until he remembered this would be his only uninterrupted time with Isabella for some time.
"Right," James said. "Er, archery, then?"
McGonagall nodded and spun around. "Follow me."
Isabella took James's hand and together they followed McGonagall to a rack of bows. McGonagall fitted James for one first, and then focused on Isabella. When she turned around, James had already picked up an arrow and turned toward a haystack bearing a paper target.
"I've done this before," he said, holding up the bow and cocking an arrow toward the target. "My mum took me once when I was fifteen. Then my dad found out and banned us from going back."
"And I once rode an elephant in India," McGonagall said, yanking his arrow downwards, "but you'll find that ten years later I didn't claim I could single-handedly wrangle one myself."
James let out a loud laugh.
"These are serious weapons," McGonagall said, "not a Rubik's cube one can simply 'figure out' as they go along. Understanding the rules of safety is critical before either of you point an arrow anywhere."
"Excuse me, Professor," James said innocently, "but isn't an arrow pointed toward the ground still pointed somewhere? How do we hold an arrow so that it's pointed nowhere at all?"
McGonagall's lips twitched. "Continue with that attitude, Mr. Potter, and I'll separate the two of you for private lessons."
James snapped his back straight and gave her a curt, militaristic nod. "Yes, Ma'am."
McGonagall's mouth gave another twitch. "I've left the arm guards in the barn. While I fetch them, arrows stay pointed toward the ground or, ideally, in no one's hands at all."
James maintained his tense look and barked out, "Aye aye, General!"
"That nonsense should also depart by the time I return," she said with a hint of a smile, and strode away.
Once McGonagall was a ways off, Isabella turned to James. "She's a bit...direct, isn't she?"
James frowned. "What makes you say that?"
"She's so… I dunno. She gives out a lot of orders, and I…I like when people say things nicer, is all."
"Er," he said dumbly, "yeah. Sure."
"I've just always found that the best teachers are—well. Really kind, and gentle, and patient."
"Absolutely." He reached out and rubbed her shoulder. "We'll get through it, though. And maybe when we're done we can steal a bow and arrow."
She blinked her big dark eyes at him. "What for?"
To terrorize Helena off the show was the obvious answer, but Isabella was too sweet to ever think of such a thing.
He smiled at her. "I don't even know," he said. "To teach the others?"
"Yeah," she said happily. "So they can have some of the adventure from today, too."
"Exactly what I meant." He let his arm slide around her shoulders, and she made a contented noise. "I'm so glad we're here together."
She strained up on her toes and pecked his cheek, blushing. "Yeah," she said. "Me too."
One-on-one date days were the best days.
Lily and Beatrice had learned as much when James and Lucinda were whisked away for their ill-fated "cooking class," because Rita, Euphemia, and several members of the production staff went along with them, and the whole thing took several hours longer than any future viewer might have suspected.
Those of Rita's team who stayed behind at the castle were not quite as enthusiastic, or evil, as their almighty leader. While the girls were still expected to spend many hours in the common areas, being monitored, recorded, and occasionally prodded to fabricate feuds, the general running of things was a little more lax.
Specifically, they got to sleep in a little later, and spend a bit more time without microphones clipped to their clothes outside of the top floor, which in a short amount of time had become a fabulous luxury. Lily was sick to death of being escorted to the toilet by a sound manager between the hours of eight a.m. and midnight, just so her mic could be switched off before she relieved herself.
She had once considered just running off to pee, when she was really desperate and couldn't find any of the sound guys—the rules were strict on who could and could not touch a microphone—but she didn't trust that Rita wouldn't use the audio. Instead, Lily had held it in for such an uncomfortably long time that she began to fear she'd get a urinary tract infection.
The glamorous side of reality television, indeed.
"So, I'm in this amphitheater," Beatrice was saying on the morning of James's date with Isabella, at the gloriously late hour of ten a.m., while she painted her toenails on the bed and Lily straightened her hair in front of the vanity. "And Jon Snow is there—"
"The fictional character, or the newscaster?" Lily interrupted.
"I meant the character," Beatrice clarified. "Like, it's Kit Harington, except he's in costume, so in the dream I knew he was Jon Snow, not Kit, and he's trying to convince me to join this motorcycle gang, but I know that this cloak is killing people, and I try to tell him but he won't believe me, and then the cloak swallows him whole, and then I woke up."
"That's so cheering."
"I know, right?" Beatrice leaned back against her headboard to examine her toes. "I swear my dreams are getting stranger since we moved in here. I think it's the musty garret air."
"Or the constant breakfast mimosas," Lily reminded her. Rita's desire to see her contestants consume minimal calories throughout the day did not extend to the drinks they were served. Drunk women made for better television, as a couple of the girls had already proved. "I had a sex dream last night, weirdly."
"About who?"
Lily used the hair straighteners to point towards the floor, indicating the lower levels of the castle. "Him."
"James?"
"Mmhmm."
"You dirty bitch."
"I think we were in a lake, or something?" Lily recalled, fiddling with a strand of hair near her temple that was staunchly refusing to lose its natural kink. The show's rules also stated that all contestants be made up and styled when on camera, so she was forced to go through this process every morning. "Or a river, or—I dunno, we were outside, and there was water, and—"
"That sounds so unhygienic."
"I know!" Lily nodded at Beatrice in the mirror. "What the hell, brain? Who would actually do that? It's filthy and logistically unsound."
Beatrice laughed. "Was it a good dream, though?"
"Oh, definitely. Woke up super frustrated."
"Can I tell him about it?"
"I mean, I can't stop you from telling him, but I can definitely hurt you after," said Lily lovingly, with an angelic smile to undercut the threat, just as a knock sounded on their bedroom door. She slipped her phone, which was resting next to her hairbrush, beneath a hand towel. "Could you get that, babe?"
"Come in!" Beatrice cried, wiggling her toes.
The door was pushed open from the outside and Bonnie Grogan entered the room, still dressed in her pajamas, her hair a beautiful mess of thick black curls.
Lily and Beatrice were fans of Bonnie, and she of them.
"Morning," she said thickly, and shuffled over to Lily's bed. She threw herself upon it unceremoniously, and with a loud huff. "I'm so bloody exhausted."
"Why?" said Beatrice.
"The fan in my room is broken," she explained. "I've been sweating like a pig all night."
The weather had been extremely hot recently, even for summer, and nowhere was hotter than the top floor of the house, where no one had ever thought to install an air conditioning unit. After a couple of uncomfortable nights, the girls had been given large electric fans for their bedrooms to keep them from quitting the show in an en masse revolt, though Rita had been overheard calling them all weak for refusing to simply put up with the sweltering conditions.
"Oh God, that sounds like the worst," said Lily softly. She and Bonnie both had fair, freckled skin, and an intolerance to heat. "Did you ask someone for a new one?"
"I did, yesterday, and I was told I'd get one right away, but…" Bonnie shrugged her shoulders, and rolled onto her side. "You know what they're like here. I'll get one next week, if I'm lucky."
Contestants are forced to sleep in cramped, mildewed hot-boxes at the height of a July heat wave, denied immediate and much-needed access to fans or air conditioning after a long day of desperately fighting for dominance over their bursting bladders, while the bachelor and the production crew enjoy the freedom of a fully air-conditioned mansion.
Her article was practically writing itself at this point. Lily could almost see the indictment etched in the mirror, and she might have been more excited about it, were she not so irritated by Bonnie's situation. "That's completely unacceptable, Bon."
"It wasn't so bad."
"No, I mean it, they can't just ignore your needs when they've put you in an environment that might make you sick—"
"It's alright, really—"
"No, it's not," Lily insisted, and twisted around in her chair so she could look at Bonnie directly, not through a mirror. "I'll talk to Rita when she gets back, or better yet, I'll talk to Euphemia. She's more likely to do something about it."
"Why didn't you just come in here last night?" said Beatrice. "Lily and I could have top-and-tailed."
"I would have, but Isabella came into my room to get away from Helena," said Bonnie. She had been bunking with Camelia, but had a bedroom to herself now that the other had left. "I didn't want to tell her to leave, and she didn't seem to mind the heat." She sighed. "We didn't stop talking until after two a.m., at least."
"About what?" said Lily, at the same time as Beatrice said, "Why didn't you tell her to shut her face?"
"I've spent the last four years not telling kids to shut their faces when it's all I've wanted to do, and Isabella's a whole lot nicer than most kids," said Bonnie. Her eyelids had begun to droop. "Teaching gives you a certain type of patience."
"Isabella is twenty-eight, not a child," said Beatrice.
"I know, but she's so sweet, and she was so excited about her date with James, and Helena was being such a bitch about it that she got a little upset."
Beatrice snorted derisively. "Her date."
Lily said nothing, and turned back to the mirror. Her mind was still on her article, which was starting to become more of a Rita Skeeter character assassination than a look behind the scenes.
If anyone deserved it, Rita was the one.
Lucinda Zheng had been worth her weight in gold on her last day in the house. Lily had gone to see her as she packed her things, figuring she could trust Lucinda with her secret in exchange for exposure in her piece, and her instincts had proved correct. Not only did the model confess that her sole motivation in entering the contest had been to expand her social media sphere, the dirt she'd spilled on the cold, cruel way in which Rita and the production team had treated her after the ill-natured "prank" they'd pulled fit precisely with the picture Lily was trying to paint with her article. She and the others were cattle for slaughter, and not much else.
"James was the only one who was nice to me," Lucinda had said, while she shoved her Urban Decay products into a tote bag. "He was, like, genuinely upset about the whole thing. I don't think he knew too much about it until it happened."
Lily was starting to find herself disproportionately and repeatedly relieved by that particular tidbit of information whenever she read over the notes she had typed into her phone. Rita was enough of a villain all by herself without adding the bachelor to her ugly dogpile.
Having confirmation from Lucinda and Beatrice regarding their motives for signing up to the show, as well as their permission to share said motives, was excellent. Her own experience as a contestant had given her so much more—the strictly imposed curfew, slim opportunities for bathroom breaks, calorie deprivation, even the promise of regular counseling sessions that hadn't yet been fulfilled because "nobody needs it yet"—but to top it all off, most importantly, she had a head showrunner from hell. One who chided, taunted, and physically abused the contestants, and even the star of the show.
Rita had smacked James upside the head, for crying out loud. Lily didn't care if she'd been a family friend of the Potters for decades before his birth and felt perfectly free to swat at him without fear of repercussions—that didn't fucking fly with her.
Thinking of it made her angry.
She wondered why Euphemia didn't put a stop to it. James was her son, after all, and Lily had heard something from Wendy about the Potters providing a tied-in advertising deal with the company they owned. She likely had some sway over Rita.
Then again, Lily didn't think Euphemia knew the full extent of what Rita was doing. Though she was always behind the camera for the solo and group dates, as well as the cocktail parties, there were many more hours in a day. The girls weren't allowed to see James for most of them, save rare occasions where Rita wanted to shoot more footage, but Lily had seen him—usually being dragged to and from the confessional room—and he obviously wasn't happy.
It baffled her that he was often so openly distressed, yet nobody else seemed to have noticed anything amiss. Even Isabella, who claimed to know, in the deepest corners of her heart, that James would be the love of her life, future husband, and eventual father to her children, hadn't once mentioned the fact that he was often quite forlorn.
Maybe he was always so incandescently happy when he was alone with Isabella that she simply hadn't noticed. Company in general seemed to perk him up considerably.
Except for when that company was Helena's. Then he'd cling to Lily's hand in desperation, like a child begging to be saved from the monster under the bed.
Either way, it was patently clear that he needed someone to look out for him, but nobody was bothered, which begged the question: if Lily was the only one who'd noticed, didn't common decency obligate her to be the one to do it?
They were mates now. Sort of. Somewhat.
"I think I need a pen and paper," she said aloud, breaking the short silence that had settled over the room and prompting an odd look from Beatrice, who had finished her toes and moved on to her fingers.
"What?" said Bonnie sleepily.
"A pen and paper," Lily repeated, and turned around again. "Do you want me to tell them downstairs that you're sick so you can sleep in here? It's not like we're needed that badly until the group date tomorrow."
"That'd be lovely, ta," Bonnie said. "I think James is allowed to have that stuff, 'cause he said something about doodling in his room when he's bored."
"I knew that already, but I need a pen and paper from someone who isn't him," Lily clarified. Writing James a note in secret would be pretty bloody difficult if she were forced to ask him for the tools to do it on camera. She may have had the liberty of alone time with the girls when they were in their quarters, but he was the last person she'd realistically be able to wrangle away from a recording device.
"Text Peter and ask him," said Beatrice. "That usually wor—what's wrong with you?"
She had just caught sight of Lily's pointed, panicked stare.
"You've got a phone?" said Bonnie, her eyes flying open.
"Oh," said Beatrice, comprehension dawning. "Shit. I'm so sorry."
"No, but seriously, do you have a phone?" Bonnie pushed herself up on her elbows. "Like, on you, right now?"
Lily shared a look with Beatrice. Her insides had turned over. "No?"
"You're lying," said Bonnie pointedly. "Teacher, remember?"
"Okay, yes, I do have a phone," Lily admitted, and took her mobile out from beneath the towel. Bonnie's eyes widened greedily. "Please don't tell anyone, okay? I just...really need it for work."
"Aren't you a cashier?"
Beatrice laughed under her breath. "Told you that was a shit cover."
"I wasn't the one who bloody decided it, was I?" Lily fired at her, then winced at Bonnie. "So, um, certain parts of my application may have been fabricated—"
"No shit. We've all been lying about something," said Bonnie, and pointed at Beatrice. "She clearly fancies Remus, and Wendy's only here because she wants to be famous, and Helena's lied a whole bunch of times. She's still pretending that she doesn't hate bacon, just because James said it was his favorite food."
Lily frowned at that. "Why on earth would he care if she doesn't like bacon?"
"He wouldn't, he's not a dickhead, but that's the path she's chosen," said Bonnie. "What's your real job?"
"I'm a journalist," she said heavily.
"Oh," said Bonnie.
"She's writing an exposé on the show," put in Beatrice.
"Oh," Bonnie repeated, her eyes growing wider.
"My boss, who is a prat, by the way, applied on my behalf with the most offensively archaic bollocks you've ever heard—"
"I'm looking for a man who can hunt and gather," Beatrice recited, grinning. "Someone who can provide for me and our children."
"He's got a few connections in production, most specifically with a fact-checker who basically backed up his lies and approved me for Rita, and the gaffer on set—"
"Is that the bloke who bought your McDonald's?"
Lily nodded. "He smuggled in my phone, too."
"This is bonkers," said Bonnie quietly. "I mean, brilliant, obviously, and Rita bloody deserves it, and I'll keep it to myself—"
"Thank you!"
"—but bonkers."
"The article isn't going to paint any of you guys in a negative light, I promise," Lily hurriedly added. "Not even Helena. Its purpose is mostly to shine a light on the way we're all being treated here, and I've got a lot of notes already, but obviously I'd like to stay for as long as I can and get as much info as possible at every stage of the competition."
"Is that why you've suddenly started being nice to James?" said Bonnie curiously.
Lily blinked at her. "What do you mean?"
"You were sort of ignoring him before, weren't you?"
"Was I?"
Bonnie sat up fully on the bed, swinging her legs over the side. "According to Isabella, yeah. She's sort of worried about the two of you because of the photoshoot." She frowned. "And the fries. But if you're only doing it for the article—"
"No, it's not—"
"Lily fancies him," said Beatrice.
"Lily does not fancy him," Lily retorted. "Lily would like to get his point of view on things, but no." She shook her head at Bonnie. "I'm not doing it for the article, I'm being nice because I like him. As a person, I mean, not…y'know."
"I mean, it doesn't matter to me if you do, either way," said Bonnie. "I signed up for the experience, not to get a boyfriend. He's nice, but it won't break my heart if he's not interested."
"Not like Isabella," said Lily softly.
"Exactly," Bonnie agreed, frowning. "He's obviously going to end up with her, anyway, so—"
"He won't," said Beatrice flatly, and pointed her bottle of nail polish at Lily. "Nothing really there, I've already told you."
"You said that for the cameras."
"No, I said it because it's true."
"Then where was the bullshit signal?"
"What bullshit signal?" said Bonnie.
"Lily and I have a code we use on camera to separate truth from lies when we're talking," Beatrice explained. "Come over here and I'll teach it to you."
Bonnie did as she was instructed, noting with a gleeful giggle that she now felt like a secret agent, so that was one potential problem rectified. She wasn't going to rat them out, Lily had another eye on the inside, and she and Beatrice would both need to be a little more careful in future. If another of the girls had to witness such a slip, Bonnie was the best possible person for the job. Any one of the rest of them—even sweet, lovely Isabella, if she was as worried about Lily as Bonnie claimed—might have been inclined to run to Rita and tell her the truth.
There would be three of them, now. Three out of eight, infiltrating the show, acting directly against Rita, quietly working to ensure that their cursed showrunner got the exact lampooning she deserved.
The thought gave Lily some satisfaction.
Tragically, the date with Isabella came to an end. Not before James made McGonagall almost smile about five more times, though. And, less happily, not before Isabella had been hurt by McGonagall's dry and tough humor approximately five other times.
But it didn't matter. They wouldn't see McGonagall again. James raved about their date in his confessional and didn't even feel guilty for telling the full truth.
On their way back to the cars, James pretended his shoe had come untied and fell back. Then he did their friendship whistle at Remus, who silently backed up to stand by James, but deliberately faced away from him, staring up at the clouds.
He could be the sneakiest of all of them, really.
"I'm pretending to study a bird," Remus said. "What's on your mind?"
"Just wanted to say hi, really." James untied his shoelace knot. "Not used to being close to you guys but not really able to do anything together."
"I admit, this has been less of a bonding experience than I had hoped."
"You and Sirius seem to be bonding plenty over my misery."
"Admittedly true."
"Must be pretty dull for you, though, since it's so obvious who I'm going to pick at the end."
Remus looked sideways, revealing his face in profile against a bright blue sky. "Well," he mused, "I suppose there is some truth to that."
"Some?"
"Several contestants certainly hold more appeal than others."
"You like Isabella, though, right?"
"She is sweet," Remus said thoughtfully. "I confess that as good-natured and attractive as she is, she wouldn't be my choice. But it isn't a show about that, is it?"
James waggled his eyebrows. "Yeah? Who would you go for, then?"
If James wasn't mistaken, a bit of color appeared on Remus's cheeks.
"I believe talking about the contestants off-camera is forbidden, James." Remus turned so his back was to James again. "Rita's racing over. Best finish up with your shoe," he said, and strolled away.
In what was the tragic reality of James's current situation, that was the only bit of genuine conversation he had for the rest of the day. Rita and the crew hovered around him the rest of the time. James ended up recounting the date in full to Algernon in their room, but Algernon had the audacity to fall asleep when James was only halfway through a loving description of how he'd had to "help demonstrate" a particular pull of the bowstring to Isabella by putting his arms around her.
"Oi," James scolded him. "Don't think I won't keep talking just because you're pretending to sleep."
At least there was no cocktail party that night. While it meant no more Isabella time until the morning, it also gave James a chance to lay about in his pants and watch Bond movies on DVD with a fan pointed directly at his face.
He could have done with some more fries to really make the evening. He still had no clue how Lily had managed that. Audacious, really, and James didn't want to know how Rita would respond to something so blatantly against the rules. They couldn't air any of the footage of Lily bringing him the fries, not with that big gold logo on the carton.
It was a brilliant side benefit to having received delicious fries. Maybe he should start bringing up more brand names just to ruin scenes.
Then again, James only had so many arms, and no additional ones for Rita to bruise with her crushing grip.
That night he dreamed about his and Isabella's eventual wedding. He had no recollection of any flowers or clothing or anything the next day, but he definitely remembered that at his dream wedding, there had been an endless supply of McDonald's fries. Lily kept bringing him more and more cartons and setting them around his feet.
Waking up after that was a real let down. At least Algernon was cuddling against his side, and that was nearly as good.
Algernon's mood soured, though, when he was told he wouldn't be allowed on the group date. He should have counted himself lucky to miss out, but he did enjoy a bit of adventure, and he did seem awfully sweet on Lily.
"I'm sorry," James told him. "I'd try smuggling you in again but I don't have a better plan than last time. And unless you've come up with a better method…"
Sadly, Algernon did not.
It all made sense when they arrived at the group date location, though: the girls would take turns canoeing around a lake with James. Algernon didn't fear water, but he distinctly did not care for being on boats of any kind, and had the habit of jumping overboard to make James rescue him as a form of revenge.
Today, though, it would have been a relief to escape a shared canoe with Helena Hodge. Algernon would have been a real help there.
At least she wasn't first on the list. Instead James climbed into a canoe and learned Beatrice Booth would be joining him.
She strolled down the dock, flicking her hair over her shoulder, and stopped at the end of the pier.
James gestured toward his canoe with his free hand, holding the paddle aloft in the other. "Welcome to my kingdom," he announced. "It is small and it is made of aluminium, but it is mighty and will save us in case of unexpected flooding."
Beatrice let out an appreciative laugh, and lowered herself into the front of the canoe with an ease that suggested she'd done this kind of thing before. "How long did you spend practicing that in the mirror this morning?"
"Didn't have time after I spent all those hours silently watching myself flex my muscles."
"If you can't love yourself without cause, who else will?" said Beatrice. "Hang on, don't push off yet, I have to blow my darling a kiss."
She made a loud, smooching noise and extended her hand towards the shore. Lily, who was sitting on a towel next to Bonnie Grogan, pretended to grab hold of her kiss and pressed it to her cheek.
James grinned. "Ready now?" he asked with a wave to Lily and Bonnie.
"I was born ready," Beatrice replied very seriously. "Or, similarly, I've had years of canoeing lessons. Go for it."
"What did they teach you after the first hour?"
"How to look good in a life vest, mostly."
"You must teach me your secrets." He used his paddle to push them away from the dock and out into the water. A flat, shallow boat with a camera on it stalked after them like a shark. Rita, the actual shark, perched on a tiny metal stool next to Bozo the unfortunately-named cameraman. "Not only of life vest fashion, but also how to fold a t-shirt faster. I've heard there's a better way and I assume you know it."
"What makes you think I know how to fold t-shirts?" Beatrice said with a loud snort. "I just throw all of my clothes on the floor like a peasant. Lily is the one who does our laundry—you should ask her."
"My mistake—you seemed like the type to like shortcuts, too." He frowned at her. "You guys have to do your own laundry?"
"Well, we asked the elves to handle it, but they went on strike."
He pondered this as they glided through the water, their strokes largely in sync. "I always thought it would be good fun to be an elf. Not like a cleaning one, but one who worked at the North Pole. Very fulfilling work, that."
"Oh, yes, I've heard all about your mysterious conversations with Santa. How were your fries, by the way?"
"The best I've ever had," he said solemnly. "Truthfully, I've never had a more satisfying food experience. It was…religious."
"I hope you thanked her for them. She got properly yelled at by Rita afterwards."
Rita shouted at them now to change topics, but what was she going to do, throw a piece of camera equipment at his head?
James just smiled broadly at her. To Bea, he said breezily, "Of course I thanked her. They were such a delightful…" He quickly ran through his memory of the evening. He'd got the fries, and Lily had sassed Helena—repeatedly—and Sirius had come to fetch James... "I mean, I think I thanked her." He pulled up his paddle from the water and tightened his grip. "Shit, did I not thank her? This is a disaster!"
"I don't know," said Beatrice. "She didn't say anything about it, but if you didn't, I will have to knock you out of this canoe for doing my girl so dirty."
"If I didn't, I would fully deserve to be knocked out of this canoe." He bit his lip. "Shit. I really don't know if I did. There was a lot going on." He added by way of explanation, "Helena was there."
"I'm painfully aware of that. She ended up eating most of our nuggets. It was an epic tragedy."
"Stop talking about McDonald's!" Rita called out.
"You let her eat your nuggets?" James asked, aghast. "I didn't get any nuggets, and you gave some to her?"
"Firstly, you got fries, you brat," Beatrice reminded him, though she grinned as she said it. "Secondly, I'd rather eat my own head than share my food with Helena. It was Lily who shared them because she's an angel, and far too good for this show, and I am shocked and appalled that she apparently hasn't been thanked for her kindness."
He nodded. "She is too good for this show. I thought about sending her off since she doesn't deserve this but she wants to stay to be with you, so that's that. And I will thank her! Again, possibly. Not sure. But double thanks never hurt."
After that Rita threatened to ram their boat, so they instead switched to making up nonsense songs. They couldn't violate any copyright laws with actual songs, and they had to give them something to film.
The following canoe rides with Valerie and Wendy were not terribly memorable. His outing with Charlene involved her lamenting how slow and quiet canoes were in comparison with motorcycles, in such unnecessary and dreadful detail that James considered pretending to jump in the water to save a make-believe cat.
Next up was Helena bloody Hodge.
Fortunately, though, she quickly became Helena bloody Hodge quite literally. Two seconds after she almost tipped the canoe clumsily getting in, she knocked her paddle into her chin and broke the skin clean open.
James nearly cried with relief.
While the medics stitched up Helena's face, with Rita making sure to capture much of it on camera like the creep she was, James took the opportunity to gaze out at the lake with Isabella. They admired the ducks, and the trees, and the for-once pleasant English weather.
A loud splash and a curse drew their attention to the pier, where Beatrice Booth was now knee-deep in the lake. Lily laughed from the pier, plainly the pusher.
James laughed, but cut it off when Isabella cooed, "Aw, poor Bea!"
She was so caring it was unbelievable.
He told her that and a slight flush filled her cheeks.
Because this seemed like the beginning of an interesting scenario, James watched as Beatrice made her way out of the water, sloughed off her sopping wet shoes, and stalked off to grab a towel from a nearby pile. Lily called out something in a taunting voice, then turned back to the water, a smug tilt to her head.
In the interesting twist James hoped for, Beatrice immediately darted over to James with a look of intense determination upon her face.
Isabella said, "Bea, are you—"
"Hey, Potter," Bea said, interrupting whatever sweet and wonderful thing Isabella had been about to say. "You know how I used my superior canoeing skills to save us from that rock that we agreed to pretend was a giant lake monster to spare your ego?"
Looking at Isabella, James said, "Don't listen to her, dear. She's delirious from the sun, and also my blinding good looks." To Beatrice, he added, "What's spurred on this rambling?"
Beatrice hit him with the wet end of her towel. "You promised me a favor and I want to cash in."
"What sort of favor?" Isabella asked cautiously.
"I'm so glad you asked!" Beatrice sang. She pointed towards Lily, who was standing on the end of the pier, animatedly discussing something with Bonnie. "Isabella, darling, do you see that redheaded beauty over by the water?"
"Cut to it, Booth." James winked and wrapped an arm around Isabella's shoulders. "I have wooing to do here."
"Fine, Potter," Bea replied coldly, eyeing the two of them with…could it have been distaste? "Lily pushed me into the water. She impugned my honor. I need you to throw her into the lake."
He blinked at her. "Why don't you do it? Surely those canoeing lessons gave you some wicked arm strength."
"I tried, but she's weirdly good at resisting. She just goes limp, and I am but a delicate butterfly, a slave to dance, AKA she's stronger than me and I need more muscle."
James looked down at his shoulder and back up at her. "Are you sure you've come to the right person for that?"
"Are you sure you want to wait for me to dream up a more unpleasant favor?"
"Point to Booth." He withdrew his arm from Isabella and instead took her hand. "It's only for the sake of my own honor that I leave you now."
Isabella looked concerned. "James, I'm not so sure this is a good idea."
"I'm sure it's a better idea than what I might come up with after an hour or two to think," said Beatrice, then added, looking thoughtful, "How about I throw in a care package from my parents' bakery when we're all out of here?"
James spun toward her. "Deal." He glanced back at Isabella. "It'll be fine. It's just water."
Isabella looked as though she might argue, but didn't. "Come back soon," she said.
"Absolutely. Swiftest of favors, then an even speedier return."
"Brilliant," said Beatrice. "I'm going to go and distract Lily. You come up from behind."
She spun and skipped back over to her waiting friends with her towel streaming behind her, circling the girls when she reached them, so that her back was to the water and Lily's back was to him.
While Beatrice chattered with Lily, James made his move.
He stalked to the end of the dock, watching as Bea somehow tactfully dispatched Bonnie to the shore. Bonnie passed him as she hopped onto the sandy beach, grinned, and gave him a quick high five.
Bea made eye contact with James, and it was on.
He took a couple steps back in the sand, kicked off his sandals and ditched his shirt, and began running full tilt toward the girls. He really did have stick arms, which meant he'd need the added speed to make sure Lily ended up in the water. It would be shameful if he failed at pushing her in under any conditions, but especially in front of a bunch of other hot girls.
His feet pounded on the pier's wooden slats, sending them clunking against the metal frame, while his arms pumped at his sides.
Lily turned around almost at once, while Bea took a large step sideways. Lily's gorgeous eyes opened wide, her mouth dropped open, and two seconds later James made contact.
His outstretched hands collided with her shoulders, pushing her off-balance.
James had considered many factors in this approach. He had not, however, considered that she might grab onto his wrist.
Which she did.
She tipped, her torso leaning back over her legs, then arced backwards toward the lake. His momentum and her grip kept them together as they splashed into the water, Lily just below him.
She let go as they both flailed to orient themselves in the dark water.
At one point she kicked him in the shin, and he accidentally tugged a hand through her floating mermaid hair, but eventually they separated and broke toward the rays of sunlight filtering through the water.
James came up first, one hand pressing his glasses against his face. He coughed out a mouthful of lake water while Lily resurfaced next to him. She took one great gasp of air, her dark red hair plastered to her neck and shoulders, and let out a sound that could have shattered glass.
They tread water near enough that he could feel the water moving from her arms. They were also near enough that she could, and did, splash him soundly in the face.
"What the fuck, Potter?!" she cried, and splashed him a second time. "Have you lost your bloody mind?!"
On the dock, Beatrice and Bonnie were spluttering with laughter.
He shook the water out of his eyes. "Obviously I did not intend to personally end up in the water. That part was a mistake."
"Oh, I see," she said loudly, though with an amused tinge to her voice. "It was just the pushing me in part that went according to plan, yeah?"
"I'm so glad we cleared that up with minimal fuss."
"I got you fries out of the goodness of my heart," she reminded him, with another splash for good measure. "And in return you throw me into a body of water?"
He kept treading water to avoid further splashing from her. "Fries for which I thank you deeply. Possibly again, don't remember. But I owed Beatrice Booth one favor, and one favor only, and this was what she requested. It was a matter of honor, you see."
"First of all, you didn't thank me," she said. "Secondly, if I come down with pneumonia, I'm personally holding you accountable, and third—"
She froze for a fraction of a moment, her eyes growing wide.
Then she let out petrified squeal, and propelled herself beneath the dock with alarming speed, wrapping one arm tight around a piling to keep herself afloat, as if she were afraid he might try to drag her to the murky depths and finish her off.
"No," she muttered to herself, and squeezed her eyes shut. "No, no, no, no, no."
He swam a bit closer, peering at her. "You alright there?"
"Something slimy touched my leg," she said, quietly, more to herself than to him. "Something slimy touched—" She squealed again, and her could feel the water push towards him as she kicked her legs wildly beneath the surface. "It's a frog, it's a frog, I know it's a frog."
He gave a short laugh. "You know what they say—if it swims mysteriously in the water and you never hear or see it, it's definitely a frog."
Lily's eyes snapped open and found his face. There was no mirth in the glare she gave him. "I'm terrified of frogs, you absolute bellend."
"You're not afraid of Rita Skeeter, but you're afraid of frogs?"
"I'm glad you're having such a good time," she said, looking truly distressed now. She couldn't seem to keep her body still, twitching even when a floating leaf brushed against her arm. "Go on television, try to drown a girl, laugh at her phobias—some bloody bachelor you are."
"Shit. You are really worked up, aren't you?" He nodded to the ladder a couple meters from her. "Don't stay in frog territory on my account—climb up on the pier."
"I have to move through the frog territory to climb out."
"Right. No, I totally get that." His arms were starting to ache from treading water so soon after bouts of archery and canoeing in quick succession. "But also...would you rather stay in their house any longer? Because short of me drinking this fish-dung-infested lake in its entirety, there's not much option for you here."
"How about you get to drinking it while I take a quiet moment to reflect on just how elaborate my revenge is going to be?" she suggested. "Arse."
"Name-calling is what I get for maintaining my honor with your new BFF?" He swam toward her. "Look, if I get you out of this lake, can we call it even?"
"What do you mean, 'call it even,' when I've been nothing but nice to—" She shuddered. "Whatever. Get me out. I just want to get out."
"Right." He arrived at the ladder and sank down, letting his feet settle on the bottom rung. "I will inspect the ladder for frogs. Then I will get you safely to the ladder and onto land. Where they may follow you since that's kind of their home, too, when you think about it."
"That doesn't help, James!"
He ran a foot along each gross, algae-covered rung to ensure there were, in fact, no random frogs about.
"The ladder's clear," he said in a deliberately low voice. "Getting the target to safety."
"Isabella's not here," Lily pointed out. "Stop pretending to be James Bond."
"Can't turn it off," he replied in the same voice. "Going into clearance mode now."
Then he dove toward her, splashing his arms and legs about manically to churn the water and chase away any living being.
"Dare the frogs to swim near us now," he called through the spraying water. "Come on, swim for it!"
Lily simply stared at him like he was deeply complex mathematics. "Are you trying to drown yourself?"
He kept thrashing. "I'm scaring away the frogs! Now come on, I'm getting worn out!"
Lily struck out for the ladder, though not before throwing him a long look of deep, bewildered disdain. When she reached it, wrapping her hands around its slimy rungs, she clambered up and out like her life was in immediate danger should she linger for a moment longer, then spun around on the dock's edge to glower down at him.
He swam to the ladder and grabbed both rails, grinning up at her. "Got you out frog-free, didn't I?"
The look she gave him was clear, despite the water drops on his glasses slightly blurring his vision—never in his life had a woman been less impressed by him.
"Handsome," she said blandly, "but stupid. Just like all the other bachelors of yore. And here I thought they broke the mold when they found you."
His grin dropped away. He planted his feet on a rung and hauled himself half out of the lake, water sluicing down his bare chest. "I'll remind you that this was never my stupid idea in the first place, Lily Evans. Your mate's the one who wanted the frogs to take you to a watery grave."
For a moment, her eyes narrowed in anger.
Then, unexpectedly, she laughed, a short, compressed sound in the back of her throat.
"Oh, Beatrice, oh God," she said to herself, and laughed again, touching a hand to her forehead. "That's not why she—I've only just realized."
He climbed out the rest of the way and pulled off his glasses, wiping one hand over his face to get water away from his eyes. "If you're trying to insult me, I'm not stupid enough to ask what you've realized. I can go spend my time with people who want me around."
"In my defense, you didn't push other people into a lake. Give me a little bit of leeway to lose some of my composure."
He shoved his glasses back on. "You pushed Beatrice into the lake first. Did you think she'd just stand there and take it?"
Lily blinked at him, and dropped her hand to her side. Her face had turned pink.
"But Beatrice told me to push her in," she said. "She claimed to have such a low center of gravity that I couldn't do it. She even promised to do the laundry this week if she was wrong."
James blinked back at her, then frowned. "Then why would she…" He shook his head, sending a few drops out around him. "Seems like a waste of her favor to get revenge over such a minor embarrassment."
"Oh, it wasn't revenge," Lily explained, with a careless wave. "It was…nothing. Just a stupid dream I had. Thinks she's funny, that's all. And I don't think you're stupid."
"You dreamed Beatrice would make me throw you in a lake?"
She looked at him as if she was seriously reconsidering the redaction of her claim that he was stupid, then gave him a tight smile. "Sure. Let's go with that."
He glanced over his shoulder to see Beatrice looking quite smug, arms crossed as she stood next to Bonnie on the shore.
"Odd duck, that one," he said. "Sorry I pushed you in—I'd have let my honor take the hit if I'd known how much you hated frogs."
"It's fine, I'm sorry I called you handsome and stupid."
"You don't think I'm handsome? Well. The insults continue."
She coughed out a laugh. "Maybe I think you've got enough women telling you you're handsome without needing to hear it from me too, yeah?"
"One more never hurts?" he said hopefully.
"Well, alright, if you're going to cry about it. You're kind of cute when the light hits you a certain way," Lily tossed her head, lifting her nose towards the sunlight, "but I'm cuter than you."
He tilted his head back and laughed, his chest warm despite his post-dip chill. "No arguments from me—oh shit." He froze, staring at the horrific trio of Rita, Bozo, and Helena Hodge rushing toward him. "Rita at ten o'clock. Where's my shirt?" he asked, eyes scanning the shore.
"Exactly where you left it, unless Helena's using it as a bandage for her chin."
He grimaced and crossed his arms over his chest. "I feel unclean," he said. "I feel naked."
There was no hope of getting his shirt now, though. The trio had made it to the pier, the dock shaking with their relentless footsteps.
James debated the merits of jumping back in the lake and making for London, where maybe he could join a sailing crew under the name Elvendork Potter.
"What on earth happened here?" Rita demanded, as soon as she drew level them both, Bozo and Helena panting in their wake. "Where are your microphones?"
"Some of the others wanted to swim, so we had to take them off," said Bozo timidly, pointing further down the lake, where Wendy and Charlene were paddling. "The water—"
"Not now, Bozo!" Rita screeched.
"It's fine," said Lily soothingly, with a saccharine smile for the snarling blonde. "You didn't miss anything good, I promise, unless you count all the sex we had in the water."
James felt all his blood rise to whichever surface was nearest. And caught on camera, too—lovely.
He had to admit to himself, though, that Lily's cheek was magnificent. A thing of great glory and beauty. If only he could enjoy it in private and not with millions of households on a weekly basis, interspersed with ads for dish soap and condoms.
Rita's jaw tightened as she surveyed Lily. "Go and get yourself dried off."
"Sure," said Lily happily, and bounced away on the balls of her feet, calling out at the top of her lungs as she did so. "Ten out of ten for stamina, honestly. Where on earth did you find him?"
James took a step back toward the edge of the dock. His heel hung slightly over the edge.
Rita narrowed her eyes at him. "I think it goes without saying that there will be a recounting of this adventure in the confessional later."
"I've got amnesia," James said, because hell if he was telling Rita about Lily's phobia. And, because he knew it would piss her off further, "Who are you again?"
He'd pay for it later, but it was absolutely worth it to see Lily wander away free while he drew some of the ire for himself. He watched her cackling as she chattered with Bea and Bonnie, her wet hair longer than normal down her back.
She was really something, that Lily Evans. Even if she was completely undone by frogs.
On the morning after the canoeing expedition, which never really got off the ground following Helena's unfortunate accident, Lily woke up with a cold.
Summer colds were, of course, the worst kind of cold, because Lily's insides were now as hot and uncomfortable as the surface of her skin in the oppressive July heat. Her stuffed-up nose glowed like Rudolph the reindeer's—a reference she was sure James would appreciate—her throat was sore and scratchy, and her head felt so heavy and full of gunk that holding it upright for more than a few minutes felt like nothing short of a tremendous achievement.
"I blame you," she told Beatrice for the fiftieth time that day. They reposed on one of the many stiff-backed couches in what had now become a most familiar room, waiting for the arrival of James, and for yet another cursed cocktail party to get underway. "And Rita, and James, and you, and James again, but more than anything else, you."
All Lily wanted to do was sleep, but instead she had poured herself into a dress, styled her hair, and was wearing makeup that Bonnie had thoughtfully applied for her, sensing her snotty-nosed exhaustion and general disinclination to continue moving her limbs. Lily hadn't even bothered asking Rita for permission to skip the party and sleep it off, because she knew what the answer would be, and she wanted to spare her ears the pain of being screeched at.
Unsurprisingly, she had been promised cold medicine by another producer when she'd asked for it that morning, but that conversation had taken place over twelve hours ago, and it had yet to make an appearance.
She couldn't even ask Peter to fetch her some, as he had explained in a text that he was now being closely monitored by Rita, and any further in-person contact with her might cost him his job.
Rita Skeeter grew only more poisonous with each passing day.
Perhaps Lily didn't have a cold at all. Perhaps she was simply allergic to Rita.
"It's really difficult to take you rancor seriously when you're literally snuggling me," Beatrice pointed out.
"You're an evil woman with a comfortable shoulder."
"I'm all comfort, me," said Beatrice, and bumped her cheek against the top of Lily's head. "Did you know that we're going to get a flat together after all of this is over?"
"Really?" said Remus, who was perched on the edge of coffee table, having wandered over for a chat. "That's wonderful, and it's good to hear that you're coming away from this experience with real friendships. Are you both based in London?"
Lily felt Beatrice nod. "Camden, baby."
"That's minutes away from me," said Remus.
"Lily and I literally live two tube stops from each other and take the same train to work, but we'd never met before."
"Never met," Lily seconded, with a sniff. "Can you believe it?"
"It seems almost criminal that you didn't," Remus solemnly agreed.
"And now we're locked up here," said Beatrice, and laughed. "There's some poetic justice for you."
Remus returned her laugh. "Surely it's not so bad that it feels like prison?"
"Oh, it certainly has its perks."
"Such as?"
"Wouldn't you like to know?" said Beatrice coyly.
"Flirt," Lily quietly accused, and closed her eyes against the light in the room, which was made to be flattering on their figures and faces, but was no less of an assault on her senses in her current condition. "I can't believe I'm going to die from dirty lake water, as opposed to the very brutal garroting that Rita's been dreaming of since the day we met."
"I thought it was a slow immersion in boiling acid?" said Beatrice.
"Either way, a literal murder would be a really snazzy way to end the show," said Lily thoughtfully. She opened her eyes, and regarded Remus seriously. "What say you, host?"
"I mean," Remus began, smiling at her, "I'd really prefer to keep all the contestants alive—"
"It'd make for better telly than Mr. and Mrs. Vanilla and their drying-paint romance, though," Beatrice interjected, and pointed to the fireplace, where Isabella and Bonnie were sharing a laugh. "He better come to his senses and ditch her soon, I'm getting so bored of this—"
"God, Beatrice, you're the worst," said Lily under her breath, shutting her eyes once more.
"Want him for yourself, do you?" said Remus lightly, to which Beatrice made a noncommittal noise, her body shifting slightly beneath Lily's head. Her friend was clearly pointing at her. "Oh, I see."
"I'm not mad for thinking it, right?"
"Absolutely not. I'd had a similar thought myself."
"Finally, a man with some sense in this castle."
"Just because my eyes are closed, doesn't mean I don't know that you're talking about me," said Lily loudly, and let out a sniff, wiping her nose with the back of her hand, "but I'm far too ill to care about your crackpot theories today."
"What's got you ill, dear?" came a woman's voice.
Lily's eyes flew open to discover that Euphemia Potter was standing directly above her, looking far taller than she actually was, on account of Lily's prone position on the couch.
That, or the sky-scraping heels on her feet. Lily couldn't help but admire her balance.
"Hello," Lily said, and smiled politely at her. Take better care of your son, she did not add.
"Your darling boy pushed Lily into the lake," Beatrice explained, "in an act of unprecedented cruelty that was in no way prompted by me, and now she's got a cold, the poor thing."
Euphemia's brows knit together in concern. "He never told me that he pushed you."
"Didn't he?" said Remus.
"I just assumed that they'd jumped in together."
"I can assure you, I did no such thing," said Lily hoarsely, "on account of my fear of frogs, who tend to live near lakes, or so I am reliably informed."
"Are you telling me that my son tackled you into a dirty lake with no concern for your safety or health, and despite your deathly terror of frogs—"
"He didn't know that when he pushed—"
"Nonetheless!" Euphemia cried, looking appalled. "That is not the proper way to woo a young lady, and I will certainly be having words with him about this."
Lily blinked up at her. "James isn't trying to woo me."
"Oh, James barely knows what he had for breakfast," said Euphemia. "Leave this with me, and I'll see to it that he makes amends at once."
She turned on her gravity-defying heels and marched to the bar, presumably to drink away the shame of having raised a child who would happily shove innocent women into lakes for the sake of a basket of muffins from Beatrice Booth's mum.
"What's she going to have him do?" said Lily, feeling disoriented. "Cure my cold with homeopathic aids?"
"Apologize on bended knee, knowing her," said Remus.
"Maybe she'll make him give me Algernon," said Lily hopefully. "Or some cold medicine."
"Or a get-better kiss," said Beatrice, with an evil grin.
Somehow, and from somewhere, Lily found the strength to elbow Beatrice soundly in the ribs at the very moment James made his entrance. Remus darted to the head of the room, and all the girls stood at attention, as if James was the bloody national anthem or something. Even Lily climbed to her feet, knowing all too well the punishment for failing to comply with this particular rule.
Rita could have given the most notorious of historical dictators a run for their money.
As soon as all of the usual formalities were done with, and James was promptly grabbed by his mother—the only woman alive who could monopolize his time without fearing an immediate interruption from a heavily stitched and bandaged Helena—Lily retreated outside, where the air was beginning to cool. She kicked off her shoes and collapsed into the loveseat by the pool.
Rita would eventually chide her for refusing to mingle, but Lily honestly didn't care. James had been right—she wasn't scared of the showrunner, and would happily take a one-on-one with her over an encounter with a frog, any day of the week.
As always, she was quickly found by Algernon, who jumped into her lap and settled happily against her chest. He had been banned from the common area for a couple of days after he boldly scratched Charlene and Helena, drawing blood from the latter. Euphemia had intervened on his behalf and had his freedom reinstated, much to Lily's relief.
"There you are, my sweet boy," she said softly, wrapping her arms tight around the plump, darling creature, who continued to delight her with his love whilst openly disdaining everyone else he encountered. "You'll keep me company for the night, yeah?"
Algernon's happy purrs indicated that he was perfectly content to do as she asked, and Lily let her eyes flutter shut once again.
Though she'd probably lie to Rita if she were asked about it later for the sake of peace and quiet, she was almost certainly dozing off when James arrived—or, more accurately, was shoved unceremoniously in her direction by his formidable mother—and interrupted the perfect moment of bliss that she had been sharing with his cat.
He immediately dropped to his knees in front of her, clasping his hands together in front of his chest. "Lily Whatever Your Middle Name Is Evans," he began in a dramatic voice. "I come to offer my sincerest apologies for the incident yesterday which I know we agreed never to speak of again."
What a way to be startled awake.
Lily had started to laugh almost as soon as he dropped to his knees.
While Euphemia observed her son's ridiculous apology near one of the cameras, Algernon fixed Lily with a pointed stare, looking up at her as if to say, see what I have to put up with?
Strange family, this lot.
"And how deeply sincere you are," she sighed when he had finished. "Would you like me to submit your performance for Emmy consideration? I hear they're the Oscars of television, and, well…" She extended a hand to the cameras around them. "I believe it's fitting."
Algernon stayed in her lap, but moved to perch further down on her knees and extend his head towards his owner, as if to indicate that James had his permission to pet him.
"I mean, I never say no to a trophy." He cocked his head at her while he pet Algernon's neck. "Are you ill?"
"Oh, no," she said, and ruffled the fur on the cat's back, "this is the sexy voice I use when I'm performing in Central Perk."
He threw his head back and laughed, then got off his knees. "At least then there was one positive side effect of the incident of which we shall not speak. Best of luck with your singing career. I think you and Bea will go far."
"I agree. Best of luck at the Emmys." She cocked her head to the side. "Though, having thought about it very deeply for the past five seconds, I think you overacted a bit. Best work on that."
A strange half-smile appeared on his face. "Might have to stick to my thrilling day job in the hair care industry, then." The smile lingered for a second, and then disappeared. "Seriously, though, are you all right? D'you need anything?"
"I asked them for cold medicine this morning and they said they'd get me some, but I'm still waiting. That's what happens when you talk back to the sea witch, I suppose."
He rubbed a hand over his forehead. "Poor, unfortunate souls," he sang under his breath. Then he dropped his hand and looked over his shoulder. "I'll go put my mum on it. She'll get it taken care of."
Lily followed the direction of his gaze. His mother was watching them still, with a wide smile stretched across her face. "Why is she grinning at us like that?"
He gave a wave of his hand and started turning toward Euphemia. "She has a deep and inexplicable love of reality television, so every day right now is her favorite day of all time. Better than the day I was born, she's told me, and the day she first had sex with my father."
Lily shifted in her seat, and ignored her urge to ask if his father was that good in bed, and if so, if James took after him. That was the kind of thing he should have been bantering about with Isabella, difficult as it was to imagine Isabella joking around in that way.
Algernon moved closer to her stomach.
"No wonder she looks so happy," she instead settled upon. "This must be the high-octane stuff she signed up for. Women with colds. Men with cats. A sad lack of paracetamol all round."
"It'll break her heart, yeah, but she'll definitely fix that last one." He smiled at her and Algernon. "Feel better, yeah?"
"I will, if only to witness Helena's next hilarious injury," she promised, and waved him away. "Go and enjoy your evening. I couldn't live with keeping you from the girl of your dreams—"
His mother laughed loudly in the background.
"—or let you catch my cold," she finished, with a puzzled frown in Euphemia's direction. "Rita would infer things, as she often does."
His brown skin paled slightly. "Oh God. Yeah. Okay. Getting you those meds now." He waved goodbye, seemingly mostly to Algernon, and headed back to his mum.
"Are the whole family this dramatic?" she said quietly to Algernon, who purred his response. "I hope Isabella's ready to deal with that level of extra on a full-time basis."
Lily regretted that comment only slightly, five minutes later, when her longed-for cold medicine was deposited directly into her hands, with apologies and a bottle of water.
Later that night, Helena survived yet another rose ceremony, though this was unsurprising. She'd have the sympathy vote this week, having busted her own chin wide open with an oar. Crazy as she was, it'd make James look pretty heartless if he were to kick her out after such a disaster, but it only boded ill for the future. With each passing day, and each subsequent ceremony, Helena grew more and more convinced that she and James were destined for one another, if only she could thwart the other women.
While Helena made it through, Charlene Stebbins and Valerie Turpin were eliminated.
Lily, oddly, was called up first, and thoroughly nudged by Beatrice when it happened.
And then there were six.
Five decent, sane, sensible women, and Helena Hodge.
"Single eliminations start next week!" Rita breezily announced, while a harried James was escorted to his room, or wherever they tended to stash him when he wasn't on camera. "It's getting serious now, gang!"
Then she crooked one finger at Lily, beckoning her to come over.
That seemed ominous, but Lily was so relieved to have finally taken some cold medicine that she looked upon the world with optimism anew, and besides, Rita was no frog. She could take her.
"Yes?" she said, approaching the demon and her ever-present clipboard.
"Change of plans for the next episode," said Rita brusquely, not looking at her. "We'd originally scheduled Beatrice for a one-on-one with James—"
"How did you know that Beatrice would be here after tonight?"
Rita fixed her with a pointed stare. "Don't play stupid with me, Evans. I know you orchestrated that little lake stunt for more camera time—"
"I absolutely did not."
"Nonetheless, your plan worked, and James has specifically requested your presence at the next one-on-one, so we've pushed Beatrice back by an episode. You'll be briefed on the activity and dress code in the morning."
The lie was so fusty, Lily could practically smell it permeating the room. Though it was clear that James enjoyed her company—as he should have, she was delightful when she wasn't gripped by the madness of frog-related terror—there was only one girl in the castle who he would ask to spend more time with, and it was not, nor would it ever be, Lily.
"He did not specifically request my presence."
"No," Rita admitted, with a smug quirk of her lips. "No, he did not, but that's what I've told Isabella."
She smiled slyly at something out of eyeshot, and Lily turned to see Isabella Marks, who was hand-in-hand with Bonnie, staring woefully back at her. Tears glistened in her soft, brown eyes.
Suddenly, the reason Lily had been called up for a rose before Isabella became abundantly clear.
She turned back around and glared at the showrunner in disgust. "You're a fucking succubus, Rita."
"And you're an odious little witch who needs to learn to watch her mouth," Rita retorted. "Now, go to bed. We need you rested and beautiful for your upcoming date."
Lily could have slapped her, were she a less civilized woman, but getting arrested would have been a terrible way to end her time at the castle. She shouldered her anger and followed Beatrice up to their room.
She'd tell Isabella the truth of the matter in the morning—on camera, to spare her the public humiliation—if she could survive the night with this cold.
Even dosed up on Benylin, Lily felt utterly disgusting.
"Take your makeup off," Beatrice instructed, once they were in and she was struggling with her bra. "You and your skin will regret it if you don't."
Lily, meanwhile, had fallen down flat on her bed, still fully clothed.
"Can't. Dead. Tired," she mumbled. The fact that she was still zipped into her dress was unfortunate, because she did not have the energy to remove it. How she longed for an opportunity to spend all day in sweatpants. "It'll be fine. I'll do it tomorrow."
While Beatrice divested herself of her clothes and cosmetics, Lily reached awkwardly over her head and slipped her hand beneath the highly sophisticated hiding place that was her pillow. From there, she withdrew her phone and began her usual nightly routine—update her boss on the events of the day, text her mum to assure her that she was still alive, check her emails, remind her flatmate to water her plants—and noticed she had a voicemail from a London-based number she didn't recognize.
It was probably a sales pitch, or one of those people who called to offer compensation for fictitious car accidents in exchange for cash and souls, but Lily opened it up and hit play anyway.
"Hi, Lily," came a voice she didn't know; firm, assured, and with a strong Scottish accent. "My name is Mary Macdonald, and I'm one of the feature editors at the Quibbler—"
Lily sat up like a shot.
"—the reason I'm calling is because I'm looking at an application you sent in to us some time ago for a position which I believe we'd already filled at the time. As it happens, one of our feature writers is leaving at the end of September, and as you've expressed an interest in working for us—"
"Oh my God," Lily breathed.
"What?" said Beatrice.
"—I've been reading through your work at the Prophet," the voice continued, "and I love what you've been doing over there, but I think we'd able to offer you something a bit more varied and interesting in terms of content, so if you're interested, give me a call back on this number tomorrow—"
"Oh my God!"
"—as I'd love to meet up with you in the city next week and discuss it further." A pause. "Hopefully, I'll hear from you quite soon. Bye for now."
The voicemail came to an end, and Lily pulled her phone away from her ear to stare blankly at it.
"Are you alright, babe?" said Beatrice, who was sitting on her bed in her pajama shirt and pants, paused in the act of rubbing lotion into her impossibly long legs.
"Yeah," said Lily breathlessly. Her heart was beginning to pound. "Yeah, I think so?"
"Who was that calling?"
"It was a woman from the Quibbler."
"The what?"
"You know, the website?" Lily stared without seeing at her phone's home screen. "I've applied to write there at least five times and they've never gotten back to me."
"And they just called you?"
She nodded. "They just called me."
Beatrice set the pot of lotion down on the floor. "Are you serious?"
"I don't know," said Lily. "I don't—wait."
On the off-chance that the voicemail was a setup, orchestrated by Rita, who had somehow discovered her real job—which was testament, really, to just how far she thought Rita was willing to go to hurt someone—Lily searched up the number on Google.
The first result she saw did away with her worries. It was no setup. No joke.
She'd been called by the real deal.
Her heart pounded even harder.
"It's the fucking Quibbler!" she cried hoarsely, and jumped to her feet, excitement pumping through her veins, screw her cold. "The Quibbler! They actually publish interesting content, not bullshitty clickbait, and they broke that story on the MPs taking cash to influence policy last year, and they're feminist! Most of their staff is made up of women!"
Beatrice lifted her arms into the air. "Seriously? That's amazing!"
"Oh my God, oh my God!"
She should have been keeping it down, she knew. Helena and Isabella's room was just next door, and the last thing she wanted was for the poor girl to hear her excitable croaking and assume she was expressing any delight about her rescheduled date with James. It was bad enough that Isabella had to bunk with a lunatic.
On the other hand, Lily had just had a call from her dream employer, and that mattered more than Isabella's feelings at that minute. This voicemail brought a potential opportunity to get away from the Prophet, and Rufus Scrimgeour, and a career spent fighting to be allowed to write weighty, on-topic pieces instead of pointless, celebrity-driven fluff.
This was exactly what she'd been working toward for years. This was the dream. This was everything.
"Should I call her back?" She stopped jumping to consult her phone again. "No, it's after midnight, I can't call her back or I'll look like a maniac, but she wants to meet with me, Bea!"
"Of course she does! She'd be mad not to!"
"I can't believe she wants to meet with me!" she cried, and jiggled about on the spot. "I can't believe—"
She stopped in her tracks, the smile slipping from her face as a terrible, terrible realization occurred to her.
"What's wrong?" said Beatrice.
"She wants to meet me next week," Lily clarified. "In London."
There was not a chance on earth, or any one of the many planets that swirled around the solar system, of Lily being allowed by Rita to take a day off from filming for the sake of a job interview, especially since the woman knew absolutely nothing about Lily's real career. Every member of production—even Peter, who had been told to give Lily her phone but had not been informed of why she needed it—was under the impression that she was a supermarket cashier.
Her friend's face fell. "Oh."
"Shit."
"Shit," Beatrice repeated, frowning up at her. "But you have to go."
"I know."
"You've already got enough for your article, and this is much more important than staying here—"
"I know."
"So what do you think you'll do? Quit?"
Lily sat down on her bed, her phone pressed to the duvet beneath the palm of her hand.
"I'm not sure if I can," she admitted. "Rufus will lose his mind."
She was free to quit whenever she liked, as Lucinda had, but that wasn't the agreement she'd made with her boss. He was such a snake that Lily knew he'd find a way to punish her for dropping out. She had firsthand knowledge of his adeptness at worming his way out of previously-struck deals; Rufus would argue that by choosing to leave the show, she was forfeiting her rights to finish the article, and subsequently, to any form of payment.
Lily couldn't afford for that to happen. She'd been promised a lot of money for this article, and she needed to stick to the agreed-upon terms if she wanted to pay her bills when this was all done.
Furthermore, she had been writing for the Prophet for five years and had little experience with any other newspaper. The Quibbler was a serious business, cream-of-the-crop site that had crawled its way to prominence through a thorny forest of clickbait sites and commanded real respect. She'd be able to tackle meaty subjects, and work from anywhere she liked, not beholden to the confines of an archaic, stuffy office in Lower Holloway.
All it would take to send this golden opportunity crashing to the ground in a fiery pit of carnage was one bad recommendation from Rufus, and he was just petty enough to write one. He had threatened to, once or twice before, when she refused to write some pieces she disagreed with on principle.
She couldn't quit the show, not even if she lied and said she'd been let go. Though the show wouldn't air until the winter—and Lily was planning to take a long vacation to Guam when it did—Rufus had too many eyes inside the castle; they'd tell him about it at once, and she'd be in even hotter water than she was already.
But she had to meet with Mary next week. She didn't know when she'd get a chance like this again.
Lily couldn't quit, and stealing back to London for an entire afternoon was out of the question. She could barely spend more than a few minutes in the toilet without someone coming to look for her.
This, of course, left her with only one option.
She had to get kicked off the show.