Lily skipped two lessons that afternoon. She thought she had kept it together fairly well in class, but the whole year had been getting to her. The cookie-jar spell failing – the fact that it had never had a shot – that had been a pretty big blow. Adding today's humiliation on top of it was simply too much.
She marched straight into her room, slammed the door behind her, and began smashing things. She flung her wand against the wall first. She tipped over her record player, and chucked each and every record at the far wall. Mug after mug crashed into the wall and joined the growing rubble covering her floor.
Then she stomped over, snatched up her wand, and took the room apart with her magic.
When the anger finished boiling over, it poured out as tears. She collapsed onto her bed, shaking and crying, clawing at her own skin to try to make it all stop.
She had settled into quiet weeping by the time James arrived. He opened the door without knocking. She should have thought to lock it.
She wanted to scream at him to get out, but was afraid of what would happen if she lost control again.
"Lily," he said, barely a whisper. "I'm so sorry."
She turned away from him, choking on her sobs.
He crawled onto the bed behind her. She lashed out at him, throwing her arms and elbows backwards, hoping to connect somewhere it would hurt. He captured them, and pinned them to her side, sliding in behind her and holding her tightly.
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. It was stupid. I thought it was stupid. I didn't think it was funny. I didn't like it. I didn't want anything to do with it."
"You helped," she choked out.
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." He just kept repeating the phrase, holding onto her as she wept.
She must have fallen asleep, though she couldn't imagine how she could have done so, feeling as she had, and having him that close to her.
When she woke, his weight was gone. She rolled over, and found him sitting on the floor, notes spread out around him. She could recognize them all at a distance, she had stared at each so long. The tombstone, her dressed as a house elf with shackles on her feet, the sketch from the library. Even her lock of hair.
"What is this, Lily?"
She shot out of bed. "It's nothing. It's none of your business. Why were you even going though my things?" She was shouting at him, knew she was beyond reason. Her anger over his behavior and that of her tormentor were blending into one blinding, burning fury.
"I was going to clean everything up." His voice was completely empty of emotion. "When I went to pick up the books . . ." He trailed off, staring around at the notes in stupefied horror.
"GET OUT!" Lily screamed. "It's none of your business. It has nothing to do with you. Stay out of my things. Stay out of my room. STAY OUT OF MY LIFE!"
He just blinked up at her, unmoving. "How long has this been going on?"
She leapt out of bed, and began throwing things at him. "Get out!"
He deflected each missile with absent-minded flicks of his wand. "Lily. You need to go to Dumbledore. This is serious."
She snorted. "You're the last person who gets to tell me that."
"There's a difference between being a wanker and threatening someone because they're muggleborn."
"Really? I haven't noticed much of one. You and your friends like to make me cry. They like to scare me. Sounds pretty similar to me."
His mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out. He shook his head once, sharply. "It's not the same thing. We-"
"Do you think this," she gestured at the wreckage around her, "was about those notes? I've been dealing with that all year. The Death Eaters and their little proteges aren't who caused this."
"All year?" he repeated. He looked down at the bloody hair and then at her own red locks. "That's why you panicked in class."
Lily rolled her eyes. "I wasn't really panicking. I'm not that weak, whatever you might think. I just wanted to see if it was someone in the room. I thought they might give themselves away, if I freaked out a little bit."
"I don't think you're weak," he said, automatically.
She snorted. Her breath caught on the way out, emotions rising. "Will you please just go?" she asked, tears springing to her eyes.
"I don't think you're weak," he repeated. "None of us ever did. You were bossy. And you follow rules. And we break them. And so we didn't like you, and we, sort of, wanted to . . ."
"Teach me a lesson?" she supplied, swiping a hand under her nose, and nodding toward the notes. "Seems to be a common theme."
"It's not the same thing," he repeated. His voice was dull, his eyes just a little blank. He stayed there, on the floor, gaze trained on the Rorschach note. He must have seen the same thing she did, or something similar. "You need to go to Dumbledore," he repeated, voice deadened.
"I'll handle it," she said, each word clipped. "I'd like you to leave now. And I know it's not exactly in your makeup, but I'd appreciate it if you would let me decide how to deal with this."
He looked up, met her eyes, looked away. For a second, she thought his looked wet, just a little wet. "OK," he said. "I could help, if you want."
"No, thank you."
He raised himself into a crouched position. "I'll help you clean up."
"I'd really like you to go, James," she said, voice breaking again.
He opened his mouth, closed it again. This time she was sure there was a sheen across his eyes. "Ok," he said. Slowly, he rose and walked out of the room, closing the door with a soft snick.
