TW: Attempted sexual assault

Room Service

Chapter 17

"Lily."

She pulls her gaze away from the computer screen in front, looks across the counter with a pleasant smile on lips. "Hi, Benjy. What's—" The question halts on her tongue, apprehension simmering when a prolonged glance reveals the harrowed expression on the man's usually cheerful countenance. "What's wrong? Everything alright?"

"Well, um—not really…" He grimaces, sounding miserable.

Lily turns to face him properly now, urging her mind to not jump to the worst conclusions possible—someone's being fired, someone got hurt, they found out about her and James!—or, well, whatever there was to find out anyway. "Tell me," she begs.

"You know Antonin Dolohov from room 211?"

Instantly, foreboding slithers up her spine. "Yeah, I do. He's a fucking prick."

"Agreed." Benjy pulls in a deep breath, looks at her apologetically. "He's creating a bit of a nuisance upstairs. Says he wants to talk to the manager."

"The Manager? But McGonagall's not in today." Already, Lily can sense the beginnings of discomfort curdling inside her stomach. It's not all that difficult to recall the way Dolohov, a tall, dark-haired, spindly-looking bloke, had leered at her when he'd first walked across the lobby for dinner three days ago. He'd immediately tried to strike up a sleazy conversation in that oily voice of his, every word dripping with insinuation, eyes roving lecherously over her form. Obviously, once Lily had responded with glaring unenthusiasm, he'd taken one long look at her, said something along the lines of don't get your knickers in a twist, and stalked off prattishly. The idea of a second encounter with him, therefore, doesn't sound like the best way to spend a Sunday night. "What's the problem?"

Benjy rubs fingertips over his temples.

"He'd ordered a saffron risotto with mushrooms around twenty minutes ago, but when I took it up to his room, he went all weirdly aggressive—started insisting that he'd asked for it to be made with shrimps. I swear he didn't, Lil. I was the one who took the order, and I'm very particular about noting down—"

"No, I know. You don't need to convince me." She reaches across the counter and squeezes his hand reassuringly, smile gentle. "I wouldn't be surprised if he's just trying to be an arse on purpose."

"I'm pretty certain he is." Benjy sighs heavily. "I told him the manager isn't available, but he—he said I should call her, then."

Lily bites her lower lip in contemplation, wonders whether it'd be wise to get McGonagall involved in such an issue on her one day off. It doesn't take very long for her to come to a decision, and she looks back at Benjy calmly. "Let's not bother her with this. Can you cover the reception for a bit? I'll go speak to Dolohov."

The blues of his eyes widen instantly. "I really don't think you should. He's not—he's a—"

"I know he's not the most decent of blokes." She purses her lips grimly, patting his hand twice before rounding the counter. The troubled expression on his face when she looks at him again gives her pause, halts her feet in their path towards the elevator. "It's okay. I have my phone with me. And if he really crosses a line, I'll personally give McGonagall a ring. But I want to nip the problem in the bud if I can."

Benjy still appears anxious. "Are you sure you don't want me to come with?"

"Positive." A nod of the head. "Be back in a bit."

"Thanks, Lily! And be careful."

Rather stupidly, stepping onto the second floor seems to remind her about nothing and no one but James Potter and his smiles now. In a way, she supposes, it's a good thing, because once she quashes the nonsensical butterflies taking flight in her stomach, it allows her to instead focus solely on the remnants of the positive feeling to carry herself through the hallway, past rooms 207, 208, and 209—feet stuttering for half a beat only—until she's stood outside 211.

The distraction, she realizes, was much needed, because reaching out and ringing the bell once she's there takes more resolve than she'll ever admit.

When Dolohov opens the door, a sneer already curled over his thin lips, Lily feels the tension harden inside her; she squares her shoulders, tilts her chin up, stands tall. Like hell, she's going to cower under that vile, repugnant gaze. "Good evening, sir."

"What do you want?" he asks, making no attempt to be subtle as his eyes stick to her tits. "I didn't order—hang on. Are you the manager?"

If she didn't give less than a flying fuck about his opinion, she may have bristled at the amused disbelief in his tone. Condescending bastard. "I am not," she says presently. "But as our manager is on leave today, I'll do my best to assist you in her absence. I was told you had a complaint about a dish that was brought up to you?"

"I got fucking mushrooms when I asked for shrimps."

"The Room Service team has assured me that it was a simple misunderstanding." She tries to breathe evenly. "However, I can get it replaced for you now, if you want."

"What I want—" he snarls, taking a step forward, past the threshold. Lily stumbles back in alarm. "—Is for you to stop acting so fucking high and mighty when you're just a pathetic little receptionist, Evans. Go get your manager for me."

"There's no need for foul language," she snaps, nostrils flaring. "And like I said—she's on leave—"

"You know what? You're right. I don't need her." Dolohov's dark eyes narrow, a smirk slanting over his mouth that makes a chill run down her spine. His hand reaches out, knuckles brushing down the length of her arm, and Lily immediately flinches, slapping his touch away. "You will do. And I know you're just playing hard to get, aren't you? Women like you always are. That's what makes this more… fun."

"You're disgusting," she seethes, condemning him to the steel of her glare. "I can get you reported for this. You're harassing me."

"But you won't, will you?" he carries on, uncaring, swiping suddenly in front of him and clamping a hand around her upper arm. The dig of his fingertips into her flesh is hard; Lily gnashes her teeth together to hold back the whimper that wants to fly out. Don't give him the satisfaction. "You won't, because you secretly want me to fuck you. Don't you?"

"Leave me now, or I will scream."

His grin turns even more horrid. "You won't."

Jesus.

He really thinks she wants to sleep with him.

"Leave me!" Lily cries, pulls harshly at her arm to no avail. It's no proper scream, but Dolohov's eyes lose all amusement at the rise in her voice, and before she knows it, he's got his other palm slapped over her mouth. She struggles against the hold, tries to kick out with her feet, but a sudden slam against her back lets her know that he's got her thrown against the corridor wall, pinned in place by the weight of his own body. He looms close enough that the strong stench of alcohol on his breath fans over her face. Fuck, fuck, fuck. "Get—mmf—geroff me!"

"Keep quiet, you filthy slut—"

Panic crests in her chest now; he's too big, much too stronger than her; his thighs, shoving against her legs, keeping her knees from moving; his hands, pressed tightly over her mouth and arm; his torso, all but cutting off her air supply with its suffocating pressure. Tears of anger—even more than fear—well up in her eyes, and the way Dolohov's face changes, it's evident that he takes delight in her pain.

The man is sick.

If he'd left even an inch of space for her to move, she could've reached for her phone. Benjy was right; coming here alone was a bloody bad idea.

Distantly, through the noise of her own struggle and muffled words, Lily hears a door opening.

Please let it be someone decent!

"Hey, what's—hey, WHAT THE FUCK!"

And even before the weight of Dolohov's body eases up from around her, even before she feels him being shoved off of her, even before he goes tumbling to the floor with a loud grunt—relief, such pure, bloody relief, courses through Lily at the sound of that familiar voice. Because it precedes the visceral knowledge that she'll be okay; it'll be okay now.

"Are you alri—LILY?!" She looks up at the shocked pitch, only just noticing that she'd hunched over with a quiet sob the moment Dolohov's grip had left her. But now she sees, from the blaze of his hazel eyes and the fury that twists over every single one of his features, that James hadn't really realized—not until this moment—exactly whom Dolohov had kept trapped against the wall. Quickly, in the span of a breath, warm hands are running over her face, into her hair; careful, gentle. "Lily, shit, fuck! Are you alright?"

Despite the ache that has built inside her rib cage, she makes herself nod, manages to hold back the next sob clambering up her throat. "Yeah, I'm fine, just a little—" There's no end to that thought. "It's okay."

He leans down slightly, looks at her with a pained expression, the worry and concern in his gaze unhindered despite the anger that still shines openly. "Did he—did he do anything? Did he hurt you?"

She closes her eyes, shakes her head through the uneven beat of her heart.

"Doesn't matter. I'm going to fucking kill him."

"Who the bloody fuck are you?" groans Dolohov from the floor. Even the shortest of glances at him makes her want to stomp his balls with her heels. "Mind your own fucking business, arsehole."

"James," she gasps out, hand climbing up to his shoulder when he genuinely looks about ready to throttle Dolohov on the spot. The tension cording under his muscles strains beneath her fingertips, but when he looks at her again, his gaze softens. "Don't. Just—we'll just get him to leave. I don't want this to turn into an even bigger mess."

"I'm not going anywhere, you bitch!" Dolohov crows, entirely too confident for someone sprawled on the ground. "I've paid for my room here."

James closes his eyes for a beat, visibly trying to reign in the temper.

A second passes, and then he turns away, lowers himself to a crouching position near the man, every syllable that drops from his mouth laced in rancour. "Listen here, you wanker," he says through a harsh whisper. Dolohov's face twists reproachfully, but some level of trepidation—and possibly alcohol—must keep him unmoving, because he doesn't try to get away. "You're going to go into your room now, you're going to pack your fucking bags, and then you're going to leave the hotel, all within the hour. I don't care who you are, if you've paid through your nose, or your arse, because if you don't leave—"

"Then what? You can't do anything!"

James smirks, and for the first time, that look on his face holds absolutely no warmth. "Actually, you'll find that I can. My family owns this hotel. And thanks to you being thick-brained and downright loathsome, the cameras on this floor now have the perfect footage of your attempted sexual assault." At this, Dolohov's eyes finally widen in terror—and with his back turned, James doesn't notice the short wince that mars Lily's face, too, at those words. "So, do as I fucking say, and leave. Otherwise, I'll make sure you're convicted, or pay you back myself. Got it?"

A moment passes in silence; then another.

Evidently seeing no other way out of this, Dolohov's mouth curls into a grotesque grimace, the acquiescence practically spitting out of him: "Yeah, okay."

"Good." James's voice comes out artificially pleasant, jaw still clenched tight as he straightens. "One hour."

And then he tenderly places a hand on Lily's lower back and steers her into his room without a look back at the man.

"Here, drink this."

A cool glass of water is being slipped between her hands, the trembling of her fingers almost dropping it to the carpeted floor. James's palms reach out to cup around her knuckles, press the glass more firmly into her grip. Lily looks up from her perch at the foot of the bed, finds him staring back with a quiet, determined gaze. "Thanks."

"Is there someone at the reception?"

A nod. "Benjy."

He nods back. "Good. Give me a minute."

Silence blankets over the room as James moves around the bed, the mattress dipping slightly when he sits down next to the bedside table and pulls the intercom towards himself. She keeps her eyes trained on the glass in her hands, occasionally taking a sip or two of the water, letting it settle like sludge inside, as his voice floats over to her.

"Yeah, hi, mate, this is James from 209. There's this bloke in 211… right, Dolohov. He's—uh—he's going to check-out sometime in the next hour. Do you mind covering the front desk until then?" A pause; Lily can only imagine the barrage of questions Benjy must have on hearing that information. "Right. Yeah, she's with me… no, she's alright, yeah. Just let me know in case he doesn't leave, would you? Cheers, mate! No problem… yeah, bye."

A breath filters out of her when he places the handset back in the holder, and she lets her eyes flutter shut, another traitorous drop of tear trailing down her cheek.

She shouldn't be crying, shouldn't be feeling so dirty; she's not the one who acted like a dickhead. And yet, in spite of the knowledge, the tears fall; one, then another, then yet another, until James shifts closer on the bed, slowly pulls the glass out of her hands, places it somewhere she can't be bothered to see, and slips his arms around her. Lily half-turns, instantly burying her head into his chest, and lets herself cry, soaking the fabric of his t-shirt thoroughly.

But he doesn't complain; simply holds her, strokes her back, runs his fingers through her hair, presses a gentle kiss to the crown of her head. "I'm sorry," he breathes at length, and that only makes the air in her lungs shudder with the next sob. "I'm sorry you had to go through that, love. I'm so sorry."

Lily shakes her head—at which part exactly, she's unsure—and wraps her arms around his neck, pulls herself closer to him. The comfort of his warmth placates the cold that has spread over her insides, even if just by a little, and she's thankful for him, in that moment, more than words could ever convey. There's no hesitation on James's part when he hugs her back tighter, whispering soothing words as he unravels the ache knotted in her chest somewhat. Slowly. Steadily.

She sits there with him for several minutes after, not finding it necessary to talk, and quietly thanks him somewhere in between more tears and silence. James brushes away the gratitude with a grim smile, fingers ghosting over her cheekbones to tuck strands of loose hair behind her ear.

It's only after Benjy calls to inform them about Dolohov's departure—nearly forty-five minutes later—that Lily finally returns downstairs.

A/N - I know this is a bit of a grim chapter, but sadly crap like this happens.