He didn't follow the schedule. James Potter had proved himself, time and again, completely incapable of even the tiniest speck of decency. He did it simply to irritate her. She was sure of it.
She wasn't the best witch in her year for nothing, though, so she simply worked around him. She set up charms that informed her when a human was in the common room. As she had told no one the password, she could be quite sure any time they indicated a presence, it was him or one of his friends. She doubted he'd kept the password from them.
It had worked so far, at any rate. She had lasted a full week without seeing him once. Except in class of course, and that was inevitable. He was his usual charming self, full of insults and bravado, and his friends were equally endearing.
She stood under the spray of the shower, annoyed with the whole situation. She could not even begin to understand why Dumbledore hadn't simply accepted her resignation. He probably wanted to show solidarity with the muggleborn.
She snorted. Three more notes. She hadn't even been back two full weeks, and she'd already gotten four. Somehow she doubted forcing her into the spotlight had benefited her.
She turned off the water and wrapped a towel around herself. Still dripping, she stumbled toward the door. She needed to get some rest. The notes weren't worth losing sleep over.
"Morning, Ev-" Potter trailed off, stunned at her half-clad appearance. "I though you'd be dressed," he said, clearing his throat.
"I thought you'd be gone," she responded, ignoring the second look. Lovely. He would almost certainly report his findings to his friends. Now the people who had spent the last six years calling her fat at every opportunity would have a little more fuel for the fire. Now they would have a better idea exactly where to aim their shots. She'd really have to remember to thank Dumbledore.
"I've been wanting to talk to you," he said, with a bit more throat clearing. "About our, uh, situation."
"I'm a bit busy, at the moment, Potter," she said, gesturing to her towel. His eyes followed the movement, and her stomach turned.
"I can, uh, I can see that," he said.
She ignored him and headed toward her room. She slammed the door in his face, but he continued yelling to her from outside it, seeming to pick up momentum.
"You're always busy," he shouted. "And the thing is, I get the feeling you might be avoiding me."
"What gave you that idea?" she said, as she threw on clothes. She refused to shout, but she let her voice carry. It maintained the sarcasm better that way.
"Well, for starters, you made up a schedule for the sole purpose of never having to see me."
She opened the door, and found him leaning against the jam.
"So that was a hint," he continued. His eyes flicked down to survey her, but he at least tried to pretend he was looking at her face rather than gathering ammunition for his next assault.
"Have you never learned to take a hint, then?" she asked, leaving the door open as she ran back to grab her robes. She leaned down to pick them up. When she turned back, she found his eyes on her again. Lovely. They'd probably write her a wonderful sonnet, all about how her ass marveled that of only the largest hippopotamus.
"No," he said, coughing sharply. "I must have, uh, I must have missed that lesson."
"Shame," she said, sweeping by him.
"The thing is," he called out, as she made her way to the door of the common room. "I'm taking being head boy very seriously. I'm not interested in having you do my work for me. So I'd suggest you get used to the idea of dealing with me."
Lacking any ready response, she had to settle for a glare as she walked out the door.
He hadn't been joking, apparently. He was still a jerk in class, but mostly he just ignored her in public. Otherwise, he was the very soul of responsibility. He handled all of his head duties, was on time for every meeting, actually took his authority seriously. She had no idea how to respond.
It had only been a few weeks, though. He was sure to get tired of acting the choir boy.
She lay in bend, picturing the most recent note. It had been burned into her brain. No words this time. Just an image, like one of those Rorschach tests, except all she could see was herself screaming in pain.
She pressed the heels of her hands to her eyelids, willing the image away. She tried to relax, to picture herself in her bedroom at her parents house, safe and sound. But the faces of potential Death Eaters kept popping into her head.
Shocking, rapid thumps intruded on her. She jerked and nearly fell out of bed, before she realized they were coming from the door.
"Lily!" she heard. "Lily, open the door." And then Potter returned to bruising his fist against the wood.
She shot out of bed and stormed over to the door, flinging it open in embarrassed fury. "What?" she snapped.
He blinked and swayed, staring at her. Following the trail his eyes left, she glanced down at herself and realized she was wearing nothing but an oversized t-shirt.
"For God's sake," she snapped. She tried to slam the door on him as blood rushed to her face.
He pushed his way in and pulled her to him, closing his mouth over hers before she could splutter out a response.
She pressed her hands to his chest, pushing him away. She didn't notice when her fingers began to cling instead. His mouth tasted of peppermint and firewhiskey.
He walked her back toward the bed. "I've been thinking about this all night," he said, his mouth traveling over to her ear and nipping at it.
Her knees bumped into the bed, and his hands wandered below the hem of her shirt, sliding up from knee to thigh, dragging one leg up to wrap around him as he lowered her onto the mattress.
He started to crawl on after her, but she came to her senses. With one hard shove, she knocked him back several steps. Off balance, he wobbled and nearly fell.
"What?" he blinked at her and shifted forward, baffled. "Why-"
She shoved him back again, moving him in bursts back toward the door and out of her room. The moment he was through the door, she slammed it shut and locked it with a snick.
She pressed her hands to her stomach, which was still jumping. What the hell had she done?
She flopped onto her bed and pulled a pillow over her face. This was going to be mortifying. It was probably all she would hear about for the rest of the year.