He hadn't mentioned anything to his friends, that much was clear. They were their usual hysterical selves in lessons, but never mocked her for anything that had happened between Lily and James. They'd made it through an entire week without anyone finding out. Lily began to hope they could last the whole year with no one the wiser.
Assuming she could last the whole year. Three more notes. They hadn't escalated, not in quantity, at any rate. But they had grown more and more threatening. The last one had been a moving photograph of her studying in the library. She had seen nothing.
Her quill scratched over parchment as she wrote names and details on her suspect list. It had begun as just Slytherins, but she had slowly been filling it in with students from other houses as well. Popular, she was not.
She tapped her quill next to a name she had been wavering over for a week. James Potter. Did she really think he would stoop that low? Sirius, perhaps. He did have a lot of unsavory relatives. But Potter had never struck her as the prejudiced sort. Cruel, certainly. But threatening . . .
Unless it was a prank. They would do it as a prank. Probably get a right laugh, thinking she actually believed it. She doubted they had developed enough of a conscience between the lot of them to realized how little difference there was between actually threatening someone and pretending to.
Remus wouldn't, though. He wouldn't take part, at any rate. She'd got on well enough with him, as prefects. And he never really joined in, when they targeted her. He didn't intervene, either. Which meant she couldn't cross them off the list. He might find it distasteful, but he probably wouldn't do anything to stop them, if they thought it a great old joke.
She shook off her indecision and refocused her efforts on potential Death Eater recruits. They seemed the likeliest option. If The Marauders insulted her, it tended to center on her weight, or her looks, or her personality. Blood had never factored in.
She bit her lip and slowly crossed each one off the list. Her quill drifted up to Snape's name. They had been friends once. She didn't think he would do anything to hurt her, or even frighten her. But she didn't like where he drew his lines. He might be able to rationalize just giving her a scare, if it got him in with the crowd he followed.
She moved on without crossing him off. And that was the problem. There were just too many names to do anything with. Depressed, she set the list aside. How could there be so many people who would want her dead? Or want her to feel threatened, at the very least.
She glanced at the clock. Midnight. She wanted Potter to stroll in, announce he was knackered, and collapse on his bed. As foolish as it sounded, she feared a repeat of last Friday's encounter.
Feared. She let a hand rest on her knotted stomach, and tried to convince herself it was just that. Fear of the inconvenience, the inevitable embarrassment. She bit her lip, knowing that wasn't all there was to it.
She had never been kissed like that. She'd only ever been kissed once before, and it had been sloppy, and wet, and just a bit uncomfortable.
A tiny, tiny part of her the rest shouted into silence kept replaying the kiss over and over again. He was very good at it. Then again, he'd had quite a lot of practice.
She looked up when she heard the door open. It closed quietly, and she let out a breath. Relief and disappointment mingled in her gut. No repeat performance tonight.
She pulled out a Charms book, and set about researching what she could do to catch the person sending the notes. They had to be getting them into her books somehow. If they touched them, perhaps she could lay a trap. She knew of a few Charms that could mark a person who touched them. She would simply need to alter them so only she could see the mark.
An hour later, when she thought she had a workable option, she wandered out toward the kitchen, in search of a little snack. More and more food had begun appearing in the kitchen. She had no idea how it got there, but wasn't about to look a gift-horse in the mouth.
She didn't even notice Potter on the couch until he spoke. "Stopped avoiding me, have you?" he said, legs stretched out and crossed, a book lying on his chest.
"Oh. Potter. I thought you'd gone to bed." She realized as soon as she said it that she should have kept her mouth shut.
He laughed. "I'll take that as a no."
"I just wanted a little snack," she offered, for lack of anything better to say. She glanced down at the food in her arms. Biscuits, crisps, two separate kinds of candy, and a slice of cake. Lovely.
"I see that," he said, amusement ringing through his voice.
She bit her lip, oblivious to his sharpened gaze. "Yes, well. I have things to do. Important things to do." She closed her eyes, feeling utterly foolish. "So I'd better go do them." No sense in backtracking now.
He chuckled. "Yes. Making yourself sick with sweets. Important business."
"We all have our talents," she said, flouncing toward her room.
"Wait," he called out, rising from his seat. "You aren't going to share?" He strolled over to her, hands tucked into his pockets.
She froze, breath catching. She didn't want him that close to her. A memory from an over-heated dream flashed into her head, and she prayed to everything holy that he couldn't read minds. He probably didn't have to, given the amusement on his face and her rising color.
He reached toward the cake, balanced precariously on top of the rest of her rations, and broke off a little piece. He slipped it into his mouth, and her eyes followed his every move. Forget a rabbit, she was a mouse, staring in fascination at the snake that about to eat her for dinner.
He held her gaze, smiled, leaned closer. "Why don't you come sit down? We can share."
She shoved the whole lot into his arms and fled into her room, slamming the door shut behind her.
The next day she decided to forgo cowardice. She would shed it like an old skin, and face whatever dangers might befall her head on. Which basically just meant she made tea in the kitchen and had the wherewithal to drink it while curled in one of the armchairs. Admittedly, it was barely sunrise. Breakfast had yet to be served. The odds of running into the disturbing Mr. Potter were as slim as she could hope. But she declared it a victory, and left it at that.
She pretended not to be aware of the time as she poured over her Charms book, searching for any options better than the one she had selected. She told herself she wouldn't fall back to the security of her bedroom when 9:00 am rolled around, and her suite-mate's emergence became more likely.
She was not prepared for him to appear at 7:00, and the little squeak she made when he did proved as much.
"Sorry," he said, rubbing sleep out of his eyes and mussing up his hair. "Didn't mean to scare you."
"You didn't," she said, though it was a foolish lie. "If you need the room, I can-"
"You don't have to leave every time I'm in the same room as you," he mumbled, stumbling over to the couch and dropping onto it. He let his head fall back and kept his eyes closed. "I"m not going to maul you. I do have some self-control."
"I didn't think you were going to maul me," she said.
"Hoped?" he asked, opening one eye.
She scoffed at him. She hoped it sounded convincing, rather than embarrassed or guilty.
He lifted his legs onto the couch, and shifted into a reclining position. He looked ready to fall asleep. "Are you really studying first thing on a Saturday?"
"No," she returned briskly. "It's a . . . project I'm doing on my own."
He snorted. "Not even studying for an actual class. You put overachievers to shame."
Lily said nothing.
He lifted his head and squinted at her. "I didn't mean that as an insult."
"No, of course not. It sounded very complimentary. I'm practically blushing."
"I like it when you blush," he said, closing his eyes again. "It's very sexy."
Lily swallowed. To her mortification, she was sure he could hear it. No wonder they called her an elephant. Could she do nothing quietly?
"No quick retort?" he asked. "Shame. I like your sharp tongue nearly as much."
Her eyes drifted toward the open door to her room. Sanctuary. She could retreat. Avoid all the awkwardness he carried with him, apparently for his own amusement.
"What are you doing up now, anyway?"
"Quidditch," he muttered. "Some nutter scheduled a practice for this morning."
"Wouldn't you be that nutter?"
"I would," he agreed, rolling over and tucking his hands under his head. "That's how I know it was a mad idea. I must have been drunk."
The last thing Lily wanted to talk about was his mad drunken ideas. She kept her mouth closed and counted the minutes before she could excuse herself without admitting cowardice.
He opened his eyes and grinned at her sleepily. "I've definitely had better ideas."
"Well, I'm sure you'll manage today," she said, speaking rapidly, and abandoning any illusions of grace. "I have to go. Finish my project. I have to go finish my project, that I'm working on. For Charms. For myself. Because, I like Charms. I'm going now."
He was laughing to himself as she quietly closed the door, pretending to be all elegance and composure.