She was dreaming. Good dreams. Dreams with sparks and shivers and rough whispers in the dark. And thumps. Loud, knuckle-bruising thumps.

She came awake on a gasp, and realized the pounding wasn't part of the dream.

"Oi! E-vans," Potter called, in a sing-song voice that was anything but sexy. It reminded her of the time he'd made all her hair disappear. "Come out and plaayyy, Evans."

She tried to ignore him. Nothing good would come of opening the door. Either he had his friends in tow and was planning something horrible, or he was drunk again and feeling horny. Neither option would work out well for her. Well, the second-

She cut off that particular train of thought by slamming a pillow over her head and trying to force herself back to sleep.

"Li-ly. Li-ly. Open the door." She heard a different sound, harder, sharper. "Bloody hell! Merlin, is that blood? I think I'm bleeding, Lily. Your door just attacked me."

She rolled onto her back and stared up at the ceiling. Lovely. The idiot had slammed his head against the door and hurt himself. Wonderful. She prayed for patience, accepted it wasn't going to come, and crawled out of bed. She made a point of putting pants on this time, though.

When she opened the door, he was sitting with his back against the jam, holding his head. Blood dripped through his fingers and down the side of his face.

"How did you even manage that?" she asked, bending down to check the cut. It wasn't much of one, really. Just a vertical gash on the right side of his forehead. It was bleeding quite a lot though. Headwounds did that, she supposed.

She tsked at it and went to get a cloth. He smiled sloppily at her as she set about cleaning it.

"You opened the door," he said.

"I didn't have much of a choice, did I?" she responded, not bothering about being gentle.

"You were worried about me."

"I was worried about you bleeding on the carpet."

"We haven't got any carpet," he said, glancing around the room, bleary eyes struggling to focus on the hardwood floor.

"All the same." She tilted his head this way and that, trying to get a better look at the wound.

He caught one of her hands and pulled it to his mouth. "You've got very delicate fingers," he said, kissing each one in turn. "That's a thing I've noticed."

She tried to pull her hand away. "There's a reason I didn't open the door."

"But you did," he countered, grazing his teeth over her wrist.

"Only because you decided to use your head as a battering ram," she said, finally succeeding in extricating her hand from his grasp.

"I didn't!" He sounded offended. "I just tried to rest my head, but then the door jam was there, and . . . You've probably spelled it to jump in my way."

"Yes, that makes a great deal more sense than you being a drunken twat."

Rather than seeming bothered, his smile just grew and grew. "I like it when you insult me. Is that strange? That I like that?"

"Yes."

"Hmm . . ." He leaned his head back against the wall, letting his eyes fall closed.

"Oh, no. No falling asleep. You could have a concussion. I should take you to the hospital wing."

He opened his eyes and smiled sleepily at her. "You're very beautiful, you know."

"Obviously there's been some damage to your brain," she said, trying to get a look at his pupils.

"You know I think you're fit."

"I know you're drunk and hoping to get off with me because I'm here."

"That's not it at all," he mumbled. "I mean, well, yes. I'm drunk. Clearly. But I'm not hoping to . . . Did you want to?" he asked, looking suddenly hopeful.

"No," she said.

"I think you do. You've been thinking about it. It was a good kiss."

"I'm sure it was a fine kiss."

"Fi-ine," he corrected. "Otherwise it sounds like it was bad. And it's never bad with me." He winked at her, but he was too drunk to make it look anything but ridiculous. It would have been hard to pull off, regardless.

"I'm serious. You need to have someone look you over."

"You can look me over any time."

"James."

"You know what would be even better than you saying my name-"

"Me stabbing you in the face?"

He laughed at that, doubling over. Then, apparently because they were easily accessible, he rested his head on her legs – though folded under her, they couldn't have been very comfortable – and snuggled in to go to sleep.

"James, I'm very serious. You need to have Madam Pomfrey examine you."

"Get in trouble," he mumbled.

"You get in trouble all the time."

"Not this year," he said, trying to adjust her legs the way he might a pillow.

"I'm sure that's admirable."

"D'you admire me?" he asked, barely bothering to open his mouth to let the words out.

Giving up, she slapped him hard on the shoulder.

"Oi! What?" his eyes snapped open, no longer amiable.

"You're not falling asleep on me," she said. "And if I'm not taking you to the hospital wing, I'm going to have to try to assess the damage myself. Go sit down on the couch." She pointed as though directing an errant pupil, or a dog.

Glaring at her, he stomped over to the couch and then flung himself down on it.

"Don't-" she began, but it ended on a frustrated growl. "Brilliant. The idiot's going to do even more damage."

She marched into her room and got out a book on basic healing charms. Flipping to the section on head injuries, she found a diagnostic spell.

"You're not going to turn my hair green, are you?" he asked, holding his head again. Apparently flinging himself around had reminded him it hurt.

"Does that sound like something I would do?"

"Dunno. You might think it's a laugh."

"You would think it was a laugh, James. I don't generally run around kicking people who're vulnerable."

"You just slapped me!"

She ignored him and set about memorizing the spell and imitating the motions diagrammed in the book.

"If you're just worried about keeping me awake, I can think of something else we can-" He stopped speaking as her wand tip drew up under his neck. "Or you could do the spell. That could work too."

"I have no intention of shagging you. In fact, I'd be very grateful if you'd stop getting drunk and suggesting it. Or perhaps you could just schedule in a side visit to another tower on your way home, when you do decide to toss a few back, so you don't think I'm your only option."

He pushed the wand away in one easy motion. "I thought about that. It wouldn't work. It's you I want to shag."

"Charming."

"I am charming, thank you. You're just bloody impossible to flirt with."

She snorted. "I'm sure. You'd be an expert on that, from all the times you've tried."

"I have tried! Most of the time I can't even get in the same room as you."

"We're in the same room most of the day."

"Not in class. I'm not talking about when other people are there," he muttered, throwing his elbow over his eyes.

She took a deep breath, closed her eyes. "Of course," she said. "What would they think?" She took one last look at the spell and gave it a shot. It seemed to work, and – even better – to indicate his head was perfectly fine, though well steeped in whiskey.

"Exactly." He laughed. He actually laughed. "Can you imagine Sirius' reaction?"

"Perfectly," she said. "You're fine. I'm going to bed. Try not to bleed on anything else."

"But-"

She didn't bother to listen to the rest. She cast a silencing charm on him, and another on the door, to keep out any sound. And she tried to sleep.