Lily didn't think through the implications of James knowing about the notes until dinner time. She was rationalizing avoiding the Great Hall when she realized who would be down there. And that James had never kept a secret from them in his life.

She rushed out of her room and over to his, surprised to find his door open. She slowed to a halt, and looked in at him. He was sitting on his bed, head in his hands, completely still. She waited for him to look up, but he didn't move.

"James?"

His head snapped around, eyes meeting hers. The surprise on his face was unmistakable. "Yeah," he said, standing up. He started to fold his hands, then changed his mind and stuck them in his pockets. After a moment, he pulled them out and laced his fingers together. "Yes? Are you alright?"

She almost smiled.

"They're not going to attack me in my bedroom, James."

"They might," he said, oozing sincerity. "They're very dangerous, Lily. You can't underestimate them."

"Right," she said, taking a deep breath. "On a . . . related note. Have you told anyone, yet? About the notes."

"The threats, you mean."

"I don't think we can really call them threats, exactly."

"They sent you your own hair covered in blood. I think we can call it a threat."

"Well," she looked down at her hands, back up at him. "Have you told anyone yet?"

"No," he said. "You asked me to let you decide what to do about it."

"But, your friends, I mean. Have you told them yet?"

He held her gaze, shook his head slowly. "No."

"Oh good," she breathed. "Could you not?" her voice went up quite a lot on the sentence. She cleared her throat, uncomfortable.

"If you'd like."

"I'd like. Or, I'd not like, if you did. Tell them. Which is to say . . ." She took another deep breath. "I would really prefer that you not tell anyone. Including, but not limited to, your friends."

"Ok."

"But especially don't tell your friends," she added, unable to help herself.

"They would never use that against you, Lily. If I told them, I'm sure they'd feel as shit as I do."

"Yeah. Maybe," she said, looking away. "But, still, maybe just don't mention it."

His gaze sharpened, turned uncertain. "You don't think they-"

"I don't know," she said. "I'm not saying it's them. I just, I don't want to give anything away, to anyone. I don't know who it is. I don't even really have anything to go on."

"Whoever is sending you those is a Death Eater or wants to be. Supports them. My friends aren't like that."

"OK," she said, easing away. "That's fine. I'd just, I'd still rather you didn't say anything." Her face must have shown her distrust, the awareness that he would probably tell them, whether she wanted him to or not.

"I won't say anything," he said. "And, if I was going to tell someone, it would be Dumbledore. Or my father. Someone who could actually do something about it."

"Well, let's not do that either."

He was silent. Thinking they might be finished, Lily started to ease away from the door.

"Will you tell me why you won't ask for help? It's not like telling tales on someone. What they're doing is unacceptable. It's a crime."

"It's commonplace, these days. I read the Daily Prophet, James. There are editorials all the time, letters from readers, God, even the news articles. They all make it perfectly clear what people think of my kind."

"And they're fools. It doesn't change the law."

Lily pressed her lips together. "Give it time," she said.

"You can't possibly believe they would ever really enact the things they're pushing for. We would never allow it."

"Who's 'we' James? The purebloods? The elite? The powerful? Most people in those circles don't think too highly of mudbloods."

"Don't call yourself that."

"Oh, God. It's a word. It's a stupid word. My blood isn't any dirtier than anyone else's. There's nothing wrong with muggles. They're bright, and healthy, and decent people. It doesn't change the fact that a significant portion of your world thinks I'm something filthy."

"It's your world too, and it's not as significant as you think."

She snorted. "Only one of us has lived as a muggleborn in it."

He fell silent again, and she glanced back toward her bedroom. They were going in circles. She'd made it clear she didn't want him to say anything. It was all she could do.

He sat down again, stared at his laced fingers. "Do you think I acted the way I did, because of your birth?"

She sighed. "I think you acted the way you did because you're a wanker. You treat a lot of people that way. Purebloods and halfbloods and mudbloods alike."

"Yeah," he said, eyes on his hands again. He didn't seem consoled by the answer, but she guessed it wasn't a particularly comforting one.

She started to walk away, and then turned back. "Oh my God. I can't believe I'm going to say this right now." She stared up at the ceiling, furious with both of them. "Ugh. I can't believe I'm trying to make you feel better."

"You don't need-

"You're not a Death Eater, James. I mean, obviously you're not a Death Eater. Or, at least, I don't think you are. You could be fooling me, I suppose-"

"I'm not a bloody Death Eater!"

"That's what I was saying! You're a right bastard a lot of the time. Most of the time, really. But you're an equal opportunity bastard. And you wouldn't ever kill anyone, or anything. You just, I don't know, bully them."

He choked out a laugh. "Merlin. That was you trying to make me feel better? I must be a bastard."

Lily didn't really know how to respond. "You can be nice, sometimes. Honestly, that sort of only makes it worse. It's one thing for someone who hates you to treat you like dirt, but if they claim to like you – at least some of the time – it hurts a lot more."

"Yeah," he said.

"But you're not a Death Eater. I don't think anyone would ever confuse you with them."

He laughed, a brittle sound, just a bit desperate. "Not a Death Eater. Maybe I can get them to write that on my tombstone, so people know what sort of person I was."

Lily shoved her hair away from her face, torn. She refused to stroke his ego, when he really had been a wanker to her for years. But she felt guilty, looking at him. He spoke before she could come up with a response.

"You know when you hear stories, as a kid, and you imagine yourself as the hero?" he said, eyes cast down toward the floor.

Lily said nothing.

"I'm not the hero, am I?" he asked, looking up at her.

She just stared at him.

"That's what I thought."

"Heroes aren't born heroes, James. They become heroes. Usually because something horrible happens to them. Which I don't wish on you, just to be clear." She let out a breath. "What I'm saying is, people just sort of . . . coast, for a while. And some people just keep coasting, never really thinking about who they want to be. But others do. You can choose who you want to be, James. You can be whatever sort of person you have it in your head to be."

"How often do people really go from villain to hero?"

"You're talking about stories, James. Stories for children, no less. They're always black and white. That's not the world we live in. We live in technicolor." She scrubbed frustrated hands through her hair. "So you don't like who you've been? Be different."

"It's not that easy."

"Why would you think it would be easy?"

He stared up at her, held her gaze. "You know, in my head, I would fight him. Voldemort. I think I could. I don't know if I could win," he dropped his eyes. "But I would fight." He turned his hands over, stared at his empty palms. "But I can't even figure out how to tell Sirius to shut it. I'm convinced I'll stand up to the darkest wizard of our age, but I'm too much of a coward to . . . I can't even . . ."

"Sometimes it's harder, with friends. I doubt you care what Voldemort thinks of you. I know you care what Sirius Black does."

"I care what you think, too."

She wasn't sure how to respond to that. It seemed like a symptom of the problem, rather than a solution. "Maybe it's best to focus on what you think of yourself."

"Yeah."

Lily started to walk away, but paused, and looked back at him. "Nobody holds a toddler accountable for the fits they threw." He snorted out a laugh, but she remained serious. "I mean it. It's just part of growing up. Nobody is going to blame you if you weren't the perfect teenager. The trick is to get past it."

"Yeah." He scrubbed a hand through his hair, messing it up. She tried not to laugh, since he looked so sincere about the whole conversation. She held her reaction to a slight smile.

"You're not done yet, is what I'm saying." She held his gaze for an extra second. Then she turned and walked back to her room. A glance in his direction showed him sitting on his bed, utterly still.