A/N: Well, I'm glad most of you enjoyed the letter-themed chapter last week :) Thanks to everyone who reviewed: marinewife08, roflshvuakomail, Silver Scorpion, gabiellexx, Cassie Weasley (LOVED the AVPM reference ;) Made me laugh), BrokenFaerie16, Sam-EvansBlue, existence555, and ZoneSystems!
And on with the story!
Chapter 10: Wrong the Right Way
I got back to Hogwarts late on the night of December twenty-eighth, so when I entered the common room, it was essentially empty. I tried to pretend I wasn't relieved to not have to face Potter yet as I trudged upstairs to my dormitory. Needless to say, I failed miserably. Who was I kidding? I was, whether justified or not, terrified about talking to him in person. You're being ridiculous, Lily, I chided myself as I quietly got ready for bed so as not to wake my sleeping roommates. There's absolutely nothing to be nervous about. It's Potter, for Merlin's sake!
"You're back!" a voice whispered to my right, causing me to nearly jump out of my skin with fright. But it was only Mary, grinning around her bed hangings.
"Merlin, Mary, you almost gave me a heart attack," I admonished, though I was glad to see her. "I didn't know you were still awake."
"Well, I was sort of just lying in bed waiting for you," she confessed. "So, how was your Christmas?"
I shrugged. "Oh, it was all right, you know," I said evasively. "My mum got me some really nice pearl earrings, Dad gave me a set of first edition Jane Austen novels—er, she's my favorite Muggle author," I explained in response to Mary's questioning look, "and even Petunia wasn't completely horrible, though she only gave me a box of chocolates—really disgusting ones, too, with fruit filling and—" I stopped suddenly, because Mary was watching me shrewdly. "What?" I asked.
"There's something you're not telling me," she accused. "On purpose."
"What do you—"
"You're babbling on at about a million miles an hour about . . . well, nothing, really—"
"Wow, thanks," I said dryly. "And you're the one who asked—"
"Just spit it out, Lily," she demanded.
I sighed. Sometimes I hate that she knows me so well, I thought ruefully. "Fine," I conceded. "But you have to promise you won't freak out, especially since Marlene and Dorcas are sleeping, and I do not want them to know. And you can't bring up any of your 'theories', or—"
"Wait, this is something about James?" Mary asked with interest, hopping onto my bed beside me like an excited puppy.
"Unfortunately, yes," I muttered. Digging in my bag for the letters—the reason I kept them was a whole other issue I didn't relish getting into—I said, "I was just sitting there, minding my own business, when an owl appears outside my window." Mary raised her eyebrows, appreciating the oddity of this occurrence. "And it's carrying this." I handed her James's first letter, organizing the others in order as she read it.
When she finished, she looked up at me, frowning. "That's odd."
"Right? And read what's on the back." Mary flipped the paper over, read the sentence written there, and gave me a questioning look. In answer, I thrust my injured finger under her nose. She snorted quietly. "Thanks for your concern," I said, rolling my eyes.
"So, you wrote back?" Mary inquired.
"Contrary to all logic, yes," I said. "And thus began some weird pen-pal . . . thing." I handed her the rest of the notes.
Mary read them all, her face betraying no emotion. She could do that when she wanted, and it infuriated me. I wasn't very good at keeping my feelings off my face; it was part of what made me a bad liar. When Mary was finished, she looked up at me, blue eyes solemn. "Lily, I think he's still in love with you."
That had been the last thing I'd been expecting. Though, seeing as it was Mary, I suppose I shouldn't have been too surprised. "Mary!" I hissed at her. "I told you, no crazy theories!"
"This isn't a crazy theory! It's the truth!"
I rolled my eyes again. "How could you possibly even tell from those?"
"I just—it's just a feeling I have," she replied cryptically.
I sighed. "A feeling," I repeated. "Right, that's a lot to go on."
Mary frowned at me. "Well, I don't know, Lily, ask James about it if you really want to know."
"I'm not—yeah, that wouldn't be an awkward conversation at all," I said sarcastically. "'Hey, Potter, hope you had a good holiday—by the way, just wondering, but are you still in love with me?' Plus, hang on, I thought we'd decided he wasn't ever in love with me?"
"No, you decided that, after he told you all that stuff in Potions about him only asking you out for fun. I, rightfully, said that it was all complete bullocks, and that he—"
"Yes, all right, I remember," I interrupted her irritably.
"Why are you so worked up about this, anyway?"
"Why is Potter still dating Chloe?" I countered.
Mary blinked. "What? That's completely unrelated."
"No it's not; it's a perfectly legitimate argument against the 'Potter is in love with me' theory. Because I'll bet breaking it off with her would have made it a lot easier for him to make up with Black, but he didn't, he's still dating her. Which means—"
"I don't know, you'll have to ask James about that too," Mary said. Before I could remind her that I would under no circumstances discuss any of this with Potter, she added, "But what I meant was, your question was completely unrelated to mine. Which you still haven't answered, by the way." She folded her arms across her chest, waiting.
"I'm not worked up about it," I protested. "I'm just wondering if this means I have to be friends with Potter." Because that thought kind of makes me want to dive under my covers and never emerge into the light of day again, I added silently, my hand twitching involuntarily towards my bedsheets.
"You don't 'have to' do anything," Mary said. "But I think you're overthinking this whole thing, Lily."
I looked at her sharply to see if she was joking, having just read Potter's letters. But she looked serious enough. "Okay. Well, that's . . . comforting, I suppose." Now, if I can actually convince myself of that and STOP THINKING ABOUT IT!
As I pulled my bed hangings shut, a slip of paper fluttered down onto my bed. Picking it up, I squinted at it, and my stomach did a weird kind of flip as I recognized the messy handwriting.
Welcome back, Evans.
"Merlin, Godric, and Agrippa," I muttered, balling up the piece of paper and tossing it on the floor. I pulled my covers roughly back from my bed and forcefully shoved all thoughts of James Potter out of my head.
OOOOOOOO
I slept late the following morning, with the result that even Mary had grown tired of waiting for me and gone to breakfast. Dressing in comfortable clothes, I descended the dormitory stairs. I'm embarrassed to say that I actually held my breath as I entered the common room, but it was once again bereft of Potter's presence. Smiling happily, I practically skipped to the portrait hole. Glancing back to make sure I hadn't somehow missed him, I ran straight into someone trying to enter the room just as I was leaving it.
"Oof," I said, as whoever it was put out a hand to steady me. "Sor—" I started, but my voice died in my throat as I looked up to see Potter smiling down at me. Of bloody course, I thought wryly. My spirits descended further when I saw that Chloe was attached to the hand that Potter wasn't currently using to hold me up. Well, that's just sodding perfect. I quickly shook free of Potter's grasp and attempted to arrange my face into a nonchalant expression. "Potter," I said, a little coolly.
"Evans," he returned with a nod. "Made it back in one piece I see."
"Yes, it was rather touch and go there for a minute, but I pulled through," I said sardonically.
Potter's grin widened. If I wasn't mistaken, there was a playful glint in his eyes, as though we were sharing an inside joke. And I didn't like it. "So, you off to breakfast?" When I nodded, he continued, "I'd recommend the scones—they're quite excellent this morning."
I fought a smile—he sounded like some eighteenth century upper class snob. "Right, thanks—I'll keep that in mind," I replied, raising my eyebrows slightly.
With one last grin, Potter and Chloe (well, she didn't grin at me) disappeared into the common room. I shook my head and started along the corridor to the stairs. That wasn't as unbearable as I was expecting, I thought, somewhat relieved. Of course, Chloe didn't say anything, as usual. Honestly, that girl is ridiculous. I really think she's still je—I stopped suddenly, a thought occurring to me. She's always been jealous of me. And I've continually blown it off, because it's just absurd, but . . . what if it's not unfounded? I mean, girls are supposed to be able to pick up on this stuff, right? So, what if this means Mary is right? I immediately scoffed at the idea. I cannot be seriously thinking about using what Chloe thinks as evidence. Besides, I haven't even been awake for half an hour and I'm already thinking about this again—pathetic. So, for the second time since my return to Hogwarts, I cleared my mind of all things Potter-related.
When I entered the Great Hall, I noticed that Mary was still sitting at the Gryffindor table. The reason for her lengthy breakfast immediately became apparent as I saw Andrew seated across from her—no one really paid attention to House tables over the holidays.
"Morning," I greeted them as I sat down.
"Hey, Lily—how was your Christmas?" Andrew asked.
With a warning half-glance at Mary, who raised her eyebrows innocently, I said, "It was fine, thanks, how was yours?"
"Good. I got a new broom from my parents—Nimbus 1000." The way he said this made me feel like I should be impressed, but the information really meant nothing to me.
"Nice," I said appreciatively, pretending I gave a shiny unicorn's horn about broom models. "Well, maybe I'll have to come see you play sometime."
Both Mary and Andrew stared at me like I'd sprouted a second head. "I'm sorry," Mary said, shaking herself slightly, "did Lily Evans just voluntarily suggest that she might want to go to a Quidditch game?"
"That's what I heard," Andrew agreed.
I rolled my eyes. "Don't be so dramatic, you two. Maybe I'm just looking for a change of pace." I smirked a little as I quoted one of my letters to Potter. This was, after all, part of my motivation to attend a Ravenclaw game—I didn't want to go just because Potter suggested it, so if Gryffindor wasn't playing in my first ever Quidditch match, I figured he couldn't be too smug about it. Though it was Potter, so that was no guarantee. "Besides, Mary, you're always telling me I have to go to one before we leave."
"Well, our next match is against Slytherin the first Saturday of term," Andrew said, still looking surprised at my sudden interest.
"Perfect." Suddenly, a thought occurred to me. "Hey, Andrew, have you ever been in the Ravenclaw girls' dormitory?"
Andrew choked on his pumpkin juice and Mary gave me a look that said 'why would you ask that?'
I winced. "Sorry, that came out wrong, I just meant . . . well, I was curious whether it was possible."
"We're not allowed, are we," Andrew said matter-of-factly, as though this answered the question. But that clearly hadn't stopped Potter.
Evidently Mary wasn't convinced either. "That doesn't mean you haven't done it. Well, have you?" she demanded.
Andrew seemed to realize he was on dangerous territory, because he chose his next words with care. "I tried once—"
But apparently not carefully enough. "To see a girl?" Mary interjected, the hint of jealousy springing into her voice.
Andrew gave her a withering look. "Well, obviously, Mary," he said. "What else would one do in the girls' dormitory? But it was on a dare, and I never made it anyway, because it's physically impos—"
"Oh, a dare, was it?" Mary asked, her eyebrows threatening to disappear into her hairline. "So why didn't you mention that right away?"
"Because you jumped in before I'd barely gotten three words out!"
"You could have started with that part!"
"Right, well, I'm just going to . . ." I started, trying to make a hasty exit. Neither Mary nor Andrew was paying me any attention. "Right—see you," I said, grabbing my half-finished stack of toast and nearly sprinting from the Great Hall. Well, that went well. I started a fight between my best friend and her boyfriend, and I still don't know how Potter got that note into my bed hangings. I cringed at the thought of Potter anywhere near my bed.
OOOOOOOO
When I got back to the common room, it was rather full—though there were overall fewer students around over Christmas, no one had any work to do, so most just hung around the common room all day. I didn't mind the crowd as I would have if I'd had homework, and decided to grab one of my new books and spend the day reading.
As I entered my room, I found myself face-to-face with my roommate Marlene, bundled up in a coat, scarf, hat, and mittens. "Hey, Lily! A bunch of us are heading out for a snowball fight—wanna come?"
"No thanks, I think I'm just going to read." I continued towards the trunk at the end of my bed when Marlene said something that made me freeze in my tracks.
"What's going on between you and James?"
Once my heart had resumed beating, I turned to face her. She was looking at me expectantly, her eyes alight with the possibility of new gossip. "Er, nothing," I said, frowning at her.
She smiled knowingly. "Okay, sure," she said mysteriously.
"Honestly, there's not!" I replied, a little peeved. "Who told you that anyway?"
But Marlene just waved over her shoulder at me as she shut the dormitory door. I sighed in frustration. Would Mary have said anything? No, she wouldn't do that. I will literally murder her if she did. Which leaves . . . what? Random gossip springing up about Potter and me for no reason? Maybe people are just really bored. I told myself I didn't really care—unlike most people, I didn't mind others gossiping about me if it wasn't true. Which, I suppose, is basically the definition of gossip, but you get the point.
Shaking off Marlene's comment, I deliberated briefly over Pride and Prejudice and Sense and Sensibility before choosing the former. When I reemerged in the common room, I found a large number of people dressed similarly to Marlene, the Marauders, of course, among them.
"Evans, you want to join us?" Potter called from near the portrait hole. "We'll wait for you." Chloe, standing near him, shot him a disbelieving look, and that was almost enough to tempt me to say yes. But I really preferred staying warm and dry.
"Thanks, but I don't really enjoy having cold wet stuff flung at my face," I replied. "You have fun, though." Chloe looked at me in some surprise, and I nodded slightly to her, trying to convey that there was not in any way a competition between us. Though it was fun to annoy her, I felt that it would be unwise to encourage the rumors that apparently surrounded Potter and I.
Potter shrugged. "Suit yourself. All right, everyone, let's go!"
As the talking and laughing group departed, I took advantage of the Marauders' absence to filch one of their seats by the fire. Settling in with a sigh, I prepared to lose myself in the world of stubborn Elizabeth Bennet and haughty Mr. Darcy.
OOOOOOOO
I was just getting to the Netherfield ball—one of my favorite parts—when the snowball fight crew returned, considerably wetter and more pink-cheeked than when they'd left. After changing into dry clothes, James, Peter, Remus, and Sirius, predictably, headed straight over to where I was sitting, plopping down in their usual places. "You're in Wormtail's seat," Potter informed me conversationally.
"Oh, sorry," I said to Peter, half-rising.
Potter waved a hand carelessly. "Don't be silly, Evans, he can sit somewhere else for a day. I wouldn't want to interrupt what looks like a thrilling book," he said, tilting his head to try and read the title.
"Pride and Prejudice," I said helpfully, "so, unfortunately, that title's already taken—guess you'll have to find something else to call your autobiography." Remus and Sirius snorted, and before Potter could retort, I said to Peter, "Really, if you want this chair, I don't mind moving."
"No, it's fine," he assured me. "I don't have an obsessive need to sit in the same spot every time like some people," he said, his eyes shifting to where Potter sat.
I laughed at this unexpected jibe from Peter.
"That is completely untrue, Wormtail," Potter protested.
"Actually, he has a point, Prongs," Remus chimed in. "You never concentrate as well if we have to sit, say, over by the windows. And you complain about it every five minutes."
"That's because it's bloody cold by the windows." When his friends continued to look at him doubtfully, he sighed. "Oh, sod off, you pricks," he muttered. "Just because I like sitting by the fire doesn't mean I have an obsessive need for it . . ."
"That's not all you have an obsessive need for," Sirius said, his voice casual but his mischievous smile hinting at another meaning.
Potter glared harshly at his friend. "You are on thin ice, Padfoot," he said through clenched teeth.
I raised my eyebrows at what seemed to me like an extreme reaction. "Now, don't start fighting again already," I said dryly. "I'm not going to patch up your friendship this time."
Before Sirius or Potter could respond, Chloe appeared. She glanced briefly at me, then looked at Potter. "Okay, I'm ready."
"Right," Potter said, standing. "We'll be right back," he added to the rest of us with a wink.
"Make sure you add extra cinnamon," Remus said.
"And don't forget the peppermint sticks," Sirius added.
"And the extra-puff marshmallows," Peter requested.
"It's like you don't know me at all," Potter said, feigning indignation. "Have I ever forgotten those things?"
"There was that one time in fourth year—" Peter started.
Potter rolled his eyes. "You're never going to let me live that down, are you, Pete? Well, I promise I won't forget anything this time."
And with that confusing exchange, they were gone.
"Sorry, where are they going?" I asked.
"To get hot chocolate," Remus replied, as though this should be obvious.
"Right," I said sarcastically. "Is that what they're calling it these days?"
Remus frowned at me. "Calling what?"
I rolled my eyes and returned to my book. However, fifteen minutes later, Chloe and Potter did indeed return with a large stack of mugs, a bag of giant marshmallows and peppermint sticks, and a steaming pot of what I assumed must be hot chocolate levitated between them.
"You really did mean hot chocolate," I said disbelievingly.
"Why else would we have asked for all those other things, Evans?" Sirius asked.
"I don't know," I mumbled, a little embarrassed that I'd immediately assumed it was a euphemism. "Just to . . ." but I didn't really know how to finish that sentence, and trailed off into silence. It didn't matter, however, because everyone was now thoroughly distracted by the arrival of the delicious hot beverage. I watched as Potter and Chloe passed out steaming cups and Remus, Peter, and Sirius all added their choice of additional sweets to their drinks.
I accepted Potter's proffered cup and added some marshmallows. "Where did you get this, anyway?" I asked him.
"From the kitchens," he replied, as though explaining a difficult concept to a five-year-old. "You might have heard of them, Evans, they're a place where—"
I threw a marshmallow at him. Wet with hot chocolate, it stuck to his face. He just grinned, pulled it off, and popped it in his mouth.
"And you know where the kitchens are because . . ."
Sirius shook his head disappointedly. "Honestly, Evans, think about who you're talking to." Turning to Potter, he continued, "Really, Prongs, sometimes this girl is so thick—"
"Just answer the sodding quest—"
"They found it at the end of their first year," Chloe said unexpectedly.
Even though she sounded slightly smug that she knew something about the Marauders I didn't—hardly an impressive feat, as I was quickly discovering—I didn't miss the fact that it was nearly the first thing she'd ever said to me. Look, we're making progress, I thought, only slightly mockingly. Aloud, I said, "First year—bored much?" Though I was impressed in spite of myself.
"More like hungry much," Remus said, jabbing a thumb at Sirius.
"Where do you think we get all the food for Quidditch parties?" Potter asked.
I shrugged. "And no one noticed you bringing all this up here?" I said instead, indicating the hot chocolate and supplies.
Potter gave me an infuriatingly patronizing look. "Evans, it's the holidays. The teachers are hardly ever around."
"All right, but what about when they are around?" I pressed, refusing to be deterred.
"A certain cloak comes in rather handy at those times," Potter replied airily.
"So, is this sort of thing a regular occurrence?" I asked, a little amused now.
Sirius shrugged. "Somewhat. However, as you've never particularly cared for our company, I suppose it's not surprising that you wouldn't have noticed," he added with a smirk.
"Well, I've certainly realized my mistake," I replied sarcastically.
"What are you doing here, anyway?" Peter asked, but he sounded curious rather than annoyed.
"Er, well, I sort of started a fight between Mary and her boyfriend at breakfast . . ." I said ashamedly.
"Well done, Evans," Potter said appreciatively.
I rolled my eyes at him.
"What was the fight about?" Chloe asked, again taking me by surprise.
"It's—not really that important," I said evasively. I could think of several reasons not to relate that story to this particular audience.
"Well, speaking of parties," Potter began.
"When were we speaking of parties?" Remus asked.
"I don't know, about three minutes ago?"
"You can hardly say 'speaking of parties' when it was that long ago," Remus said.
"Anyway," Potter said pointedly, "you coming to the New Year's party on Friday, Evans?" he asked.
I shrugged. "Nothing else to do, I guess."
"Good—it's going to be excellent," Potter said.
"We're planning it," Sirius added, as though this proved Potter's point.
"Well, then, it's certainly going to be interesting."
A/N: So, I totally planned to have the New Year's party in this chapter, but then my crazy brain came up with all this other plot stuff . . . so I hope you liked it! Guess you'll just have to wait a week to hail in 1977 ;)