James climbed through the Portrait Hole and stopped so suddenly that Remus nearly walked right over him. There were bouquets everywhere, and in the centre – Lily, back from her short trip to the hospital ward. His roses were on the windowsill, so at least she hadn’t thrown them away as he’d half-expected. Also filling the Common Room were several armloads of lilies, four bunches of carnations, armloads of daisies and mums, something rather cabbagey-looking that had probably come from Hagrid, Honking Daffodils in a flask that probably came from Slughorn, and a few other things beyond James’ ability to identify. Herbology, particularly Muggle Herbology, was not his strong point.
Apparently Lily had decided to share her flowers with the rest of Gryffindor House, which was probably sensible if the girls’ rooms were the same size as the boys’. There might not have been room for anyone to sleep up there for blossoms. He wished she’d at least taken his roses up there.
But on the bright side, they weren’t in the bin. On balance, he’d score that as a win. “All right, then, Evans?” he asked, sitting casually across from her and digging out a book. Advanced Floral Transfiguration -- oops. He put that back hastily and pulled out Gottshalk’s Grade 7 instead. Lily didn’t seem to have noticed.
“It seems I’ll live.” She kept petting Morag’s vast evil cat, who seemed to prefer Lily’s lap to all others, and gave James a vaguely friendly smile before drifting back to other contemplations.
'Vaguely friendly' was about the best he could expect. He followed her line of sight to a small handful-worth of black irises, almost lost in the riot of colour but distinctive for their own strange hue. James pondered them for a moment himself, noticing something mysteriously familiar about the blooms, then gave up understanding them on his own. “From someone special?”
She sighed. “Maybe. Sort of. Not exactly.”
“Well, that clears everything up.”
Her expression softened, and she chuckled. “They probably mean something complex, but I’m not sure what.”
“Do they have to mean something at all?”
“They all mean something.”
James gave her a doubtful look. “What do those mean?” he asked, pointing to the tiger lilies on the mantle.
“That Morag – and Henry, here, supposedly – wanted me thinking of tigery creatures and getting well.”
“And that cabbage thing?”
“That Hagrid is my friend. Simple enough.”
“And those Honking Daffodils?”
“That Professor Slughorn wishes his favourite student to laugh herself well, and that he wishes he could be seventy again so he could legitimately flirt with me.”
That was worth a moment’s extra thought, but it made some sort of sense. “And those?” He pointed to his own anonymously-given roses.
“An unsubtle young man thinks I might somehow have forgotten that he fancies me.”
Well, yes, that was indeed pretty much what they meant. He’d try someone else’s flowers again. “Those?”
She gave him a patient look. “James, those are lupins.”
Ah. Yes, knowing that, even he could figure it out from there. At least Lily seemed to be enjoying the game. “But the irises are still giving you problems?”
She nodded vaguely. “I think they’re an apology. The question is, is it an apology for anything I ought to want one for?” She’d stopped petting, and Henry butted her hand insistently with his battle-scarred head. “It’s all right, cat, I haven’t forgotten you.”
James watched the pretty girl rubbing the head of the scruffy tom in her lap, found himself envying an ugly old cat, and decided he was better off thinking botanically. “That sounds as though you think you do deserve an apology for something.”
“I’m not even sure of that.” She thought furiously at the flowers for a minute, then suddenly turned that regard on him. “James? I’m sorry.”
He blinked at her. Sorry for not fancying him back? Sorry for turning his bits green last year? Sorry for startling him with her toad way back in first year? “For what?”
She spread her hands. “Exactly. See?”
“Oh.” Probably none of the above, then. Perhaps she was sorry for making an example of his expectations, at least. He heaved a deep breath and took the plunge. “Could these be an apology for not fancying you back?”
The corners of her mouth turned up. “Only if my interest was noticed in the first place.”
“What great idiot…? Lily, you’re a smart girl. I never dreamed you’d fall for someone thicker than a brick sandwich.”
“A brick sandwich,” Lily echoed thoughtfully, and scratched behind the cat’s ragged ear. “Nice one. He’s usually brighter than that, so I’ll have to believe he’s ignoring me.”
“That’s thicker than two brick sandwiches. Even I’m a brick shy for that one.”
Lily laughed softly. “So what’s your advice, Dr. Potter?”
“Give up on him,” he said promptly.
She gave him a long look. He returned a sheepish grin. “Interesting advice,” she told him.
“It’s good advice. I’m just not good at taking good advice.”
That was worth another soft laugh. He loved that laugh. Lily prodded at the purring fuzzball in her lap. “Budge off, cat. That’s enough shedding on my robes for one afternoon.” The cat yawned, showing many sharp teeth and one broken one, stretched, and climbed onto the table to stare thoughtfully at James. Lily stood.
“You’re awfully nice to that cat.”
“He’s nice back,” Lily said with a shrug.
“You know, he once stuck out his paw, put his claws into a meringue I was holding, and took it.” James pantomimed the action. The cat watched narrowly.
“He does that to everyone. Did you take it back?”
“From those litterboxy feet? I don’t think so!”
“There’s your problem, then. If you had taken it back, then freely given him the clawed bit, you would have learned he doesn’t even like meringues.”
“He ate it.”
“Well, of course he did. It had been successfully hunted.”
"Ah." James stared at the cat's eyes. He'd never noticed the texture in cat eyes before. "That sounds oddly related to my advice, you know." He shifted his eyes to Lily without turning his head.
She was smiling a little. "That which is given freely is less interesting than that which must be hunted? I guess it does. But 'make yourself huntable' can only work for one of us at best."
James grinned his most impish grin, suspecting he shouldn't say what he was saying even as he blurted it out. "This is the Age of Aquarius. I'll share if he will."
Lily looked momentarily shocked, then deeply, profoundly amused. "Not," she said precisely, "going to happen."
Oh, well. He wouldn't share, even given the opportunity, anyway, and that glow of amusement in Lily's cheeks was worth any amount of ridiculous lying. "It was worth a try. Oh, well. I hereby give up. I'll just go snog... Not Morag; Fred would turn me into a newt."
"And Morag would feed you to Henry before you could get better. I believe Emmeline's free at present, though." Lily flicked a glance at his open, unread book. "Or you could try reading."
He shook his head in mock sadness. "Far too radical for me."
Lily shook hers back. "James, if you could just be the person out there --" She nodded toward the Portrait Hole. "-- as you are in here, this might have been a very different chat. See you at dinner." And she went up to the girls' dormitories. And James carefully did not watch her do it.
He looked back to his book. There was a cat sprawled across it. "You would make a lovely set of mittens."
The cat looked thoroughly unimpressed.
James sighed. "Oh, all right. You may have my lap if I may have my book back." He slid back in the chair. The cat surveyed the proffered seat with regal disdain, then dropped down onto James' legs, turned around three times on exceptionally pointy paws, attempted to stuff his brushy tail up James' left nostril, flopped, and began to purr.
Well, that was warm and cozy enough. James stroked the brown fur, then experimentally scratched behind a scuffed ear. "I like owls," James told Henry. "They don't land on your homework, or take your food, or bring in little presents like snakes and eat them on the hearthrug." The cat purred on oblivious. "And they're prettier than you."
Without a break in the purr, the cat casually placed his teeth around James' knuckle.
"And they aren't two-faced biting hagbeasts, either," James said, pulling his hand back cautiously. The cat seemed content, so James resumed cautious petting. Come to think of it, his owl Swift had nipped him more than once. And brought in his dinner for everyone to admire. And landed in James' breakfast plate. Maybe that's why Lily had liked her toad Esmerelda. Gross as he found them, James was pretty sure toads didn't bite. Maybe if he'd made less of a fuss about Esmerelda hopping onto his scroll back in first year, Lily would like him better.
He had to admit, at least to himself, that it hadn't been his most poised and collected moment.
When Lily came back down to go to dinner, James was still sitting where she had left him. Henry was a great enforcer of good work habits, his bulk settled firmly, his claws coming out at the slightest shifting of weight. "Lily? Help?"
"You bounce your legs gently twice and say, 'Budge off, cat, I want to go to dinner.' He'll move."
James tried this. The cat gazed up at him with chartreuse disdain. "He will?"
Lily laughed and scooped up the cat without the slightest regard for where her hands went in the process. She hugged the startled beast, rubbed her nose against his, and plunked him on the table. "Now get up, quick, while he's still puzzled."
James did. "Thanks. I'm starving." For the first time, he found himself wishing his Animagus form had been smaller. Then maybe Lily would scoop him up and rub noses with him, too. No -- he was giving up. If he behaved himself, at least Lily would be his friend, which was better than nothing.
She seemed to be waiting for him. There were advantages to this friend thing. For a start, Sirius and the others had laughed at the cat in his lap and left him here, and going through the halls alone with Snape about could become an embarrassing experience very quickly. James brushed off cat hairs, left his books where they lay, and went to dinner with his -- friend.