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The red haired girl turns to him at the sound of James’ voice. Evans, if he remembers correctly, though they haven’t talked ever since their quick meeting in the Hogwarts Express.
“What’s a chaser?” she asks, curiosity evidently on her face. James hasn’t really spared much thought for her beyond a glance when she was sorted into Gryffindor before him—he hadn’t doubted for a moment that was where he was headed to—but then Evans kept talking to that weird Slytherin friend of hers and James forgot about her.
But some part of him had registered how curious and excited Evans is about everything in Hogwarts. Every moment he happened to look at her in the last weeks of classes, her green eyes were bright, her face flushed, admiring everything. And she is asking him about Quidditch.
If anything, James considers his duty to share the wonders of Quidditch with everyone, so he starts explaining to her all everything he can about the game, the rules, best matches he has ever seen and to her credit, as she does with everything magical, Evans seems curious about this too.
“I can’t wait to be on the team,” he finishes proudly, having already bragged about how he flies since he was five and everyone—his parents—agrees that he does it very well.
She glances across the Common Room, where seven people are gathered, still wearing the uniform that James knows was made for him.
“They are the Gryffindor team?” she asks. James nods excitedly.
“I’ve seen their practices, they are good, but if you ask me, Vane could improve his throw and Jones isn’t very fast.”
“They are the chasers you are hoping to replace?” she asks knowingly.
He shrugs. “If there are tryouts, why not?”
“They are just so… big and old,” notes Evans. James knows what she is talking about. Vane and Jones are both Seventh Years, a concept that feels so distant for him. They apparate; they can cast spells out of school. “Your hands are so tiny.”
Against his best judgment, James looks at his own hands. They are not tiny, they are… a perfectly normal size for his overall height, but he guesses that he knows what Evans is talking about. Except for Peter, who is a tiny little thing in their dorm, he is the smallest of his friends. Remus is thin, but tall for his 11-years, and Sirius is taller than James also. Well, James is the youngest of his group, but not by much… and considering all the other kids in their year, he isn’t that short.
There are three, maybe four, guys shorter than him. So their hands should be tinier. There is nothing wrong with James’ hands. He can hold a quaffle just as good as any.
“My hands are just fine,” he says grumpily, crossing his arms and keeping his hands way out of Evans’ sight. “You don’t understand anything about Quidditch.”
“No need to be rude,” she replies, crossing her arms as well and looking as if she has regretted even coming near him. “Forget that I asked.”
James looks away pointedly.
For all that’s worthy, James can’t tell how they started this discussion, but he doesn’t want to stop it either. There is something very enticing in the way he can inflame Evans so easily. A few careful picked words, one comment too much during one of their playful banters and then they are fighting and the weirdest part is that he enjoys it.
It’s the one moment in his day where Evans gives him all of her attention and the sight of her pinkened cheeks, bright green eyes flashing with fury and absolutely refusing to stand down, makes it one of his favourite moments of the day.
It never takes much to get them started, and their motives are usually stupid to the point no one else even stops to look at them anymore after three years of this, but today he admits that they reached a low point. Which is ironic, considering the theme of their discussion.
“Growth spurt?” she challenges. “You have not gone through one.”
“I am four inches taller than I was when term started,” he proclaims. “I can’t help it if my body is going through changes.”
“The only thing that is growing is your head, Potter.” Evans shakes her head, her hair floating around her like flames. “I can’t believe you are trying to defend that you didn’t spoil my potion on purpose.”
“I did not,” he insists. “You may not believe it, Evans, but I am actually proud to admit when I did something wrong.”
“Oh, I know. You were in detention all night last week.”
“Noticing me, Evans?” he asks, lifting one eyebrow, and a flush comes to her cheeks that is not the usual pink of her infuriated state. Something stirs on his belly but before he can dwell on this, she snorts.
“The only thing I noticed was how quiet the Common Room was for a change.”
“Nah, you missed me,” he says confidently, and she frowns, avoiding his eyes. “Look, I really didn’t mean to mess your potion. I know how you are always careful brewing them, I just knocked my hand on the table.”
She looks back at him, her eyes sweeping over him as if she wants to read him. James knows that, for once, Evans will only see his sincerity.
“You aren’t that tall,” she says, somewhat more at ease. “But you seem kind of clumsy sometimes, so, yeah, okay. Sorry for accusing you.”
“I know I have a bad record,” he admits, grinning. No matter how much he and Evans fight, they always reach this point. “But, really, I had to get new shoes twice this year. And look at my hands! They seem to belong to a giant!”
She laughs at his dramatic tone. Her laugh makes James suddenly picture a Golden Snitch, tiny wings fluttering unstoppable, flying inside him. Evans’ laugh is nice.
What a weird thought.
“They are much smaller than Hagrid’s,” she says reasonably, and then, before he can say anything, she grabs his hand, raising it, and presses her hand against his. “See? Our hands are the same size.”
He should notice how her fingertips are perfectly aligned with his, proving her point, but suddenly the size of their hands isn’t registrable in his brain. What he notes is how soft her hand is, how warm her skin is and how an electric current seems to be flowing from her hand to his, directly connected to his heart, now pumping furiously on his chest. There isn’t only a Golden Snitch inside him, there’s a full Quidditch match happening, bludgers knocking his head and making him feel dizzy.
Worse , it’s giving him ideas, because what if—what if—he would move his fingers just a little and then their hands would intertwine and James likes this very dangerous idea…
“You are okay, Potter,” Evans adds, a smile at the corner of her lips, and she withdraws her hand.
James has no answer for this.
Three months later, when they are back from the summer break for their Fourth Year, and it’s clear James has had a growth spurt during the summer—he is taller than Sirius!—, he seeks for her as soon as he steps foot in the Hogwarts Express.
He finds Evans after a few minutes, talking to her friends, and he taps her on the shoulder, enjoying very much how he is a head taller than her and very ready to tease her about it.
But the tease dies on his lips because it turns out he wasn’t the only one who changed during summer. Her hair is longer than he remembers her ever wearing, falling in curls that he also doesn’t remember her favouring, and it seems to dance around her as she turns to look at him. Her eyes had always been bright green, but now they shine under the lights of the train, big emerald pits drawing him closer and her eyelashes—are they longer? Why is he gaping at her eyelashes? And her lips are pink and Evans wears lipstick and how can he not stare at her glossy lips? Did they always look this soft?
But his gaze falls to her chest for a brief moment and—damn hormones, damn stupid body—yeah, Evans has grown as well.
Despite his improved height, James considers he lost this battle.
“No, no,” James shakes his head, thoughtful, watching as Lily practices the movement. “Don’t get upset, but you are doing it wrong.”
“Why would I get upset?”
He lifts one eyebrow. “No offence, Evans, but you hate it when you aren’t right.”
“I don’t hate—well, I see your point.” She sighs, letting her hand fall. “Why did I sign for Advanced Transfiguration?”
“‘Cause you got an E so you are actually good when you are not stressed?”
Lily rolls her eyes, an amused smile hidden at the corner of her lips. “It’s Transfiguration, I’m always stressed.”
James laughs. The smile now blooms fully on her lips as if his laugh was the sign she was waiting for.
“Come on, you can do this. Let me help you.”
“You make me feel like one of your first-year tutees.”
“Nah, they are too tiny. You are—”
Their eyes meet and James forgets what he was talking about. He shouldn’t lose his focus, not when he’s been so diligent all year in keeping his feelings for Lily Evans in check, so much that they’ve finally achieved something close to a friendship. They’ve been good partners in Potions and then, since last December when Sirius and he pushed their limits with McGonagall a little too much, good partners in Transfiguration also. They work quite well together.
Like friends.
Good friends. Nothing more.
A good friend shouldn’t look at his friend and lose his breath with her beauty. As a good friend, James shouldn’t let his heart beat so fast when he notices how close they are, how Lily hasn’t turned away and how she is staring back at him with something—friends don’t have something—glinting in her eyes.
“I am?” she insists, curious and something more that seems to transcend the limits of friendship and he can’t let his thoughts go in this direction.
“Taller,” he whispers. “You are taller than them.”
Lily blinks. “Okay”, she says, but it doesn’t seem okay. Her gaze falls on the bird she is hoping to duplicate and she tries the spell again, but nothing happens.
“Your pronunciation is good, but your movements are off. Here, watch me. See? Loose your wrist a little more.”
Lily tries again, to no avail. James hesitates a few seconds before changing sides, standing next to her wand hand. He extends his hand towards her.
“May I?”
She looks from him to his hand and she takes a deep breath before nodding. “Sure.”
He closes his hand around hers and Lily stiffs at the same time.
“Sorry,” James says, feeling strangely sheepishly. Lily’s hand is so warm and soft and small next to his. “Chaser’s hands. Rough, I know.”
“No, it’s not, it's nice, I just—” she presses her lips, looking purposefully ahead, her hair creating a curtain between them. Her shampoo smells really nice. “The spell?”
“Oh, right, so—” He guides her hand. “Loose, Evans, remember? Relax.”
“I—I’ll try.” She breathes in and out slowly. “Show me?”
He helps her with the movement one time and, on the second time, Lily mumbles the spell; there is a flash of light and then two hummingbirds are flying in the air.
“I did it!” she cries happily, turning to him, and her smile softens as their eyes meet. “Thanks, James.”
It’s the velvet with which she says his name, almost as a caress, enveloping it with something that again doesn’t seem to rely only on friendship, that makes him forget about his limits for a moment. His hand, until then professionally still over hers, relapses, and then his fingers massage her knuckles, trace her fingers and Lily shivers.
She actually shivers, her cheeks reddening and she lowers her eyes with a smile on her lips, not noticing the hope that shines on James’ eyes.
The sound of the bell ring makes them jump, hands breaking apart.
“Hmmm.”
The sound of his thoughtful mumble makes Lily turn to him, as James expected.
“What?”
He shrugs innocently. “What what?”
“I know your hums, James,” she notes, grinning.
James decides to keep playing the innocent card. Until his heart eases the quick beating at least.
“Maybe I was just thinking how beautiful you are.”
Lily laughs. James doesn’t even consider he was lying; Lily is always beautiful, but there is something about being at the edge of this bridge with her, the river flowing swiftly beneath them, the sun shining above them and making everything in her sparkle with life—her eyes, her hair, her skin, her smile—that just makes her even more gorgeous.
“That wasn’t your ‘I love her’ hum. It sounded more concerned. But a prank concern, your fun kind of concern.”
“You know me all too well, Lils,” he replies, kissing her forehead. He is almost a head taller than her after all. “If you really need to know, I was thinking about your hands.”
“My hands?” she raises her hand, firmly locked with his. “What is their problem?”
“They are so tiny!” He opens his hand, letting hers stay atop his. “Look at the size difference!”
“They are a perfectly good size,” she notes, narrowing her eyes just a little before a smirk takes over. “You seemed to enjoy their size when I wrapped—”
“Yeah.” He flushes, spare hand flying to his hair. “You are evil, Evans, I had meant it as a compliment, you know. What ring size would you say you wear? Six? Seven?”
Lily seems amused. “I have no idea. I just pick whatever fits.”
“Hmmm. I hope it’s seven.”
She blinks. “What does it—”
But her voice dies, because James kneels in front of her, spare hand now holding an opened velvet box to show a silver ring inside, one tiny diamond shining under the sunlight.
“Lily Evans,” he begins, voice trembling. “You are the most—”
“Yes.”
James blinks, even as a grin already finds its way to his lips and he thinks it will remain there for quite some time.
“I had a whole speech prepared, you know.”
“You can tell me later. It won’t change my answer.”
“It may be a bad speech.”
“I doubt it. You are a perfectionist.”
“I did plan this for a few years.”
Lily giggles. “Are you going to stand there kneeled or are you going to stand up so I can kiss my fiancé?”
He laughs, slipping the ring on her finger easily, kissing her hand before rising. Lily keeps their hands intertwined as she approaches him, standing on her tiptoes so she can brush her lips against his.
“See? Perfect size.”
James smiles. Yeah, he got the ring size correctly.