Chapter Text
"Fancy a duel, then, Evans?"
He didn't really know why he said it. It was just one of those things that easily slips out when you're hard of head and soft of brain, as was usually the case whenever he was in close proximity to Evans. That sudden urge to do something incredibly stupid. Or in this case, say something incredibly stupid.
He wasn't really expecting anything from it. Wasn't as if he was going to land a hex on her or anything. Wouldn't even lift his wand against her. It was just something to keep the conversation–if you could call it that–going. Something to keep her attention.
"Alright, then."
James blinked. Felt an urge to wipe his glasses to help his hearing.
"Eh?"
"Not wizard dueling, though," Evans said, turning slowly. "Muggle dueling."
Again, he didn't really know what to say to that. He had the sense that it was a golden opportunity to say something witty or clever, like they did in those muggle pictures Sirius liked to watch. Something to make her blush or swoon. Maybe even something to make her scowl in denial of a spark between them. Merlin knows she's scowled at him plenty already, albeit that probably wasn't in denial of anything.
But alas, she was about twenty feet away from him, which as it so happened, comfortably constituted as 'close proximity to Lily Evans' for James Potter. And so, with what little reasonable time he had left to give an adequate reply, he did about the cleverest damned thing he was able to do given the circumstances.
A goofy shrug, a lopsided grin and an "Okay".
Evans sprinted towards him and–bloody hell she was fast. Could have as easily qualified as the latest Nimbus model. Her dark silky red hair didn't bounce so much as it defied gravity, gliding behind her like the wings of a falcon when it dives. She really should be on the quidditch pitch, James reckoned. With the purposefulness of her approach, the grace of her movements, that fierce determination in those sparkling emerald eyes.
Bloody hell.
That fierce determination that was coming straight for him. Like she was a Beater about to not just hammer, but destroy a bludger.
Under normal circumstances, James would have the reflexes to react appropriately. Let his quidditch instincts take over, allow them to let him dodge to one side, or even adjust his position to brace for a bump.
But alas, he was in 'close proximity' after all, and the previous twenty feet had all of sudden become ten, then five and the most James could muster was a sharp intake in his nostrils and a burning of his cheeks. Perhaps it was better that Evans wasn't on the quidditch team after all.
In the closing distance between them, Evans' deep strides became quick nimble steps until her left foot was planted in front her, right hand raised behind her, elbow cocked, fist bunched.
She was really going to do it.
James had never been in a muggle duel before. In fact, it occurred to him in that moment that he hadn't even been struck once by another human being. A sharp pat on the hand by his mother once when he was four and she'd decided he'd had too many chocolate frogs, if that counts. A fist bump by Sirius? A slap on shoulder? Those surely should.
But no, if he was going to be honest with himself. He was going to get struck for the first time, right there and right then, bare knuckles and all as surely as a tidal wave crashing into a cliff face. By the one person he'd been trying his darnedest not to fall in love with to boot.
James reckoned he didn't mind it too much.
Then he realised that he was in a hallway of at least twenty people watching, including his best friend, who had somehow procured a bag of popcorn, Peter, who was watching with hungry watery eyes, and Betram Aubrey. Betram fucking Aubrey.
By Merlin's hairy asshole, he wasn't going to get hit in front of Betram fucking Aubrey.
James let his quidditch instincts take over, felt his eyes scrunch up, head move back and arms raise up. His face also turned in anticipation and his jaw clenched, bracing for impact but... but it never came.
Something collided into his body, instantly sucking whatever oxygen he had in his lungs out of his body. It wrapped itself under his right armpit, over his left shoulder, and James had that feather light feeling he usually got when he was in the air on his broom.
Then he realised he really was in the air–just not on his broom. Probably not a good thing. Definitely not a good thing.
His back slammed into the ground, and something of strangled gurgled burp came out of his lips. Impressive considering he'd already had the wind knocked out of him. Quidditch instincts instructed him to upright himself but James found he couldn't. Whatever had latched onto him was still there, holding him tightly, pushing up against the back of his head, making it difficult to reclaim the air he'd lost. Something soft, silky and kind of ticklish was rubbing against his face too.
He opened his eyes and realised it was hair. Dark red hair, in fact.
Evans' hair.
He was being held by Evans? No–
He was being hugged by Evans.
James wanted to sing and dance and bask in her warm embrace and breathe in her scent and–bloody hell, he realised he couldn't actually breathe.
Her hug was bloody tight.
This was how muggles dueled?!
James thought muggle duels were all closed fists and wild unbalanced swings. What was he supposed to do?
He couldn't move, he couldn't breathe, could barely get a sound out. Was–was he going to die?
James thought on that for a moment.
Perhaps it wasn't too bad of a thing. At least, dying to an embrace by Lily Evans. In fact, if someone had told him such a thing was possible he probably would have believed it. Probably would have volunteered himself even.
Except... except that would make Lily Evans a murderer and James didn't want to do that to her. He couldn't die here. He'd just have to get out of it. He'd just have to reach for her arms and–
"Alright, mate?"
Sirius was floating upside down in front of him, all fuzzy and chewing on popcorn. Some kind of illusionment charm, James figured. No bloody idea what he was doing upside down though, or why he was still munching on the blasted food. Then Remus appeared, and Peter too, looking at him curiously, first blurry then clearing up, and James realised that he was lying on the ground, looking up at his friends.
He blinked a few times and readjusted his glasses.
"What happened?" James asked.
"You lost," replied Sirius.
"Quite... impressively, I might say," added Remus.
"I... I didn't know muggles could hug like that," said a fearful but awestruck Peter.
James didn't bother getting up. He just laid there, spread-eagled, gazing but not gazing at Remus' thoughtful consternation; at the popcorn crumbs falling from Sirius' mouth; at the stalwart booger resolutely lodged in Peter's left nostril.
"There are worse ways to lose, I suppose," said James, and he meant it. Evans wasn't a murderer and he'd even gotten a hug from her. He might as well go on a victory lap around the pitch.
"That... wasn't a hug," said Remus. James could see that. There wasn't any hugs he knew of that could do that. Unless it was a bear hug, which that wasn't. Nor was Evans a bear, for that matter. He wouldn't mind a bear hug from Evans though. Or maybe not given recent events.
"It wasn't?" Peter gasped.
"That, my friend," said Sirius with a distinct self-satisfied sound, "was that the muggles call the Martial Arts." Sirius made a flourish of his fingers as he said the last two words. Peter looked to him wide eyed, jaw dropped, booger lodged.
"Judo, you mean?" Remus asserted. Sirius waved a dismissive hand.
"Come now Remus, we've already had Transfiguration and History of Magic. There's only so much we can stuff into little Petty Pete's peabrain per day."
Peter frowned at the words, blinking and squinting to visualise them. Looked even sillier than he did when McG asked him a question.
"Joooo... dough?" Peter said.
"It's not food if that's where you're going with it," said Sirius.
"That's not where I was going with it!" Peter said, although the higher-than-normal pitch in his voice suggested otherwise.
James sat up, rubbed at his neck, caught a faint whiff of Evans' shampoo still on him.
"Still, I didn't take Evans for a Martial Artist," said Remus, still with that thoughtful look on his face. He bent down to inspect James then held out a hand to help him up.
"How do you know what that was?" James asked after he pulled himself up. Remus frowned at him.
"'How do I know?' I'm the half blood with a muggle parent. How does he know?" Remus pointed at Sirius, almost accusatorily.
All three of them turned to stare at him. Sirius, who was halfway through munching some more popcorn, looked around at them. He shrugged. "I'm Sirius Black."
"That doesn't answer anything!" Peter cried, his own finger pointing at him, definitely accusatorily. Sirius flicked it and Peter jerked it back, nursing it.
"That's besides the point. Evans isn't a Martial Artist. She just knows a few moves–well one move as far as I can tell–and any half head can do that, especially to someone so–," Sirius' eyes flicked to James almost apologetically, "–inexperienced."
James arm curled up to scratch the back of his head.
"You reckon we should learn some of this... marshool arts?"
Sirius flashed him a dogged grin. "Only if you plan to lose slower next time."