Author's Notes: This fic will not be long. It will not follow cannon. It is not well written. And, most importantly, it will not be angsty. It probably will not even be good. It is simply a raging plot bunny that was convenient since I've run out of inspiration for TRWW.
That had been the most peculiar meeting. If the surprise of being named Head Boy hadn't been enough, the sudden revelation as to why covered all bases. James had known, of course, that there was the hint of a stirring dark lord. He had known that his father was working tirelessly to stop such a stirring and that, thus far, the results were not exactly satisfactory. But what he had not expected was to be called into Dumbledore's office on the first day of school in order for the old man to tell him that such a dark lord was a threat, and that the fight against him would begin here, at Hogwarts.
James had seriously doubted that. After all, there hadn't been a dark wizard rising since Grindewald—ages ago. And surely he would've been told if this new fellow was a real danger. His father wouldn't keep him in the dark like that. Or at least, he didn't think so.
Dumbledore had been positive, however, and James had suddenly found himself bathed in knowledge on a student named Tom Riddle, and then on the creature Voldemort. He had been in that office for more than two hours, simply probing and learning and discovering things that he wasn't altogether sure Dumbledore had the license to tell him. Not that it mattered.
But by far the most shocking detail was that he was supposed to do something about it. James had been hexing Slytherins since he first sat under the Sorting Hat; he had been defending his friends since their very first prank, and captaining the Quidditch team since fifth year. However, he had never thought himself some sort of… of leader, a protector of the small.
Apparently, the headmaster thought he was up to the job. It was the reason he bore this badge, and so he would uphold it. Look out for those smaller, or weaker, or even those just lesser in the eyes of others. There was a war to be unfolded, and it would begin within these halls. And he was charged with taking the offensive and carrying the banner of the light.
How odd.
"Hey, you! Head Boy! Potter—Potter! Hey, James!"
James spun, one brow raised artfully towards the ceiling, twirling his wand effortlessly around two fingers. "Who're you?"
"Alice Johnson, sixth year prefect—but that's not the point. There's a fight. Again."
These fights were getting really old. There had been seven in the three months since school began, and after James sorted out the first one he had become sort of an… an icon. Every time there was the slightest skirmish someone was bound to come running to him, and while he rather thought that this was what Dumbledore expected, it was cursed annoying.
"Where?"
"The Quidditch pitch; are they ever anywhere else? And it's Dolohov this time, the nasty bloke." She appeared disgusted, and though James would have loved to just let the victim learn to fight their own fight, for once, he knew how Dolohov could get. He was the only seventh year of the pack that seemed intent on torturing those 'beneath' them, and by far the best with a hex.
"Fine. Are you coming?"
She shook her head, gesturing up the stairs James had been about to climb. "I'm supposed to be tutoring. I just found you and figured I'd let you handle it. Those second years will wreck the library within three seconds."
He nodded, but paid no more attention to her than that, marching swiftly down the corridors. His wand was now steady in his hand, and the scowl creasing his features was ferocious. James was getting so sick of these stupid battles—didn't they realize it was only going to lead to a trip to the hospital wing and a detention?
The main doors were already opened, a fact he found disheartening, as he would have liked to slam them nearly off their hinges. However, he'd just have to make do with what he got. Practically stomping down the stairs, he took off across the lawn at a swift jog, hazel gaze trained upon the Quidditch pitch. Even from here he could see the flickering color of thrown spells, which could be neither a good nor bad sign. On one hand, it might mean whoever they were pestering could actually hold their own. On the other, it might mean that Dolohov was having rather too much fun with this game.
There was already a crowd gathered out on the pitch. Several still held brooms in their hands; it seemed as though someone's Quidditch practice had been interrupted. With a few shoves and absolutely no pardons, James found his way forcefully through the crowd, eyes alighting on the scene before him.
The odds were so uneven that he wanted to be sick. Dolohov, Jugson, Macnair, and Wilkes were all throwing wild curses at some poor student. Said student had managed—somehow—to erect what probably began as a beautiful shielding charm, but was falling fast under the curses of four senior Slytherins.
"Aren't you goin' to come out and play, my lovely little Mudblood?" James could see, even from here, that the sadistic Dolohov seemed rather more intent than usual—and that, if James was any judge, this was a victim he wanted for more than one reason. Poor soul.
"C'mon, sweetheart, you know you can't hold that for much longer." That was Wilkes, and James could see that he was right. Even now, the golden glimmer was shrinking, fading fast into whoever was trying fiercely to complete it.
As a particularly wild hex—one even James didn't recognize—was thrown at the shielding charm, it broke him into action. Luckily, the quartet seemed not to have realized that the crowd behind them had grown silent, or that they had a new member. A few well-placed stupefies and a brief skirmish with Jugson later, the four were being rapidly tied up with yet another spell, and James was moving forward to confront whoever was still holding their shield
Coming forward, hands splayed open in a gesture of peace, he ambled toward the student. "It's alright. It's all over now. I'll deal with them later—just put down your charm, okay? It's alright, don't worry."
He tried for a soothing tone, but just didn't have the energy in him to manage much more than mildly comforting. Taking the last few steps towards the final shimmers of magic, he couldn't help but wince as it was finally dropped.
"Go on, you lot, get out of here!" He spun, shouting to the lingering students, who left swiftly at the reprimand of their Head Boy. Once he was sure all were out of sight, James dropped carefully to his knees next to the sobbing young woman.
"Shh, it's okay. They're gone now… shhh." He leaned forward, resting a callused palm on her shoulder, and felt her freeze. She was curled up, knees to chest, clutching feebly at her ankles while the tears fled fast down her cheeks. There was a rather large bruise already forming at her throat, and the puffy cuts on her lips indicated that this had begun as a battle without magic.
"You're Evans, right, the Head Girl?"
They hadn't had much reason to talk to each other as of yet, but James would recognize that head of red hair anywhere. It was no wonder the shielding charm had withheld what was probably dozens of spells—she was particularly good at charms.
"I'm sorry—" He was surprised she could speak, between the whimpers. "I should have… I mean, I was just. I know how to fight back, and then they came, and I just… I went blank. I'm sorry, so sorry. I should be stopping these, not—but… I was just so surprised. And they were so… they…" She shuddered as her words fell off, and James eyes fluttered closed.
It hurt to look at someone like this. Whimpering second years was painful, yes, and watching while fourth year Hufflepuffs screamed was horrible. But Evans was capable, and calm, and confident—he had never seen her reduced to anything like this. And for some reason, that only made it worse.
"Hey, it's okay. You're alright, aren't you? And that was one of the best shielding charms I've ever seen—how long were you holding that?"
She snorted, an endearment he found somewhat surprising, but it seemed his words had helped somewhat, as her tears had now stopped. "That shielding charm was horrible, and if I was better at all this, then I never would have had to worry about making one. You certainly don't."
"Four on one odds? I don't know—even I would have a hard time with that one. Especially since you had Dolohov on you."
Evans froze, fingers flying toward her lips, and the moment she realized she was bleeding the Head Girl simply leaned over and heaved all over the grass. James winced, but gathered her hair up swiftly in one hand, making sure none of the disgusting material would cling to it. They remained like that for some time, while she threw up what was probably everything she eaten that day and more, before she finally sat up, murmuring a cleansing charm to as to remove the remnants from her mouth.
"I'm sorry." She seemed to be saying that a lot, he observed. "It was just… his tongue was down my throat and it was so disgusting—you know?"
No, he didn't, a fact he was quite proud of, but James nodded sympathetically anyway. Standing up, he offered a hand to young woman, which she took with a grateful smile. Pulling her to her feet, James wrapped an arm supportively around her shoulders, allowing for her to lean into him.
"Now, we just have to figure out what we're going to do about this mess. If I know Dolohov at all, he isn't going to… to give up on you."
James glanced around, relieved to see that someone had already carted the Slytherins off to somewhere—the hospital wing, he expected. Making their way slowly across the pitch, he glanced expectantly at Evans, unsure of how she planned to proceed.
She was scowling at the ground, emerald gaze glaring with absolute loathing upon the poor blades of grass. The scene was hilarious, and if this had happened in any other situation, James might have laughed. Instead, he had to settle for doing so inwardly.
"Disgusting prat. If I just… I know the counter curses—I just blanked out." Her eyes flew up to his, imploring him to believe her. "He was just… there. And I have no practice, so it took so long for my mind to figure out what to do. It was like… like I went into slow motion while everyone else was still moving at regular speed, y'know?" She paused, biting her lips. "I suppose you don't know though, do you? You're always the one who breaks these things up, and I've never seen you have a problem before."
James laughed. "Believe me, I know the feeling. I've just been fighting these blokes for so long now that I know what I'm doing."
She seemed to be thinking. Her teeth were worrying her lip, and Evans was staring up at him with the concentration he had observed in her eyes whenever she was battling a particularly difficult charm. She appeared to make up her mind then, chin moving in a little nod of approval, before the words daringly passed her lips. "Well… What if you taught me? I mean, you could teach me how to, y'know—" She gestured hopelessly. "—spar?"
James paused in his step, taking the offer in, mentally weighing the pros and cons. It would make sense, after all. She wouldn't have made the Head Girl position if she wasn't exceptionally bright, and all it would take would be a few weeks of lessons for her to figure out how to use the intelligence when it was actually needed. Besides, with the Christmas hols coming up, he would have plenty of free time… "But what do we do with you until then? If Dolohov is… interested… then I have no doubt that he's going to be on you like a cat on a mouse."
She was worried again, he could tell, and the way her eyes were darting here and there was a clear indication of the fact that she would still be easily spooked. "Here, tell you what. How about we go up to the common room, and you can just go get some sleep, and we'll talk about it later, okay? He'll be up in the wing—or in detention—for a few days yet."
Her nod of acquiescence was enough to encourage him, and the pair continued on their way silently, both lost in thought.
He had it. It was four o'clock in the morning, pitch black outside, and the idea was probably quite stupid—but it would work. And James was quite determined to put it into to place as soon as possible.
Stumbling from his bed, he threw on an Arrows shirt, and was bounding down the stairs in less than a minute. A quick tap on the correct stone had him hurtling up a motionless staircase to the girls' dorms, intent on reaching the seventh year rooms. Halting at their door—one he knew well enough to get by—he cast a quick silencing charm on what were sure to be squeaky hinges.
Moments later, James was inside, moving effortlessly over piles of clothes and magazines and the like towards a bed he knew would be the Head Girl's. After all, it was the only one that was absolutely spotless, and he couldn't see Evans being anything but an orderly person.
Drawing the curtains back, he shook her shoulder roughly, tossing a hand over her mouth when she let out a shocked squeak. It took some time before her eyes adjusted to the light and she calmed down, but the astonishment in her eyes was clear even after she was settled. He drew him palm away slowly, and she spoke almost immediately, though her words were now little more than a whisper.
"What are you doing in here?"
He grinned, eyes positively dancing in glee. "I've figured out how to make Dolohov keep his distance."
"Oh?" Her eyebrows had risen into the messy fall of her crimson locks, and she seemed rather hopeful despite her exhaustion.
"Evans, will you be my girlfriend?"
So, tell me, should I continue, or is this story just crap?