The fatigued boy was happy to comply with Amelia's demands. He felt weak physically as well as mentally. The constant stream of thoughts that ticked casually through his mind had him in a daze of resentment and satisfaction - contradiction colored his every whim. It painted his aspirations with Lily black yet he held hope in the fact that his anger was soothed, the savage beast the had once raged in his breast was calm. However, it did not help to satisfy the urges he had been fighting. Instead, it was backfiring. He had - immediately after punching Eli - recognized that Lily would not stand for his senseless violence, and for his hasty decision making. In fact, she would repel against it. Violently so. But it was self-pity that had driven him to rebel against her standards; it was a belief that she would give up on him, and he would be able to stand with the justification he had just given himself - a fight well-earned.
"I fought Eli Bucklin," James murmured as he wiped the blood from his lip with the band of his sleeve. "I heard that had been kissing Lily, and I... I just couldn't believe it. I went to talk to him about what happened," he explained, "and I just... got so mad when he confirmed the rumor. I couldn't hold it in... so I hit him. Hard. But he came back with just as much force. Bloodied me up, and we would have kept on if Mel hadn't come and found us. Lucky she did, too. Could've been Malfoy or Rosier."
His worlds came out in a stoic tone before he leaned into his arm and coughed blood into the crook of his elbow. With a grimace of disgust, he placed his arm at his side and turned toward Amelia.
"Thanks, Mel," he said with an honest appreciation as he turned toward the Ravenclaw.