His attention moved down to her arms, skimming his fingers across bruises. For a moment he had to close his eyes to focus on the feel of them in order to tell if they were warm or swelling through the warm, lapping fuzziness of his senses. It was easier to focus on one of them if he could cancel another out. He reckoned they felt fine, meaning they were probably just bruises.
Satisfied that her arms were fine, James pulled his eyes open and returned to evaluating her head. He tilted her chin to the side, parted her hair to see just how big the mark was, ran his fingers over the back of her neck to make sure what he could see was all there was to it.
She might be an Auror, but James had six years of quidditch, a werewolf best friend, and a war on her- of course he'd have something of an expertise in assessing this sort of thing. Even when he was drunk. It was just his nature, a force James hardly ever bothered trying to fight. Everyone needed a little looking after. When it came to people he knew, people he liked... well, he wasn't too bad at looking after people.
However, at her words he relaxed a bit, the corner of his mouth tugging up. For as much as he might harp on Aurors, he had at one point wanted to be one. And it hadn't been all bad. Actually, when it had been good, it was real good. Full of plenty of scuffles if that was the sort of thing you were after - and if you wanted to be an Auror, you probably were.
"Yeah," he conceded, even as he continued to inspect along her hairline. The concern was seeping out of him; in part because she, well, okay, she was an Auror, and in part because everything did seem to be healing up pretty well. "I was almost an Auror, you know, the first time around."