r/strictlycomedancing · posted by u/strictly_mod · 2 days ago

AMA coming soon!

Exciting news! As the quarter final approaches (how did that happen so soon?), we've got a treat for you all: pro dancers Lily Evans and Natalia Krum will be joining us for an AMA, Friday at 5pm GMT. See you then!

He's watching Mary Poppins when the doorbell rings.

A day has passed since Lily's text arrived and scared the living daylights out of him, but he supposes, on reflection, that it's best they left it a little longer: he no longer resembles someone who is very near death's door—today he's even managed to shower and get dressed. Considering it wasn't that long ago that he had sweated through every pair of pyjamas he owns, he thinks that's a significant improvement in quite a short space of time.

Still, once he was dressed, he'd found he needed something familiar and comforting, and that was where Julie Andrews came in. James has always been of the firm belief that there isn't anything that Ms Andrews can't solve.

Unwell? Mary Poppins. Glum? The Sound of Music. Hungover? The Princess Diaries.

The woman has range.

Nonetheless, he feels a bit sheepish as he answers the door, A Spoonful of Sugar blaring merrily in the background. If only she'd first visited his place when he was looking cool and calm, listening to jazz or one of those Spotify playlists Sirius put together for him because "you can't just listen to 90s RnB forever, Prongs". Typical of his luck, really.

It is what it is, though, and at least he's vaguely presentable. Lily (as always, he thinks) is more than presentable—beautiful, even, as she stands there, bundled up against the cold, red hair in waves down her shoulders, perhaps to keep her ears warm, because it really is very cold outside, and before he can spend too long just staring at her in stupefied awe, he gestures for her to come inside.

"Ruddy freezing," she says by way of greeting, shrugging off her coat as he closes the door. She gives him a quick, appraising glance. "You look better than I thought you would."

"Oh," he says, because his brain is still catching up with the healing process, and he wasn't exactly Mr Suave around her before anyway. "Thanks. Yeah, I'm getting there." He pauses, suddenly aware that they're just standing there in his hallway. "Would you like a drink?"

"You're unwell, it should be me making you a drink," she decides, and moves with determination towards the kitchen. "Tea?"

"Thanks," he agrees, following her; she makes quick work of navigating his kitchen, and points him sternly towards a chair as she goes. "But you don't have to…"

She's already found the cupboard with the mugs in, like she's been here dozens of times before. He doesn't dwell on how nice a thought that is. "You've got to keep resting up so we can come back fighting next week," she points out. The kettle now boiling, she finally stops, looking at him across the natural barrier of the countertop. She pauses, and he takes in her hesitancy, trying not to panic about what it could mean. "So…"

James swallows. "So…"

"I wanted to talk to you on Monday, but—obviously, you weren't well, and…" Her eyes dart to his iPhone, resting casually, innocently, on the counter nearby. "And I didn't think our talk the other night counted, so—"

"Oh, god," he says, because he can't hold it back. He feels physically sick at the memory—or lack of memory—of the twenty-minute call debacle. "I'm sorry, did I—was I a complete twat—"

She frowns, looking genuinely bewildered. "What? Of course not."

James finds that hard to believe. "It was twenty minutes, Lily, and I don't remember a word of it," he tells her. "That bloody doctor has a lot to answer for, he basically fed me horse tranquilisers and left me to sweat it out on my own!"

"You don't remember it?" she asks; he's surprised to see a fond smile flickering across her face. "Um, well, it wasn't all that embarrassing, I promise—you rambled a bit about how hot it was in your bedroom…"

"It was hot," he agrees.

"And you said you were too tired to take your jumper off. And then…" Now she looks embarrassed, and he's more intrigued than ever. "Then you fell asleep."

James frowns. This doesn't make any sense, even less than he might expect it to given the way illness had ravaged his mind and body this week. "But…it can't have taken twenty minutes to talk about the temperature in my bedroom…"

She's blushing. Actually, prettily-pink blushing, right here in his kitchen. "No, you didn't talk long. I just…" She pauses, clears her throat. He's never wanted to kiss her more. "I didn't have the heart to hang up on you."

"You—" He can't even finish that sentence. Something is lodged in his throat: his heart, maybe? "You just…listened to me snore for twenty minutes?"

"Well, not listened, actively, as such, just…" Lily trails off, pauses, head cocked to one side. "Is that Mary Poppins?"

Part of him is embarrassed; part of him is inspired by her ability to change the subject so easily; another part of him is impressed that she can identify the film from another room, and just from dialogue. She's the perfect woman, he thinks but does not say. "Oh, yeah," he confirms, with a sheepish grin. "Helps the medicine go down, after all."

She laughs softly. "Very true." She shakes her head. "I didn't have you pegged as a Poppins fan."

He tries not to look too affronted. "Who isn't?" he asks. "I'm not that cold of heart."

Lily shoots him a self-conscious smile. "No, well…I've started to realise that." She is tapping a teaspoon against the marble countertop, a nervous habit that is incredibly endearing. He wants to reach over, to steady her hand, to tell her she doesn't need to worry, but that would surely be a bit much, so he keeps his hands to himself, against all odds. "I've, um…been unfair."

"Just because you didn't think I'd like Mary Poppins?" he asks, because he feels awkward and the best way he knows how to deal with that is to make a joke. It's been the topic of many an argument with his mother. "I wouldn't worry about it."

"No," she corrects him, gently, and finally sets the teaspoon down. She makes a conscious effort to look up, to meet his gaze. "I'm not actually on Twitter, but Nat sent me some screenshots from all the chatter last Saturday, and my agent sent me that Skeeter article…"

Natalia Krum, paired up with a very friendly chap from a boy band who readily admits he can't dance and is getting through purely by popularity, was a fan favourite amongst the pro dancers, beloved for her positive attitude and genuine friendliness. James has found himself in a few conversations with the woman on the Saturday filming days, wondering if she could really be as nice as she seems, and she just is. It's remarkable, like the soul of a Care Bear in the lithe, toned form of a dancing machine. He hopes she wasn't agreeing with the tweets she was sending, because if even Natalia Krum, the kindest person in showbiz, thinks he's a prick, then he has no hope at all.

"Right," he swallows, and does his best not to look awkward. "Turns out we have a mutual…acquaintance?"

Lily winces, and it's then that the kettle comes to a boil, steam billowing behind her, so she turns away, busying herself with making the perfect brews. "Yeah, apparently so," she agrees. When she finally turns back to him, passing him a mug over the counter, she looks almost torn. It's a tough expression to cope with, and certainly more emotion than he's usually allowed to see. "Look, I owe you an apology."

At this, his eyes widen: that's just about the last thing he expected her to say. "Oh, no, look—"

"No, I do," she insists, that familiar stubborn streak breaking through. He's used to seeing it in the rehearsal room; it feels that much more intimate to see it at work in his own kitchen, her lovely face drawn in a frown, hands wrapped around his favourite John Lewis mug (and yes, he's the sort of person who has a favourite mug, something which Sirius thoroughly enjoys making fun of him for). "I…I let the opinion—the hugely biased opinion—of one person sway my feelings about you before I even met you, and that wasn't fair."

It's strange, having his suspicions confirmed. It doesn't feel as satisfying as he thought it might. "To be honest," he admits, after taking a fortifying sip of tea, "I was a bit of a dick at school."

Lily sighs. "Yes, well, most teenagers are," she replies. "And I didn't want to give you a chance to show me you'd changed in the however-many years it's been since you and Sev even interacted."

James pauses, chewing on his lower lip a moment. "He really hates me, eh?"

Lily's hesitance is answer enough. "So it seems," she confirms. "But…looking back on his stories, the vitriol…it's all out of proportion. I didn't see that then. I just assumed he was telling it as it was."

James offers her a wan smile. "You're a good friend."

Apparently that's not the right thing to say: she looks pained. "I think I—I've felt like I've owed him something, for so long now," she says, looking down into her mug of tea. "He was the only reason I was able to do my dance training, to do competitions and get my name out there—I couldn't afford it myself, and he…offered to pay for it all, no strings…" She looks up. "But lately I've started to feel like there are some strings after all."

James frowns. "Like what?"

"Like I owe him my loyalty, but with no questions asked. Even the slightest hint that I thought you were a decent person a few weeks ago and he lost his shit," she sighs. "And all these rumours about us dating. He always told me not to say anything, that it was better just to ignore them, even though it was putting out a false narrative—about both of us… I went along with it, because he asked, and—well, again, I felt like I owed him, but…"

This news, shamefully, feels like a huge relief, like a weight shifted from his shoulders. It's one thing for her to be friends with Snape; quite another for them to have been romantically involved. James knows he shouldn't care. He also knows that he really, really does. "Right," he nods. "That's why Skeeter thinks that I'm bringing the Strictly curse down on a loving relationship using nothing but my pecs and my winning personality."

She rolls her eyes. "That woman writes nothing but bullshit, I don't know how she hasn't been sued to high heaven by now…" She shakes her head, as if trying to get rid of a mental picture that has lodged in her brain—James isn't sure he wants to know what that mental image is. "Anyway. I let myself be swayed by pumped-up stories from secondary school, and that stupid clip didn't help, not that I was looking to be dissuaded—"

"Wait." He has to pause to blow his nose on a nearby tissue (always a dignified, manly task), and she waits patiently. "What clip?"

If she looked a bit embarrassed before, that emotion seems to have only multiplied. "Severus showed me a clip, you talking to the press after a cricket match," Lily replies. "Someone asked you what you thought was harder, cricket or Strictly, and you said 'I hardly think they compare'."

He frowns, trying both to remember the interview she's talking about through the fluish haze he's been under, and to understand what exactly she thinks he has said. He's never minded talking to the press—unlike some of his teammates—so he's often sent out to say something witty, flash a charming smile, take the heat off a loss or crow about a win where needed. All these pressers tend to blur into one after a while, although this one must've been fairly recently, at least since he'd signed up to do Strictly.

Finally, the memory fights its way through the fog: they'd been playing at Lords, he'd been feeling chipper, but ready for some food and a few beers after a long game. Had he really said they hardly compare…?

Okay, yes, on reflection, he did say that. But he had meant that cricket was a piece of piss—wouldn't it be worrying, surely, at this point of his career, if he still found it all very taxing?—and that dancing was going to be something excruciatingly difficult and at which he may well fail with all the flair and style blessed to him by birth. He'd assumed that much was obvious.

Now that he thinks about it, yes, he could have been clearer answering that question. Hindsight, unlike his actual sight, is 20/20. But it was a post-match presser—Christ, he'd given more glib answers than that before and never (to his knowledge) made such a woeful fucking mess of it.

"That's—that wasn't at all what I meant!" he says, standing up quickly—too quickly, given his head spins a bit, but he just keeps hold of the kitchen counter and tries to style it out. She watches on, looking guilty, and that makes it all even harder to bear. "Lily, I meant that cricket is miles easier than dancing—I meant that they hardly compare because dancing's bloody impossible!" He gestures down his body, as if his flu-ridden state is evidence enough. "Something I think I have ably proven week on week, here."

She squints at him, looking for something in his face, perhaps, that will tell her if he's being truthful. "Really…?"

"Christ, yes," he sighs. "I'm in awe of you, Lily, you and the other pros. The way you make each move look effortless…you have a way of gliding across the floor like you're on rails, or just floating, unburdened by gravity or clumsiness like the rest of us plebs." He's aware he's sounding almost like he's in a religious fervour; tries (and fails) to tamp it down, to not give so much of his tender heart away. "It's nothing but pure luck, and your help, that I've made it this far through this experience with my dignity intact."

"That's…" she starts, then shakes her head again. "That's very sweet of you to say, and—honestly, you're much better than you give yourself credit for, which is partly my fault, too, I didn't want to make your ego any bigger—"

"Evans," he interrupts her, as lightly as he can, "I don't need any help in that department."

"Stop it," she frowns. "You're being too nice." There's a pause, and she finally takes in that he's standing up now too; quick as a flash, she's round his side of the counter, hands gently at his elbows to guide him back into his chair. "Sit down before you fall down, for goodness' sake."

A simple touch of her skin against his shouldn't leave him a bit breathless (and he's fairly confident it's not just a side-effect of the mucus pulsing through his lungs), but it does anyway, as if this situation isn't complicated enough as it is. But he lets her essentially push him back to a seated position, and catches her gaze. "Look. Honestly, I'm not holding a grudge," he tells her; she's much closer now, and he can see each glint of gold as the light catches her vivid green eyes. It's distracting. "I understand how you came to the conclusions you did. And…I hope I've shown you that I'm not the same person I was at thirteen."

"You have," she agrees quietly, holding his stare.

"Good," he gives her a small smile. "Apology accepted, then, and let's move on with our lives."

Something in his words seems to stir her: she nods, and quickly steps back, and it's only then that he realises she had still been holding on to his arms. (He takes a moment to mourn the loss.) "Okay. Thank you."

He tries to catch her eye again, but she's busying herself reaching for her mug of tea. "I'll be back to full health soon, and then we can see about convincing my Twitter haters that I'm not as reprehensible as I may seem."

Lily takes a long swig of her drink; it feels like forever as she swallows it down, brushes a droplet from her lips. (Is she doing this on purpose? It feels like it to James.) "Well, I've got an idea on how to help clear things up," she says, mysterious even in the face of Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious playing in the background. "You just focus on getting better."

He studies her face, trying to work out just what she means. In the end, it's easier to ask. "What do you—"

"Shall we watch a bit of the film?" she interrupts him, quite cheerfully; she's already making her way towards the living room. "I've got to go soon but hopefully I can stick around at least until Feed the Birds."

And although he wants to push on, to find out what exactly her plan might entail, the idea of collapsing on the sofa, with Lily Evans of all people, is much more appealing.

He falls asleep mid-way through the tea-party on the ceiling, and when he wakes up, she's gone.

It's enough to make him wonder if he dreamed it all.

r/strictlycomedancing · posted by u/yourfaveprodancers · 1 hour ago

Hi Reddit! We're Lily Evans and Natalia Krum, fresh from rehearsals for the Strictly quarter final. AMA!

We've got the wonderful Ellie, Strictly production assistant, typing our responses for us - ask away! Proof here.

MachoMachoMel · 54 min. ago

Which dance would you do again if you had the opportunity? LOVED Nat & Sean's Vienesse Waltz, and Lily & James' Foxtrot.

yourfaveprodancers · 52 min. ago

Natalia: totally agree on the Foxtrot! I'd like another crack at the Samba. Lily: the cha cha cha, hands down. It was so much fun!

bluepiccadilly · 53 min. ago

If you could bring back one celeb from a previous series, who would it be and why?

yourfaveprodancers · 50 min. ago

Great question! Nat says Gideon Prewett, Lily says The Rt Hon Rufus Scrimgeour ("because he was hilarious!")

Severily4ever · 50 min. ago

How is James Potter still getting voted through? Is it true the public love a bully who weasles his way into other people's relationships?

yourfaveprodancers · 45 min. ago

Lily typing here! I want to clear this up myself.

I am not and have never been in a relationship with Severus Snape. He was a friend growing up who helped me get started in dancing. Over the years, I have asked him to tell the public we are not together, and he has refused.

James is a kind, caring, talented bloke who is trying his best every week in a medium that he is new to. None of us were perfect as teenagers, but he's trying to better himself every day. I'm only sorry I let the grudge-holding of one person sway me and my opinion of him, because James has done nothing but show me how hard-working, genuine, and most of all, fun he is to work with. I'm really glad to have him as a friend and I think most reasonable people will be able to see that the stuff in the press is just an attempt to bring down someone out of jealousy or misplaced vitriol. Rant over

rumba_one_more · 43 min. ago

Omg you're so into him!

strictly_mod · 42 min. ago

Reminder to everyone - stay on topic of Strictly, please! Keep your questions coming!

That evening, an excitable row of messages come through in the WhatsApp group he has with Sirius and Remus, and James stares at his phone, wondering if this all doesn't just bring up more questions than it answers.