Harry Potter Fanfics

Sharper Than Hope

Title: Sharper Than Hope
Author: ClaudiaWrites
Site: Archive of Our Own
Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/34888930

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My dress is too tight around the chest.

The champagne, running hotly down the lines of my throat, adds further to the pressure, to the redness blooming around my neck and cheeks, instead of easing it. But I need the alcohol in my system tonight; need it for the act I'm supposed to put on, for tolerating more than one unwelcome gaze that I can feel on my person already. And so I down the rest of my drink, glass clutched firmly between fingers, and focus on breathing right despite the compression of my lungs.

At least it's a pretty dress, I guess, accompanied by matching navy-coloured robes that shimmer just right under good lighting.

It had taken almost half my savings from summer to be able to afford it.

Surprise pulls my gaze from the brightness of the room, and my thoughts from their sullen, despondent state, when a flutter of fingers runs down the length of my lower back. The familiar touch sends both my spine curving and my lips quirking, a pleasant tingle strumming through my body as I turn around with an arched brow.

"May I help you?"

"You may," James says, already grinning that dumb, lovely grin of his. It's actually the strangest thing—he's rarely ever without all that jubilance and energy, and yet, every time he glances at me, it hits me anew like a million volts. Even now, as he stands before me in those smart black dress robes, looking as sinful as he does with that hair and those glasses, it's the glowing energy that pulls my attention first—though appreciation for the rest is sure to follow. "You see, I was ditched by my date as soon as we entered the party, even though, funnily enough, she's the one who dragged me here."

Oh, yeah.

That.

So, I asked him to be my date to Slughorn's party. Big deal

I didn't do it because I want him to go out with me or anything—which, okay, alright, I kind of do—but because he's my best-mate, and I'm in a bit of a shite state, socially speaking, and he's the only one who would've readily agreed to help me out, no questions asked. I suppose ditching him at the entrance right after we got accosted by a ministry official who'd lost his marbles upon finding The James Potter at the party was not the nicest way to thank him for the generosity.

"Sorry," I wince, trying to look apologetic, but still too warm and numb around the face to know if I'm pulling it off. Even without the alcohol, it's a pretty common reaction for me to have around James. "I just... ugh, I saw Snape and then Jenkins in quick succession as soon as we arrived, and I immediately needed a drink."

For context: Jenkins is the ex-boyfriend; Snape the ex-friend.

Both of them arseholes of varying degrees.

James's hand slides comfortingly down my arm, pulling away the tension from muscles like some advanced spell only he can master. It's not something I'm unused to experiencing, this trick of his, I mean, but like his energy, it never stops being effective. I let him pull the glass from my fingers and place it on the table behind me, and then look up at him with a rueful smile.

"Are you alright?" he asks.

I nod, the tightening in my chest unspooling steadily. Merlin, I wish he'd snog me. "Better."

"We didn't have to come, you know."

He's right, of course. There are very few things he's wrong about these days, which ends up being a point of severe frustration for me, because up until two years ago, I'd been determined to never agree with anything the prat thought or said, come hell or high water. Back then, he annoyed me by being occasionally right and putting a damper on my streak of hating him. Now, he annoys me by constantly being right and melting my insides as well as turning me on.