Summary : You and your ex James Potter share a dance.
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You're startled by his voice, blinking, you look over at him, standing before you with his hand stretched out towards you, a cocky grin on his face that doesn't match his eyes.
You glance over his shoulder, scanning the crowd of the party, seeking the familiar face of your betrothed, because surely Rosier must've seen by now—
"He went out for a bit," James says, as if he can read your thoughts. He probably can, he always was good at it.
You take a deep breath, not looking at James just yet, you need to ground yourself first, so you scan the party again.
From the golden curtains decking the room, and the red lanterns lighting up the spacious office of Professor Slughorn, to the buffet tables sitting neatly against the corners, and the numerous individuals spread around, some dancing, some conversing.
Professor Slughorn's parties are, as always, a weird bit of an organized chaos. It's like a mirror for you too, like the tumultuous tempest you carry within is out in open mockery, and yet…the hardest thing for you to look at, to look into, are his eyes.
"I wasn't looking for him," you retort, because you weren't, not for the reasons he thought anyway, you don't need Rosier's permission for anything.
You lean back against the pillar you're standing in front of, near the sidelines of the room. Your eyes narrow as they finally flick towards James. "What did you do?"
James furrows his eyebrows. "Whatever do you mean by that?"
"Oh, come off it, Potter, I'm not so easily beguiled by that look," you say to James.
"Ah, so you are beguiled then? It just takes a bit of a hardwork—"
"Shut up," you cut him off, pointing an accusing finger at him. "You must've done something to have him go, so you could come and talk to me. I know you."
The mischievous gleam disappears from his eyes at your words, as he becomes a lot more serious. He steps closer to you. "So you do," he says to you, voice going down an octave.
It truly doesn't affect you.
James Potter has no affect on you, whatsoever.
"Dance with me," James whispers, ducking his head down a bit towards you, trying to catch your gaze. You don't react, because he doesn't affect you.
Then he whispers a soft, "please."
"Just one dance," you find yourself saying before you can stop.
"One dance and it means nothing," you continue, placing your hand on his, ignoring the thrum of awareness that jolts you at the merest contact.
"You tell yourself that," James replies.
Before you can give him a scathing response, he's dragging you to the dance floor.
James wraps one arm around your waist, the touch light in contrast to the firm grip his other hand had on yours, holding it in the warmth of his palm.
You put your hand on his shoulder, resisting the urge to inch a bit closer to his nape, and play with his hair there. Like you used to.
You inhale deeply as James starts to sway you along with the melody.
"Is he good for you?" James asks, his hazel eyes finding yours, soft with concern that makes your stomach churn.
"Of course," you reply after a beat. You look away from him, anymore of this, and you'll forget that you're betrothed.
You want to forget you're betrothed. You want to simply be with James, dancing and swaying, and resting your forehead on his chest so you can hear his heartbeat in tune with yours.
But you can't do any of that.
"He's a Rosier, my father selected him. He's respectful enough—"
"That's not what I asked," James interrupts. "I asked whether he's good for you?" He twirls you, then brings you back into his arms. "Your friends seem to think he is."
"Friends, reminds me, you should stop hounding them about me," you say to James.
"Don't deflect," James chides lightly.
Your eyebrows furrow, as you clench the soft fabric of his shirt between your fingers. "What do you want me to say, James?" You ask James.
He pulls you closer, putting the hand holding yours on his shoulder, so he can wrap both his arms around your waist. "Does he treat you good?" His voice has taken on a tender note, that tugs at your heartstrings.
He huffs out your name in a firm command.
"No, seriously, what is the measurement of good here?" You ask James, persistent.
"Me," James retorts, swift and smooth. "Does he treat you as well as I did?"
Well, you can't argue with that, because James had treated you well, so well, that you ache still in the echoes of the memory of your time together.
"If that's the measurement, then no, he doesn't treat me as good as you did," you find yourself saying, leaning into his warmth. "Nowhere near as good. Is your ego satisfied now?"
"I didn't think you'd answer honestly," James says, ignoring the taunt.
"Maybe the fact that the wedding looms ever closer has an effect on me." You swallow hard. "Fear's making my tongue loose."
The music has turned to a slow, almost mournful tune, the lighting dimming down a bit, as you two dance.
"All you have to do is say the word, you know that," James states. "Just ask, and I'll steal you away into the night. Not a damned thing anyone would be able to do about it."
"That's not what I want."
"What do you want then?" There's frustration in his words, restrained as they might be, it leaks through still.
"I want to dance with you," you whisper to James. Distract me. Make me forget.
James has never denied you anything, so this isn't any different.
James pushes you back slightly, calloused hands from hours of quidditch training trail up your bare arms, leaving lingering heat in their wake. He holds one of your hand in his as he twirls you, once, twice, before pulling you back in. His other hand finds purchase on your lower back, steady as he dips you ever so slightly.
You feel your breath catch, as James brushes his nose against the column of your neck in a featherlight touch, up to your jaw.
You turn to look at him, holding his darkening gaze, before it dips down to your lips. You shake your head slightly. Not here, you think to yourself, heart thundering.
James pulls back suddenly, dipping you lower with one hand, before he lifts you up just so, and spins you mid dip, you almost lose your balance, but his hand catches around your waist again with almost practiced ease. He holds you close, his other hand coming up to cup your cheek, before it trails down to your back, you rest your forehead against his.
You close your eyes, losing yourself in the moment, in the dance, in James.
When the soft tune turns into something a little more upbeat, your eyes flutter open to find James's grinning face.
You grin back, unable to stop yourself. You don't want to. You're feeling lighter than you have in a good while.
You gasp as James picks you, lifting you up into the air, spinning them both around, before dropping you down, smooth enough that you maintain your balance.
James' hands press against your back, holding you in a way too intimate, you shouldn't be seen like this, but you don't care.
All it'll take is one word from you.
As they move side to side, swaying and going along with the fluidity of the lively music, you wrap your arms around his shoulders, finally letting go of your inhibitions, you sink your fingers into his untamed, messy hair.
James shudders at the touch, and you smile.
He moves closer, hair brushing against your temple as he speaks into your ear, "Just say the word."
"Take me away," you say back to James.
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This was inspired by Maxton Hall, that one edit of Ruby and James dancing on moth to the flames, hope you guys enjoyed, this isn't properly edited though, anyways.
