Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.

Thank you CyrusLestrange for editing it for me and helping me out with things which I hadn't even considered. Big shout out and thanks! :)

Written for The Stars Challenge –Prompt: Capella – Write about any pairing.

Written for The Duct Tape Competition –Prompt: Red – Write about something tempting.

Written for The Sherlock Competition –Prompt: Part 3 – 5. Write about someone who can't resist something/someone.

Written for Monthly One-shot Competition:Hungry

Written for Horoscope Challenge:You need to make real difference with that one friend - when they least expect it! Make a splash and they are sure to remember it.

Boot Camps: Pairing Diversity - #13: Luscious, Book Quotes – #19: Happy and sad, elated and miserable, secure and afraid, loved and denied, patient and angry, peaceful and wild, complete and empty...all of it. I would feel everything. It would all be mine. – The Host, Fav-Era – #14: Innocence.

Word Count – 3105

Delirium

James Potter was her best friend, and nothing more.

Almost every happy memory of hers involved him. She knew his every secret even if he didn't know all of hers. She loved spending time with him, and he seemed to like being with her too ... She hated sharing him with his girlfriend, Natalie Brown. She despised Natalie in fact, and wished that they would break-up – but best friends don't wish for that, do they?

Yet, she did. She hated it when James spent time with that mindless creature – snogging and more as if each day was their last. And most of all, she hated it when he blew her off for his girlfriend.

But James Potter was her best friend, and nothing more.

"Emma." She was brought into reality by James' slurred, desperate voice.

"Yes?" Emma asked, hesitantly. She studied James with worry. He had dropped by her flat with cans of alcohol, knowing that she didn't keep any in her home since she was such a 'good girl' and had invited himself in without even bothering to ask if she was free. But she was always free for James, and he knew it.

During the past couple of hours, James had been drinking continuously; chugging cheap alcohol way too fast for her liking. At first he had simply stated that Natalie and he had broken up. And then he started to drink. The more James drank, the more gory details he disclosed to Emma, who found herself torn between not wanting to listen and hanging hungrily on his every word.

Emma learned that Natalie had been cheating on him with a much older man from her office at the Ministry. James had found them together in her flat in a very compromising position, and when he had confronted her about it, she hadn't even bothered to try and save whatever they had.

Emma knew that this was all she had wanted from the beginning of their seventh year (when James and Natalie had begun dating) but surprisingly, she didn't feel happy at all. She was, as usual, more worried about James and his pain. And the fact that he had already emptied three-fourths of the alcohol supply certainly wasn't helping her concern.

"Emma?" James slurred again.

"Yes, James," Emma replied, her patience running thin.

She wanted to smack him for getting so drunk; tell him that Natalie wasn't worth it, and that he shouldn't be hurting himself over everything that had happened. But she also knew how aggressive James got when he was drunk and decided to not say anything. She was his best friend ... and she was (undoubtedly) going to help him.

"You're beautiful, do you know that?" James mumbled suddenly, his red-rimmed, glassy brown eyes staring into her olive green ones. Emma froze. James never complimented her. And him calling her beautiful, even in his hazy drunken state, made her nervous and hopeful.

"And you need to stop drinking, James," she replied, hoping that James was too far gone to notice the tremor in her voice.

"No, I'm serious! You're the most beautiful person I've ever met." If she hadn't taken care of James every time he had gotten drunk, Emma would have never understood any of his words.

"Like I said, you need to stop drinking," she stated in a clear voice. This time her voice didn't tremble. James was really far too gone; he was mumbling crap, in a true James Sirius Potter fashion which she was accustomed to, seemingly oblivious to the fact that he was encouraging her heart, and how very wrong that was.

"I'm not drunk," he grumbled.

"Yes, you are," Emma said, and reached out for his bottle. Instead of handing it to her, James chugged the rest of it down. He was too sloppy to do it with grace, and hence, some of it spilled down his mouth and onto his shirt.

"James! Stop acting like a kid!" Emma exclaimed, irritated at his behaviour (drunken or not). She snatched the empty bottle away from him. She picked up her wand from the table beside her teensy couch and got rid of the rest of the carton with a flick of her wand.

"What did you do that for?" James yelled, trying to rise up from his seat.

"Shush, it's OK. You're going to be fine," Emma said, gently, knowing that shouting back wouldn't help her when it came to him. Her fingers brushed his dark hair from his forehead; she realized that his skin was burning hot. Knowing that she could floo or apparate James back to his flat but also knowing that no one would be there to take care of him over there, she helped him stand up. He fell onto the couch immediately, making her sigh out loud with frustration. She tried to get him up to walk to her bedroom, but James was unable to stand without falling every two seconds. She considered levitating him, but as he was still awake, she knew that it wouldn't be such a good idea to have him up in air when he was drunk beyond his capacity to hold himself steady on solid ground.

"Alright ... we'll set you up a bed here then," she said, and walked away to get the necessary things.

She got a couple of towels, an empty bucket for James to throw up in (because he definitely would be throwing up), a pitcher of water, an empty glass and arranged everything in her living room.

"I can sober you up immediately, but you know how lousy I'm at Potions. Also, I'm pretty sure you'll have a mean hangover tomorrow, and I'm hoping you do. At least you won't get this drunk next time," Emma blabbered cheekily, sitting beside James on the couch.

James didn't reply, in fact he was pretty much staring at the wall in a dazed manner.

"I loved her – I love her," he said in a low voice, sounding more alert than he had before.

Emma felt herself hurt over his pain and a teeny bit of her heart broke when she heard his proclamation of love for someone who wasn't her. She wished she had the right words, but she just didn't. She ended up saying, "I know." Which didn't really help much. James continued to stare at the wall, his mind elsewhere.

Instead of saying anything else, she wet a towel and started to wipe James's face. His skin was burning hot. She wondered if she should take him to the hospital, and decided that if things got worse she would. At the moment, James was blessedly lull and cooperating with her.

"I'm wet," James muttered after a while, tugging at his shirt, his nose scrunched up in an adorable manner. Emma allowed herself a little smile.

"Alright, we'll get you out of it. I'll look for something," Emma said, getting up once again. She had forgotten about his alcohol-soaked shirt, she hoped that she had something of her father's.

Quickly, a little grateful for a moment to herself to clear her head, Emma ran to her room and started to go through her closet, searching for a spare shirt which fit James. After emptying the closet, she didn't find anything. She headed back to James and said, "I didn't find anything, maybe I should–" she was about to suggest that she could apparate to his flat and get him something to wear, when she noticed that he had already gotten rid of his shirt and sat on her couch in his undershirt, which was pretty dry and clean.

"Problem solved," Emma muttered and sat beside him. She tried not to notice how well-built James was; how muscled up his arms were. But his undershirt wasn't covering much of him and fitted his body quite well. Emma found herself blushing, on imagining the toned muscles that lay under it. Luckily, James was too distracted to notice anything else. She scolded herself internally for being so insensitive, and tried to get rid of the indecent thoughts which suddenly clouded her mind. She realized that she felt a bit lightheaded too.

"Do you want to eat something?" she question, trying to distract herself.

"No." He grunted.

Sighing quietly, Emma poured some water in the empty glass and handed it to James, which he drank without any complaints.

Both of them sat in silence. Emma knew that she shouldn't let James brood. She should distract him. She was racking her muddled brain for ways, when James turned toward her, his hazy eyes staring at her quizzically.

For the first time, Emma became aware of the complete lack of distance between them and it made her nervous. She could smell James' bitter breath, and feel his warmth. She swallowed back her buried desire to kiss him, and instead asked, "What?"

James didn't reply – he leaned in. His hand snaked across her waist, pulling her closer to his warm chest. His other hand cupped her cheek, brushing her hair out of his way.

"J-James?" Emma stammered, "What are you doing?" Her heart was beating wildly in her chest and she was pretty sure he could hear it. James licked his lips and looked down at her, much closer than ever.

"What do you think?" He mumbled, his every word still a slur. A large part of her wanted him to go ahead and kiss her like there was no tomorrow – make her feel loved and alive. But the slur in his voice and the desperateness in his eyes made her push him back, her hand firmly planted on his chest.

"James, you're drunk. And I'm not your type," Emma breathed, chuckling nervously, wildly trying to add a touch of humour to ease the panic in her chest.

It was true. James had lost his girlfriend. He was drunk and extremely emotional. And all he wanted was someone to make him feel good. And moreover, Emma definitely wasn't his type. She was merely with him, and only the closest form of pleasure he could find. But she wasn't one of his golden haired, busty, nasal women who were voluptuous and oozed with confidence when it came to men. She was none of that. She was in fact, the exact opposite.

And James was desperate.

He continued to stroke her cheek, his fingers on her waist tracing the bare part of her back, his every touch lighting her skin on fire. "You should go home," Emma said, when James made no attempts to change his position.

"You're beautiful," James mumbled, again.

"Stop it, OK? I'm not! You should go," Emma said, feeling more emotional than she should. Why did he keep telling her that she was beautiful when she knew that she wasn't? She was plain and average at the most and nothing else. Nobody went for an almost unhealthy looking body – which she had – not James, not anyone.

"I want to kiss you," James breathed. Here she was trying to do everything to clear the air between them, and he was hell bent on clouding it even more.

"No, you don't. You are just drunk," she said through gritted teeth.

Almost every part of her was screaming that she was an idiot and she should let him kiss her. He was the one offering to after all. But a teeny-tiny sane part of her was telling her to end it. She was left deciding when James' mouth crashed into hers and took her by surprise.

It was everything she had dreamed of and nothing she had hoped it to be.

James moved his lips on his hers. They were soft, yet manly. Involuntarily (or maybe voluntarily, she wasn't sure) she kissed him back. Her lips moved along with his in a curious, exploring manner – while his were rough and needy. Both of his hands were gripping her waist; he had closed the distance between them and was almost on top of her. The only thing she didn't like was the smell of alcohol and its taste on his breath. It made her dizzy. James nibbled on her lower lip, tugging at it with his teeth. He then kissed her chin and jaw before running his tongue all over her neck while his hands slipped under her top, massaging her skin, moving up and –

"Stop!" Emma exclaimed in horror, leaning back. Tears welled in her eyes as she realized what had happened. James was touching her. What was wrong with him? And what was wrong with her? She kissed him back! And she had enjoyed it.

"No, I'm sorry. But this needs to stop," she said, panicked. She wriggled free and hugged herself, shivering.

"But I like it," James whispered.

"But we are friends. I can't lose you by doing something stupid like this," she explained, unable to look at him. Understanding what she wanted, James gave her space, and moved back. She couldn't feel his warmth any more and immediately hated herself for yearning for it.

"You didn't like it?" he asked, quietly.

"We can't kiss each other. It'll ruin everything," she side-tracked, refusing to answer his question. She didn't want to lie. Of course she had liked it.

"I liked it," he admitted, meeting her eyes. For a moment Emma was lost; she found herself considering their future if she said yes. It could be everything she had wanted from the moment she had realized that deep down, she was in love with him.

"You may like it now, but when you're sober, you won't," she said, sighing shakily. Why did she always have to be the responsible one? Why couldn't she just throw caution to the wind and do what she really wanted to?

"Please? Just give it a try, please?" he pleaded.

Emma found her heart melting, the way James was staring at her … How soft his eyes were, his expression – "Give it a try," he repeated in the same pleading voice. He closed the distance between them once more. She was in a dilemma; this was the moment to decide. If he would kiss her again, she knew she wouldn't – couldn't – stop.

"Emma?" James whispered, asking for her permission. Emma looked up to meet his eyes; she raised her arm and touched his face gingerly. "Okay," she whispered.

"Okay?" James asked.

"Okay," Emma agreed, louder.

This time it wasn't James who initiated the kiss first, it was both of them. Both of them leaned in and began to kiss each other hungrily. James kissed her with just enough roughness to want for more, and Emma kissed him with all the passion she had.

Still kissing and touching they went to bed, clothed (sort of), and made out like teenagers high on love. And it was while making out that James whispered that he loved her, and hesitantly she whispered it back to him. That moment, that night, it was a dream come true. They fell asleep together, James holding her protectively, with Emma's head resting on his chest, a happy and delirious smile on her lips.

The next morning, Emma woke up in an empty bed, hearing noises coming from her washroom. Smiling to herself widely and feeling a bit lightheaded, she put on her dress robe over her underclothing, slid into her slippers, and walked toward the washroom. She could hear retching sounds from within. Despite it being disgusting, it wasn't.

"Told you that you shouldn't have drank so much," she commented, chuckling.

The retching stopped and James froze. He turned to face her, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Are you OK?" Emma asked, smiling shyly and awkwardly.

James nodded slowly, his eyes wide. "I'll get you something for your head," she said. He nodded again, not saying anything.

Feeling a little worried, Emma headed to her kitchen. She wasn't sure of James' unnaturally stony behaviour, and the way he looked at her ... so differently.

"Stop worrying," she scolded herself and began to look through the kitchen cupboards. She finally found a mild headache potion which wasn't really for after-drinking-purposes, but would work since James wasn't drunk anymore.

Emma turned to find that James was in the kitchen, fully dressed (alcohol stained shirt and all), leaning against the doorframe. Her eyes widened a bit in question, but she didn't ask him anything out loud.

"Here you go," she said, handing him a small vial.

James drank it within seconds and muttered, "Thanks." His voice was hoarse and quite sexy. It was always sexy, actually, she thought with a wry smile. It was sexier, she decided.

"So–"

"What happened last night?" James blurted out, his eyes tight, his lips pursed. From his tone, Emma knew that he had been dying to ask this from the moment he had woken up next to her and found the both of them barely dressed for anything decent.

"W-what do you mean?" Emma stammered, her heart starting to hammer against her ribs out of fear.

"Did – what I think happened … did it really happen?" he asked, after a deep breath.

Upon hearing his words, Emma's heart seemed to sink to the floor with sickening speed. And she knew it – James hadn't meant a single word he had told her the previous night. He had just needed her as a distraction and he had gotten it. Sober and in complete control of his mind, he was regretting everything he remembered.

"Yes," Emma whispered, her vision blurred a bit by hot, uncomfortable tears. She quickly blinked them away to see James running his hand through his hair, shaking his head in disbelief.

"I, uh, I have to go," he said, finally.

"James, no – wait," Emma cried. She reached out to him, and held onto his arm with enough firmness for him to stop.

"Last night was a mistake, Emma. I-it shouldn't have happened," he told her, pulling his arm away from hers.

Emma froze at the hostility in his eyes, the uncertainty and panic in his voice, the harshness with which he had pulled his arm away. But in the end, it was his words that hurt her the most.

Feeling numb and alone, Emma watched him disapparate. When there was nothing but air in the place where he had stood, tears fell freely from her eyes.

"Last night was a mistake," she repeated. Only, there was no one else except herself to hear those words.

She had lost the one person who had meant everything to her, the only one who understood her, her only friend – she had ruined everything.

AN: There you go! How did you guys like it? I especially enjoyed writing this. :P I'm not sure if I will be writing another chapter to this, perhaps from James' POV? Would you like that? Let me know. =)