A/N : I could go on with this for a few more chapters if you wish. The characters are a bit older, also. Tell me what you think, please, in way of the wonderful little review box down there. Oh, and I don't think that "Incendium" is the right spell to ignite a fire. But nevermind that and pretend it is. Enjoy.
PLAYING WITH FIRE
/ sheets of rain / shimmering, slicing through the sky / splashing in silver streams / at my feet /
*
Slivers of moonlight cut through the flits of curtain, and illuminated his pale hands, fashioning to them a whiteness that was unnatural. The moon, when he leaned forward to strain a glimpse of it, was full and silver; it glinted and winked at him, and he fell back against his pillows feeling strangely worse than before.
The room was silent; the three other boys were sleeping soundly but not soundlessly on the other beds, and Ron's snores could be heard above all.
A lock of black hair fell into his vision. He didn't sweep it aside. He had come into the habit of letting his hair hang on his forehead since his first year at Hogwarts; it was all the better if his scar was hidden. He didn't want to be Harry Potter all the time.
*
"Incendium," she whispered. Almost instantly, the hearth filled with a burst of bright, spitting flames, casting heated glows amongst cold shadows in the common room, playful variations of dark and light; warmth and coldness. She slipped her wand back into the pocket of her robes and settled into a small chair by the fire, curling her legs underneath her.
The fire mesmerized her. Flames were always indescribably awing to her. She could not help but stare into the depths of the dancing blaze, and edge closer to the heat. Red sparks frisked in front of her eyes, and then she unconsciously tumbled off the chair and leaned closer to the fireplace, hypnotized. She held her hands out to the blaze, her insides lurching, and yet her mind was calm; her thoughts were collected.
The flames licked at her fingertips, and she did not feel any sting; nor any burn. She pushed her hands deeper, into the intense blue-heart of the fire-- they lay passively inside the blaze, and all she felt was a comforting warmth that spread inside her, down to her toes and lapping at her heart.
After a long minute, she pulled back.
*
He silently padded down the stairs, and slipped into the common room. He wasn't surprised to see a fire already lit in the hearth, and Hermione kneeling next to it, her hair tumbling down in tangled curls over her shoulders. Her hands were positioned right above the flames, and her eyes were closed, as if she was basking in the pleasant warmth.
Taking care not to make any noise, he made his way to her side, kneeling down next to her, and brushed a strand of hair away from her forehead. Hermione smiled, without opening her eyes, and said softly, "Harry."
"Do you recognize my touch, then?" He answered just as softly, a bit of amusement lacing his tone. He kept his hand entangled in her hair, and brushed her cheek with his thumb. Her eyelashes lay a smooth dark fringe on her skin, and he touched them lightly.
"Do you want me to?" Her eyes opened, and her gaze was a strange amber, reflecting the sparks of the fire besides them.
"Are you going to answer my questions with questions?" He leaned closer, and his breath cooled her cheeks.
"Isn't that how you like it?" asked Hermione, grazing his hand with her fingertips.
"Your touch is so cold," he mumbled, just before he leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers, a warm kiss, full of feeling.
They leaned into each other; they lost themselves in each other, tipping precariously close to the fire. The end of one of her curls dipped into the fire, and a hungry flame lapped at it before gently fizzing away into nothing. The moon shone through the big window, but its gleam did not enter the room, for the frolicking shadows of the flames canceled it out.
They broke apart.
"Hermione," said Harry, and his voice was rough, and strangled.
She smiled, and blushed, and turned away, disentangling herself from him. The fire was a few feet away; she had not even noticed that they had moved across the floor. Hermione edged closer to it once more.
Harry joined her, whispering, "You've lost yourself."
"I have myself," she said, sharply. Her voice cut through the silence like a knife.
"This spell." He gestured towards the fire. "It was an experiment. McGonagall does not know that you still perform it, does she?"
"Does she have to?" Her voice was lighter. She was once again answering his questions with questions.
"You've changed."
A sideways glance at him caused Harry to catch his breath. "You like it."
"You aren't the same."
"You don't want me to be." She tipped towards the fire and then turned towards him. "My spell has made me stronger; fire has made me different. You like it." He made no move to resist as she leaned into him, and pressed her lips against his, with a fumbling gentleness. Instead, he caught her hands, and held them tightly.
"You're always so cold now.."
No answer from her. She was glancing towards the flames again. Harry dropped her hands. "I'm telling McGonagall tomorrow."
"No!" The word burst from her lips before she could think. "No," she continued, after a moment of embarrassment, a pale pink spreading wildly over her cheeks. "I'm fine."
"Hermione Granger is not fine when Hermione Granger is letting her studies go," recited Harry softly, watching her face and noting the panicked look in her eyes. A deer caught in headlights. An innocent girl caught with misunderstood magic. "Hermione Granger is not fine when Hermione Granger has stopped caring for everything but--"
"But fire," finished Hermione. "But not. I'll pick up on my studies..I will. This is an experiment, Harry."
He shook his head. "Tomorrow."
"You can't!"
"Tomorrow." He lifted himself up, and outwardly ignored the betrayed expression on her face. "I'm going to bed."
She stood up with him, and grabbed at his sleeve. "No! I won't be happy with you, Harry." Her tone implied that she would be more than just not happy. She tugged on his sleeve, and then suddenly lost the imploring gaze she had had a moment before.
Her eyes were hard. Triumphant, though she had not won. Hermione said again, "You like it." She slipped her hands behind his neck so quickly that he did not register the movement, and then swept him into a kiss that was sudden, and strong, and that he couldn't resist.
When she pulled back, she said with a strange little smile, "You've lost yourself, haven't you?"
Harry gripped her wrist, not gently, and tried to control his breathing. "Tomorrow." This time he was the one to press into her with a harsh kiss, breaking away suddenly so that she was left unsatisfied; angry.
He left the common room.
*
She was alone with the fire, but she did not feel alone. Again, with vigor, she plunged her hands into the flames; again, she basked in the feelings that filled her to the core. A few more minutes-- a few more--
A flash of white light burst in front of her eyes. Her whole body tensed, and shook, and then went limp; her skin was white; her hands lay motionless in the blaze. She looked like death. When she lifted her lids, after a moment, her pupils were red; fiery red and orange as the flames before her, and burning hot like hell.
When she spoke, her tone was distorted and raspy, as if the heat that rampaged her body had scorched her real voice. "I have myself."
She moved, just a bit, not noticing that her left hand had strayed from the fire, and then her body went limp again, and her eyes fluttered closed.
She was climbing the stairs to her room a few moments later, her eyes their usual light brown and her hands unusually chilled. The fire in the common room had been put out.
*
It was raining. Rain--he looked up and reveled in the cool water that splashed his red face, which was heated from the exertion of a late Quidditch practice. Harry stopped in his tracks, and let his teammates rush by him, all hurrying towards the shelter of the castle. The shower soaked him through his clothes; matted his dark hair to his forehead; fogged up his glasses. Harry didn't mind; lately he had had a fondness for rain that was peculiar. Perhaps it was because water could so easily cancel out fire, and Hermione was consumed by fire. Her time; her energy. All towards the spell that she had one day asked McGonagall she could perform--to study and note down the details of the dangerous experiment.
Only someone, somewhere, had made a mistake, and Harry had a strong suspicion that the spell she had asked to perform hadn't been the spell she had performed.
He moved forward once more, and reassured himself with the thought that all would be fine in a matter of time. McGonagall knew now--she and the other teachers would take it upon themselves to fix this mess.
*
"Show me the spell book that you used, Miss Granger." Professor McGonagall's tone was gentle but firm, and she showed no patience for the white-faced girl in front of her. Granger was looking unusually sickly these days, and McGonagall chided herself on not noticing. She always took pride in looking after her students, preferably better than did the other House heads.
"Spell book?" Hermione's voice faltered. Her voice was strangely low, and soft, and she looked uncomfortable sitting in the Professor's office, shifting around nervously.
"You asked me, two weeks ago from today," said McGonagall, meticulously, "if you could perform the Laiceps spell on yourself, for research purposes. A student has informed me, however, that you have used the spell more than once, and--"
"I know it was Harry!" she burst out, and then flushed under the Professor's stern gaze.
"It was Potter," agreed McGonagall, "and I need to see the spell book that you used."
"It's in the library," said Hermione in a flat tone of voice.
"The restricted section?"
"Yes."
"Granger," McGonagall took a deep breath, and tapped a quill against her desk. "Get the book."
*
Madam Pince did not bother to look twice as Hermione entered the library, nor as the girl entered the restricted section. Professor McGonagall had given her a pass several years earlier, to use the section at her free will, as it was assumed that she would use it for educational purposes only. Nothing else was expected of Hermione Granger.
Hermione stumbled on the white carpet, and had to grab a nearby bookshelf for support. She read the titles of the books as she steadied herself. Dangerous Play With Fire...Pyromaniacs And Their Obsessions...The Way Of The Flames...
The Way Of The Flames. She grabbed the book's thick spine with her fingers and tipped it out so that she could see the cover. The front was all red, and in the very center was a little picture of a fire, merrily dancing flames that blew hot orange, and bright red; the little fire would go out every few moments, and then re-ignite itself, a fast moving cycle of birth and death.
The book lay familiar in her hand, and Hermione did not hesitate a second to flip it open, finding the page she was looking for...There! It was the only page in the book that was black instead of white, and the writing on it was a bloody scarlet: THE LAICEPS CURSE. Of course, Hermione had referred to it as a spell when she had spoken of it to McGonagall. Not a curse...And the fool of a teacher had so happily let her go on with her experiment. Hermione Granger would *never* do anything to put herself nor her classmates in danger.
She bit her lip, and abruptly shut the book. With the tip of her finger, she traced the outline of the fire on the cover. She was stuck; it was all Harry's fault. There must be some way--some way out of this!
An idea shone in her head, and a slow smile flitted at the corners of Hermione's mouth. She set The Way Of The Flames back on the shelf, and, with a backwards glance at Madam Pince who was busy at work at her desk, she wandered deeper into the Restricted section.
*
End.
PLAYING WITH FIRE
/ sheets of rain / shimmering, slicing through the sky / splashing in silver streams / at my feet /
*
Slivers of moonlight cut through the flits of curtain, and illuminated his pale hands, fashioning to them a whiteness that was unnatural. The moon, when he leaned forward to strain a glimpse of it, was full and silver; it glinted and winked at him, and he fell back against his pillows feeling strangely worse than before.
The room was silent; the three other boys were sleeping soundly but not soundlessly on the other beds, and Ron's snores could be heard above all.
A lock of black hair fell into his vision. He didn't sweep it aside. He had come into the habit of letting his hair hang on his forehead since his first year at Hogwarts; it was all the better if his scar was hidden. He didn't want to be Harry Potter all the time.
*
"Incendium," she whispered. Almost instantly, the hearth filled with a burst of bright, spitting flames, casting heated glows amongst cold shadows in the common room, playful variations of dark and light; warmth and coldness. She slipped her wand back into the pocket of her robes and settled into a small chair by the fire, curling her legs underneath her.
The fire mesmerized her. Flames were always indescribably awing to her. She could not help but stare into the depths of the dancing blaze, and edge closer to the heat. Red sparks frisked in front of her eyes, and then she unconsciously tumbled off the chair and leaned closer to the fireplace, hypnotized. She held her hands out to the blaze, her insides lurching, and yet her mind was calm; her thoughts were collected.
The flames licked at her fingertips, and she did not feel any sting; nor any burn. She pushed her hands deeper, into the intense blue-heart of the fire-- they lay passively inside the blaze, and all she felt was a comforting warmth that spread inside her, down to her toes and lapping at her heart.
After a long minute, she pulled back.
*
He silently padded down the stairs, and slipped into the common room. He wasn't surprised to see a fire already lit in the hearth, and Hermione kneeling next to it, her hair tumbling down in tangled curls over her shoulders. Her hands were positioned right above the flames, and her eyes were closed, as if she was basking in the pleasant warmth.
Taking care not to make any noise, he made his way to her side, kneeling down next to her, and brushed a strand of hair away from her forehead. Hermione smiled, without opening her eyes, and said softly, "Harry."
"Do you recognize my touch, then?" He answered just as softly, a bit of amusement lacing his tone. He kept his hand entangled in her hair, and brushed her cheek with his thumb. Her eyelashes lay a smooth dark fringe on her skin, and he touched them lightly.
"Do you want me to?" Her eyes opened, and her gaze was a strange amber, reflecting the sparks of the fire besides them.
"Are you going to answer my questions with questions?" He leaned closer, and his breath cooled her cheeks.
"Isn't that how you like it?" asked Hermione, grazing his hand with her fingertips.
"Your touch is so cold," he mumbled, just before he leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers, a warm kiss, full of feeling.
They leaned into each other; they lost themselves in each other, tipping precariously close to the fire. The end of one of her curls dipped into the fire, and a hungry flame lapped at it before gently fizzing away into nothing. The moon shone through the big window, but its gleam did not enter the room, for the frolicking shadows of the flames canceled it out.
They broke apart.
"Hermione," said Harry, and his voice was rough, and strangled.
She smiled, and blushed, and turned away, disentangling herself from him. The fire was a few feet away; she had not even noticed that they had moved across the floor. Hermione edged closer to it once more.
Harry joined her, whispering, "You've lost yourself."
"I have myself," she said, sharply. Her voice cut through the silence like a knife.
"This spell." He gestured towards the fire. "It was an experiment. McGonagall does not know that you still perform it, does she?"
"Does she have to?" Her voice was lighter. She was once again answering his questions with questions.
"You've changed."
A sideways glance at him caused Harry to catch his breath. "You like it."
"You aren't the same."
"You don't want me to be." She tipped towards the fire and then turned towards him. "My spell has made me stronger; fire has made me different. You like it." He made no move to resist as she leaned into him, and pressed her lips against his, with a fumbling gentleness. Instead, he caught her hands, and held them tightly.
"You're always so cold now.."
No answer from her. She was glancing towards the flames again. Harry dropped her hands. "I'm telling McGonagall tomorrow."
"No!" The word burst from her lips before she could think. "No," she continued, after a moment of embarrassment, a pale pink spreading wildly over her cheeks. "I'm fine."
"Hermione Granger is not fine when Hermione Granger is letting her studies go," recited Harry softly, watching her face and noting the panicked look in her eyes. A deer caught in headlights. An innocent girl caught with misunderstood magic. "Hermione Granger is not fine when Hermione Granger has stopped caring for everything but--"
"But fire," finished Hermione. "But not. I'll pick up on my studies..I will. This is an experiment, Harry."
He shook his head. "Tomorrow."
"You can't!"
"Tomorrow." He lifted himself up, and outwardly ignored the betrayed expression on her face. "I'm going to bed."
She stood up with him, and grabbed at his sleeve. "No! I won't be happy with you, Harry." Her tone implied that she would be more than just not happy. She tugged on his sleeve, and then suddenly lost the imploring gaze she had had a moment before.
Her eyes were hard. Triumphant, though she had not won. Hermione said again, "You like it." She slipped her hands behind his neck so quickly that he did not register the movement, and then swept him into a kiss that was sudden, and strong, and that he couldn't resist.
When she pulled back, she said with a strange little smile, "You've lost yourself, haven't you?"
Harry gripped her wrist, not gently, and tried to control his breathing. "Tomorrow." This time he was the one to press into her with a harsh kiss, breaking away suddenly so that she was left unsatisfied; angry.
He left the common room.
*
She was alone with the fire, but she did not feel alone. Again, with vigor, she plunged her hands into the flames; again, she basked in the feelings that filled her to the core. A few more minutes-- a few more--
A flash of white light burst in front of her eyes. Her whole body tensed, and shook, and then went limp; her skin was white; her hands lay motionless in the blaze. She looked like death. When she lifted her lids, after a moment, her pupils were red; fiery red and orange as the flames before her, and burning hot like hell.
When she spoke, her tone was distorted and raspy, as if the heat that rampaged her body had scorched her real voice. "I have myself."
She moved, just a bit, not noticing that her left hand had strayed from the fire, and then her body went limp again, and her eyes fluttered closed.
She was climbing the stairs to her room a few moments later, her eyes their usual light brown and her hands unusually chilled. The fire in the common room had been put out.
*
It was raining. Rain--he looked up and reveled in the cool water that splashed his red face, which was heated from the exertion of a late Quidditch practice. Harry stopped in his tracks, and let his teammates rush by him, all hurrying towards the shelter of the castle. The shower soaked him through his clothes; matted his dark hair to his forehead; fogged up his glasses. Harry didn't mind; lately he had had a fondness for rain that was peculiar. Perhaps it was because water could so easily cancel out fire, and Hermione was consumed by fire. Her time; her energy. All towards the spell that she had one day asked McGonagall she could perform--to study and note down the details of the dangerous experiment.
Only someone, somewhere, had made a mistake, and Harry had a strong suspicion that the spell she had asked to perform hadn't been the spell she had performed.
He moved forward once more, and reassured himself with the thought that all would be fine in a matter of time. McGonagall knew now--she and the other teachers would take it upon themselves to fix this mess.
*
"Show me the spell book that you used, Miss Granger." Professor McGonagall's tone was gentle but firm, and she showed no patience for the white-faced girl in front of her. Granger was looking unusually sickly these days, and McGonagall chided herself on not noticing. She always took pride in looking after her students, preferably better than did the other House heads.
"Spell book?" Hermione's voice faltered. Her voice was strangely low, and soft, and she looked uncomfortable sitting in the Professor's office, shifting around nervously.
"You asked me, two weeks ago from today," said McGonagall, meticulously, "if you could perform the Laiceps spell on yourself, for research purposes. A student has informed me, however, that you have used the spell more than once, and--"
"I know it was Harry!" she burst out, and then flushed under the Professor's stern gaze.
"It was Potter," agreed McGonagall, "and I need to see the spell book that you used."
"It's in the library," said Hermione in a flat tone of voice.
"The restricted section?"
"Yes."
"Granger," McGonagall took a deep breath, and tapped a quill against her desk. "Get the book."
*
Madam Pince did not bother to look twice as Hermione entered the library, nor as the girl entered the restricted section. Professor McGonagall had given her a pass several years earlier, to use the section at her free will, as it was assumed that she would use it for educational purposes only. Nothing else was expected of Hermione Granger.
Hermione stumbled on the white carpet, and had to grab a nearby bookshelf for support. She read the titles of the books as she steadied herself. Dangerous Play With Fire...Pyromaniacs And Their Obsessions...The Way Of The Flames...
The Way Of The Flames. She grabbed the book's thick spine with her fingers and tipped it out so that she could see the cover. The front was all red, and in the very center was a little picture of a fire, merrily dancing flames that blew hot orange, and bright red; the little fire would go out every few moments, and then re-ignite itself, a fast moving cycle of birth and death.
The book lay familiar in her hand, and Hermione did not hesitate a second to flip it open, finding the page she was looking for...There! It was the only page in the book that was black instead of white, and the writing on it was a bloody scarlet: THE LAICEPS CURSE. Of course, Hermione had referred to it as a spell when she had spoken of it to McGonagall. Not a curse...And the fool of a teacher had so happily let her go on with her experiment. Hermione Granger would *never* do anything to put herself nor her classmates in danger.
She bit her lip, and abruptly shut the book. With the tip of her finger, she traced the outline of the fire on the cover. She was stuck; it was all Harry's fault. There must be some way--some way out of this!
An idea shone in her head, and a slow smile flitted at the corners of Hermione's mouth. She set The Way Of The Flames back on the shelf, and, with a backwards glance at Madam Pince who was busy at work at her desk, she wandered deeper into the Restricted section.
*
End.