Hair like fire. . .
I gazed at the destruction that lay before me. The fire charring the woods that once filled the valley below and made it a happy place. The smell of smoldering homes, of smoldering lives, now up in flames, permerates the air, invades my nostrils.
I know that I took part in it. I am responsible. I could not have stopped it, had no choice, but the thought makes me sick, anyway. I turn my head to the side to hide the expressions on my face I know will give me away. Uttering a quick excuse that I don't remember anymore I fled. As soon as I was out of sight, I fell to the ground and vomited. I apparated as soon as I was able. I knew not where I apparated to, I just knew I had to get out. Out to anywhere. As long as the night wasn't invaded with the sounds of people screaming, children crying. As long as the air didn't carry the smell of burning flesh and wood on it. As long as it was away from here.
The mark on my forearm burns but I don't care. I disregard it, giving it no more thought than to register the pain. My last thought before I apparate: The fire. Her hair. Her hair, like the fire. Like the fire that I helped create, that killed people. Children. Families. Homes. But her hair, not like the fire, at the same time.
I neither cared, nor was able to make sense of my twisted, contrasting thoughts. All my effort concentrated on getting somewhere safe.
As I became once again oriented with my surroundings after I apparated, I'm aware of the shouts of children. Not screams of anguish, or pain, but joyful shouts. I looked up as I got unsteadily to my knees, and saw a tall, round, garish-colored tent. Painted in bright yellow and purple stripes, it seemed to reflect the light blinking from the machines next to it.
I looked for the children, and found them walking around, with parents and with other children. Some holding up what looked to be balls of pink and blue fluff, on a stick. Hearing the music, and seeing what I knew to be a carousel, I was hit with the realization. You're at a muggle carnival. Just like the Muggles you just helped kill. Help burn. They could have family here. You could just have ruined one of these people's lives.
I clutch my head, desperate to rid myself of these thoughts that threaten to swamp my brain, to cloud my senses, to make me burst. Stumbling into the fairgrounds, I search the sea of bodies desperately. For what I cannot answer, not even to myself. I search for what feels like hours, of actual time I have no idea. A search that seems futile, but one which I know I have to continue. And when I see it, I know what I am searching for. A spark of red, just a tiny bolt, and gone. But I am on the scent now, and I will not give it up.
I follow it through a maze of tents and vendors, using all my natural instincts and Slytherin ruthlessness. And finally, I catch it.
Grabbing the wrist, I pull on it and swing the person around, thanking Merlin she is alone. I already know what she looks like, having studied her for hours on end, but my heart still races as she comes to face me. I have found her.
The look on her face is priceless, and I would give anything to have a sketchpad right now. Fury mixed with gladness. Confusion. Hopefulness. Above all, something I saw in her eyes frequently when we saw each other regularly. Something I would like to name, but which I don't dare to. The fury wins, as I knew it would, and angry words pour out of her mouth.
"What the hell are you doing here?"
A/N: My first angst fic. Or attempt, however it may be. It's not very angsty now. . but it will later. Very much appreciated if you would review, as well as with constructive criticism, provided it's not a flame! Questions about their relationship, and history, and why Ginny is at a muggle carnival will be answered soon!