Sequel to "More Than Just Friends". All credit to J.K. Rowling and my crazy brain.

Set Aflame
By: Weaselle7

Chapter 1
Sparks of Aftermath

Her body trembled with the need of Madam Pomfrey's potion. She was tired of her nightly nightmares and restless sleeps; at the same time desperate for the non-existent solution. She tossed herself around her bed, tossed the echoes of her nightmares away. She did this every single night since the summer holiday started. The hypnotizing monotone coo of Aguilo's was the only thing she hung to. If it wasn't because of his peaceful sound, she might drown again in her sea of nightmares; down, down and down to the abyss of her insanity. When she heard of his coo, it felt like she was afloat on the surface of salty water of the sea, it felt like she was washed by the warm ray of sun on her cheeks, it felt like she was sane. She must have listened of the animal's coo for more than hours she felt like she was slowly lulled to sleep.

The next thing she realized was the silent shizz and the warm summer morning sun on her eyelids. Vague images flashed through her head, as vague and as hollow as the white substance that came out from the tip of McGonagall's wand just last June; only hers was black. She didn't have a nightmare, she supposed. If everything was blurry inside her head, she knew that she must have woken up half an hour once last night. Her mother had enchanted her curtains to open by itself every morning. If she hadn't, it was either Cecille's room would probably got befouled or her mother would have to open it herself and witnessed how her daughter had cried to sleep. And it wasn't a good idea. Cecille turned around, facing the walls, obscuring her sight from the morning ray.

Apparently there was a nonverbal noise that startled her, a fierce knock on her glass window. She opened her eyes and a dragon egg-like shadow laid on the wall in front of her with blurry outlines. She rolled over her bed and approached her window where a dirty brown owl was hanging on the border of her window. She opened her window and incidentally shoving the owl off (though she knew the owl was just a bird, she was still feeling annoyed of being disturbed), resulting the rude owl to perch on her desk and apparently avenged her by messing around. The bird spilled off her azul ink bottle that made her wooden desk to turn all near-black navy and practically soaked her Potion summer paper into illiteracy. She didn't really mind. The bird was still a bird, and that was how nature worked after you shove an innocent owl abruptly off your window. Plus she hadn't even completed a paragraph; starting off again from zero wouldn't do her much trouble.

It wasn't the end of the trouble-maker owl's raid. It walked through her desk, leaving its thin avis footprints across the table, began to eat her small cold-already apple pie and basically befouled her room with apples. She didn't mind that too. She didn't want to eat it too and it was good to see somebody (or something) was actually still enjoying it. The owl ate with one of its leg extended to her, itching to be freed from the knot. She untied it and opened the small parchment; Alicia's reply.

Hi Cecille,

I hope my cousin's owl didn't bite you. He's quite a violent and glutton beast, but he does a great job if your house is surrounded with gnomes or mischievous fairies. My owl didn't come back after I sent her to Fred and George, I'm starting to get worry about my owl (and I'm wondering what happened to them). But I suppose she'll be alright if she's with them, I heard Ginny, their youngest sister, is fond of animal. I think she wouldn't let them hurt my owl.

"Oh, they wouldn't hurt your owl. Just secretly making your owl either suddenly unable to fly or awfully-oriented because Fred and George test their Aging Potion or other pranks on it." Cecille thought.

Angie doesn't reply my letter too since last two weeks. By the way, I'm rotting here with my summer paper. Can you believe they actually give us homework for summer holiday? I know we had one stupid summarizing four years ago, but all we did was just summarizing. You're lucky you dropped History of Magic last year. Healer is a very good future compared to some lunatic job in the Ministry that requires you to enlist the laws of goblins during the age of Carganuk the Goblin. I bet your Potion paper is not that nasty.

Secretly wishing you know the answer and hoping you will be so kind to tell me,

Alicia.

Cecille smiled at the parchment and chuckled. She remembered her father used to help Cedric (her chest ached a bit) to do his winter paper about Goblin's Revolution. There must be something about this Cigarette-nuk the Goblin in that book. She decided to help Alicia (she was used with putting her friends before her. She usually helped Fred and George's essays while she cared nothing for hers.)

Rumbling in the stomach, Cecille climbed the staircases down and headed to the kitchen. A delicious smell of bacons and eggs greeted her and made her mouth to water.

"Morning Mum, Dad." she greeted and glid swiftly to her favorite spot of the dining table. She refused to think anything that had something to do with the reason two of the chairs were unoccupied.

They ate in silence. She remembered how the unnatural glum silence gnawed her soul on her first day of summer holiday. It was a tacit agreement that none of them would be discussing anything about Cedric. Well, everything was tacit ever since; every topic was fragile, nothing was discussed. The next hour Dad was off to work, followed by Mom who floo'd away to the St. Mungo an hour after. Cecille then entered the reading room and began to scan the shelves. The books weren't arranged in any particular order; mainly because she used to read them and put them back anywhere she could see spare spaces. Dad didn't read often now and if Mom wanted to read, she simply summoned one. Cecille read any book that caught her eyes (she didn't usually look for a specific book like now), so unarranged books didn't bother her. So Cedric was the most troubled one. But nothing could trouble him now, was there?

She run her fingers along the dusty bindings of books with variant thickness. Most of them were leather. She let the texture run smooth on her fingers until she felt the tip of her index finger numb. She didn't remember the shape of the book she was searching, not even the color nor the title. Some of the books she found had no title engraved on their bindings so Cecille needed to pulled them and checked the cover. Some even had no title on the cover, only a plain leather cover, she had to check the front page. She even found one that was written in ancient runes she knew at once it wasn't the book she was looking for.

She flinched when a deep scarlet leather book caught her sight. The book from the Mad-Eye Lunatic Beastly Criminal Moody. McGonagall told her all about it last year, including how Moody wasn't really Moody. She supposed the fake Moody was convincing Cedric that he wasn't (but he was) that scary or he wanted to show sympathy (Cecille doubted he could sympathize) because he worked for the Ministry (Cecille needed not to question his allegiance now) and he knew about Charlie. She was glad someone explained everything to her; she might be wondering forever to her madness why was the murderer of her eldest brother there in her school. All the shattered pieces of the puzzle were united there, creating a horrible and painful reality.

The Potion book from fake Moody, on the other side, had been donated to Hogwarts Library by Cecille. She didn't see any point of ripping it into pieces, seeing it had actually helped Fred, George and Lee with brewing an Aging Potion.

But this one? She wanted to pull the book and rip it, pages by pages, to burn it, to bury it, to Disintegrate it. They were completely common books; she could find a pile of them at Diagon Alley. She removed them from the shelves and smashed them hard against the walls.

Cecille cursed under her breath and took no further notice of the books. She began to scan the shelves again and ended with no result. She decided to search on her parents' room later. She knew there were more piles of books of Mom's and if she insisted to search by herself, her parents' room might end like it was being struck by a mad Chimaera. As for now, she remembered she found a thick book that must be one of the books Mom had studied for her healing education.

Cecille climbed the stairs and headed to her room. The bird was there no more. When she peered from her window, she saw the owl was having so much fun with the gnomes. She didn't know about the gnomes at the Spinnets but the owl must be facing tough opponents here. Gnomes were basically smart and quick-learning; they must have learnt something about how to avoid Charlie's bat and Cedric's agile fingers. It took her some moments to disenchant her from the vain wish to relive the sweet memories.

She worked on her paper all day long. She had cleaned all the mess with Mom's householding utensil that apparently was able not just only to clean up the stained stuffs but also to absorb all of the spilled inks so that Cecille could retrieve it back to the bottle.

She dropped down to have her dinner (it actually hurt with the fact that she would be spending her summer holiday alone) and got back to her paper. It was until midnight when she felt extremely thirsty and she walked down silently to drink. That was when she thought she heard her parents were talking in rather too loud voices. She couldn't help but heard a piece of their conversation.

"I didn't say he's a crazy old coiner or something!" That must be Dad.

"Then join!" a feminine voice replied, Mom.

"Reliving the secret alliance with him with the Minister's eyes following me in the back, waiting me to-"

"Amos-"

"His name isn't that glorious now as it sounds to you now if you spend your life at the Ministry."

She tiptoed closer to the door; leaning her back on the wall beside the door. The whole house was dark and she could see bright light found a way out from the little space between the floor and the door.

"I know it well enough through my life in St. Mungo, thank you."

"I hope you understand the situation is uglier in the Ministry."

"Our sons died in the hand of that beastly ruthless-"

"Don't you even get me to start with it."

"Isn't this the moment you've waited to avenge Voldemort?" The voice of her mother drew her closer to the locked door. She had completely forgotten about her drink. Her thirst for information outnumbered her thirst for water.

"If I get caught and lose my job-"

A click escaped from the door knob and Cecille jumped. She bolted up to her room and closed the door behind her; literally sank in an ocean of thoughts.

She didn't sleep that night, not even a blink to rest. The echo of her parents' argument didn't fade, they were as clear as a recorded conversation. She had gathered very few information.

He who? Why is this 'he' thought to be a silly irrational coiner? What has this 'he' something to do with Voldemort? What secret alliance? How can this 'crazy old coiner' help us to avenge Voldemort? Surely Voldemort's name brings chills to anyone who heard of it, but how could this 'he' has a bad reputation to the Ministry, if he's about to make a secret group of people to avenge Voldemort?

Cecille didn't have the nerve to ask for the book of Goblin's Revolution on the next morning. Both of her parents looked like they were so tired for a night full of arguing. Their eyes looked so tired and hollow and there were dark circles beneath their eyes. She wouldn't want to bother them.

She got back to her paper and drowned herself into the ocean of quill scratches. She was still wondering about her parents' conversation. A knock penetrated the wood board of her door and followed by a dimmed voice of a tired woman.

"Dinner is ready, sweetie."

"Cool. I'm coming Mom." Cecille replied, carefully slipping a piece of parchment to mark the page and stormed down.

They ate in silence, as usually. But Cecille could clearly see, a kind of expression that was on McGonagall's face the dawn she encountered Crouch, was carved on Mom's face. And she ate faster than ever too. Dad, on the other side, shoved more salad to his plate than his usual portion. Cecille could sense a tiny voice within her whispered a faint hypothesis; that Mom was so eager to talk about something, and Dad was so eager to live this moment forever if it meant he wasn't going to hear her wife's lecture.

That narrowed her list of possible topic down to a sole result; that secret alliance again.

Cecille finished her plate, put her plate on the sink and tidied the table. Mom stormed to her room and Dad took time to make a cup of tea (and effectively killing one minute). Cecille languidly climbed up to her room, she didn't want to make her footsteps swallowed the whispers of the rising topic, and at this point she was too exhausted with her Potion paper anyway.

When she heard vague voices, she headed downward silently. She hated to eavesdrop; it made her feel guilty within herself, but most of all, feel strangely responsible of the secret she had overheard. Not to mention this eavesdropping mission had something to do with Voldemort, The Ministry of Magic and practically Dad's job.

And it was somehow the place where her curiosity rose. It was said by Mom that by joining in we could avenge Voldemort. Well, who doesn't want to avenge Voldemort in their right mind (though they shouldn't have to be the twin of a Voldemort's victim himself)?

"I don't understand, Amos." a high-pitched voice snapped. A voice Mom would always use if she was feeling offended or facing a moronic argument.

"No. I don't understand." Dad spat back.

"Dumbledore himself had offered it to us!" Cecille's pulse leapt rapidly. Now it was all about Dumbledore, the best wizard in the Wizarding World, Voldemort, devil of all devils, Ministry, and must be their well-developed vain wishful theory that Voldemort wasn't returning. "We just need to come back!"

Coming back, Dumbledore, secret alliance. Her parents must have been in that terms before.

"And that may be the reason why I couldn't get off of annoying unannounced examination and particularly that Weasley boy secretary of Fudge!" Dad said. It was a long dialogue for a bickering, in which always preferable to Helena Diggory if she was about to backfire an equally-length argument about how many flaws her opponent had exposed. Cecille shuddered, Mom had never been this way since she was debating with an Auror about aunt Helga and Charlie's death.

"Bravery is always your truly weakness!" Mom yelled, apparently accepting the truth in Dad's earlier argument. A part of her wanted to flee from there and come back to her room. If Mom had yelled that way, it was a sign the topic was dangerous enough she would hex Cecille if she found out she was being bugged. Another part froze her feet with her swelling curiosity about this discussion, or bickering. Another part of her wanted to break into the room, stand between her parents and plead to end this bickering.

"As always patience is yours!" Dad fired.

"Patience! You tell me what are we waiting for! Voldemort to rule our world?!" she heard a scream and a killing sound of shattering china. She almost screamed herself to hear it.

"You tell me too what's so brave with this narrow-minded idea about practically forgetting to take care of what's left with your family!"

That one had really struck her. She gasped noisily (she cursed herself inwardly) and began to think that the prospect of this idea was rather equally dangerous. Stay alive safely -but horrified to death- with your family, or fight Voldemort to your final breath. She might choose the latter.

Her father's saying had taken her aback she didn't recognize loud, angry thumps came nearer to her. The door swung open with her mother breathing heavily with wrath. She was busted, she lost her breath.

"Cecillia!" she addressed Cecille in her full first name, meaning she must have been completely furious. "What are you doing here, dear? Aren't you supposed to be on your bed already?" she softened at the sight of her frightened daughter. Mom looked so much like her sister whenever Aunt Helga busted Charlie.

Cecille couldn't deny the fact she had overheard almost everything, nor could Mom deny her thundering yell was her fault Cecille couldn't contain her curiosity. Dad didn't look at her.

"I- I'm sorry, I know I'm not supposed to hear any of this." Cecille cowered and gulped, but buckled up. "But I want to join you." she said, addressing the statement to Mom. Cecille just thought she felt the greater impact of her twin's death than her Mom. She shook the selfish theory away.

"I'm afraid you're not old enough to do so." said Mom flatly, which Cecille took as a caring tone whilst she was completely rage. She was about to object and started complaining that she was seventeen already, thus making her legally 'old-enough' to do so. Dad looked at her, either confused or amused or amazed. Cecille threw him a sincere apologetic look.

"But Mom-"

"Go to your room." said Dad.

A/N: Okay, le sequel's up! :D Is that a terrible opening? Review and feedback are highly welcome, and more appreciated if you send it with no flame or sugarcoating *put on wide puppy eyes* The first fanfic is under major revision now, because it took time a bloody year to complete a nineteen chapter story (*smacking my head against the wall like Dobby*) and I start to realize some flaws in it as I grow up.