CHAPTER 8: LIGHTING THE FLAME
"Where's Erif?" Ron asked Hermione as they stood after the Transfiguration lesson, stretching. The students all around were standing and running out the door, but the trio were taking their time. After all, they were going to Potions with the Slytherins, and who wanted to be at that class early?
Harry looked up at Hermione, feeling a blush rise on his cheeks, and then looked out the window at the sun-covered grass lawn before Hogwarts. He hadn't paid much attention to the lesson today; he hadn't missed anything important because it was their first lesson back, but his lack of attention would not go unnoticed in the next classes: Snape would wrongfully put the blame on his scar and humiliate him, and he wasn't quite sure what Professor Bailey would think.
"I think she had to go see Professor Dumbledore about something. Besides, she's not taking our Transfiguration class anyway. She says that she's never quite gotten the hang of transfiguring things, so she's taking it after lunch with the third years." Hermione wrinkled her nose, and Harry knew that she felt that Arlé could do it with the rest of them. After all, if Neville could do it, there was no question that she could. "But she's coming to see Professor McGonagall right now, we can wait for her."
Harry nodded, and said to Ron, "What does it matter if we're late for Potions? That means that it'll be that many less points he can take off from Gryffindor."
"I know..." Ron said, and they all turned toward the door as a small figure came through. She was nearly bowled over by Neville's mad dash through it, but she laughed it off and let him pass before entering herself.
Harry caught his breath as he noticed her red hair, and realized that it was brighter than yesterday.
"Hi," she said to the three of them, flashing a wide, even smile. "Have a good class?"
"Yeah," Harry responded, although he hadn't really remembered anything about the class except its longevity.
"Oh, Professor," she called as McGonagall walked over to them, "I need to change something about my schedule."
"What is it, dear?" Asked the female professor sweetly.
"I really don't want to take Divinations... It's never fallen quite right with me." She looked up at McGonagall with her glittering emerald eyes imploringly, and McGonagall nodded.
"All right, then," she said, walking back to her desk and grabbing a piece of parchment, "What class do you want to take?"
"Muggle Studies with Hermione, please."
The teacher scribbled something hastily onto her piece of parchment and handed it to her, and nodded. "Here you go. You'll need to go up to Divinations to tell her that you won't be taking her class. Now, hurry along before you're late." She shooed them out of her classroom as the students for the next class lined up outside.
Harry couldn't stop staring at her as they walked, but thankfully he was behind her, so she didn't notice his blank expression. He wanted to reach out and hold her hand...
She looked so different from last night; she seemed much livelier, fierier than before. Her sudden transformation made him wonder if she was more upset by the scene of her brother's death than she let on. He resolved to ask her about it the next time he could catch her alone.
"So is this Snape the teacher you were warning me about?" She asked, her voice startling him out of his dream-like trance.
"Yes," Hermione answered, leading them down the stairs toward the dungeons. "He's got a vendetta against Harry, so it may seem a little harsh."
"I've seen harsher," she interjected with vigor, and the strange red light flashed within her eyes. The first sign of her magic is within the eyes...
He shook his head; now was not the time to start sprouting some ancient legend...
They entered the dungeons almost three minutes late, but to their surprise, Snape was not down there.
"I'm afraid," Seamus Finnigan said as the sat down next to him. "He's never been late for this class before..."
Malfoy and his ogres, Crabbe and Goyle, looked at them from across the room, and Harry could instantly see that Arlé was going to hate him for the rest of her life. Her eyes narrowed, and her jaw line hardened. She pulled the quill that had been artfully placed within her red hair, dislodging it and sending cascades of it flowing down her back.
"Oh, and what have we here, Potter?" Malfoy demanded. "So now that Weasley has his girl, you get jealous and had to pick up another stray?" He chuckled and nodded at her.
Ron stepped forward, arm cocked, but Hermione grabbed his arm and he stopped. Harry couldn't grab Arlé's arm in time, though, and she walked up to Malfoy, stopping only when her face was five inches from his, and glared. He backed up slightly, and wiped off his robes as if she had somehow dirtied them.
"Oh, but my apologies, kitten," he spat sarcastically, and paused for another round of laughter from his sidekicks, "Meow, meow..."
"I would rather like to think that cats are better than rats any day," she spat back, and Harry realized that all eyes had turned towards Arlé and Malfoy, all mouths stopped except theirs. "Besides, in the end, the cats will tire of playing, and will eat the rat." She purred, blinking her green eyes in a suddenly cat-like manner, making the class laugh. "I also hear that ferrets make a tasty treat..."
Malfoy blanched and backed away, but behind his shocked eyes, Harry knew he was going to get back at Arlé somehow. He looked at her and saw nothing but fierce determination. She knew that he was going to strike back...
They stood down. Arlé turned to Harry and whispered so that Malfoy couldn't hear, "How did I do?" He smiled and nodded reassuringly, and her eyes unfocused as the red light faded from them. She rubbed her left forearm, and Harry could see that it was redder than her right.
The blonde Slytherin watched her for a few more moments, and then Snape entered the room, Summer Bailey with him. She had a slight limp as she walked, and her eyes were a brownish gold, watching them intently.
As Snape entered, everyone dove for seats, Harry sitting between Arlé and Hermione, Ron on the other side of Arlé.
"Oh, I didn't realize that you had a class!" Professor Bailey exclaimed, her soft Irish accent punctuating her long "I" sounds and elongating her "T"s. "I'll come back later."
"It will only take a minute," Snape responded smoothly, "And then I can get on to my lesson. Class, take out your books and notebooks."
As he darted into his office, Ron cut across Arlé to hiss to Hermione, on Harry's other side, "I've never seen him this nice before!"
"I told you," Hermione murmured, "He likes her!"
"Does she know?" Harry asked just as softly. They watched him hand a heavy book to her. She smiled back and nodded as he asked her something, and then walked out of the dungeon.
"He just asked her to supper one night," Arlé whispered, looking around for Malfoy.
Snape walked to the back of the room where they were sitting, and Harry's heart dropped to his knees. Had Snape just heard her comment?
"Who are you?" He asked, putting his long fingers on her desk and drumming softly.
"My name is Erif Deerflada."
"Are you supposed to be in this class? I didn't see you in the Transfiguration room with all of the others of your year."
She sighed and looked down at her desk. "I'm not taking Transfiguration with the fifth years. I was home schooled and my Mum wasn't the best of transfiguration teachers..."
Snape arched an eyebrow and nodded. "I see," he said silkily, and turned to the front of the class to start his lesson. Malfoy had turned to Pansy Parkinson and was whispering something in his ear. She giggled and turned around to look at Arlé.
Harry sighed and pulled his notebook out, dabbing his quill in Arlé's inkbottle without thinking. His hand brushed hers, and he was surprised to realize that her left hand was her dominant one. But it was still hot, and as their eyes met, he could still see a glint of red...
* * *
Erif entered the Grand Hall for supper, bag slung over her back by one strap. Her Transfiguration lesson hadn't gone well. While she had made some friends, she had not proven herself capable of transfiguring anything. Frustrations had brought her almost to the point of throwing the stool, which should have been transformed into a monkey, across the room.
As she stalked by the Slytherin table, someone meowed in a fair imitation of a cat and another purred; her verbal attack on Malfoy had not gone noticed, and she had made dangerous enemies. She narrowed her eyes but did not turn from her course through the Hall. Dumbledore met her gaze as she brushed past the staff table, and nodded solemnly.
Throwing herself into a chair beside Hermione, she pushed her hair out of her face and glanced around at them. Hermione was so busy scribbling something into her notebook that, although she did acknowledge her presence, she didn't look up. Ron, beside Hermione, was looking at his goblet and sitting across from Erif was Harry--who was watching her, his green eyes remarkably like her own...
"How was Transfiguration?" He asked, reaching across the table to take the plate of meat from Ron, who had just acquired it and was piling his plate high.
"Oh, I wish you hadn't asked that. I can't get my mind around the concept, I suppose." Harry handed her the plate, and she slid two cuts of meat onto her own plate before setting it in front of Hermione.
"Maybe I can help," Hermione cut in, snapping her notebook shut. "I've helped both Ron and Harry with their homework before."
"Mm hmm," Erif said, mouth full of food. "This is good!" She exclaimed when she swallowed, looking down at the plate as if in disbelief.
"It was just as good last night," Ron replied, chewing thoroughly and clearly enjoying every bite.
"I guess I'm not used to such good food every night," Erif confessed. "We weren't exactly rich..."
"Who were your parents?" Hermione asked, taking a sip of her goblet.
Erif was spared the spotlight as Professor Bailey came up behind them and, with her soft accent, asked, "So, which one of you is Erif?"
Erif looked up at her, wondering why she was asking, and said shakily, "That's me."
"I'll need to talk to you after you eat. My classroom is beside the Transfiguration class. Take your time."
With those strange instructions, she limped away.
Erif cocked an eyebrow at her friends and asked, "Do teachers usually do this sort of thing?" But by their blank looks, she knew that this was not a commonplace occurrence.
"Do you want one of us to come with you?" Hermione asked.
"No, it's okay, I can find it. I wonder what she wants to talk to me about..." Her eyes widened. "You don't think that she heard me say that Snape likes her?"
Ron grimaced. "Let's hope she isn't going to tell Snape about that. You would be in detention for Snape until you graduate..."
"I could only imagine what sort of tortures he would put me through," Erif said, a slight grin touching the corners of her mouth. "For tonight, I want you to clean off my toes..."
"And why don't you help me with my hair grease!" Harry chortled.
Ron added hastily, "And I want you to clean out my shark tank... and watch out for Flipper, he bites!"
They burst into giggles, Hermione glaring at them disapprovingly before joining in.
Erif sneaked a glance at Harry; he looked so wonderful, his green eyes lit up with laughter like that...
Stop thinking that way! She forced her mind onto other things... Besides, he was too good for her. Why would a boy like him like a girl like her?
After supper, she left Hermione and Harry playing wizarding chess and went down to Bailey's room. It was dark as she entered, and she glanced around before muttering, "Lumos." Her wand illuminated the room around her, and showed a single candle, unlit, beside a mug filled with some unknown substance. The door creaked behind her, and she spun as Bailey came inside.
Bailey smiled at Erif and said, "Welcome, Arlé."
"Please, Professor, it's Erif," she sighed, turning her wand's light off.
"Why?" She asked, taking a match and lighting the candle the Muggle way. The flame flickered, and within Erif something flickered in time with it... Almost without thinking, she was reaching towards the light, her finger pointed slightly as she grew closer.
"Erif," Bailey called, and it seemed to Erif that she was far away... the fire was closer-- "Erif!" She commanded, and Erif jumped back from the flame, her sudden movement snuffing out the flame.
"You know, don't you?" Erif demanded into the suddenly dark room. "You know about this..." She pulled up her sleeve and pointed at the red mark exposed, glowing brightly.
"Drink this, we need to work fast." Bailey pointed at the cup sitting beside the candle with her wand.
"Will it get rid of this mark?" Erif demanded, fingering it gently.
"It will fade, but you will never be rid of it fully," Bailey said while pulling two chairs next to the table with the candle on it. "I, too, have had my share of marks," and she exposed her Death Mark. Erif gasped, and looked up at Bailey's face. Between the glow of their two symbols, they could see each other's faces clearly.
Erif drank the goblet and closed her eyes as it made its way down. It had a calming effect on her almost instantly; she almost dropped the goblet and very nearly fell into her chair.
"What was that?" She demanded, glancing down at her now faintly shining mark with distaste.
"It's something Dumbledore had created for this. They don't know what to call it; people with this... oddity don't often want the signs removed, the impulses taken from them-- don't get up yet."
Erif sank back into the chair and looked at the candle. "But, I want to control this-- thing, not let it control me. I want to point at the candle like this, and have it spring alive..."
As she spoke, the flame flickered again and held steady, stopping her mid-sentence.
"Perhaps we won't need to work as hard as you think," Bailey said tenderly.
"Where's Erif?" Ron asked Hermione as they stood after the Transfiguration lesson, stretching. The students all around were standing and running out the door, but the trio were taking their time. After all, they were going to Potions with the Slytherins, and who wanted to be at that class early?
Harry looked up at Hermione, feeling a blush rise on his cheeks, and then looked out the window at the sun-covered grass lawn before Hogwarts. He hadn't paid much attention to the lesson today; he hadn't missed anything important because it was their first lesson back, but his lack of attention would not go unnoticed in the next classes: Snape would wrongfully put the blame on his scar and humiliate him, and he wasn't quite sure what Professor Bailey would think.
"I think she had to go see Professor Dumbledore about something. Besides, she's not taking our Transfiguration class anyway. She says that she's never quite gotten the hang of transfiguring things, so she's taking it after lunch with the third years." Hermione wrinkled her nose, and Harry knew that she felt that Arlé could do it with the rest of them. After all, if Neville could do it, there was no question that she could. "But she's coming to see Professor McGonagall right now, we can wait for her."
Harry nodded, and said to Ron, "What does it matter if we're late for Potions? That means that it'll be that many less points he can take off from Gryffindor."
"I know..." Ron said, and they all turned toward the door as a small figure came through. She was nearly bowled over by Neville's mad dash through it, but she laughed it off and let him pass before entering herself.
Harry caught his breath as he noticed her red hair, and realized that it was brighter than yesterday.
"Hi," she said to the three of them, flashing a wide, even smile. "Have a good class?"
"Yeah," Harry responded, although he hadn't really remembered anything about the class except its longevity.
"Oh, Professor," she called as McGonagall walked over to them, "I need to change something about my schedule."
"What is it, dear?" Asked the female professor sweetly.
"I really don't want to take Divinations... It's never fallen quite right with me." She looked up at McGonagall with her glittering emerald eyes imploringly, and McGonagall nodded.
"All right, then," she said, walking back to her desk and grabbing a piece of parchment, "What class do you want to take?"
"Muggle Studies with Hermione, please."
The teacher scribbled something hastily onto her piece of parchment and handed it to her, and nodded. "Here you go. You'll need to go up to Divinations to tell her that you won't be taking her class. Now, hurry along before you're late." She shooed them out of her classroom as the students for the next class lined up outside.
Harry couldn't stop staring at her as they walked, but thankfully he was behind her, so she didn't notice his blank expression. He wanted to reach out and hold her hand...
She looked so different from last night; she seemed much livelier, fierier than before. Her sudden transformation made him wonder if she was more upset by the scene of her brother's death than she let on. He resolved to ask her about it the next time he could catch her alone.
"So is this Snape the teacher you were warning me about?" She asked, her voice startling him out of his dream-like trance.
"Yes," Hermione answered, leading them down the stairs toward the dungeons. "He's got a vendetta against Harry, so it may seem a little harsh."
"I've seen harsher," she interjected with vigor, and the strange red light flashed within her eyes. The first sign of her magic is within the eyes...
He shook his head; now was not the time to start sprouting some ancient legend...
They entered the dungeons almost three minutes late, but to their surprise, Snape was not down there.
"I'm afraid," Seamus Finnigan said as the sat down next to him. "He's never been late for this class before..."
Malfoy and his ogres, Crabbe and Goyle, looked at them from across the room, and Harry could instantly see that Arlé was going to hate him for the rest of her life. Her eyes narrowed, and her jaw line hardened. She pulled the quill that had been artfully placed within her red hair, dislodging it and sending cascades of it flowing down her back.
"Oh, and what have we here, Potter?" Malfoy demanded. "So now that Weasley has his girl, you get jealous and had to pick up another stray?" He chuckled and nodded at her.
Ron stepped forward, arm cocked, but Hermione grabbed his arm and he stopped. Harry couldn't grab Arlé's arm in time, though, and she walked up to Malfoy, stopping only when her face was five inches from his, and glared. He backed up slightly, and wiped off his robes as if she had somehow dirtied them.
"Oh, but my apologies, kitten," he spat sarcastically, and paused for another round of laughter from his sidekicks, "Meow, meow..."
"I would rather like to think that cats are better than rats any day," she spat back, and Harry realized that all eyes had turned towards Arlé and Malfoy, all mouths stopped except theirs. "Besides, in the end, the cats will tire of playing, and will eat the rat." She purred, blinking her green eyes in a suddenly cat-like manner, making the class laugh. "I also hear that ferrets make a tasty treat..."
Malfoy blanched and backed away, but behind his shocked eyes, Harry knew he was going to get back at Arlé somehow. He looked at her and saw nothing but fierce determination. She knew that he was going to strike back...
They stood down. Arlé turned to Harry and whispered so that Malfoy couldn't hear, "How did I do?" He smiled and nodded reassuringly, and her eyes unfocused as the red light faded from them. She rubbed her left forearm, and Harry could see that it was redder than her right.
The blonde Slytherin watched her for a few more moments, and then Snape entered the room, Summer Bailey with him. She had a slight limp as she walked, and her eyes were a brownish gold, watching them intently.
As Snape entered, everyone dove for seats, Harry sitting between Arlé and Hermione, Ron on the other side of Arlé.
"Oh, I didn't realize that you had a class!" Professor Bailey exclaimed, her soft Irish accent punctuating her long "I" sounds and elongating her "T"s. "I'll come back later."
"It will only take a minute," Snape responded smoothly, "And then I can get on to my lesson. Class, take out your books and notebooks."
As he darted into his office, Ron cut across Arlé to hiss to Hermione, on Harry's other side, "I've never seen him this nice before!"
"I told you," Hermione murmured, "He likes her!"
"Does she know?" Harry asked just as softly. They watched him hand a heavy book to her. She smiled back and nodded as he asked her something, and then walked out of the dungeon.
"He just asked her to supper one night," Arlé whispered, looking around for Malfoy.
Snape walked to the back of the room where they were sitting, and Harry's heart dropped to his knees. Had Snape just heard her comment?
"Who are you?" He asked, putting his long fingers on her desk and drumming softly.
"My name is Erif Deerflada."
"Are you supposed to be in this class? I didn't see you in the Transfiguration room with all of the others of your year."
She sighed and looked down at her desk. "I'm not taking Transfiguration with the fifth years. I was home schooled and my Mum wasn't the best of transfiguration teachers..."
Snape arched an eyebrow and nodded. "I see," he said silkily, and turned to the front of the class to start his lesson. Malfoy had turned to Pansy Parkinson and was whispering something in his ear. She giggled and turned around to look at Arlé.
Harry sighed and pulled his notebook out, dabbing his quill in Arlé's inkbottle without thinking. His hand brushed hers, and he was surprised to realize that her left hand was her dominant one. But it was still hot, and as their eyes met, he could still see a glint of red...
* * *
Erif entered the Grand Hall for supper, bag slung over her back by one strap. Her Transfiguration lesson hadn't gone well. While she had made some friends, she had not proven herself capable of transfiguring anything. Frustrations had brought her almost to the point of throwing the stool, which should have been transformed into a monkey, across the room.
As she stalked by the Slytherin table, someone meowed in a fair imitation of a cat and another purred; her verbal attack on Malfoy had not gone noticed, and she had made dangerous enemies. She narrowed her eyes but did not turn from her course through the Hall. Dumbledore met her gaze as she brushed past the staff table, and nodded solemnly.
Throwing herself into a chair beside Hermione, she pushed her hair out of her face and glanced around at them. Hermione was so busy scribbling something into her notebook that, although she did acknowledge her presence, she didn't look up. Ron, beside Hermione, was looking at his goblet and sitting across from Erif was Harry--who was watching her, his green eyes remarkably like her own...
"How was Transfiguration?" He asked, reaching across the table to take the plate of meat from Ron, who had just acquired it and was piling his plate high.
"Oh, I wish you hadn't asked that. I can't get my mind around the concept, I suppose." Harry handed her the plate, and she slid two cuts of meat onto her own plate before setting it in front of Hermione.
"Maybe I can help," Hermione cut in, snapping her notebook shut. "I've helped both Ron and Harry with their homework before."
"Mm hmm," Erif said, mouth full of food. "This is good!" She exclaimed when she swallowed, looking down at the plate as if in disbelief.
"It was just as good last night," Ron replied, chewing thoroughly and clearly enjoying every bite.
"I guess I'm not used to such good food every night," Erif confessed. "We weren't exactly rich..."
"Who were your parents?" Hermione asked, taking a sip of her goblet.
Erif was spared the spotlight as Professor Bailey came up behind them and, with her soft accent, asked, "So, which one of you is Erif?"
Erif looked up at her, wondering why she was asking, and said shakily, "That's me."
"I'll need to talk to you after you eat. My classroom is beside the Transfiguration class. Take your time."
With those strange instructions, she limped away.
Erif cocked an eyebrow at her friends and asked, "Do teachers usually do this sort of thing?" But by their blank looks, she knew that this was not a commonplace occurrence.
"Do you want one of us to come with you?" Hermione asked.
"No, it's okay, I can find it. I wonder what she wants to talk to me about..." Her eyes widened. "You don't think that she heard me say that Snape likes her?"
Ron grimaced. "Let's hope she isn't going to tell Snape about that. You would be in detention for Snape until you graduate..."
"I could only imagine what sort of tortures he would put me through," Erif said, a slight grin touching the corners of her mouth. "For tonight, I want you to clean off my toes..."
"And why don't you help me with my hair grease!" Harry chortled.
Ron added hastily, "And I want you to clean out my shark tank... and watch out for Flipper, he bites!"
They burst into giggles, Hermione glaring at them disapprovingly before joining in.
Erif sneaked a glance at Harry; he looked so wonderful, his green eyes lit up with laughter like that...
Stop thinking that way! She forced her mind onto other things... Besides, he was too good for her. Why would a boy like him like a girl like her?
After supper, she left Hermione and Harry playing wizarding chess and went down to Bailey's room. It was dark as she entered, and she glanced around before muttering, "Lumos." Her wand illuminated the room around her, and showed a single candle, unlit, beside a mug filled with some unknown substance. The door creaked behind her, and she spun as Bailey came inside.
Bailey smiled at Erif and said, "Welcome, Arlé."
"Please, Professor, it's Erif," she sighed, turning her wand's light off.
"Why?" She asked, taking a match and lighting the candle the Muggle way. The flame flickered, and within Erif something flickered in time with it... Almost without thinking, she was reaching towards the light, her finger pointed slightly as she grew closer.
"Erif," Bailey called, and it seemed to Erif that she was far away... the fire was closer-- "Erif!" She commanded, and Erif jumped back from the flame, her sudden movement snuffing out the flame.
"You know, don't you?" Erif demanded into the suddenly dark room. "You know about this..." She pulled up her sleeve and pointed at the red mark exposed, glowing brightly.
"Drink this, we need to work fast." Bailey pointed at the cup sitting beside the candle with her wand.
"Will it get rid of this mark?" Erif demanded, fingering it gently.
"It will fade, but you will never be rid of it fully," Bailey said while pulling two chairs next to the table with the candle on it. "I, too, have had my share of marks," and she exposed her Death Mark. Erif gasped, and looked up at Bailey's face. Between the glow of their two symbols, they could see each other's faces clearly.
Erif drank the goblet and closed her eyes as it made its way down. It had a calming effect on her almost instantly; she almost dropped the goblet and very nearly fell into her chair.
"What was that?" She demanded, glancing down at her now faintly shining mark with distaste.
"It's something Dumbledore had created for this. They don't know what to call it; people with this... oddity don't often want the signs removed, the impulses taken from them-- don't get up yet."
Erif sank back into the chair and looked at the candle. "But, I want to control this-- thing, not let it control me. I want to point at the candle like this, and have it spring alive..."
As she spoke, the flame flickered again and held steady, stopping her mid-sentence.
"Perhaps we won't need to work as hard as you think," Bailey said tenderly.