Author's Note: Well here is the first chapter that I am basing from a scene in the book. And if you are thinking "It has got to be the Hog's Head!" then you would be right! Enjoy.

O.o.O

There must truly be no place in the world worse than a pub. No place. Just standing outside and looking at the window makes my heart beat faster in my fear. The glass is fogged up. With smoke. There is fire in there.

I lean up against the wall of the building – the Hog's Head, my mind supplies – and wait for more people to show. I know that if I walk in with a group, the smell of the bodies will mask the smoke. It would not be good to break down here. Not when I'm getting closer to being understood.

Soon enough a flood of other students do come. I recognize them all, my brain casually giving out each and every name, but I speak to none of them. There are some other Ravenclaws – Padma, Cho, Marietta, more too – but I do not know any of them well.

I get as in the middle of the group as I can, trying to ignore the fact that those around me move away, and we all walk into the pub.

Feeling how we were edging towards a table, I try and make myself seen, hoping that Harry would notice me I as stare at him in a way that seems like I am staring into space. My eyes search his gaze for any trace of calm, but he looks at me as he has always done. As if I am some fragile mental girl. He is at least ten times nicer with his demeaning looks than everyone else is. That's something.

I sit, then almost jump out of my seat as a mug of butterbeer hits my arm. I take it and rise it up to my lips, not because I am drinking, but because it gives my hand the perfect excuse to cover my nose. With us all spread out about this table, the smoke is quite clear now. It is all I can do to focus on not crying.

Burning mother…

I can't see the room and my fellow students anymore, instead lost in my nightmare. I can hear the gist of the words being said. Hermione's speech. A boy's – Zacharias, my mind decides – cynical response. Harry's heated reply. A question about the spells he can do – voiced by Susan Bones – and many comments and inqueries on his feats through the years, demanding answers on their truth.

Screaming, screaming.

But I don't care about what the other people are saying. My mind, so preoccupied with trying to keep me from falling from the chair, sinking to the floor, screaming out, only cares about the words voiced by the boy who lived.

Heat washing my face.

One thing sticks out, more clear than anything else, breaking through the haze of terror threatening to make me bolt from this room and to some abandoned building.

"If you've come to hear exactly what it looks like when Voldemort murders someone I can't help you."

Those few words shock the horror out of my system. And it was then I knew without a doubt that I was right. He will be able to understand me.

I spend the rest of the meeting in an amazed coma, barely hearing myself as I mutter something about heliopaths, a ridiculous concept of fire spirits that I can remember from some summer edition of my father's publication. I recognize myself arguing with Hermione about their existence, can feel the anger pulse through me. I don't believe in them. But I have to make it seem as if I do, have to make others believe in them.

They call me Loony. There are a lot worse things people call my father.

I sign a paper. I get up and leave, walking out into the cold without bothering to pull on another layer, though I had brought another cloak. I sink onto a bench and stare up at a bare tree.

He'll understand.

"Lu-lu, you have NO idea how lucky you are! You have seen one of the coolest things EVER!" A blonde boy, slightly bigger than my six-year-old self, walks backwards before me, hands stuffed in his pockets. "You've got to tell me ALL about it."

I shuffle along behind him. "What?" I was a traumatized girl of few words.

"When I heard we were coming to visit you and Uncle Ding-dong, I just KNEW that I HAD to know. What was it like? I bet it was awesome!"

"What?" I feel my small eyes squeeze shut for the briefest second, holding in a sneeze in my way.

He laughs. "Lu-lu, I want to hear about that day! Dying is no fun, but seeing someone burst into flame… now that is AWESOME!"

Sniffle. "Meanie." And then I run away.

I had nightmares before then. But my cousin Dustin… He made them all the worse.

O.o.O

Author's Note: whispered touches: oh thank you! It is reviews like that which will keep me writing.