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

Set Aflame
By: Weaselle7

Chapter 10
I Must Not Dwell On Dreams

"Harry," Cecille called out as she spotted a certain jet-black-haired Gryffindor fellow of hers. Cecille was walking to the DADA classroom to serve Umbridge a detention. Harry stopped on his track and turned back. Cecille quickened her pace to catch up with him. "What're you doing here?"

"I have a detention with Umbridge," Harry told her reluctantly, his shoulder tensed as he said so. He looked as if he had just been reminded of a bitter fact that had something to do with the detention, which, bizarrely, the exact thing Cecille was feeling. But Harry, ever the most enigmatic boy with his fate things, tried his best to act casual. After all, Harry had caused Gryffindor to lose hundreds of points by his first year. What's with another detention?

"What are you doing here, Cecille?"

"The so-called detention of the old hag's," Cecille said, shrugging lightly. Glancing sideways, Cecille found Harry was bending his head down so low. He seemed to be contemplating a very serious matter; Cecille felt the necessity to ease the atmosphere. "About time, anyway. I've been hanging around Fred and George for too much, haven't I?"

Harry looked like the smile he tried to crack up was of great effort, because he looked like he was wincing.

"Err, I don't know what to say, Cecille," Harry said, fiddling his fingers uncomfortably. "But, well, I'm sorry."

Cecille looked at him, stunned and confused. She was partly hoping Harry would burst out, saying, 'I've stayed under the very same roof with the twin, I can crack jokes too,' but instead she found herself staring at him unbelievingly for several moments.

"What are you apologizing for?" she asked tentatively, slightly feeling she knew where this conversation would lead to.

"I- I don't know, I thought things would be different if I could provide more facts."

Then it occurred to her the real reason why had Harry given the detention. Harry saying Cedric was being murdered by Voldemort, the two of them sentenced to a detention, Umbridge being a person from the Ministry; the pieces unfolded a horrible picture.

"Harry," Cecille started slowly. Looking at their shadows that danced at the rhythm of the flames from the nearby torches, Cecille took a moment to consider her next words. "My whole family –his whole family– believe in you. I– I don't even know how much we owe you."

"I thank you then, for believing me," he said stubbornly. Cecille smiled sadly but politely refused it.

"Don't thank us either, Harry," Cecille said. She then stopped and fixed her eyes on him seriously, Harry's pace faltered after her but he got the message to stop walking. "We thank you."

Cecille found it so awkward she had no Gryffindor courage left to look at his eyes. That and she couldn't bear the look in his eyes. She noticed Harry was shifting uncomfortably, the way the boy with the lightning scar would always react upon appreciation.

"Well, good luck then," Harry said jokingly, much to Cecille's relief and pleasure. "With surviving the detention."

She laughed and carried on; deciding she better shook the topic off. "I've survived lots of them with the twins. But, why, good luck to you too, Harry," she said.

They continued to walk without saying a single word. The awkwardness increased as they stopped before the door of Umbridge's office, apparently thinking to themselves who ought to be knocking the door. Harry, finally, decided to knock the door. It was when Cecille noticed the faint carving on the back of his hand.

"Harry-," Cecille gasped, noticing how the carving must be something readable, "your hand-"

"It's fine," Harry snapped, rather too quickly, as he retrieved his hand back.

Umbridge opened the door magically, apparently without moving an inch from her seat, and revealed a brightly all-pink-decorated office. She gestured at two frilly chairs with portable small table on each of them that were unnecessarily decorated with heavy fuschia draperies, probably for non-verbal humiliation. On the top of each table were pieces of papers and a black seemingly-wicked quill. Cecille was about to express her disgust when she caught herself.

"Good evening, Professor Umbridge," Harry and Cecille greeted together, both feeling unenthusiastic.

"Good evening, Mr Potter, Ms Diggory," Umbridge replied in a mysteriously victorious cry. "Went here together, I see? Now, now, Mr Potter, the usual; assuming the message hasn't sunk through your thick skin," Umbridge said and giggled. Cecille flashed Umbridge a confused look at the way she said skin instead of skull. Harry reluctantly sat on one of the provided chair. Cecille mirrored him.

"As for you, Ms Diggory," Umbridge said, turning to Cecille, "I want you to write I Must Not Dwell On Dreams."

She heard Harry cursed quietly. Umbridge smiled.

"How many times?" Cecille asked, almost automatically.

"Until the message sink in," Umbridge replied vaguely.

"I don't have any ink," Cecille pointed out, raising her eyebrows challengingly.

"Oh, you have the required ink," Umbridge casually replied, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "You always bring it."

Cecille heard Harry made an angry hissing sound.

Raising her eyebrows, Cecille took the quill lightly with a hint of mild amusement and began to write. What kind of harm would this writing-lines detention caus-

Cecille gasped, and unfortunately, rather too loudly. On her other hand, written in her own penmanship, was an identical flesh-carving she saw earlier on Harry's hand. It healed as soon as it was cut, but her quill was drawing blood. Cecille stared at it as it turned from ruby red to dry scarlet. Umbridge giggled victoriously.

Cecille tried as hard as she could to keep herself content. She continued to write. Drops of blood were trickling down the spine of her quill and the moist around her eyes were thickening drastically. Her hand was shaking with rage and pain. Dwell in dreams? Dwell in dreams? She wasn't dwelling on dreams! Those Ministry baboons were the ones who dwell in their dreamy utopian world. She was not, for Merlin's sake, dwelling on any dreams.

The cuts were getting deeper. Cecille knew, as time went by, it would come to when the cuts would heal no more. But, no. She would not cry. She was not going to give Umbridge any satisfaction. She was not giving Umbridge one darned drop of satisfaction.

Cecille poured all of her anger into the paper in a way that might have led her into an acute masochism. The detention was unfair at any rate. Screw the detention, the life itself wasn't fair. The back of her hand started to feel numb and she could faintly feel her heartbeat on the outline of her carved flesh slightly louder than any spot of her body.

She heard the signature coughs of Umbridge's just as Cecille thought her skin wouldn't hold more cuts.

"Oops, it's nearing curfew! Such a shame I haven't the privilege from the Prime Minister to hold detention until past curfew. Now, now, go to your beds and do no mischief- you, at particular, Mr Potter, because I believe I'll want you all fresh and shiny during your next detention," Umbridge said and giggled. Cecille was shaking with wrath. She knew she couldn't expect anything acceptable from Umbridge, knowing her identity, but it was before she turned out to be an utter putrid psychopath who thought of student's violation as a mere entertainment.

"Goodnight, children," Umbridge bided in a girlish tone.

"Goodnight, Professor Umbridge," the Gryffindors said, through gritted teeth.

They left the office quickly, breathing hard. Even Harry almost slammed the door close. After a few minutes of heavy silence, which Cecille used to arrange a long imaginary rant speech about Umbridge, they finally reached their Common Room.

"Goodnight, Harry," Cecille bidded the boy goodnight, sighing heavily as though they were just having a bone-crushing Quidditch practice.

"You too, Cecille," he replied. For a moment they stared at each other pityingly and consolingly, before respectively retreated to their own dormitories.

I Must Not Dwell On Dreams, she thought, as she gulped her own experimental Dreamless-Sleeping Draught.

A/N: SO. HAPPY. TO. FINISH. THIS. CHAPTER. Sorry, I haven't been here for months! My daily life so far consists of tests and homeworks combined with a depressing writer's block.

...

FEI, I HAVE THIS ONE FINISHED *hyper-acted*