Chapter XII

A Royal Fork

THE VILLAGE WAS teeming with students of all sorts of infelicitous descent. I sniffed in contempt as some clueless Hufflepuff that could not have been more than a third year slipped on the ice and fell. How one could be so clumsy…

Where was I? Oh, right.

I pulled the hood of my robes even lower, obscuring all but my chin in shadow. They were fine acromantula silk because, despite the cold, appearances must be kept. He would not be happy otherwise.

Hot air, smoke, and the smell of old wood washed over me as I stepped into the Hog's Head Inn. The place was as derelict as one would expect from its outside appearance, but at least it was discreet. Only a few customers, with one larger group towards the back and what looked to be a few regulars at the bar. I made my way over to the floo, stepping around a stain on the floor that might have been spilled alcohol.

I clicked my tongue in annoyance at the lack of floo powder by the hearth, before spinning around and heading to the bar. The barman—an older, wispy looking man with spotted hands and a beard that would rival Dumbledore—was chatting with a pair of old men as he poured firewhisky, little flames dancing on the surface. I drummed my nails on the old wood in impatience. Tap-tap-tap, tap-tap-tap.

"Hullo, miss, can I get ya anythin'?" the barman said when he finally made his way over.

"I need to use the floo, where do you keep the powder?"

"Floo's closed for students."

"I am not a student."

"Wha's up with the hood then, eh missy?"

"None of your business. Where do you keep the powder?"

One of the old men at the bar chuckled. "Careful there, Abe, this one's a real firecracker." He downed his drink and put the glass down with a deliberate thud. I felt the heat of the whisky flames wash over my face as he breathed out, chasing away the shadows for a moment.

The barman's smile died on his lips. I relished in the way he paled a little, gulped, then put down the rag on the counter. "One second," he muttered. "Here you go, Le—"

"That wasn't that hard, hmm?" I drawled, cutting him off mid-word. I trailed a finger along the rim of the terracotta jar, feeling the bumps of uneven glazing, before I scooped up a handful of powder and made my way over to the fireplace again. "Stupid barman and his derelicts," I muttered as the flames turned green. That had taken a solid ten minutes longer than it should have.

"Lestrange Manor," I said as I stepped through the fire, not even pausing in my stride. I ran a hand through my hair, pushing the hood of the cloak back and shaking off the light dusting of snow. The elf popped in, vanishing the muck before it could melt, scrawny hands already tugging at me.

"Leave the cloak," I snapped at it, grabbing it before it had the chance to scurry off to who knew where again. "Is Rodolphus home?"

The creature shook its head, ears flapping around its face.

I made a displeased sound, just like mother used to do whenever I broke something. But… Why was I displeased? I heard the elf disappear with a pop as I looked around. I did not want him to be home—it gave me some time alone.

I could not put my finger on why it made me feel so… queasy. Not the silence, the echo of my boots clicking against marble—I had gotten used to that long ago. Something smelled… off. I sniffed, wrinkling my nose as I made my way towards the staircase and up to my rooms.

Go to the manor and get the cup.

Oh, right. I had no idea why Rodolphus wanted it. I was tired of playing his lap dog. Maybe for once, he could get off his ass and do something himself. Or get Rabastan to do it.

But of course, Rabastan was still in school, and I hated his guts anyway.

Did I?

I caught a glimpse of myself on the polished surface of a lamp fixture. My face looked… odd. Twisted? Probably just the metal bending light, I told myself.

I took the stairs two at a time. Get the cup and get out, I repeated in my head over and over. Only when I got to the top of the landing did I realise that the oaf had not told me where to get the cup. Honestly, how stupid could that man be sometimes? I could have sworn he only thought with his cock.

I absently checked my reflection again, this time in a polished vase. It still looked… off. I leant closer to get a look, worried that my mascara might have been smudged. A purple eye stared back. But my eye—

Get the cup, and be quick about it!

"Okay, okay! I'm going," I muttered to myself. "Sheesh." I turned to go to—

Wait, purple? I tapped my wand against my thigh in thought. Had we been drinking last night? It could not have been the cruciatus, I would still have been shaking from that. It probably wasn't too important.

I should've just asked the elf, the little bastard was sure to know.

Something was off, I thought as I stared at the door. Then I realised that it was not my bedroom…

I felt a shudder run through me.

Get the cup, Bellatrix.

Fuck it, I thought as I called the elf. "Mute!"

It came when I called it, and that was good. I breathed a sigh of relief. "I need Hufflepuff's cup."

It just… Stood there, tugging at its pillow case, looking at its feet, then at me, then back at its feet.

"I need the cup me and Rodolphus got as a gift from the Master," I repeated. "And be quick about it!"

It looked up once more, then popped away as I waited there, tapping my wand against my thigh with impatience. Maybe a minute had passed before it came back. What took it so long? It handed me a little key, but I had not asked for a key but a—

…put the cup inside the vault…

I snatched the key from its hand, causing it to flinch before it spun out of my sight. I carefully put the thin chain around my neck, tucking the little gold key under my shirt. It felt… familiar. I felt the cool metal of the key where it hung on its chain, nestled safe against my sternum.

It reminded me of Ana. It reminded me of the time-turner Harry had—

Who?

I felt a hair-thin crack form in my mind. It spread like fire, white hot and blinding with pain. My tapestry of self was burning and I tripped over my feet when I tried to take a step. I looked around, confused, trying to figure out what was happening. I managed to stumble to a bathroom even as I almost tripped from vertigo.

Get the cup Bellatrix.

But I was not Bellatrix!

A small part of me, somewhere deep inside all the burning debris, was screaming. It sounded far, far away. I took heavy breaths, gripping the sides of the sink. My vision was going black; little motes of light floated through my eyes like I was falling through a galaxy and the world was spinning and spinning and—

Tap. Tap-tap. I watched as droplets of blood splattered onto the sink, marring the pristine white of porcelain. Black curls tumbled over my shoulders and around my face.

Wait, black?

I looked up and saw Bellatrix stare back at me, wide-eyed and pale as death. Blood trickled out of my nose, running a rivulet around the ridge of my philtrum and down my chin. It smelled metallic; a sword at my throat. I used one of the pretty silken sleeves to wipe the blood away, almost absentmindedly, then tilted my head and watched as the blood cut a new path through my face.

My face?

I gagged, my insides convulsing in protest, and I was sure I would have thrown up had I eaten anything that day. Thick saliva mixed with the blood. I spat it out, then turned on the tap to splash some water on my face.

No.

Not. My. Face!

Fuck me; why did it have to be so unpleasant every time? At least I no longer fainted, I thought as I slid down the wall in the bathroom a few minutes later. My vision was still a bit fuzzy around the edges, and there were still white spots whirling in front of my eyes. I had been lucky that Harry's imperius had lasted long enough.

The key was still cold against my chest.

I dropped my face into my hands. Of course they would put the cup inside a Gringotts vault. One simply did not keep a priceless, thousand-year-old, highly magical artefact in their house.

But I was not Bellatrix! How was I supposed to get into their vault?

Think, think, think, I thought through mounting panic.

One thing that I had learned early on was that using the imperius like we were doing had extremely weird side-effects. Temporary side-effects, as far as I could tell, but that did not make them any more pleasant. And I guessed that being under the effects of polyjuice did not make it any easier for my mind and body to deal with the abuse I put it through.

I sat there and the vertigo and the panic cut into me until it dulled the edge. It took longer than I would have liked. Even by an optimistic estimate, I only had about a quarter hour left as Bella. I hated not knowing the time. I whispered prayers to Morgana and Merlin and anyone else who would listen that I would not run into anyone on my way out. It was time to get the fuck out of the manor.

With my hood back over my head, I took the floo to a mildly questionable artefact shop near the entrance of Knockturn Alley called Borgin and Burke's. Less questions asked about why I was hiding who I was, and it was not like I could not defend myself. Preferably, I would have apparated, but I was taking no unnecessary risks, and any magic I would do near the Lestrange house elf now might be just a smidge too different. Also, I did not want the poor thing to realise what she had done.

It had been weird, thinking as Bella. Or at least, the approximation of Bella that the combined efforts of my memories and Harry's imperius had achieved. It was one thing to be somewhat aware that your sister served the Dark Lord, and that she would become one of his most trusted and faithful, if she was not already. It was very much not the same as having a more unhinged version of your sister superimposed onto your thoughts. I did not want to know what she had done in the future; no thank you.

I walked straight out of the dingy shop, not bothered enough to acknowledge the shopowner's wheeze of a greeting. It was starting to get dark outside. Perfect. Even less chance for someone to see my face. I kept my wand in hand inside my cloak as I made my way through the almost empty alley, and into Diagon Alley. Lately, respectable people did not want to be outside after dark, even if it was technically not even four in the afternoon. I did not blame them.

I made my way to the apparition point and straight to a clearing in the woods. It was not quite the Forbidden Forest yet, but it was at least a good two hundred paces from the edge of Hogsmeade, too.

I vanished the outer cloak. It was just an old linen sheet that Harry had transfigured earlier today. Within minutes, I felt my body start to contort back to its true shape. I felt like a facsimile of a werewolf, sitting in the middle of a forest during a full moon, feeling my body shift around me.

The clothes I was wearing fit weird now. Loose around the hips and chest, tight around the arms and legs. Even if me and Bella were of a height, I had always been more athletic than her. I banished the snow from beneath me, creating a patch of dry ground. I quickly changed my clothes, pulling my school uniform out of my moleskin pouch and stuffing the other clothes back in even as my teeth started to chatter, all the while desperately hoping nothing would disturb me while I was half-naked. A wolf howled into the night, and I felt my skin wash over with goosebumps.

'Got the key, the cup's in Gringotts,' I thought as I summoned my patronus and watched it take off towards the castle.

The moon shone through the evergreens, illuminating the forest just enough for me to be able to pass through without a light. Occasionally, a cloud would pass overhead, making the light waver and forcing me to stop and wait. It took me some time to make it back to the village, and it could not have been soon enough. I beelined straight towards the Three Broomsticks to shake snow out of my boots.

I allowed myself five minutes to thaw by the fireplace. Compared to Diagon Alley, the Three Broomsticks was full to bursting. Groups of students talked and laughed around the tables, keeping Madam Rosmerta and her two helpers constantly on the move distributing food and drinks to the tune playing from the gramophone that sat in the corner of the room. It was as if the news of what was happening in the world had not yet reached this part, hidden away in the Scottish wilderness. As if by not thinking about the monster under the bed, it would go away.

I blew a lock out of my face, short and blonde and exactly how it was supposed to be. I was almost feeling normal again. Good—after all, the day was far from over for me. We were not taking any unnecessary risks, and that meant that there was a heist to do before anyone could discover I had nicked the vault key.

···

The knight in the portrait looked at me, nonplussed.

"Are you telling me, young lady, that you are here to see the professor?"

"Yes, sir. Now could you please let me in?"

"Oh, I think not, young lady. I am bound by oath and promise to Headmaster Dumbledore to guard this door, and you—" he pointed his sword at me "—do not live here. The professor has asked not to be disturbed and I will not have his quarters invaded by intruders!"

I groaned. I had been arguing with this portrait for what felt like forever. I racked my brain for how to convince the portrait to let me through. But it was just a portrait, and portraits were not fully sentient. They were imprints of the soul, notoriously difficult to argue with. Ah blast it.

I drew my wand and looked at the portrait.

"Oh no, young lady, do not even think about it!"

What, did it really think I was going to curse it or something? Senile old dunce. I closed my eyes to focus on casting yet another patronus. I was just drawing the breath to speak when the door opened a crack and a bemused Harry gestured me in.

"Sorry, Sir Cadogan, I must've forgotten to mention that I am expecting this young lady tonight. You've performed your duties admirably."

I let my magic fizzle out with a smirk. The knight stuttered as his horse teetered off towards the edge of the frame. "But—but sir! She is a student! This… This is preposterous!"

"I'm sure you'll survive, sir."

I looked from the portrait to Harry and my breath caught when I saw how he was dressed. I was used to seeing him in his unassuming navy robes, or a shirt and pants when we practised duelling in the Room.

Now, he screamed danger. I saw Medusa coiled around his shoulders, her head resting in his mess of hair, staring at me with lazy interest. Wand holsters strapped to his bare forearms, brown on the left, pale grey on the right. He had told me the holly felt better for transfiguration and conjuration while the Elder Wand was better for charmwork. Just as he told me you were technically not supposed to own more than one wand, but it was taken as seriously as the underage use of magic. His pants and vest seemed to be made of some kind of blue dragonhide and creaked slightly as he walked back to his rooms.

His rooms.

Where his office had been barren, his foyer was a mess of scattered parchment, books and clothes strewn about tables and chairs; there were even newspaper clippings on one wall. I noticed the infamous holiday issue when Riddle had declared war on Magical Britain right in the middle.

"Sorry for the mess," he said absentmindedly as he saw me looking around before turning towards the wall filled with writing; muttering under his breath. There were sketches of what I assumed were the tunnels of Gringotts, alongside notes scribbled in his handwriting.

I wandered over to his desk where four tiny empty vials laid neatly in a row, corks scattered across his notes with tiny wet trails where they had rolled. Curious, I bent down to examine the tiny glint of gold that caught my eye. I frowned. It looked suspiciously like—

"Harry, what are these?"

"Huh? Oh, potions," he waved his hand as he turned to look at me, before shrugging and turning back to his diagrams. "Or used to be."

I stared at him, unfazed.

"What potions are these, exactly?"

I knew for a fact that felix felicis was highly regulated and very, very illegal to own.

This time, he turned to face me fully. Four eyes looked at me, two black, two yellow. "Felix felicis, invigoration draught, some foul concoction that triples your adrenaline production, and a supersaturated blood replenisher and skin knitter." he looked somewhere near my left ear. "You know, you really are beautiful tonight."

What the fuck?

"Do not think flattery will distract me, Potter. Why exactly… How—"

The grin he gave me was almost manic, stretching like a cat from ear to ear. "What, you thought I'd rob Gringotts sober?"

I opened my mouth to say something as he started to walk towards me.

"Yes, I know they're illegal, sweetheart, but so is breaking into a bank," he said as if he had read my mind. "D'you really think I'm some kind of hero? Tom Riddle bad, Harry Potter good?"

Well, not exactly. But… yes!

He cut off my reply again as he closed the distance and kissed me; rough and deep and wild, pushing me against his desk and running his hand up my thigh. I heard one of the vials fall to the floor with a soft clink. Then it was over and I was left gasping for air as he moved away to gather some odd trinkets around the room.

My mouth was buzzing with a spinning aftertaste of gold.

I tried to pull myself into a state of coherence. This was as far from the quiet, composed Harry as I had ever seen, and that was saying a lot considering that we had slept together. Yet there was something familiar about the way he moved through the room. He was twitching and looking around just like…

Just like that time we had raided Malfoy Manor in December.

Oh, Harry.

Strangely, I did not feel angry. I probably should have. Instead, all I felt was a twang of despair. Some of those potions were addictive, I could have told you that in third year.

And yet… as fucked up as it sounded, I felt… better, knowing that this was not a first. Certainly, I had no right to complain. I had forced him to repeatedly put me under the imperius, both as myself and as Bella. Day after day. I knew she must have done something truly awful to him. The first time I had taken polyjuice in the chamber he visibly flinched when I smiled at him.

And so here we were. Two idiots trying to destroy a Dark Lord's soul. I had repeatedly forced my mind to bend and contort in ways it was never meant to do. And Harry took highly addictive potions to make sure our odds were as high as possible. Neither of us liked what the other did, yet we did it anyway. Our own little sacrifice.

A small sacrifice, in the grand scheme of things. Morgana's squiggly cunt, I was seventeen and an utter mess.

"If I am coming with you, I am taking them too," I said before I even realised what words were coming out of my mouth. He looked at me, then shrugged and went to his desk drawers to pull out an identical set of small vials. "No argument?" I had expected to have to fight him on it, even though I was technically an adult already.

"Had a hunch it'd be better this way," he said as he eyed the drawer, then slipped a few vials into his pocket. "Anyway, you should get changed. If we don't leave soon, the bank's gonna close."

···

My head was swimming in liquid gold. I felt my heart pumping blood like the Hogwarts Express steam engine. I was utterly confident and buzzing with excitement. I grabbed a fistful of Harry's hair and bit down on his lip as I kissed him. We were in the middle of Diagon Alley. I knew nobody would notice.

Blood; sharp and sweet. He grinned at me as he sucked on his bitten lip, black eyes dancing with mischief as he held out a hand and led me to the entrance of Gringotts. His watch showed it was time to rob a bank.

With the bank lobby just as bereft of customers as the streets outside, we strode right to a bank teller. The goblin was slumped in his seat, idly toying with a purple gemstone the size of my thumb.

"Welcome to Gringotts; state your name and purpose," it droned through the script.

"Narcissa Black. I am here to access the Black family vault."

That made it pause. It set the gemstone down with a thud. Anyone could walk into the bank and make withdrawals or go visit their vault. But going to one of the high-security ancestral vaults was rare. Even rarer, seeing as I was not an elderly man just starting to grey around the edges. I was not sure whether even my parents had access like this.

"Do you have the key?"

"Of course."

It coughed. "One moment, please. One of my colleagues will take you to the vault."

The cart ride was not that unpleasant, all things considered. Normally, I would stare at my feet until I felt like throwing up and praying to Morgana for the ride to be over. Today, I was drugged up sky-high on so many potions that I barely felt the drops that would usually make my stomach roll over.

The contraption twisted and rattled around us, the rails spiralling to attach to the rock in the floor, the walls, the ceiling, and sometimes even other rails. At times, the cave was barely wide enough for the cart to pass. Three heartbeats later, we were spiralling around a stalagmite the width of Ravenclaw tower through a cavern so large I could not see the bottom.

Then we rode through the fine mist of the Thief's Downfall. I saw the little goblin stare at us in suspicion, its hand already poised on top of the lever to stop the cart, as if it was just hoping I was not who I claimed to be. I could see it in its eyes—how it wished for us to be stuck here, in the midst of nowhere with a who-knew-how long of a drop below us.

All the mist did was make me sneeze. I smirked at the goblin as it turned to watch something else. Only an idiot would attempt to use a disguise to rob Gringotts.

We went deeper and deeper and deeper. And deeper. I played with Harry's hand in boredom after the third cavern, bending the fingers in and watching them spring back slightly. I knew he was watching the caves around us, committing every detail to memory, and trusted him to lead us out of here. I twisted his ring around, watching as the stone absorbed what little light the lantern gave off. A line, a circle, a triangle.

The cart came to a stop with a jerk. "The vault is this way, please dismount."

I took Harry's hand and pulled him out of the cart, glad to be out of that demonic contraption. The creature sent off the cart. I watched it clatter off into the distance until it disappeared into the darkness. The message was clear: we were not getting out of here unless it called a cart back.

Harry was looking around in interest as the goblin waddled around us and towards the tunnel. I guessed that whatever route they took to get down here in his past life had not been this easy. We followed a few steps behind the goblin, hands held and steps eerily in sync. Harry nudged me and pointed above us, and that was when I noticed the spikes. In all my life, I had never realised that the tunnel had a full portcullis hidden in the shadows. Between that, the goblin, and the dragon that I knew was sleeping not a hundred paces away, it was starting to feel like a true fairy tale.

The tunnel opened up to a round cavern, with two dozen doors arrayed in a circle, each a massive monolith of dark metal and intricate metalwork. There were no markings on the doors by which you could tell who the vaults belonged to. Only a large number in the centre.

The goblin stood directly in front of the door marked as number seven. "Key, please."

I clicked my tongue in irritation. "This is not the correct vault, goblin."

"Miss Black, I can assure you—"

"Spare your assurances, goblin," I said as I reached around my neck and pulled out the little key on its chain. "My key clearly says nineteen, so do not play me a fool."

"I distinctly remember being told to—"

"You must have misremembered, then," I cut the goblin off again.

It frowned at me, looking between the vault, me, Harry, and the key I held in my hand. Then it shrugged and started walking towards vault nineteen. Like I had known it would. I gave Harry a wink as we followed. I handed over the key when prompted, and we stood back as we watched the gears turn and bolts slide open with a dull metallic thud.

The whole cavern shook a little on each heavy impact. I counted six before I heard the dragon roar in fury at having been woken. When I had been six, I had heard it roar for the first time and my heart almost stopped from fright. When I had been twelve, I learned that they kept it blinded and chained and tortured, that they trained it to wake whenever these vaults were open. Extra security, or so the goblin had claimed.

Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud.

That was the day I started hating goblins. Another roar shook the cavern. Harry raised an eyebrow at me, but I only smiled back.

"Vault nineteen, as you please," the goblin said with a sharp-toothed smile, dropping a curtsy and gesturing towards the vault door as it swung open. I smashed the creature against the wall with a wordless stunner. The gold key slipped out of its hand, clinking softly against the floor.

"I didn't know you could trick the goblins this easily."

"You cannot," I said as I bent down to pick up the key. "Have you never seen the play? Thalanos the Thief?" There was always wisdom in old stories.

He shook his head.

"It was going to lock us inside, then starve us until we gave them information about how we got the key."

"Clever. Tough luck it didn't work, then. You're faster than I remember."

"Thanks, love."

We spotted the cup almost immediately. It was never meant to stay hidden, really. It sat on a shelf, proudly displayed on a little pedestal and surrounded by other artefacts of wrought gold and silver and gemstone.

"Go stand by the door, Harry."

"No-one's gonna notice the goblin," he replied as he leaned forwards to get a closer look at the cup, already conjuring a replica.

I was used to being around dark objects. I was used to the oozing, cloying wrongness that gathered about the focal points of dark rituals. I knew all too well the reeking terror caused by interwoven curses, the one that made your neck hairs stand like scraping nails on a chalkboard.

"I do not care about the goblin, Harry, you are distracting me."

The cup was worse. A thousand times worse. When I reached out to identify the curses knitted around it, it was like plunging myself into a swamp. It felt wrong. Wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong. There was an eye staring at me from the void, somewhere. A snake's eye, with a slitted pupil and red as blood.

"Fine, fine, I'm going!"

I squeezed my eyes shut as I poked at the jumbled mess of dark magic, muttering softly as I ripped away the enchantments I recognised—spells straight from the Black grimoires. One time I got too close to the tangled whirlwind of chaos that was the horcrux itself and the sheer power of it almost made me lose my concentration on the half-unwoven web of enchantments. That would not have been a pretty way to die.

I hated every second of it.

I pulled and pulled and pulled until finally I felt the web of spellwork shatter. I let my wand arm drop to my side, blowing out a lock of hair from my face. The cup stood still as stone on its shelf, almost as if it was taunting me.

I felt anxiety wash over me. Before I knew what I was doing, I stepped on my tiptoes, snatching the cup, turning, and running out of the vault.

"Someone is coming," I said as I passed Harry where he stood by the entrance.

He nodded, threw the replica into the vault, then turned to run through the atrium. "I know, stick to the plan!"

I was casting before he finished the sentence, with more certainty than I ever felt in my life. We had made plan after plan after plan. We covered all the possible scenarios we could think of. Contingencies layered on contingencies. But there was only one plan that involved going down to that cavern.

Dark burgundy flames billowed out of my wand with a hiss, melting the stonework at my feet. I watched them swirl out until creatures began to incandesce inside the flames, then threw the magic against the vault door. The flames hit like a battering ram, nudging the door shut.

From inside the cavern that Harry had run into, I heard the rattling of chains. Then the dragon roared and it went straight into my bones.

The fiendfyre twisted around the vault door, slowly melting through the thick metal slab, bending the locks with the occasional crack. I wrenched the flames away, drawing them out into the centre of the cavern. Then I threw them against the adjacent doors to destroy them too. A laugh welled up deep inside of me. It came out stumbling over itself, edged with mania. It felt good. The molten gold of sheer exultant euphoria flooded my veins, burning me up from the inside as the flames took hold of me, coiling inside my body like an occamy.

Fuck, but did it feel good.

I was a phoenix, spreading wings of fire and destruction. I was a serpent with eyes of blood. I was the dragon that burst out of the cavern, rattling its chains as it gathered speed. I was Narcissa, daughter of the House of Black.

The ground shook beneath my feet. Some part of me was aware that I should stop the spell, but there were a thousand red-slitted eyes inside my head screaming at me to burn burn burn burn burn. Burn the vault. Burn the bank. Burn the whole world to the ground.

I had never cast fiendfyre in my life. I had not planned on casting fiendfyre. I was not sure whether I could control it. I was not sure whether I wanted to. My ears were ringing, and I was starting to get dizzy as the fire swallowed up all the oxygen. The ash wood of my wand was searing my palm.

In the span between two heartbeats, my laugh turned into a scream.

My wand slashed through the world almost of its own accord, buoyed by the last shreds of my instincts of self-preservation. The fetid, twisting flames fought back, burning inside my head. I wanted to let them burn me where I stood. But they dwindled, ever so slowly, losing their blood-red tinge as I crushed the demons that danced inside of them. Still laughing. Still screaming, my blood golden like molten lava. It was just a regular fire now, the brilliant yellow and orange of sunset, these flames but a pale breeze to the hurricane of fiendfyre. Twisted, blackened metal jutted out through the clouds of smoke that were making my eyes sting.

I spun on my feet like a dancer, cup in one hand and wand in the other. I ran, and my feet felt so light I was almost flying. Five steps up the dragon's wing. I did not stumble, even though it was moving, even though I heard the woosh of air as a chain missed my head by an inch.

Shouts echoed from around the corner. Goblins, wizards; it did not matter. The dragon roared as it charged out, stretching its half-translucent wings for takeoff. The portcullis slammed down behind us. I giggled as Harry threw his Cloak over us, wrapped my hands around him and breathed him in.

He was the forest after rain, but I was the forest fire.

···

He threw me onto the bed, pinning my hands into the pillow above.

"You're so fucking hot, Cissa," he growled into my ear. I strained against him.

Buttons clinked softly on the hardwood floor as he tore open my half-burnt blouse. I ripped his shirt open, twisting the fabric and pulling him closer. I felt a sharp sting from where my brassière snapped against my shoulder blade. It sent a jolt of desire down my spine. I did not know what I wanted, but I wanted more of it.

All of it.

Before, it was always slow and gentle. Like two dancers spiralling into each other.

There was no room for dancing tonight.

I felt the dragon fire burn inside me as we kissed. Felt it burn through my core as he trailed soft kisses down my chest. It seared my veins as my body buzzed, his lips warm between my legs. He did not stop, even as he teased out sounds I did not know I could make.

I screamed his name into the night as he fucked me. Raw, desperate moans sheltered between us when we caught breath; drowning in the ecstasy of being alive. I wrapped my legs around him, pulling us closer; my fingernails clutching desperately at every part of him; his hair, his shoulders, his back. I heard him grunt, my nails snagging on one of his scars as he bit down on my neck.

We were like two fluttering leaves, blown through the wind. We trembled and I did not know if it was the after-effects of potions or the sheer bliss of sex. I rode him with reckless abandon. I was on top of the world and we were flying above London again.

Let go, Cissa!

His eyes were wide, and I could not tell where the pupil ended and iris began. We slipped off the back of the dragon, screaming in joy as we fell through the world. I held the feather fall charm on my lips until the very last moment.

I felt the flames burn me away, white hot, my hands gripping at the sheets. At his hands. At his hair. At his shoulders. My back arched like a violin string strung taut, and I was thrumming with power and desire. He bit down on my neck, whispering into my ear as I shuddered around him, sparks flying from my fingertips. His hands were everywhere. He squeezed my breast, sending jolts of pain and pleasure down my spine.

My heart fluttered to the rhythm of his name. Skipped a beat. A bouquet of fuzzy black flowers bloomed at the back of my mind as we came undone. My head spun and spun and spun. I unspooled away into the abyss like a little ship sucked into a whirlpool.