TW: Slightly suicidal thoughts, we'll get over that though!

"It's beautiful, as always," Harper claims, clearly moved and under her breath.

The red fire I control is being reflected in her gleaming eyes, and as much concentration as it takes – the flames obey.

"But I'm sure it's also exhausting," she adds as she circles around and comes to a stop behind me. "You look tired …"

I nod in silence.
It's incredibly exhausting, I am tired.
The giant serpent my Fiendfyre has chosen as a form is buzzing around the empty space of the Room of Requirement, as if it were all too eager to unleash its all-devouring effects.

"Tom, it's been three minutes already," Harper states, with a certain urgency in her voice. "You've never been controlling it that long before. Rumor has it Grindelwald can manage up to five minutes, but he's been practicing that considerably more often than you …"

I hear her voice, her words, too, as if through fog. But she doesn't reach me. I'm in a trance, in full concentration, and just maybe it's finally about time …

I'm almost certain I seem rather eerie to Harper, darkly intent staring into the blazing red. King Nero could hardly have looked more insane as he glanced down on Rome burning.
And when I drop my wand and raise my bare hands to shape the flames with them instead, she actually loses her breath for a moment.

I myself notice how my control wavers at once as well – the wand clearly bundles more energy than I would have suspected – and so the snake, cunning as it lives up to its name, uses the moment in its favor.

It splits its mighty head in two, hisses against its sister in the firestorm, and then rears up majestically in front of us as doubled trouble.

For the first time in my life, I have to acknowledge that I'm not entirely in control of my own magic anymore.
What a strange feeling.
Like confrontation with mortal danger in this brief moment of calm before the storm …

"Tom?" Harper is close behind me, due to the slit pupils of two vicious pairs of eyes literally going into shock. "Use your wand again," she whispers. It's a very quiet plea, as though the Fiendfyre couldn't hear her fear this way.

Yet I barely shake my head, knowing I'm running out of time to even reach for my wand.

Within the blink of an eye, the twin serpents rush toward us in blind fury, and either we live or we die.

And at this very moment, before the unstoppable impact of a hellfire against our earthly shells, every second seems to become a minute – diametrical to all logic.

Fate stops our time in the Room of Requirement for this short moment in our universe. Just as if Hogwarts' walls knew I might be at a designated turning point.

All or nothing, here and now.

I have to make a choice.
My magic is only as powerful as my inherent intent – I have to want it.
I must want to live in order to control the fire.

Burn within a heartbeat, to nothing more than glowing ash that no one will mourn?
Or continue striving to make a name for myself?

But no …
That alone is not enough.
It would be nothing more than surviving, and the desire for that is simply not strong enough to serve its purpose.

"Tom!" Harper urges, right next to my ear – like a reverie of the life still ahead of me. Of us.

She's never been afraid in the Room of Requirement. Never afraid of me or my dark magic – but today her hands hold onto the black fabric of my cloak in fear. Yet in her panic she pushes herself so close to me that there can only be one decision.

And suddenly the world goes on and keeps spinning.

My personal flames of purgatory hurl themselves at us with unspeakable force, but I don't want to die.

I don't want her to die.

And so the fire that my magic created must take an abrupt stop at a proper distance from us, without using its embers to smother two young souls.

With a movement of my hand, I force the snakes to swallow themselves and then burst into thousands of tiny sparks, right before us, then I breathe a noticeable sigh of relief, as if an unspeakable weight has been lifted from my chest.

What remains is exhaustion – I'm left in dizziness.

"We're alive," Harper whispers, almost in disbelief, then she shouts it at the top of her lungs in sheer euphoria. "We're alive, Tom! You've controlled a Fiendfyre without a wand!"

Rough inanition in my bones, as if all magic had just been drained from my body, and yet her rapturous embrace feels like a rush in the afterlife.

She cups my face with her hands and the ecstatic bewilderment in her laughter sounds so much more beautiful than any witty poem ever could.

"What you've just accomplished, most of us don't accomplish their whole lives!" she says, still in utter excitement. "I thought we were going to die, but that was … well, that was honestly … insane!"

She beams at me, then she seems to realize just how paralyzed I am.

We'd never been that close before. I guess it took our almost certain death for that to happen …

However she misinterprets my reverent silence as her hands drop uncertainly, almost caught, yet without taking her eyes off me.

I was motionless, not because of, but thanks to her touch. Having her that near felt strangely right.

As if she had just reached through my ribs, past my lungs, and made my heartbeat set in with her bare hand. For the first time, and irrevocably.

It's not the fire without a wand that's the surprising magic.
It's that.

"Are you all right?" Harper asks, slightly worried by now. "You're all pale …"

"The room's just spinning," I all but reply, taking a deep breath as the Room of Requirement conjures a chair for me out of nothing.

She can't hide a smile when she notices it, too. "You need to sit down, it seems."

As it's indeed the case, I ever so reluctantly do so.

"I didn't mean to put you in danger," I let her know, like it could even begin to suffice as an apology.

"And I knew what we're about to practice," she says. "I knew it'd be dangerous. But also educational and interesting and exciting!"

"Show me your Patronus," I abruptly demand.

"After you've put on such a show, you expect me to summon my tiny Patronus?" Her indignant protest is honorable, but I nod nevertheless.

"Ancient, complicated magic," I dully correct, "that even I can't work out … So yes, show me. And tell me what you're thinking of."

"A family dinner," she replies, still standing where we almost died. She winks, then explains, "Because I happen to like family and food."

"That sounds kitschy enough indeed."

She waves it off, calling out, "Expecto Patronum!"

The blue light, like liquid, viscous smoke, immediately forms her old familiar, cheerful bobcat that soon flies all over the room in a flash.

"Isn't it sweet?" she asks as she turns back to me. "Tom, why don't you try it again as well?"

"Because I hate to fail," I wanly reply.

"I've noticed that. But you just need to find a memory strong enough. Something that makes your heart glow –"

"Dementors fear fire, too," I interrupt her, "don't worry about me."

"Whatever you say," she sighs in half-amusement, then dissolves her Patronus. "You seem to be feeling better already, though, judging by your sarcasm."

"I'm doing fabulously well, I just need to take a breath," I retort, yet I also find myself laughing as she chuckles in disbelief.

"Are you going to stay here much longer?" she asks.

"Are you not?"

She shakes her head. "I don't need to rest from a Fiendfyre. But I definitely need to get something done. So until tonight, I guess? Surely we'll see each other sometime …"

As I don't answer her, she's already striding towards the exit, symbolically forcing me to wake up.

"Wait!" I call after her, catching up just outside the door. "What exactly do you have to get done?"

She puts her hands on her hips with a judging smile. "We study together, we eat together – can't a girl have a secret? Why so inquisitive?"

I shrug. "You would've mentioned what you need to get done by now, unless –"

"What?" she tries for a stern look, yet she fails.

"Unless you're hiding something."

"It's hard to hide things from you," she claims. "You're like a tracking dog. You always know where I am, you always know what I'm up to, but today –"

"Today's not the day to stop with it so suddenly, right. Say it."

"Can't you read my mind anymore?" She grins and I just roll my eyes. She got too proficient in Occlumency too soon.

But finally she volunteers, sighing, "It's about the Yule Ball, of course …"

"Oh, the worst event ever," I mutter, joining her in lethargy. "I'd rather sleep in the Forbidden Forest for three weeks rather than having to attend that."

"I feel the same way, and besides, I don't know what to wear. Honestly, I'd prefer to just put on a pair of trousers …"

"Then do it."

She snorts and walks on, closely followed by me.

"I'd even lend you some - I'd like to see that."

"Tom, I don't need any from you," she impatiently replies, "believe it or not, they make them for women by now, too! But the dress code –"

"Is declared void for cultural matters at the Yule Ball. Don't you read the bylaws?"

"You seem to have read them for both of us," she says in surprise. "Void? Really?"

"Would I lie to you." My smirk probably indicates that I would, but right now I'm actually sincere. "Be who you want to be tonight."

"But there's even going to be a reporter from Witch Weekly …"

I give her an incredulous glance, and when she nods affirmatively, I just shake my head.

"This rare occasion just attracts interest," she says, "so maybe I should have prepared better after all … What's Rouvenia going to wear? I'm sure she's turning up in a stunning dress."

"She probably is."

"And were you provided with an elegant robe that matches her?"

"Of course." I pitch my voice up to imitate Rou, "Everything has to be perfect."

"Thought so …" Harper nods, then stares into the old stone ceiling. "Black will hate me if I embarrass him in trousers."

"Come again?" I actually stop walking, that's how irritated I am. "You're going there with Orion Black?"

"Yeah …" She gulps as wary disbelief is written all over my face.

"He's a Slytherin," I say as though that alone spoke volumes.

"Well, so are you."

I groan. "Sure, but … why him? Harper, at least put on trousers and make him mad. Black's not having fun anyway."

"I know." She's about to wallow in self-pity, I can tell. "He's always trying to be terribly serious, but in trousers it's sure to be a disaster …"

"Perhaps you shouldn't have accepted his invitation in the first place then."

"I couldn't refuse," she mumbles. "My alternative was Dean Hornby, Olive's brother, and Myrtle would have been complaining about that for the next few weeks! Especially since he's a Ravenclaw, too. I could hardly avoid him in the common room. All in all I would have regretted that even more."

"Probably true, granted." I can't help but chuckle. "But then I'm curious to see what you're daring to wear tonight."

"Me too!" She buries her face in a hand for a moment, then she winks. "So excuse me. I have to work on a solution …"

"Why haven't you done that a lot sooner?" I call after her, she's already on her way.

"Because it seemed so unimportant, but now …" She laughs, resigned to fate, and shakes her head as she turns around one last time. "Damn it, who knew you wouldn't turn us into ashes!"