Putting Out Fire

See these eyes so green,
I can stare for a thousand years,
Colder than the moon,
It's been so long.

A twinge of guilt passed through the night and wormed its way into Harry's brain. This is wrong. Why am I doing this?

He knew in his heart why. Simply because she was there and so very available. He didn't love her. He didn't even particularly care about her. It didn't matter who it was. Female and warm was all that mattered. His heart constricted and he felt the wave of cold wash over it.

He wanted to feel something again. Anything.

Raw sex could do that. Burning flesh meeting burning flesh. It poked through his barriers just enough to make life seem real again. Fucking someone was safe because it didn't threaten the barriers to his soul. It just prodded at them enough to let him know that his emotions still existed. His eyes focused on the headboard. He didn't want to look down at the woman beneath him. Guilt wasn't a feeling he wanted right now, so he pushed it away.

A sardonic grin played across his mouth as pelvis slammed against pelvis. He continued to stare at the headboard, knowing that if he looked down at her face, guilt would push through his barriers. He didn't want to care that way. He didn't want to think. He just wanted to feel. He roughly grabbed her hair and shoved his mouth against hers. He knew he was hurting her, but he didn't care. Until he felt his pelvic bones grind. Until her moan of pleasure took on a different tone. Until he knew she felt pain.

Everyone had used him for such a long time. Now was his time and his way. This was his pleasure and he was taking.To hell with giving. Even if it’s taking from old friends.

And I've been putting out fire,
With gasoline.

The night had started out simply enough. He'd caught the Snitch and the Cannons won. The celebration in the locker room was jubilant, but Harry felt nothing. Winning the match was a victory for others. But, it was just another in the long line of victories for him. As yelps, towels, and water sprayed across the locker room, Harry laughed and joked with a smile that refused to meet his eyes.

He could still hear the screaming fans outside. Reporters swarmed the closed entrance, shouting out questions. He heard his name called out by several of them. He recognized the voices of at least two reporters who had been particularly tenacious after the defeat of Voldemort. Feelings of anger and violence welled up within him. He grabbed at the emotions and tried unsuccessfully to push them down. A sneer briefly crossed his face. He loathed the reporters who had made his life miserable for months after Voldemort's death. He wished the reporters dead.

Nothing happened.

He was still smiling in that unsettling way when one of his teammates clapped him on the back and shouted over the din, "Celebration at The Den tonight, eh, Harry?"

Harry simply nodded and ground his teeth together. He wished people wouldn't insist on touching him so much. But, The Den - that sounded good.

The Den was a large, underground Wizard's club in London where most Quidditch teams apparated to celebrate victory. Originally, the deep cavern was to be used as another, smaller and more secure branch of Gringotts. The Goblins abandoned the plan during Voldemort's first reign of terror. During the '80s and early '90s, the young Wizarding World used the empty cavern for Raves and other parties. The Goblins didn't care who used it. They didn't need it. When Voldemort rose to power the second time, Lucius Malfoy bought the property. He made renovations on it, finishing it into a club where he and his cronies could hide.

Hermione had discovered its' new owner and incarnation while searching for information to stop the constant attacks on Gringotts. She'd gladly passed the information on to the Aurors who descended on Malfoy's hideaway kicking ass and taking names later.

For her troubles, Lucius sent Hermione a Dementor for her birthday. She was kissed on the sparkling, clear blue September day when she celebrated seventeen years on the earth. Ron, by then her boyfriend of two years, watched it happen, helplessly writhing on the ground under several Cruciatus Curses. Sirius and Remus showed up minutes too late to save her, but managed to get Ron back to physical safety, before giving up their own lives to Death Eaters. Appropriately, Peter Pettigrew wound up killing both of them, only to be killed by Voldemort for allowing Ron to escape.

But life goes on, and after Voldemort was dead (as was Lucius Malfoy), an entrepreneur purchased the underground cavern and turned it into The Den. He used a combination of Muggle and Wizarding sound systems that brought music and dancing to another level.

Metal catwalks lined the rough-hewn rocks. Alcoves carved into the rock made pockets of quiet where people could talk over the din of pounding music. Huge stuffed couches and chairs surrounded a series of lighted, carved steps that formed the round dancing platform. The marble bar was carved along the back wall of the cavern. Drinks both Muggle and Wizard could be made from any poison that dripped from the taps or poured from the bottles. A row of churning frozen drink makers backlit the bar. Lights both Magical and Muggle swirled and danced around the entire cave.

Quidditch groupies and other hangers on crawled there in abundance. Harry was certainly going. Going to The Den meant a Witch or some hapless female Muggle (with knowledge of the Wizarding World) would soon be beneath him for the night. It meant no strings. It meant he would have release from his thoughts without the worries of his emotions. He would be able to feel something beyond the barriers.

Anxious to get closer to his evening's goal as it was quite late already, Harry dressed quickly. "See you there,” and he Apparated to The Den.

See these eyes so red,
Red like jungle burning bright,
Those who feel me near,
Pull the blinds and change their minds,
It's been so long.

The pounding beat bounced from the walls and filled his ears and chest with music when he stepped away from the apparation point in The Den. Several of his teammates were already crowded around the bar, laughing, and toasting their victory. Harry barely heard them yell out his name in unison as they raised their glasses and mugs in his direction. He approached, allowing them to slap him on the back. This was their celebration, their victory, not his. He didn't care. It was just another day to him. Except that he would allow that little bit of him out soon. That little part of him that was allowed to feel something.

Harry grabbed a pint of Hard Pumpkin Juice, grinned, and downed a shot of Snickity Doom Potion with his teammates. It burned going down. Then came the small explosion of warmth to his belly. A minute later, he could feel his tension in his shoulders inch away into the smoky air. His eyes crept around the bar. Blonde? Brunette? Witch? Muggle? Several attractive females looked his way and either blushed or smiled wickedly. The ones that smiled wickedly caught his attention. There was no mistaking why they were there.

A lithe witch with short black hair and obvious assets beneath her loose green robes looked into his eyes and smiled as she passed by him on her way to the bar. The gaze held for a moment. Harry saw her smile fade as she held his eyes. They flicked momentarily to his forehead and she stepped away from him quickly. No matter. The press, notably Witch Weekly, ensured that this would happen from time to time. He was used to it.

He spied a smallish woman in Muggle clothing who was staring at him with darkened eyes. A wry smile crept up on one side of her mouth. Bit on the old side, over 30, but attractive anyway. Straight, long, silky blonde hair. This could do. Older meant experience and usually a lack of attachments. Another blonde with shorter hair leaned against the bar next to her with her back to Harry. The first woman said something to her and she turned to look at him. Bit younger, witches robes, same dark eyes. Ah, sisters! One a Muggle, one a Witch. This was shaping up to be an interesting night.

Harry smiled at them. He received smiles in return. What luck. So many women, so little time.

His gaze wandered over the dance floor as he contemplated buying them drinks. A flash of red caught his eyes. A woman with long, silky red hair was being lifted into the air in the middle of the dance floor. Thin with long legs. Really long legs. Black leather mini-skirt and a black lace top. Harry took in the details in seconds. Another second passed and he made the decision to abandon the sisters and find out what was on the other side of the fabulous leather covered ass. He turned to the sisters and smiled, shrugging shyly. (Don't want to completely write them off, do we?) He shoved off the bar and wandered around the edge of the dance floor, searching for the redhead.

Harry spotted the redhead. He pushed through the crowd surrounding the dance floor and reached the edge. He could finally see her from the front. Harry didn’t understand why he wasn't surprised, because he should have been. There should have been some emotion or reaction, at least surprise. But, there was nothing. That made him angry.

It was Ginny Weasley. So, she'd become a Quidditch Hag, had she? No, in the four years he'd been playing Quidditch for the Cannons, she hadn't been here. Surely, she must know that this was a hang out for players, though.

She hadn't seen him yet and would probably run when she did. Then again, maybe she wouldn’t. He watched her dance. She executed practiced, sensual moves, adulating to the relentless pulsing beat that permeated the air. She tilted her head back and raised her arms in the air. Her face was pale and stood out in the darkness. She appeared to be worshiping the blinking crimson and white strobes flashing over her head. Her hair moved as a single strand, bouncing away from her back. She really was captivating, very different from the last time he'd seen her. Who was she dancing with? Oh, no! Not Creevey. Anyone but that poofter Creevey!

Of all the reporters, Creevey hounded him the worst about what had happened that day. His photos of and articles about Harry started right after Creevey left school and began working at Witch Weekly.

Rita Skeeter began her press campaign immediately following Hermione's kiss, and she didn't let up until nearly a year after Voldemort's defeat. When Harry finally thought he was getting relief from the constant press coverage, Creevey got the job at Witch Weekly and began his relentless smear campaign. He seemed to have a knack for knowing exactly where Harry was and who he was with. He always seemed to have information that Harry thought was his only. His photos of Harry appeared in every issue, usually connected to a female sob story. Creevey detailed the defeat of Voldemort in every article, keeping it fresh in both the public's and Harry's minds. Harry tried not to pay attention to the articles, but sometimes it was just impossible. His teammates usually filled him in on the more interesting pictures and articles.

Seeing him with Ginny made him wonder. They were obviously friends. Not only were their dancing moves practiced and familiar, Creevey just didn't play for the same team. He was quite open about it. If they were friends, did he know the truth? Worse, did he know the truth and print the lies for her?

Even when Harry tried to tell the truth, no one had believed him. Especially Creevey whose pictures and columns made him larger than life with every issue. Did Ginny plant the ideas in his head? Was Ginny the one feeding him the lies?

Creevey had no idea what it was like living in the media glare that he created. Damn him. Harry desperately wanted to move to the dance floor and hex Creevey's simpleton smile away. But he had more important things to do than hex Creevey.

Was she there because she knew he would be? Harry smirked. Just like old times. Little Ginny Weasley following Harry Potter around. Stalking, really.

He emptied his pint and turned his attention back to Ginny.

She'd spotted him, and she’d stopped moving. Across the crowd, green eyes met brown. A person caught between their gazes might experience a cold shiver, and walk away knowing how it feels to be in hell. An entire conversation of hatred, pain, and betrayal took place in seconds without a word. It ended on a note of lust when Ginny's nostrils flared and she took a step towards him, never breaking eye contact. With that single look, both of them knew how the night would end.

Old friends just know how to read each other.

Still this pulsing night,
A plague I call a heartbeat,
Just be still with me,
Ya wouldn't believe what I've been thru,
You've been so long,
Well, it's been so long.

During Harry's last year of school he managed to fall in love. Of course, it was with Ginny, as nearly everyone had predicted. It annoyed Harry that the relationship with her felt arranged, that he never had a choice in falling for her. Some unseen force had preordained his life’s story. That perceived lack of control bothered him a great deal.

Their relationship began unexpectedly in August during his visit with the Weasleys. Everyone was quite pleased at the development. She provided some measure of stability and sense of real belonging in the Weasley family, so he pushed the nagging thoughts aside. He treated Ginny well, as was expected of him.

Of course, in addition to falling in love, Harry was expected to defeat, or at least do battle with, Voldemort. Everyone simply assumed it would be him. Hogwarts fell into three distinct divisions regarding Harry and his duty regarding the Dark Lord. The divisions, while somewhat different, ran largely along the same lines as they had during the Tri-Wizard Tournament. He had supporters and friends, mostly Gryffindors. He had detractors and enemies, led by Draco Malfoy, mostly of the Slytherin variety. The remaining students in Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff that had not picked a side remained neutral, hoping that someone would manage to set the world right. But, they all expected it to be Harry in the final confrontation.

Ollivander's words from first year rang in his ears continuously during his seventh year. "I think we must expect great things from you, Mr. Potter."

In the end, with a great deal of guilt and a much larger sense of responsibility to the world, he complied with everyone's wishes and went out to meet the maelstrom that had built into a towering crescendo of death during his last year.

He laid on the ground, bleeding on the inside and out. He heard Ron groan to his left. He longed to pick up his head and turn it to tell Ron goodbye, but he couldn't. It hurt too much and he could feel himself dying. Dumbledore was on the ground next to him. He was almost certainly dead. Godric Gryffindor's sword was between them, on the muddy turf, crimson jewels and gold hilt and shaft glittering in the soft light of dawn.

They'd been fighting all night. Dumbledore, Harry, and Ron had been unstoppable. Every spell hit its' intended mark. Their Patronus Charms were the stuff of epic poetry. Death Eaters, Giants, Trolls, and Dementors fell or ran from their onslaught.

When they reached the familiar graveyard in Little Haggleton, the air became preternaturally still and a dark heaviness surrounded them. Harry's scar tingled. During his fifth year, he learned to control the pain in his scar and had been pushing the hurt away during the night’s battles. This slight tingle meant that an extremely angry and murderous Voldemort was very close.

Before Harry could warn either Dumbledore or Ron, the spell hit them like a wave, crashing a cold fire over their bodies and ripping them apart from the inside. All three of them fell. After all the lives given and all the lives taken, they were about to loose everything. Win the battle and loose the war. They were going to die and Voldemort would live. It wasn't supposed to end like this. The hero, his loyal best mate, and his mentor were supposed to win. They weren't supposed to die with their faces pressed against the muddy ground of this cemetery. This was supposed to be the place of their victory.

Harry felt movement beside him and opened his eyes. His glasses were broken and blood poured around the edges of his vision. Pain shot through his head as his carefully constructed barriers broke off. Voldemort's hatred and rage surged through the scar and into his head. Through his agony, he saw a small pair of trainers and the hem of a black robe stop beside the sword. A feminine hand reached down and grabbed the hilt. Harry forced his eyes to stay open. Painfully, he lifted his head slightly and looked up. Tangles of red hair, covered in soot and grime hung in burnt tatters down the back of mud-splattered robes. It was Ginny. She was going to give him the sword. It would be all right; she would give him the strength he needed to finish it.

She didn't look at him or speak to him. She kept walking toward Voldemort, swinging the sword outward.

As Ginny raised it above her head, the sword hummed to life and an aura of shimmering red and gold surrounded her. Harry heard Voldemort laugh. His cruel serpent eyes lit upon Ginny as he raised his wand to her. He was going to kill Ginny and then there would be no one left to help him. Harry heard a scream and felt his vocal chords rip through the pain in his head. "No! Ginny! Stop!"

Ginny's footsteps paused. Ginny was going to die. He had to get up and do something. Anything!

Voldemort flicked his wand. "Avada Kedavra!"

Green and silver light flashed through the air between Voldemort and Ginny. Harry felt a warm surge in the air. A breeze lifted the fringes of his hair from his forehead and cooled his burning scar. Ginny's aura was absorbing the Killing Curse. Green and silver mingled and swirled with red and gold.

"That's enough! NO MORE!" Ginny's voice seemed magically amplified.

Time crawled as she surged forward, bringing the sword level with Voldemort's neck. Harry was rooted to the spot. He couldn't move as the sword sliced through the air and into Voldemort's neck and throat. Harry felt the tendons in his own neck as though they were being wrenched and severed. White-hot pain ripped through his throat as vertebrae crushed. He was feeling Voldemort's death. He was feeling it along with his own. Voldemort was done as surely as he was.

He couldn't even close his eyes to lessen the pain.

Blood flew and spattered over Ginny as Voldemort's body tumbled to the ground in a spurting wash of crimson. His hideous head flew across the graveyard and smashed into the marble headstone that Harry and Ginny knew all too well.

Harry noticed that Voldemort's mouth was locked open in an obscene smile. Ginny paid it no mind and reached inside her blood-covered robes for her wand.

When she pointed her wand at the bodiless head, her voice rang out clear and strong. "Infernus!"

He felt another great wave of fire crash over him as he watched the spell hit Voldemort's head and explode in a tower of shimmering gold and crimson fire.

Harry’s pain ended abruptly and he felt no more.

Well, I've been putting out the fire with gasoline,
Putting out the fire,
With gasoline.

Harry blew the door from its' hinges and stormed into the Burrow. It was a mess. With Molly gone and Arthur near death, no one bothered with cleaning spells. There was a foul odor coming from the piles of dirty dishes in the sink. Most likely, from the giant meal they had eaten nearly two weeks before. Their last meal at the Burrow. A mouse scurried across the kitchen floor and disappeared into a crack in the front door. Grainy soot covered everything in the house's main floor. The fireplace was in ruins from the spells that Molly, Ron, Harry, and Ginny used when the Death Eaters crashed through it. It hadn't been enough.

There was simply no one left to clean it up. Molly died that night. She'd taken a curse meant for Harry.

Arthur was caught in the battle for the Ministry the same night. Percy threw the first Cruciatus Curse at his father that night. Many others followed. Some from Percy, some from other Fudge sympathizers. Arthur still lingered at St. Mungos, but was not expected to live. Charlie and Bill were long dead. They were killed along with Hagrid in Harry's fifth year. No one knew what had happened to the twins when Weasley's Wizard Wheezes was destroyed during Harry's sixth year.

Hermione was in St. Mungos. Ron was dead. Ironically, the traitor Percy was still alive. He would live on, but not well and not at The Burrow. So, the house was empty except for the mess and Ginny.

How he hated her. She'd stolen his victory. She'd robbed him what had been rightfully his and had forced him to live a lie. Damn her for not speaking up, for not claiming the spoils of war, for allowing the victors to write about him as their hero once again. For forcing him to take the credit and pay the price for defeating Voldemort and, for once again, living as so many others died all around him. To think he loved her once. He'd thought that they would all come through it intact. She'd promised him that they would. They just had to stick together and believe in themselves. Liar. LIAR! She lived too, just as he did. They alone lived. Everyone else in their young lives was dead or better off dead. Maybe they were better off dead too.

Harry took the stairs two at a time. He knew just where she was. In the attic with that damn ghoul.

Harry passed Ron's room. The door was open. The bright orange caught his eyes. Bloody idiot! How could anyone sleep in that room? The sodding Cannons never won anyway. Only fucking Ron could love a team of losers that much. Rage gripped Harry's gut and he walked into the room with his wand drawn. He flicked his wrist to the dresser, “Devastare Ron's Dresser!"

The dresser exploded. Harry continued in this until each piece of furniture was in shards and splinters. He stood back and looked at his handiwork. Dissatisfied, he pointed his wand at the ceiling and muttered, "Peinture Noir Flamus Sot!"

Black soot poured from the end of his wand and covered the garish walls with grime. The Chudley Cannon orange was no more. Much better.

Now...what was I doing? Oh, yes. That bitch that took everything away from him.

A few steps later Harry threw open the door to the attic. Ginny was huddled in the furthest corner from the door. She looked out at him with fear pouring from her eyes. She weakly lifted her wand in his direction. "Don't come any closer, Harry."

Tears left tracks down her dirty cheeks and throat. She didn't bother to wipe them away. Her mouth quivered. Harry snorted in disgust. "You can defeat Voldemort, but you can't even do a few simple spells to take care of yourself. You are pathetic, Weasley."

Ginny pushed back against the wall and a strangled sob escaped from her throat. Her voice came in hitches. "Har-Har-ry, please. Please. No. Not this way. Don't let it end this way. We're all that's left, Harry. Please."

Great heaving sobs racked her body. My lord, she's disgusting.

"You know Weasley, I used to think you were beautiful and strong," Harry made a snorting noise through his nose. "Guess I was wrong about you. Guess I was wrong about everyone. Pathetic."

He crossed the distance between them with two strides. She was still holding out her wand. It shook violently as her breath came in gasps and sobs erupted from her chest. Harry grabbed her wand and neatly snapped it in half. He held the pieces up to her face. Sarcasm dripped from his words. "Oh, I'm sorry. You didn't need that, did you? No more Dark Lords out there for you to kill now, are there?"

Harry threw the wand carelessly over his shoulder. Ginny's eyes followed the pieces as they clattered against the wall before landing uselessly on the floor. She went silent. Her eyes registered some sort of understanding and she slumped against the wall before closing them.

"You are utterly useless," Harry spat, leaning over her. Her eyes remained closed and her mouth turned downward. He could see her jaw working in frustration. "You are nothing."

With that, Harry grabbed Ginny by the front of her filthy robes and hauled her to her feet. She did not resist and it only disgusted him more. She'd never had a problem resisting him during their time at Hogwarts. She'd always said no. She was nothing but a useless tease. She wouldn't be useless much longer.

Harry turned and began to drag her down the stairs to her bedroom.

See these tears so blue,
An ageless heart that can never mend,
These tears can never dry,
A judgment made can never bend.

He pulled up his boxers and trousers without looking at her. He could hear her sobs, muffled by her pillow.

Harry felt a twinge of guilt working its' way to his heart. What was happening to him? This used to be his home. These people had loved and taken care of him through everything. It was all gone. Ginny was all he had left.

He risked a glance at Ginny. She laid on her bed in the filth of battle, her robes and clothing ripped open, clots forming around the deep bite and scratch wounds on her arms and shoulders. Bruises were forming there too. Her neck showed the bright red indentations of fingers. Between her legs, blood mixed with semen trickled from her and dried slowly on the sheets.

There was no one but Harry to hear her screams. Mixed with her cries for mercy and her screams of pain, she'd shrieked out the name Tom. It made Harry wonder what Riddle did to her during second year. Before he saved her in the Chamber of Secrets. Before he did battle with the Basilisk and killed Tom Riddle's memory.

Before.

Harry looked at his hands in horror. What had he done?

Pain and guilt ripped through his heart. He wanted to go to her, hold her and tell her how sorry he was. To give her comfort, heal her wounds and have her love him again. He ached for the only person who had ever understood his nightmares and all the years of pain he endured for the sake of others. The only person who could understand the burden that had always lain at his feet. The only person who had ever really been there for him, loving him no matter what, desperately trying to heal his every wound.

The Medi-Wizards found them together that horrible, blood drenched dawn. Through the agony of her wounds, Ginny crawled to him and wrapped him in an embrace that he returned without consciousness. Somehow, Ginny healed them both, lying in that embrace, covered with mud, brain matter, and blood. But, not enough. Ginny's love for him had won the battle against death. Hatred and anger had already won the war.

Something that sounded like a weak croak emanated from Harry's throat and broke the stillness of The Burrow.

Ginny raised her bloodstained eyes from the bed and glared at him. "GET OUT, YOU FUCKING BASTARD!"

In less than an hour, he'd shattered the only good thing left in his life. He killed the only person who had ever loved him as Harry. Just plain Harry. The only person who could have saved him from himself.

It was truly over now.

He turned and walked out the door.

See these eyes so green,
I can stare for a thousand years,
Just be still with me,
Ya wouldn't believe what I've been thru.

After the night was spent and the sun began to rise, Harry fully realized what he’d done. Again. He heard her getting dressed and the clicking of her heels across his bedroom to the bathroom. He squeezed his eyes shut as pain threatened to erupt from his chest. This was wrong. It was all just so wrong. He didn't want to feel like this anymore. He didn't want this hardness in his life. He wanted it gone. He wanted to feel something besides anger and hate.

He heard the toilet flush and heels clicking across the floor again. He sat up and opened his eyes. Her back was to him. As she bent forward to pick up her blouse from the floor, her hair parted and fell forward. The small, pocked scars on her arms and shoulders were clearly visible in the dim morning light that streamed through the window. The morning sun made her scars seem on fire.

She’d come back with him from The Den. He’d treated her like any other tart. But, it was her. She was here. She was really here. Ginny.

"Ginny," his voice was hoarse. When he heard his own weakness, he felt his barrier begin to waver. Begin to give. The pain was worse than any of the Unforgivable Curses hurled at his body over the years.

His dreams. His family. Everything was still there in Ginny. Not everything had been lost after all.

Ginny didn't answer him. She didn't look at him. She walked confidently to her bag and picked it up from the chair.

"Ginny, please look at me," Harry felt his throat constrict. "Please…look at me."

He'd made a terrible mistake. So many mistakes. Mistakes that would haunt the rest of his miserable life.

Ginny crossed the room and turned as she reached the doorway. Her mouth was set in a map of emotional distance. Her hand rested on the doorjamb, but her stance was firm. Her eyes finally met his. The once laughing pools of promise were hard. They no longer held the keys to comfort and understanding that he knew before that day late in June four years ago. They no longer looked at him with admiration and love. They were dark bricks hurled at him. The hardness that kept the anger, fear, hurt, and betrayal at bay. Harry knew that look. He knew that look intimately. It was the rope that hung him long ago, swinging, taunting him from her eyes.

An involuntary choke of air pushed from his throat and he felt his eyes begin to sting. He knew that they were turning red from the effort of pushing back his wall of hurt and guilt.

"Thanks for the fuck, Harry,” her eyebrows rose. "Much better than last time."

She turned and walked out the door.

Harry wasn't the only one with a fire to put out.

Well, it’s been so long,
It's been so long.
And I've been putting out fire with gasoline
Putting out fire,
With gasoline.
Been so long…

____________________________