By Firelight

By Firelight

Harry tore his eyes away from the flickering light of the fire and squinted up at the clock above the mantelpiece. 4am. Quite how long he'd been sitting there staring at the flames in the otherwise pitch black Common Room he didn't know. But why he was there he knew only too well: this was just the latest in a long string of sleepless nights. Virtually every time he shut his eyes and tried to drift off, he was sucked into a world of nightmares, of veils, cracked mirrors and regrets. They whirled round his head until he was at screaming point, and then, inevitably, his defences gave way and his dreams became visions through his enemy's eyes, seeing what he was seeing, feeling what he was feeling...

Harry rubbed the scar on his forehead, which was throbbing painfully. He hadn't had a headache-free day in months now. He reached forward and put another log onto the fire, then slumped back in the armchair again to watch it. There was something both mesmerising and comforting about watching the flames lick at the edges of the log and slowly devour it.

"Harry?"

Harry jumped; he hadn't heard anyone come down. He turned and saw Parvati standing there, looking at him inquiringly. Her long, black hair was tied back in a loose plait, which twisted down over one shoulder of her silky burgundy dressing gown.

"Harry, what are you doing down here by yourself? Are you alright?" she asked gently.

Harry nodded mutely and turned his gaze back to the fire. Much as he really appreciated Parvati's concern, he wasn't in the mood to talk. He heard the light swish of soft fabric against the furniture, as Parvati came round and knelt down next to his chair.

"No you're not. Of course you're not," she murmured.

He sighed and turned his attention back to her. The orange glow of the firelight shone on her smooth, dusky skin and danced in her eyes; Harry felt his heart begin to beat slightly faster.

She leaned forward and gently kissed his scar, her fingers running through the hair at the nape of his neck. Her lips felt deliciously cool against the searing heat emanating from his forehead. They lingered there for a few moments; Harry closed his eyes and savoured every second. As she drew back again, Harry brought his hand up and stroked her cheek, tracing along her cheekbone with his thumb.

"If I could kiss it all away, I would," she whispered, her voice trembling with emotion. "Then at least you could live, instead of just surviving as you are."

And neither can live while the other survives...

The words of the prophecy echoed round his head, and a great surge of feelings, of suppressed hurt, anger and injustice, welled up inside him. He pulled Parvati into his arms and kissed her again and again, ever deeper and more urgently, almost frenziedly, longing to absorb some of the life and vitality, of the normality she represented to him.

"I want to live," he mumbled into her hair. "I want to live so much."