Dragon's Fire

Throughout Charms, I tried to concentrate on the task at hand, but my mind simply refused to allow anything but her face inside. The spell was fairly simple, but I mucked it up three times before getting it right. Ginny was affecting my conscious thought, which ruined my best efforts at remaining calm and collected.

I sought out my next class eagerly. This was the one class I shared with Ginny, and I didn't want to be late. She walked in; her easy gait attracted my gaze and smile of appreciation. Granger was beside her, laughing loudly at something funny Ginny had said. That idiot with the camera, (I can never remember his name) was at her other side, just waiting for an opportunity to click the button. I was so wrapped up in staring, that I forgot to take notes as the professor wrote them on the board. I would have to borrow them from someone else in my year later. Arithmancy was dreadfully dull, so I sat at my desk and wrote out ways that I thought would work best to win her heart. The sound of my name being called pulled me out of my wonderland and I was slightly embarrassed at having been caught not paying attention.

"Yes, professor?" I answered, trying not to sound rude.

"What is this?" she said, pointing to a drawing on the board. I thought for a minute, and tried to recall what I was supposed to have read for homework last night. Finally, the answer came to me and I recited it to her. She deemed my response correct and left me alone to my thoughts once more.

I wish I knew what to say to Ginny that wouldn't sound stupid or desperate or stalker-like. I pictured what would happen if I told her that I'd loved her for six years and would do anything for her; to be in her life. First- she'd either laugh at me or scream and call a professor, then she'd get her brothers to beat the crap out of me, and then I'd never get anywhere with her. I sighed loudly, causing some girls to look my way and scold me with their eyes. I simply turned my head back to my parchment, wishing I knew how best to approach her. Finally, the class was over and I headed to my best class: potions. This was easily my best subject; so easy, in fact, that I no longer needed concentration to make a perfect potion. I was free to think about whatever I wished. Ginny envied my talents and had often asked me for help with Snape's rigorous task load.

I made my way to the dungeons as my eyes still searched for Ginny even though I knew she had gone in the opposite direction. Someday, I hoped that we would fill these moments in between classes with stolen kisses and long embraces. I melted into the sounds of the crowd as other students rushed past me. A few people bumped into me, and muttered apologies as they continued on their way. I allowed myself to sink into my innermost thoughts as I kept walking toward Snape's class. I dreamt of hearing Ginny call out my name, wanting to catch my attention. I saw her running toward me, arms outstretched. I felt her loving gaze fixed on my face.

I shook my head to clear my thoughts as I walked in the door. I took my seat quickly, and impatiently waited for the Professor to write down ingredients and amounts on the board. Once they appeared, I quickly copied them down, knowing Snape's habit of clearing the board before anyone had a chance to finish. I already knew how to make this particular potion, but I had to write down at least part of it so I could finish it later. Snape took our books and checked to see that we had each copied all the ingredients and their precise amounts and instructions for every potion each week.

I began to chop up my mandrake root and tossed each bit into the cauldron, causing the potion to hiss a little. We made a potion that stopped death even if someone was an inch from it. This potion was sort of like a sorcerer's stone, but had shorter times between replenishments. With the sorcerer's stone, one needed to drink it once a year; but, with this potion, one needed to drink it once a day. This potion was very tricky to make, because if I were to make one small mistake, I could kill the person assigned to drink it. Granger was the one who'd been assigned to drink mine; and while it once may have tempted me to kill her and easily make it look like an accident, I felt no such inclinations that day. The class dragged on as I added the necessary ingredients at precisely the right time and temperature.

The entire time I brewed my potion, I thought of Ginny and how I wished that she'd say yes to me and forget about Potter. I couldn't bring myself to say his first name, because he still owned that part of Ginny that I coveted so desperately. I asked myself what she saw in him. All I could ever manage to come up with was that she hadn't really been in love, but instead it was hero worship. Stupid Potter! How did anyone know that he was really the one from the Prophecy? Even Voldemort was afraid he'd been mistaken. Potter escaped with his life five times, but how many more chances could he take with his fate? When would fate stop lending him borrowed time and give the rest of us a chance to prove our worth? The more I thought, the madder I became.

I began to slam ingredients down on the table, still managing not to attract anyone's attention. I put the roots and spices into the bubbling cauldron as carefully as I could. The potion turned a deep blood red color, indicating that I had indeed brewed it correctly. Outwardly, I smiled as I cringed inwardly at the fury that had become my oldest friend. I bottled some potion to take to Snape and started walking toward his desk, and focused all my rage at an inanimate object that I knew sat in my dormitory. My concentration wavered but a moment as I passed Potter and Weasley laughing quietly together over some stupid thing. Their cauldrons bubbled viciously for a few seconds and then resumed their normal state, as my focus shifted back into place. Time finally caught up with me and the class was over. I ran down the hall toward Herbology, my next class. I was proficient in this class as well, since Potions was mainly focused on herbs and how they interacted with each other.

I sat through Herbology, and listened to Professor Sprout go on and on about spices and remedies that I had known how to brew since I was young. I'd learned how to make these the hard way, often sacrificing time with my mother to check the exact amounts and colors of each potion. I'd blown bits and pieces of Malfoy Manor off the map and parts of myself as well. I'd made practically every healing potion in the books, procured every herb, and said every spell, all to help my mother hide the evidence of Father's abuse. Sometimes, these concoctions saved her life. I heard Potter and Weasley once again chortling over some hilarious thing, which still annoyed me. I mean, if it's so damn funny, why couldn't they share it with all of us? Some of us "normal" people could use a laugh now and then, especially at Potter and Weasley.