The Circle (Starlight and Skin)

I'm wasting away, memory by memory.

Everytime I see him fall, in my mind, another breath is stolen from me. It's like some bad film running through my mind, stuck forever in several moments. Each time I see a friend fall, a friend injured, I lose a little of my soul.

The floor of Buckbeak's room is extremely uncomfortable. Buckbeak doesn't like a lot of people, so few come in here to clean up. I can feel the slinters from a broken floorboard sticking into my lower back. A dull, rusted nail jams itself in my hip bone. A piece of a rat's ribcage is piercing my spine.

I deserve this pain.

I can hear people laughing downstairs. I want to be angry at them. I want to scream in righteous indignation, at their audacity to be happy when Sirius is still falling, falling, through that awful Veil. I can't even muster the will to cry. All I can do is slowly fall apart, watching these scenes in my head.

It's not only Sirius I'm remembering, you know. Hermione falling, cursed by that.. that... monster. Ron, begging me to get those brains off of him. Neville being cursed. The list is endless.

And I feel awful, because you're supposed to want to die. But I don't want to die. I want to live, to truly live and be happy and carefree, with my circle of friends.

I can see the dust motes swirling in the air through the cracked, filthy windowpane. I wonder briefly what it would be like, to be a dust mote. To merely flit through life, being pushed from place to place, not a care in the world. It might seem stupid, to want to be a dust mote. But dust is only stardust and flakes of skin. To be that uncomplicated would be a wish come true.

My deeptest, darkest nightmare is not Voldemort. It's not Cedric dying. It's not a Dementor. It's my cupboard. And it makes me ill to think about it. But the cupboard was safety; it was my life. Nothing could hurt me, so long as I was ensconsed in that cupboard. Some small part of me wants to be terrifed again, because that means that I'd be feeling again. Crucio has nothing on lonliness, but at least when you're truly alone, you don't have to wonder when everyone is going to leave you.

I'm afraid of being left behind. Everyone has a future but me, it seems. Ironic, isn't it? I have this grand destiny that awaits me; the world rides on my shoulders. But I have no future. I only have one goal - to kill Voldemort. I could laugh, sometimes, if only to keep from crying.

I am breaking. And when I break, I'm afraid everyone will break from me. I don't deserve the friends I have. The voice in my head that sounds like Hermione always admonishes me that I deserve my friends, that I deserve all the blessings I have in my life. My friends are my blessings. They are my blood and flesh and soul given life. And they are nearly killed for it.

I am terrified.

The door creaks open, and Hermione steps in. How she always manages to find me, I'll never know. It must be a female radar thing. She lays down next to me, her head touching mine.

"It's filthy in here," she comments breezily. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see the mix of starlight and human skin getting caught in that fantastic mass of brown fuzz she knows as her hair.

"Am I interuppting your sulking?" she asks, a wry smile crossing her face. A small one crosses mine; no matter what happens or what anyone says, my Hermione always has a quip on the tip of her tongue. I love her sharpness; it keeps me amused, and keeps me alive.

She begins to badger me about my homework unmercifully. My smile grows a little. Some things will never change. "You know," she muses, patting my arm, "I bet that when we're old and greyer than Dumbledore, I'll still have nag you to get your things done on time. Of course, I may go grey before my time because of you."

The door creaks open. Ron shuffles in. He lays down next to Hermione, his bright red locks brushing against ours. "Lay off the poor boy, 'Mione," he yawns, poking her in the arm. "It's Summer Break. Give it a rest." Hermione rolls her eyes, and Ron sniggers.

"There's a Quidditch Match in Leeds next week," Ron says, covering his eyes with dusty hands. "I went and badgered Mum until she finally relented to let me go. I saved up enough to get three tickets. You two up for a jaunt?"

What kind of question is that? Quidditch? Of course I'm up! Ron must be mad. Hermione makes a disapproving noise and mumbles something about boys, thick skulls, and failing our NEWTS. Ron makes an indignant noise in protest, and for several minutes, it's a war over who can make the loudest, weirdest noise.

I think they'll fight until the end of time. It's in their blood; they have to clash. But her curly brown hair is intertwined with my black mass and Ron's slightly tamed locks, and it all seems to fit rather nicely. And I don't know what I'd do for amusement if they weren't there to nag one another.

The door creaks open. Luna waltzes in. She lays down next to me, her long silver hair creeping over everyone elses.

"We finally found them!" she declares excitedly. Everyone is silent, confused as to what she's referring to. Then Hermione lifts her head to look at her, and says, "What? The Crumple horned Snorkacks?"

"Yes!" she laughs, drumming her feet against the floor in delight. The dust floats in the air, sparkling with the memory of starlight and human laughter.

"Luna, how long are you going to look for all these animals?" asks Ron, politely but with a note of amusement in his voice.

"Until the end of time, of course," she says matter of factly. "One day, I'll make you all come with me."

"That will be interesting," murmurs Hermione, and wonder of wonders, both girls laugh rather ... girlishly.

The door creaks open. Neville tiptoes in. He lays down next to Luna, his canary yellow head slightly bumping with the rest of ours. We make a star on the ground.

"I got a new wand," he says quietly. Everyone smiles; we know that he'll do loads better this year, with a wand that matches him. He talks of visiting his parents, and informs us that they seem to be recovering a little. He digs in his pockets, and then I see his hand hover over our faces, full of Droobles wrappers.

"I reckon my mum would like for you all to have one," he whispers, and we each take one wrapper and stick it in our pockets. And in my heart of hearts, I know that we'll never throw them away. They're a precious gift, worth more than all the gold in Gringotts. It's a gift of trust.

I realise that as each person comes in, the movie in my head seems to fade. I can only faintly hear Sirius yelling, and can barely make out Hermione falling. The picture is grainy now; the dust motes have blocked out the colour and the movement. I can see the ceiling more clearly then ever.

For one moment, the film comes into focus, and I cringe. Hermione grabs one hand, and Luna grabs the other. I can hear Ron's shirt rustling as he grabs Hermione's hand. Luna gently takes Neville's.

The door creaks open. Ginny skips in. She lies down between Ron and Neville, and now we're a six pointed star. She starts telling us about the twins' newest invention. I'm only half listening. Her long auburn hair mixes with my ebony, Luna's silver, Hermione's cocoa, Neville's custard and Ron's firey locks. Our star is complete. I wonder what life would be like, what movies I would see in my mind, if I didn't have Hermione's passion, Ron's dedication, Neville's loyalty, Ginny's temper or Luna's dreams.

There's a knock at the door. Mrs Weasley is calling for us.

"We're busy!" says Ginny crossly. Everyone is holding hands. I hear Mrs. Weasley walk away. And for the rest of the day, we lie in our circle, talking about the future. The cupboard is a distant memory now; it couldn't possibly fit six people in the small dark space. Eventually, day gives into night, and I can see the moon through the cracked grey glass.

The remenants of life and stars still float through the air, peremating the space between us and God. I'm no longer afraid; I can't possibly be alone. I have my circle; I have my life and blood.

And let the circle be unbroken.