Tears of Fire

"And you're sure you're all right?" Ron peered suspiciously across the table at Hermione.

"Of course I am, Ron! Really, it was nothing. I just got a little light headed. I need to get something to eat." Her eyes darted to Harry, looking pointedly at him, then back at Ron, her eyes clearly said, drop it. Harry was sitting with his arms crossed in front of him, his brilliantly green eyes staring off into a point that didn't seem to be in this time, not touching the shepherds pie in front of him. His dark hair was falling into his face, but he hardly seemed to have noticed, he didn't bother to brush it back.

He spent most of his time in odd states like this these days. He was usually very withdrawn, hardly seeming to realize what went on around him. Though the initial shock of Sirius's death had worn off long ago, the pain of it was still there, hidden just below the surface, like a terrible wound that hadn't been stitched up right and would never truly heal.

And not only that, Harry was also growing restless. It had been more than a year since he had discovered what it was he was supposed to do, what he had to do. Yet, despite all the urgency, he had not done a thing. Dumbledore wanted him to, for now, live his life as normally as possible until "opportunities presented themselves," and, "until they had more answers." This wasn't like Harry, to sit around and wait for trouble to come to him. And Hermione could tell that it was taking every bit of self-control that Harry had not to leave the castle that day and go out looking for Voldemort. But he had done it, and was still doing it. But it was paining him horribly, and she was worried about him. He was always pacing, and missed classes regularly--she had no idea what he did. In fact he hadn't shown up in DADA today, and therefore hadn't seen what had happened.

The deep violet shadows under his eyes seemed to be darkening every day, and aged him in a way that scared her. When she had fainted in the hall today he seemed to have momentarily broken out of his shell, he had been worried. This made part of her want to tip back in her chair right now, faint again and cry, and tell him all of the strangeness of today, to keep him out of his shell, keep the Harry she knew and loved with her. But another part of her knew that the last thing she wanted to do right now was give Harry something else to worry about.

Ron understood the look, his eyes widened slightly and he gave a little nod. He had been in DADA today, though he had not been as lucky as her, being able to snag one of the much sought after front seats. She thought she might be able to tell him about what had happened. Remembering the rush of power through her veins, Hermione shuddered, thinking then again, perhaps not.

Her eyes slid back to Harry, and got a shock. He was looking back at her, actually seeming to see her. He seemed to have momentarily come back from the spot in the future or past where he had been. A small smile played across his lips. "Then you should eat Hermione, unless you have acquired a fancy to fainting."

"Oh!" Hermione looked down at her own pie, which also lay untouched, and seemed to be growing cold. She hurriedly took a large bite, which turned out to be too big for her to eat without puffing her cheeks out slightly and looking ridiculous. Harry and Ron exchanged amused looks. She rolled her eyes in indignation, not able to say anything in her own defense.

*******

In about fifteen minutes Harry left the Great Hall, Ron and Hermione in tow. He marveled inwardly at how sometimes when your mind was elsewhere, your body could take over completely. Ron was in the middle of a long, detailed story. But Harry couldn't make himself concentrate on his words for more than a few seconds at a time, however he was nodding, grunting and grinning in all the appropriate places. And judging by the lack of worried looks, he was doing it correctly.

Everything around him, everything that had been his whole life until now, just seemed so small, so insignificant, so temporary. So many bigger things were happening at that very moment around him, involving him, but he was powerless to do anything. He was stuck here, eating lunch and doing his homework when people could be dying. He should be out fighting; he was the only one who could truly stop it, but no, no he was here. How many times had he considered leaving? He'd packed several times, started preparing--he'd almost made it off the grounds once. But one thing always stopped him. The thought of what had happened last time he hadn't listened to Dumbledore. If he had only practiced his Occlumency, then Sirius... then Sirius might still be alive. He gritted his teeth, keeping the waves of guilt and sorrow at bay. He was relieved that he had found someone to talk to recently, someone who seemed to understand.

Ron had ended his story. He guffawed loudly, and let out a snort, making Hermione laugh too. She turned slightly, meeting Harry's eyes, smiling, inviting him to join in on the joke. Despite all his deep thoughts and musings, Harry couldn't help but smile--it was contagious. He knew that Ron and Hermione were the most important things to him, all he had left now. Ron was saying something to him, though he had missed it, he just grinned and nodded. The concerned looks were back again, he must have done something wrong.

"Sorry, didn't catch that, what d'you say Ron?"

"When is Quidditch practice, you dolt?"

Quidditch practice! He had completely forgotten. He would have loved to go, Quidditch was one of the few things that let him forget all his worries, when he was in the air he seemed to have left all his troubles back on the ground. But what he had to do was important; he would have to save flying for later.

"It's at five, I can't make it though, make my excuses, will you, Ron?"

Ron looked perturbed, and almost said something, but Hermione shot him a look and he just nodded.

"See you later then." Ron turned down the hall towards the Muggle Studies classroom, which he had finally consented to take after getting an electric shock last summer while fiddling with Mr. Weasley's collection of Muggle items. He had also been more enthused about taking it after he heard what class Harry and Hermione were taking, "Advanced Potions? No bloody way!"

*******

Ginny climbed down the ladder from the Divination classroom, awkwardly balancing her books in one arm. The class was back in the tower now that Firenze was gone, as well as Professor Trelawney. She smiled to herself as she remembered how strongly Ron had insisted she not take this subject as, in his opinion, it was "a complete waste of time." Then how much his opinion had suddenly changed when he discovered who was teaching this year. In fact, he had signed up for Advanced Divination himself. Professor Delacour, the part veela herself. She had graduated now, and was a surprisingly good teacher, though she had hardly changed a bit. Fleur was still all long, silky hair and flashing teeth.

Ginny walked purposefully down the corridor headed for the Defense Against the Dark Arts Classroom. Two girls from her year were walking in front of her, chatting and giggling loudly. She caught the word " Belanger" with the French sound of it exaggerated to an extreme point.

"You know, it kind of rhymes with lingerie--lingerie, Belanger," the girl giggled. "Maybe I should write a poem."

The other girl chimed in, "I'd wear a lingerie for Belanger." They both collapsed into furious giggles. Ginny resisted the urge to whap herself in the head with her DADA book, or better yet, whap one of the two blonde heads in front of her.

Though they had a point, she must admit. Professor Belanger was gorgeous. He had that dark, mysterious appeal to him.

She chose a seat as near to the front as there was left. The front row seats in his room seemed to fill up unusually quickly. She watched as he began speaking, her eyes tracing his lean form, appreciating the curve of his shoulders and back, and his flat torso. Ginny's hands began to get slightly damp, she hated the way they sweated when she was nervous. They were practicing blocking the figamente curse today, he was saying. He began to pair them off.

Ginny was with Sean Davis, a sandy haired, brown eyed, slightly pudgy, Ravenclaw boy who gave her a friendly smile as they moved towards a corner of the room. She returned it, thinking it was a bit ironic that they were about to be shooting curses at one another. Ginny's eyes drifted back to Belanger as he began explaining the process to block the figamente curse. It was fairly simple, you give your wand a flick while saying the incantation, then bring your wand up to cross diagonally in front of your face and upper body. The hard part, he explained, was getting it all out before the curse hit you, so they would all be sending the curses very slowly today, the slower you said the incantation and moved your wand, the slower the curse would be sent.

Ginny's gaze roamed over Professor Belanger's dark hair and eyes, his straight black eyebrows, and perfectly carved features. Suddenly, alarmingly, his gaze whipped up to meet hers, his dark eyes boring into her own.

*******

"Wow, Ginny, are you all right?" Luna Lovegood's dreamy voice broke into Ginny's consciousness. She was standing outside of the Defense Against the Arts classroom, her books clasped in her arms, without any recollection of how she had gotten there. Ginny stared blankly back at Luna. "Your arms," Luna clarified. "Are you going to Madam Pomfrey?"

"My arms?" Ginny echoed back at her, feeling as loony as Luna herself.

Luna looked wonderingly at Ginny. "Really, I think you should go Ginny, you don't seem well. Aren't your arms burnt?"

"Why should they be burnt?"

Luna stared at her as if she thought she might be joking. "Davis shot a figamente curse at you, very slowly, I might add. But you didn't even try the incantation, you just blocked it with your arms, and your sleeves caught fire. Professor Belanger practically flew across the classroom and put it out, so I guess they shouldn't be burnt to any lasting harm, but it would still hurt. I'd think you'd be running to Madam Pomfrey."

With hardly a change of expression, Ginny looked down and pulled up her sleeves. Her skin was light and slightly freckly. Her arms felt oddly tingly, but other than that they were fine, they weren't even chapped. Without a word to Luna, Ginny turned and walked halfway down the corridor. She did not see or sense the dark eyes that followed her, but if she had she would not have been surprised. She stopped then and leaned against the stone wall, closing her eyes, her ears roaring.

She had no feeling of her surroundings, no awareness of the students milling through the corridor, but she was acutely aware of everything about her. Her hair tickling her cheek, her hands balled into fists so tight that her nails bit into her soft palms. She felt her weak knees and knew from some far off distance that if she hadn't had the wall to lean on, she would have collapsed. She knew this feeling--she knew it far too well. This wasn't the first time she had found herself somewhere without having walked there herself. Her mind had just been emptied again, after someone, or something, else had occupied it. One word was whispered through her slightly parted lips, "Tom." And then, "Oh, Tom."

*******

Hermione was sitting alone in the common room, going through book after book. Her nose hovered inches from the pages. She was actually thankful that Ron and Harry were away, Ron at Quidditch practice, and Harry, who knows where. She needed time to think, and read. Though she also knew that she needed someone to talk to about this. There were others in the common room, but none she could confide in, if she couldn't even talk to Ron or Harry.

It was at that moment that Ginny climbed in through the portrait hole. Her face was drained of color, in fact she looked almost exactly how Hermione had felt only hours earlier. They had grown closer over the last year, but not close enough that they usually shared secrets with each other. But for some reason, without knowing how she knew, Hermione could suddenly tell that she could talk to Ginny about this. Somehow she knew that she would understand. She stood up, waving the other girl over. Ginny looked up, seeming to be broken out of some sort of daze. She looked half annoyed and half relieved at Hermione's summons. Hermione had the feeling that she needed someone to talk to as well.

*******

Draco sat tucked away in a far corner of the near empty library. He sat in a small sphere of light, which was cast from the charm on the table. The rest of the library was getting dark, with the exception of three or four other spheres of light scattered throughout the room. None were close to him, and that was the way he wanted it. He finally finished his homework, shutting his Transfiguration book with a thump that seemed louder than it should have been as it echoed in the large, empty room. With a glance around to make sure that no one was watching, he took out a spare piece of parchment and a large peacock quill. Yes, he knew it was extremely tacky, and ordinarily he wouldn't be caught dead with anything tacky, but it was his best writing pen, and the only one he found that he could ever seem to find proper inspiration with. It was spelled to help open the mind.

He had just began to get immersed in his writing, thoughts rolling from his mind and through his tacky quill, when someone walked into his sphere of light. In one swift motion he had stashed his quill under the table and covered his parchment with an open Quidditch magazine. It was Ginny Weasley. He hid the surprise he felt with a cool stare. She walked up to his table, peering down at it. She was still wearing her school robes. The light from the table turned them a silvery black and cast odd shadows on her face, sharpening her features, and making her hair shine with a bright, almost supernatural, glow.

"The Ice Hounds?" she asked in a clear tone of disgust, looking down at the open page of diving players wearing bluish white robes and malicious grins.

Draco raised an eyebrow, "They owe you money?"

She wrinkled her nose, "I'm not a big fan."

Draco leaned back in his chair, "Ah, you're one of those small portable ones then?"

She almost laughed.

"What do you want Weasley? Or did you just come over here to insult my taste in Quidditch?"

She made a face at him, "Actually I need to use this book, and you seem to have the only copy." She picked Magic of the Elements by Marianda Malgwin up off the illuminated table. He'd been using it for his Defense Against the Dark Arts essay. He wondered briefly why Ginny would want it, she wasn't studying elemental magic until next year, then he dismissed the thought. It was interesting after all. He was more interested in the fact that she had come over here in the first place. They weren't exactly on speaking terms, unless it was to exchange a few insults here and there.

"Take it," his tone was cold, it was a clear dismissal. Ginny shot him a cool look, but did not say anything. She took her other hand off of the table where it had been resting, he saw a small handprint on it. Her palms had been sweating slightly. At least she had been nervous, but she had still come, she must have really wanted that book.

He raised his eyes back to her, but she had already disappeared out of his small circle of light. The book gone, he was alone once more.

He found it slightly hard to concentrate after that, and it was only a few more moments until another interruption came. Pansy Parkinson came sashaying over to his table. He tried to suppress a groan, then remembered he was a Malfoy and there was no need. He groaned out loud.

"Oh Draco, don't be that way!" Her voice was high, girlish and bubbly.

"What do you want Pansy?" he asked in a dead tone, with no preamble.

" I was wondering, do you think you could do me an itsy favor?"

Draco sighed, "And what might that be?" He had a feeling he knew.

"Well..." Her eyes cast around the table and landed on his Transfiguration book. Her voice suddenly changed from its high bubbliness to a lower, silkier tone. "I need some help with my Transfiguration homework Draco, I thought perhaps you could come by my room later and help me?" Her meaning was all too clear.

Draco was sitting down so he had to look up at her, but the way he looked made it seem as if he were towering above her. His stare was freezing, he said nothing, just looked at her until Pansy began to fidget. He didn't even bother answering, without a word he scooped up his books and tapped the table with his wand, extinguishing the charm. Then he left, leaving her standing alone in the dark.

Draco walked out of the library without looking back, he knew he wouldn't be able to write more now anyway, and she made his skin crawl. The new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher passed him in the hallway, Draco had never given too much thought to him before. But as they passed by each other in the corridor, Draco couldn't help noticing that Belanger's eyes lingered on him, he even turned his head slightly as Draco passed. Then, all of the sudden, he seemed to lose interest, and looked back straight ahead of him. Draco was convinced this sudden lack of interest was an act. Damn, Draco thought, I think he fancies me.