Fight Me

You took a breath, exhaling as you did your best to sink into the classroom unnoticed. Thankfully Professor Trelawney was too caught up in waving her hands about above an assortment of various magical items to notice your entrance, or even your absence. Sitting down at your usual seat, at the back of the classroom, and watched her for a second, trying to extrapolate her intended teachings before resulting to questioning your classmates.

“What are we doing?” You whispered to the girl sat next to you, trying to remain inconspicuous. 

“Uhm,” She pondered, leaning in. “Something about fire, I think.”

“Right, thanks.” You sat back in your chair, watching the professor do her thing.

“And into the flame you shall gaze! Though not too hard, maybe a little piece of you will get burned along with the herbs.” Sounds ominous. “So tie your hair up before you attempt it, please.” Not so ominous.

You watched as Professor Trelawney dished out a small pot of herbs to each table, before instructing the class to take out their wands.

Professor Trlawney was notorious for spending a majority of lesson time rambling about the lesson and about five minutes teaching it; for your class at least. This was a lucky fact for you on this particular day, as you'd arrived just in time for the fun part.

You followed the given instructions, lighting the herbs, doing the weird hand gestures, blowing into the flame, and then staring at the fire trying your very best to make out any semblance of an image. 

The orange flame flitted around a bit, here and there, all in all taking the form of a normal flame. Thoroughly disappointing. 

“Here, dear.” You heard Professor Trelawney appear behind you, bending down to eye your fire. “A little help.”

She threw a handful of purple powder down into the crackling leaves, the tiny particles covering themselves in white light as they sunk slowly to the bottom of the bowl. 

You watched on, and for a moment; nothing. Nothing. nothing. 

And then, something. 

You saw the flame dip, the dark orange ring collapsing onto itself and bringing up a succession of small explosions. The movement settled, and you made out the images as best you could.

Your breath settled as you watched: A figure. A snake. A house with a chimney. A cup. A symbol.

The symbol was unfamiliar; it looked like an Eight, with a line going vertically through the middle, and you wondered what it meant. 

Watching the pictures settle back into the disorganised flame you let yourself breathe again, not realising how long you'd been holding your breath. 

A burning on your tongue let you know that maybe you should've sat back before resuming basic human function, the tip of the flame bending towards your face, passing little, half-burned specs of the purple powder into your mouth. You launched into a coughing fit, turning away from the flame. 

After two minutes of spluttering your lungs out you excused yourself, jumping down the miles of stairs and fumbling into the nearest bathroom. You stuck your head under the tap and lapped up the water like a dog in a heatwave, only stopping for breath when the itching burn in the back if your throat died down.

You sat down on the floor, wiping the water from your face with a sleeve and chuckling to yourself. Bested by a tealight–you thought–can’t put that on a headstone. 

You thought it best to not return to class, besides, it was practically over, and you had more important business to attend to.

You made your way to the Slytherin Dormitories, weaving through the crowd of students filing out of lesson, and went to your bed, fishing a pile of disorganised paper from underneath the bed frame and straightening them out. 

The walk to the Gryffindor common room was a smug one, the pile of unfinished and overdue homework clutched to your side acting as a catalyst for the spring in your step. 

Arriving at the door you propped yourself against the wall, not minding the wait; a small price to pay.

After about 5 minutes the familiar laughing of the twins began to drift up the stairs, and George and Fred came into sight. 

“Hey!” Fred said, looking at the pile of papers you were holding. “What's that?”

“It's your brother's side of the bet.” You looked at George, smiling.

George sighed, rolling his eyes as he walked up to you, crossing his arms. “There's no way that's just one week of homework.” 

“Well…” You smirked. “It's everything that should be turned in this week.”

“Translation,” Fred added. “All the homework that hasn't been done over the last…” He paused, surveying the pile. “Couple of months?”

“Bingo.” You smiled, thrusting the paper into George's arms.

“Thanks.” He said sarcastically. “This is going to be so, so fun.”

“That's why you fix your bets…” Fred muttered under his breath. 

“Yeah, yeah.” George said. “Now i'm regretting celebrating your win.”

“Well that was your choice.” You said. “And i better get top marks, or i'll turn you into a ferret.”

“No need,” Fred added, “He already looks like one.”

George shot Fred an accusatory look, tucking the pile of papers under his arm. “You can fuck off.” 

“Okay.” He said, going into the common room. “See ya.” 

George chuckled, turning to you. He squinted at you for a second, surveying your face. 

“What?” You said. “Is there something on my face?” 

“Yeah,” He reached out his hand, wiping his thumb above your top lip. “What's that?”

You looked at his thumb, seeing a small deposit of the purple powder you'd earlier accidentally huffed. “Oh, nothing, just something from class.”

“Pyromancy?”

“Huh?”

“Fire omens, were you studying those?”

“Oh, yeah.”

“Cool,” He wiped his hand on his jumper, leaning back against the handrail behind him. “What did ya see?”

“Um,” You pondered the question. What did you see? You weren't sure exactly. “Just random pictures, nothing special.”

“You sure about that, it might be an omen of death!” He waved his fingers around your face, ‘oo’-ing like a ghost. 

“Oh, shut up.” You batted his hand away. “Anyway i have to go, have fun with the homework!”

“Thanks, I won't.”

You chuckled, walking back the way you came and making your way to the great hall for lunch. 

You rounded the last corner and stepped into the Great Hall, scouting the tables for your friends. It was somewhat frowned upon to sit on another house's table, but it didn't directly go against any rules, none that you were aware of anyway, or that you cared about. 

You sat down next to Ron, opposite Harry and Hermione, greeting them as you took a sip of water. The food looked delicious, as always, but you weren't that hungry, so opted instead to pick at the platter as lunch went on, listening in on the conversation you’d barged into.

“Yes,” Hermione said to Ron, exasperated. “I see your logic, the only problem being that it's completely wrong.” 

“How!” Ron fought back.

“Because that's not how organs work!”

“Okay,” Harry interjected. “Keep your wigs on, ladies.”

The pair both huffed, turning their gaze away from each other.

You chuckled, continuing to listen to, and occasionally join in on, the ongoing conversation; something about transfiguration or intestines or something, you weren't sure. 

Lunch ended and you all went about your day, splitting from your friends to go to your various classes, and doing your best to listen and pay attention and blah blah blah. 

Your attention span was somewhat cut short by the dull burning in the back of your throat, which you did your best to ignore, chalking it up to the accidental flame huffing and giving it no more thought.