The first time Harry has firewhiskey is with her.

They are on top of the astronomy tower, far past their curfew. It is the end of his fourth year, her third, just after the tournament and all the headache that came along with it. The night is cold and wet, and he is so tired and all he wants to do is drink himself into quiet oblivion, preferably in solace, but she is there, all four foot ten feet of her, wisps of cornsilk colored hair buffeted about her face as she clutches a bottle of the wizarding alcohol to her like a child would a teddy bear.

He has noticed her before. How could he not? She strolls the halls of Hogwarts, bedecked in butterbeer cap necklaces, humming apparent nonsense about creatures no one can see. She stands out against the mass of nameless faces that fill this place, a stark blot against the plain backdrop of the wizarding world. There is fire in her every barefoot step as she walks, and this heat burns all who dare to approach her.

She does not notice him until he seats himself next to her. The cement floor is cold beneath the thin cloak he grabbed before leaving the dorm, and the moon illuminates the ever present bags under his eyes. He takes off the glamour when everyone around him is asleep.

He doesn't feel as if he needs it around her.

She turns to him as he settles next to her. Wordlessly she hands him the bottle, brushing away his half-hearted protests with no more than a raised eyebrow. Delicately, he takes the cool glass and considers it. The liquid inside gleams slightly, golden flecks swirling slowly. He has seen firewhiskey before, it being a common presence at the infamous Gryffindor common room parties. He has also seen it's after effects, from the stench of vomit the house elves never quite managed to erase from the armchair to the left of the fireplace; to the wizards left to wander about diagon alley when the bars close.

Seeing his hesitation, she takes the bottle back. Moving fluidly, she downs a mouthful. He spares a thought to wonders just how often she does this. He gently pries the bottle from her thin fingers. He squares his shoulders and tips the fiery drink down his throat. He chokes, and she laughs, and although he is so tired of people laughing at him he doesn't mind when she does it.

He thinks he wouldn't have such trouble laughing if he was doing it with her.

They sit together until the sun rises, passing the bottle back and forth. He begins to slowly tolerate the fiery burn of the drink, and her chuckles lessen as his grimaces do. They do not speak. Their hands linger as they exchange the glass, and they silently agree that this, for tonight, is enough.

(They both find that demons are quickest conquered with alcohol and warm bodies.)

When the sun comes up, he stands. Extending his hand to where she sits, still on the floor he pulls her up. He hands her the bottle with a smile (the most genuine one in how long he doesn't know) and leaves. He should not see her again. He only needs one night to know that they are a habit he will not be able to kick. He makes up his mind as he hurries down the tower steps.

There will not be a repeat of this night.

(It happens, that even after he has made up his mind to stay away from her, she permeates his thoughts. He catches glimpses of her in the corridors, smells firewhiskey in the great hall, finds himself walking to the astronomy tower when he cannot sleep. She continues to dance through the halls like fire, and like a moth he is drawn endlessly towards destruction)

He lasts all of two weeks before he is back at the tower, passing a bottle of cold whiskey back and forth with a little blond girl.

He thinks of her throughout the summer, as his days turn to grey and his anger fades to apathy. He thinks of her, and of hot firewhiskey on cold nights. As he moves from the Dursleys to Grimmauld Place , as his smile grows faint from how often it is painted on his face, his dreams are filled with her laugh. (He thinks that maybe he is teetering on the edge of something very, very, dangerous)

They are officially introduced in the fall. He sits across from her in the compartment, pretends to be disturbed by her unblinking stare or the wand stashed haphazardly behind her ear. When no is looking she winks at him from behind her upside down magazine. His startled laugh draws concerned looks from Ginny and Neville, but he pays them no mind.

(He begins to seek her out upon entering a room. When he does not see her, he is filled with something akin to disappointment.)

(It is still more than he has felt in weeks)

That first night back he finds himself at the tower. She is there, splayed across the floor, fingers leading a silent concerto in the night breeze. There is no alcohol, not tonight. He lies next to her, and finds peace.

(He wonders what happened to her to make her appear as damaged as he)

When morning rises and they stand to leave, he dares to ask why she has taken up such a damaging habit at such a young age.

She smiles, and taps his forehead, directly above his scar, twice in answer. Than she is gone, robes swirling as she waltzes down the stairs. He, smiling stupidly, is the only thing left in her wake.

(They are a habit he will not be able to kick)

As the year goes by he continues to fade. He spends his days in a haze of grey and blue, broken only by nights spent drinking himself to death atop the astronomy tower. He is relieved when his broom is taken away and he no longer has to pretend to be interested in Quidditch. He finds Dumbledore's avoidance ironic, and his new social status irrelevant. He works to inject emotions into his memories for Snape to find, and is slightly disappointed when it seems to work. (If it's that easy to fool people, why does he even bother?) When he goes to the ministry, it is because it is expected of him, not because he wishes to.

When Sirius falls through the veil however, he is sad.

(At least, he thinks this is sadness)

Once he is delivered to the Weasleys, he spends his nights in a field between their houses. Their silence beneath the stars evolves slowly, from sweet nothings to quiet kisses to 'always' and 'forever'.

(The best lies are the prettiest ones)

They do not stop when fall comes around. In between private lessons and quidditch and stolen shoes and nargle infestations they steal away to quiet corners and love each other as if their lives depend on it.

(Don't they?)

He dates Ginny because he doesn't need the talk that would come if he didn't. He feels only slightly guilty at continuing to meet her in old classrooms and atop the tower.

(The fact that he can feel even this is cause for celebration)

When the death eaters break in his only thoughts are of her. If she dies, he will be left to live in this haze for the rest of his being. He cannot allow that to happen.

His mind is only half fixated on the funeral. Ginny's hand in his is tepid, and he cannot help but compare it to hers, almost burning in their intensity. Her silvery eyes lock with his in the midst of the crowd.

She taps her forehead twice.

When the funeral is over, he breaks up with Ginny. He tells her it is for her safety. He thinks that maybe she suspects this is not the only reason.

Even she cannot be so blind as to miss the bruises that litter his body, or even the faint lipstick stains on his clothing.

Still Ginny nods, smiles, and demands him to be safe. He agrees, and is speeding away from her before she can kiss him one last time.

At Bill and Fleur's wedding, they sneak off and spend all of that night in each others arms. When morning rises and he pulls on his cloak to go, she makes a different request of him.

She tells him to think of her.

He wants to tell her it will be impossible for him not to. She has wormed her way into his psyche, until every breath he takes is in anticipation of her. The fire in her every barefoot step compels him, and he has fallen in love with the way she makes him feel like flame too.

He does not say these things.

Instead, he taps her forehead twice.

He leaves.

He catches glimpses of her in the corridors, smells firewhiskey in the great hall, finds himself walking to the astronomy tower when he cannot sleep. She continues to dance through the halls like fire, and like a moth he is drawn endlessly towards destruction