Fire Bird: Dance the Fire

Fire Bird: Dance the Fire
Ladysaille
Disclaimer: Hermione and the magical world she inhabits belongs to JK Rowling and everyone else who has right to claim it. This is just the product of an over active imagination.
Summary: Sometimes it waits just beneath the surface.
As before for Sare

She leaned heavily against the wall, watching them with tired, gritty eyes. They circle, move, and sway, swords held at the ready; each studying the other with quiet intensity. She watches too; her gaze moving over long legs, strong arms, and she wonders where the ungainly boy she's grown to love so dearly over the years has gone.

Viktor had not changed; not really. He'd grown into his too big hands and over large feet. He no longer sloughed or skulked across the floor; he didn't look like he wished desperately to fold in on himself, to escape the attention his quidditch prowess had always brought him. Famous; she could almost imagine what Rita Skeeter would have made of the scene playing out in front of her now. This practice session would become a duel and she the unlikely prize. Grimacing inwardly, she reminded herself that Rita would never again write; false or true. She, like hundreds of other wizards, had been killed in the years since the war had begun. The sheer number of the lost had been her first reason for taking up the study of those things forbidden to her. She'd never have done something so dangerous without knowing that the possible successes far outweighed the dangers.

Clang! The sudden sharp crash of steel against steel drew her wandering gaze back to the sparring figures. Viktor had managed to push Harry back. Her best friend had been holding his own rather well before Viktor's superior speed and size actually forced him to retreat.

Viktor turned to face her and motioned her across the room to the practice mat where he stood. His dark hair was starting to gleam with sweat, and his darker hued skin shone in the low lights. She couldn't believe he wanted her to take a turn at him; she didn't feel comfortable. Viktor didn't do things in halves; if they sparred, he'd push her. He would push her as far as she was willing to go, and then farther. He seemed to take great pleasure in seeing how angry, how upset and flustered he could make her.

She had begun to think that he was intentionally attempting to draw forth her anger, because this new and uncooperative power seemed singularly tied to that violent and fiery emotion. No matter how hard she tried, or how many times she'd attempted the chant, the wand, or the movement, she could not simply call on the fire; nothing brought it forth. Hermione knew that what Viktor had said in the ministry of magic was true; it was not the spell but the caster than lent it strength, and secretly Hermione believed her lack of control stemmed from how little she had left to give.
He stood at the ready, and Hermione felt a chill run down her spine. Viktor was not Harry; the sword that rested so easily in his grasp was not the same lightweight steel used for a practice sword. She didn't know a great deal about blades, but she recognized the inherent power in the elegant curve of this one. There were runic symbols near the hilt different than the ones that decorated her wand, and it was on the tip of her tongue to ask about them, when he lunged at her.

She gasped; arm lifting, and muscles protesting against the sudden crash of Viktor's blade. Harry could hold his own pretty well, but he didn't have the bulk behind his movements that Viktor did, and Hermione found herself longing for the lighter weight of Harry's attacks. She jumped slightly, meeting each downward arc of the blade. This wasn't like fencing; no this was something darker, something less controlled as far as she could tell. The swords were heavier; the moves similar, but not the same parry and thrust; with the addition of the downward arc of blades that normally boasted razor sharp edges. She shifted her stance, preparing to block yet another downward blow.

Suddenly pain shot through her shoulder. Discomfort colored her face; Harry never hit this hard, never pushed this far. Viktor continued to push her back with sweeping downward arcs, and clashing blades; weighty hits that forced Hermione back, step by step. The wall would soon be at her back, and for one moment she told herself Viktor would not really hurt her; that he was just trying to scare the power up.

She gasped, crying out as his blade locked with hers again, the metal protesting as his steel began a relentless slide against her own; halted only by the hilt of her sword. She realized, with horrified shock, that it was actually sharpened! Harry had never brought a hot blade into the room; in fact, he refused outright to fight her using live steel. Yet here Viktor stood, the huge blade gripped easily in his hands, both edges honed to a razor fine point.

A single slip would cause far more than just an uncomfortable bruise. She would never have guessed Viktor would be willing to put her so at risk; only now she had proof. Did he care so little for caution, that he would willingly cause her harm? She mentally shook herself; no this was no different than anything else. It was merely another and more desperate attempt to draw the magic from within her.

The wall now against her back, Hermione felt the jolt of fear run down her spine. The wall was rough, and her loose practice shirt didn't exactly protect her back, any more than the arm guards she wore would protect her against live steel.

She braced herself through the impact of steel and the toll of blade against blade. Taking a deep breath she forced herself to be calm, and to remember all the odd little notes Harry had given her. She shifted, and turning slightly, used her full weight on her sword arm. She managed to break herself free with this tactic, and the momentum through Viktor off balance.

Pressing her sudden and surprising advantage, Hermione copied the bulkier man's moves; thrusting her blade forward, catching his with a sharp crack . She drew her blade back, then slashed it down and across his surprisingly open middle. Had it been a live blade she would have just opened a nasty belly wound. Her eyes widened slightly, her breath coming faster. She could feel the heat of her muscles screaming in protest. The sweat seemed to sizzle on her skin; she swore she could even see steam rising from her fast movements.

Viktor continued to take slow steps back, meeting her every attack and deflecting it with lazy efficiency. He was giving ground, though Hermione was well aware of the fact that he could easily disarm her; readily end this match, yet he chose to allow it to continue. The opposite wall would soon be at his back, and Hermione wondered what the purpose of this exercise really was.

"You are improving," Viktor said finally, actually sounding mildly out of breath. Hermione stared up at him, sword held at the ready. She'd learned early never to allow her guard down.

"Is there a reason you chose to bring a hot blade in here?" She asked coolly, just keeping herself from looking down at the still throbbing patch of skin that had been pinched as they sparred.

"They vill not use blunted swords." Viktor said, looking disturbed.

"I doubt they will use swords at all." Hermione groused. "What is the point of this Viktor? Why am I standing here with sword in my hand; why doesn't this power seethe up? Did it never occur to you that it was a fluke-"

"Vhat it vas Hermione," He interrupted, his accent thickening, and Hermione realized she'd actually made him angry. "Is you're anger manifested. You must learn to control it, or each time you grow angered something like that vill happen."

"So all of this is to teach me control?" She sighed, allowing herself to relax only slightly, still keeping her sword at the ready.

Viktor's own sigh echoed hers, and to her surprise he allowed his blade to slide to the floor. It made a much softer clang as it came to rest on the wood floor. Hermione's eyes shifted from man to blade and back again. She nodded slowly, and settled her own lighter blade to join his on the floor.

"Perhaps I have been going about this the vrong vay." Viktor said at last. He settled himself on the mat, looking up at her and then to the floor. Hermione hurried to follow suit, biting back a pained whimper. Viktor never went easy on her, and for a just a moment she wished she could call it up, and singe him just a little.

The last three or four weeks had forced her to be aware of herself in ways that she had never previously thought about. She was aware of muscles, and movement, and the way it all fit together; how each movement connected to the next. The swords were like a dance, and she had never been what she considered graceful. Sometimes, when she was alone, she thought with the blade in her grasp for
it's beauty, stark and cool, like a winter morning, that she might just prove graceful; or at the very least, powerful. A force to be reckoned with.

"What other way is there?" Hermione asked after a moment, curious as to what new torture her friend had in store for her. He held out his hand, palm up, and waited; looking at her expectantly.

Shrugging inelegantly she placed her hand in his larger one, palm down, 'holy palmer's kiss'; hand to hand. Shakespeare coming to mind at a time like this made her smile inwardly.

"Do you remember?"

"Remember what?"

"Vhy you vere so angry vith me." Viktor asked, holding her gaze over there linked hands. Did she remember? Yes she remembered; could recall now exactly what had triggered her anger, what had brought the fire to the surface. He'd changed her; made her into something other than what she had always been, and had done it without asking her first.

The problem was she understood that she could no longer use that same anger to draw it out now; because she understood, perhaps better than she wanted too, that he had had no choice. He'd needed to cast the spell, and the body he'd borrowed in order to help her, had not possessed the right kind of wand core.

Her sparring lessons had been with Harry at first. In those two weeks, Harry had proven unable to pull even a spark from Hermione's fingertips. Hermione had her own theory as to why; She wasn't angry with Harry; he wasn't the one who'd changed her without her permission.

Logically she understood what they were doing. They were conditioning her, and forcing her to be aware of herself in a way she'd never been particularly fond of. She got enough exercise and had not ever gained a great deal of weight, but she was aware of the difference even a few weeks of this routine had wrought upon her body. She hated to admit it, but a sword actually felt natural in her hands. She could now absorb and appoint blows more easily; though sometimes it still jarred her to the point of chattering her teeth. Viktor never went easy on her; he fought with her, forcing her back until she was against the wall, and then she'd find it within herself somehow to force him back' she'd actually get angry enough to fight.

"Yes, I remember, but I am not angry with you anymore." She said softly.

"You sound sad, to be angry no longer." Viktor said, looking at her curiously.

"No not sad, but it would be easier perhaps if I were still upset with you." Hermione pointed out, and after a moment Viktor nodded.

"What did you want me to do?" She asked, glancing back at their kissing palms.

He followed her gaze and for a moment Hermione thought he'd forgotten they were even touching. He looked up at her again, his gaze unreadable.

"The other hand." Viktor said softly, reaching out, palm up. She shivered, something like fear racing down her spine. This suddenly seemed so much more dangerous than clashing blades with hot edges.
Hands now clasped together, Viktor studied her for a moment.

"Now close your eyes."

Hermione stared uncomprehendingly for a moment, before she allowed her eyes to close.

"Now breath; slow, even," Hermione followed his instructions, drawing deeper, inside herself; aware of each inhale and the following exhale, aware of the aches and protests of her arms, legs, feet.
Viktor's voice drew her still deeper into herself; until she could feel the duel sensations of Viktor's warm palms, and the whispered touch of an internal wind.

The fire resides in the caster, it's already apart of them. Fire was how her power had first manifested; little fires, that when she'd realized she'd created, she had done everything to learn how to control.
She could almost feel the heat. Visualizing the flames, a little fire nestled in the palm of her hand. Feeling the sudden rush of pleasure and warmth that open flame gave her. Candles flicker in the darkness, a guide. Her breath lodged in her throat, she could feel it.

"Hermione." Viktor's voice sounded surprised, and when she opened her eyes the first thing she saw was their joined palms, and the flames that licked at them.