A.N. - House: Gryffindor, Type: Short Story, Prompt: Fire
"You are unbelievable!" Hermione shouts in frustration across the table to the smirking Draco Malfoy.
"You told me you liked this 'ketchup' stuff," he replies with false innocence.
"You know full well I didn't mean this," Hermione argues, gesturing to the plate of food that is simply drowning in the red, gooey substance.
"You're the one who wanted me to try cooking dinner tonight."
"And you just had to show me your incapability in accomplishing such a task?" she accuses.
Draco shrugs, but the smile never leaves his face.
"You did this just to spite me, didn't you?" Hermione groans and Draco chuckles lightly. She sighs. "Well, this is completely inedible."
"You know you still love me," he teases.
And she does. How their relationship ever made it this far is truly miraculous. It was practically a joke when it first started. A dare, a laugh in the face of the new 'inter-house unity' claim at Hogwarts after the war. It sounded like a good idea in theory, but after what happened, the segregation and rivalry ran deeper than ever.
But somehow, things drastically changed. Who knew that Draco Malfoy had a soft side, a hidden tenderness between the taunting and teasing. And in an unexpected turn of events, they now live together in a small home in London.
"You may have me reconsidering," Hermione counters jokingly.
"Ugh, that hurts," he says, grabbing his chest dramatically.
She rolls her eyes but can't help the small smile from appearing. As much as she hates to admit it, things would be quite boring without Draco's obnoxious behaviour.
"Perhaps you should just do the cooking from now on," he suggests.
"I will not!" she yells. "I know you've had everything done for you your entire life, but now you're going to learn to do things for yourself. No more of this whining about how you can't do anything. You are going to learn to be – gasp – independent," she tells him. "Wouldn't want you going without dinner if I can't make it home in time one day, or, heaven forbid, don't want to do everything for you."
"We could just, I don't know, get a house-elf?" he proposes.
"You know how I feel about that!"
He sighs. "But I'm not going to make this easy for you," Draco warns.
"Of course not. What would be the fun in that?" Hermione says sarcastically, then pauses. "Do you smell that?"
"Smell what?" Draco asks.
"Did you leave something on in the kitchen? It smells like smoke," she questions.
Something doesn't feel right. A shiver makes its way up Hermione's spine, a feeling she hasn't had since the war. She looks around and notices the air is a bit foggy closer to the kitchen.
"Now I have to go and see what you did wrong," she groans in frustration, standing up.
Her eyes widen as she sees the flames licking at the countertops and up the wall. Grabbing her wand, she rushes inside, attempting to put it out with what should have been a simple spell. But the flames only seem to grow.
Hermione is flooded with panic and fear as she realizes that this is no regular fire, but magical. She backs away from the flames which seem to be moving towards her, coughing from the smoke all around. They need to get out. Now.
She runs back towards the hall but her body is flung back with a force that could only be a ward, set up to keep her inside the burning kitchen.
"Draco!"
He hears her scream, her cry for help, and is immediately on his feet and racing down the hall. Did he leave something on? Was he too focused on messing with her that he didn't realize the danger he put her in?
"Bloody hell," he whispers in shock at the sight of Hermione, just on the other side of the doorway, surrounded by glowing flames.
"It's warded!" she shrieks, her voice cracking from the inhalation of smoke.
"How could it possibly be warded?" he yells back, ignoring her words and attempting to walk through. But with a shock, he is blasted backwards, his back slamming against the wall.
His eyes go wide. He can hear her coughing, wheezing for air, trapped, the fire getting closer and closer to where she stands.
Did he do this? Was he to blame for the fire? Why is it warded? Why can't he get through? Why can't she get out?
"Hermione!" he yells.
He is standing right in front of her, helplessly watching as she collapses. How could this be happening? He can't just stand here and watch her die!
Draco runs his fingers through his hair, tugging ruthlessly, trying to think of a way to get her out of there.
He gets an idea. A completely mad idea that might not even work if whoever did this warded more than just the doorway. He steps back, ripping his wand from his pocket and aiming it at the kitchen wall. His hand is trembling from the adrenaline rushing through his bloodstream.
"Reducto!" he shouts and the wall blasts to pieces, flooding the air around him with thick smoke.
It worked. Draco is half surprised that his impulsive plan actually broke down the wall. He coughs and covers his face. It won't be long before the entire flat is up in flames.
Draco runs through the rubble where the wall used to stand, the smoke obscuring his vision.
"Hermione!" he yells, but the fire is roaring too loudly to hear any response.
He ducks down as the fire bursts through into the next room, crawling along the floor to where he last saw Hermione.
Where is she?
He reaches out along the floor, hoping to find something, anything, to lead him to her. Then, he feels it, the soft flesh of her arm, filling him with both relief and dread. He pulls her toward him and into his arms, hoping, praying, that he isn't too late.
Coughing and hacking, Draco drags himself and Hermione across the floor and into the next room, trying to make his way to the front door. Just a bit farther. Everything will be alright once they get into the open air.
His eyes are watering, he can barely see in front of him and he can feel the extreme heat of the fire around him. He keeps pushing forwards. He has to make it. They've survived too much to die this way.
Finally, he pushes through the door and out onto the pavement, continuing to move away from the burning building just as the fire explodes out the front, glass shattering around them.
He is coughing, unable to catch his breath, and watching their home burn to the ground.
"Draco," Hermione croaks.
"Hermione," he whispers, barely able to speak himself. "You're alright, we'll be alright," he assures her.
He closes his eyes, letting the relief flood through him.
They're alright.
A gust of wind blows by, refreshing and cool against Draco's sweaty and hot skin. But within that breeze, he hears the cackling laughter of his dead Aunt Bella circling around them.
And the fear is renewed.