Fire
Fire
mesmerized Draco.
He could sit by a fireplace for hours on
end, watching as the flames flickered and swayed, the slight puffs of wind
making them shift and change shape, their movements never stopping. Watching,
as they turned from gold to red to orange. Listening to the crackle, watching
as the tongues of fire slowly-ever so slowly-burnt down to ashes: it's ultimate
form of ending.
It was a dangerous
thing, fire. It could eat up entire forests, destroy buildings and houses. Tear
down mighty and powerful objects. It could kill without a second thought.
Without a rein on it, fire could kill and master all. If not for one thing.
Ice.
Where there was good,
there was bad. Where they was light, there was dark. Each needed the other to
survive, to keep alive. They needed each other. And so, where there was fire,
there was ice.
Ice countered fire.
It froze it in its tracks. Stopped the forceful and lethal creature.
Some would say that ice killed fire.
But others would also
say, fire killed ice.
Draco agreed with
neither.
***
Fire.
Even in its name
Draco could see energy. Power. Life. Vigor.
Perhaps, yes, it was dangerous. He could
see no other way to say it. But a little danger was good. He liked danger.
Perhaps he even lived for danger. The rush he got. He may not flaunt it, but
nevertheless, danger made him feel... important. Like he really mattered.
To him, danger was
beautiful.
And fire certainly
was beautiful.
As a young boy, Draco
remembered sitting by the fireplace alone. One time, he had fell face in. His
entire left eyebrow had burnt off, and his face was scalded. His father had
made him remain there, after a furious scolding, beside the fireplace. With his
burnt eyebrow and scalded face.
The entire night.
He had cried and
cried, but that only infuriated his father even more. That night, at the tender
age of five, was when he had stopped crying. Never again, after that night, did
he shed a single tear.
Not one.
But that hadn't stopped Draco's intense
admiration for fire. If anything, he worshiped it even more, admiring it for
being able to do that to a human. A person, a wizard, a Malfoy.
His father had healed
his wounds in the end. Albeit grudgingly, making sure Draco knew that he was
only doing so because Malfoys could not go through life disfigured.
But fire had done
that to him, and his internal scars were not healed. He kept them with him,
inside him, like a precious, dangerous gift.
***
But Draco also knew that fire could exist in more ways
then one.
He had seen fire in
people, burning from their eyes, shining out from them, vibes of power reaching
people around her.
Yes, this particular fire-his
fire-was a her. A powerful, magnificent creature. And she was fire. Draco's
fire.
He could feel her
vibrating out when he spoke to her. Or sneered at her, in many cases.
But no one
understood.
He did that purposely.
For otherwise, she would burn out. Her fire would be extinguished, by a person
who could so easily have her. Who, with a single hand, could reach out and
grasp this amazing girl. But, who was so stupid, so ignorant, so blind to her, that
he could not see her true self, her fire.
All was well, because
she was Draco's fire.
He deserved her. He kept her alive. How
could she not see that? Where Potter tried to kill her fire, he blew wind on
it, trying to make it flare up, to be its very best. Because Draco understood
his fire.
And deep inside, he
loved his fire.
And he would capture
his fire.
***
Ginny Weasley was fire. She burned, she glowed,
and she drew Draco toward her.
He could sense her
very being calling out to him. Unknowingly, maybe, but still, always, calling
out to him. She didn't want to be, perhaps, but Draco knew.
Knew that she needed
him.
As fire needed ice to
survive. And as ice also needed fire to survive.
And so Draco knew that he needed her.
But she was blind- to
his silent calls, to the hidden messages he tried to send out in every sneering
look and mocking word.
For ice was cold. And
could not admit to needing anything. Anything.
***
She angered him. The same way that fire also angered
him.
Because they both–or
perhaps they were one–when chose a task to be done, ignored all else.
Fire only had one aim
– to burn out all. In many cases, that was firewood. It would burn and burn,
and eat up every part and piece. Every shred of the wood in the fireplace. And in
the process, grew and grew. It build up, using every chance and hope to add to
itself. Then when everything was gone, with nothing to fuel it, it was gone.
But in the end, it died out.
Draco was angry that
something so mighty could grow and grow, then in the end, die.
He felt that each and
every thing should have only one end. It was too hard to keep watch of
everything that could end you.
Something that starts
the life, and another that ends it.
Fire's end should be ice. Or ice's other
form: water. Not lack of substance to keep it growing. It should be able to
grow with nothing. It should live on as ice lived on, only dieing when ice did.
Ginny Weasley's aim
was Potter. He knew it, as did almost everyone else. And that was the thing
that angered him.
Not her family, not
her money or her status.
It was the fact that
she could let herself do something like that, treasuring every little gesture
and smile Potter threw so carelessly. Because he knew if she kept on that was,
she would die. Like fire did, when all was gone.
He wouldn't let her
go like that.
She would only go
when ice did. He promised to himself and swore to himself that she wouldn't die
that way. It would be a waste for an amazing creature to go in such a meager
fashion.
She should be hailed
and worshiped and known for her power. Instead she was standing in the shadows,
ignored, overlooked.
Disregarded, taken
for granted. Like fire was.
***
Draco would
catch his fire. He would catch he and hold her, and show everyone that she was
his. His and only his.
Draco's fire.
He would show them her prowess and
strength, and they would watch in awe.
He would help her to be everything she
could. There would be no one that mattered more that him in her world.
And there was only her in his.
Only her.
And only him.
Forever, together, the two of them.
As it was meant to be.
Written long before their time, in books
not meant for mere mortals' eyes.
Fire and Ice.
Fire
A/N: I'll get the other part, Ice, out soon.
And don't worry, I haven't forgotten about my other fics. I would love you
forever if you review and let me know what you thought. As long as it's nice.
Or polite mean.
