I had to do it, to protect him. It was the only way.
We're so different, he and I. I'm cold, hard, and unmoving, just like I was raised to be. I guess you could say I'm like ice. My heart was frozen years ago, and nothing can ever change that.
Except, perhaps, him. If I'm ice, than he's definitely fire. Not just the way he looks, but everything about him. From friendship to hatred, every emotion he has is fueled with passionate heat, from life to love to even blood at times. When he looked at me, I could see the flames dance in his eyes as he probably imagined a million painful things to do to me.
The first time that fire changed, I almost missed it. It was in the Great Hall at breakfast one morning. He practically stumbled in, alone, with his hair unkempt and resembling the half-dying flames of the morning's fire, and took his place at the Gryffindor table. I myself was immaculately groomed, from my hair down to my crisp black robes and polished shoes. He looked at me and glared through sleepy eyelids for a moment, the fire of hatred still in place. I, of couse, sneered back, almost feeling the iciness of my own stare.
It was a few minutes later, after I'd almost forgotten he was there, that I felt someone's eyes on me. I glanced up just in time to see him look away from me, but in that small fraction of time, I noticed something different. I couldn't put my finger on what it was, but I just knew that something had changed. Instead of pursuing it, though, I merely shrugged it off and continued my morning as if nothing had happened.
However, something had happened, and continued to happen all day. He tried to hide it at first, but as the day wore on, his looks became more obvious, and he stopped looking away when I caught him. It was then that I realized that his eyes no longer burned the way they used to...oh, the fire was still there, but it was different, somehow. Sort of like the difference between a house fire and a fireplace...these looks were just as warm, just as dangerous, but more contained and inviting.
I noticed then, too, that the way I looked at him was changing. It was almost as if I was seeing him for the first time, in a way. I began to notice small things that I'd overlooked before...the way the fabric of his worn robes gathered and stretched around the muscles of his arms, the curve of his lips as he pensively sucked on the end of his quill, the way his long dark lashes fluttered gently as he blinked...It was as if I'd been looking through a pane of frosted glass, his image distorted by the prejudice and inaccuracies of the window. I also began to feel warmer when I looked at him, in my soul and face and, later, other places that one normally does not feel warmth in from looking at one's rival.
After that point, the harsh words normally exchanged between us started to fall silent, until we hardly even spoke at all. Strangely, though, we seemed to be around each other much more. Yes, I'll admit it, I even began to seek him out, just to look at him. I was fascinated by this change in our perspectives, and I longed to discover more and more of him each day. My visits to the library increased at least threefold, as we often seemed to find each other there. Not a word was spoken between us, but we'd simply sit at our separate tables, both feigning interest in some book or another, and stealing not-so-secret glances at each other.
It was in the library when the silent barrier between us finally snapped. I hadn't seen him around yet, so I began scanning the shelves in one of the back rows looking for a book to keep myself occupied until he arrived. I must have missed him come in, because before I knew it, there he was, next to me scanning the same shelf. I tried to remain calm and emotionless, but I swear to you I could feel the flames as he grew ever closer to me. For an agonizing period of time, we inched ever closer, our eyes never meeting, until finally I could bear it no longer and reached for a book. It never made it.
My eyes rose up to where my hand had aimed, and I saw that he had taken it into his own, and turning my head, I found that he was once again staring at me. I understood the flames, now...these were not the scalding, angry flames of hatred, nor the curious inviting flames of our recent games...these flames were wild and unbridled, and I felt myself melting under his gaze. All too soon I found myself shoved back against the shelves, no longer thinking, just feeling.
We met quite often after that, in all sorts of places. Empty classrooms, under the Quidditch stands, the Owlery, the tower...everywhere you can think of to do it, we've done it. Our one shining exception is the dorms. I've never seen his room, and he's never seen mine, and perhaps that's the way it was meant to be. We weren't two lovers wrapped up in useless things like emotions, but two elements drawn to each other and controlled by the need to be connected. His technique was as hot and untamed as his personality, and he overwhelmed me with heat and passion every time. He knew just the touch to crack through my solid exterior and make me loose control, make me weak, make me melt. And every time we came together, I found it harder and harder to regain my composure once we'd gone our seperate ways.
It was in Herbology that I finally came to terms with what was happening. He was across the room with his friends, Saint Potter and the Mudblood, and I couldn't tear my eyes off him. The Greenhouse was unbearably warm that day, as warm as always but with his heat adding to my discomfort. After class ended, I almost bolted out the door in an attempt to escape the stifling heat, and felt a sigh of relief as the cool winter breeze touched my skin. Looking down in disgust, I saw that my shirt was completely drenched in sweat, and I started back to my room to get a fresh one before dinner. Before I got very far, though, I felt strong arms wrap around my waist and pull me back behind the buildings, and I prepared myself to surrender to his touches once again.
This time, however, something was different. Our touches were less frantic, our kisses longer and more sensual. He moved much slower and gentler than before, and Merlin help me, I loved every minute of it. He set my body on fire in ways that he'd never done before, yet he remained strangely in control of himself throughout the whole thing, up until we came together in one shuddering moment of bliss when the world shattered before my eyes. As I lie there, he placed a soft kiss on my forehead before gathering his robes and going on his way, leaving me alone to think about what had just transpired.
Suddenly, I came to a realization that made me shiver. We'd officially crossed the line between the physical pleasure and emotion. Looking down at myself, now even more drenched in sweat, that his fire had finally melted me, unbridled my emotions and turned me into a different person. I was no longer ice, but water, just as passionate and dangerous as fire itself.
But then, I was changing him, too. As I melted from ice to water, I dampened his own fiery passions little by little. I was putting him out. That thought scared me more than anything. Who was I becoming? Who would he become, without the passion and warmth that made him who he was?
After that day, I fought with myself every time I had the urge to be near him. I lost every time, but I was now afraid of what we were becoming. We still didn't speak very often, but the words we exchanged were even softer than before. Our personalities were muting each other, and I prayed every day that it would stop escalating, that we would go back to the way we were when it all began, to no avail.
The holidays came around painfully slow, and I counted the seconds until I was on the coach headed for home. He was staying at school, as usual, so I took comfort in the fact that at least one thing about us hadn't changed. Once at home, though, I couldn't keep my mind off him. His face haunted my dreams, and I could feel his presence all around me no matter what I did. I knew that I had to do something, because our relationship was growing too dangerous. Relationship? When had I started thinking of us in that manner? And when had we become an us, instead of he and I? The situation was desperate.
So that's why I've packed up early. I spoke to my father, who wrote a few owls and pulled a few strings to get me transferred from Hogwarts to Durmstrang. I can't risk endangering his personality any further. It's one of the hardest things I've ever done, and I know that he will hate me for it when he finds out. But when he does, that hatred will restore the damage I've done, and bring back the full flames of his soul, and I, alone in this new world of ice and snow, will try to freeze myself over again.
They say that opposites attract. That may be true, but when Fire and Ice come together, they can only harm each other.