House: Slytherin
Category: Themed
Prompt: Setting something on fire [Action]
Word Count (excluding A/N): 2133
A/N: Draco paraphrases Machiavelli at one point.
Summary: Before, the flames comforted him. Now, Draco can only remember Vincent's death.
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The fire in the Slytherin Common Room danced, its flames crackling and snapping at those who dared venture too near; from the safe, plush armchair, Draco Malfoy stared into its depths, his mind miles away.
If he looked deep enough, he'd forget the unfamiliar surroundings and, for a moment, be transported back to Malfoy Manor. His home. Hogwarts wasn't his home, not yet, even though he'd spent years listening to his parents wax eloquent about it. He may know his way through its halls remarkably well for a first-year, but that did not a home make.
Yet this fire in the Slytherin Common Room was home. It reminded him of everything he'd left behind: his mother's laugh, his father's stern but approving look, and the hours they'd spent in the library teaching him spells, because 'for a Prince, it is better to be feared than loved'. And he would be a Prince.
As he envisioned his future, dozing there before the fire, a lazy smile stretched across his face. He knew without doubt that he'd adjust to Hogwarts, but it'd always be this crackling fire that brought him peace of mind, for it was his security.
. . . . . . . . . .
Draco scowled, angrily running a hand through his hair. "What don't you understand, woman?" he snapped. "I'm fine. Perfectly fine. Now get your nose outta my fuckin' business!"
"Drakey, just tell me what's wrong!" she cried, her eyes blotchy.
"I can't," he answered sharply. "Now get away from me, you damn bitch!"
Pansy froze. "I see," she answered coolly, "that's how it's going to be. Then I hope you can pull your head out of your arse and find yourself a new girlfriend, Draco Malfoy." Seething, she spun on her heel and stalked away.
"Like hell I will!" Draco shouted after her, watching her march away. "And she'll be damn better than you, Parkinson!"
Pansy replied by slamming the door to her dorms. The noise reverberated in the silence, and after a stunned second the entire Common Room broke into whispers, no doubt gossipping about their Prefects' public break-up.
Draco frowned, but didn't try to silence them; instead, he jerked his head at Crabbe and Goyle. "C'mon. The bloody cabinet needs more work."
And work he did, sweating and swearing over it until his stomach cramped painfully and he knew beyond a shadow of doubt the Common Room would be empty at this late hour.
After disillusioning himself and Crabbe, they crept back to the dungeons. When they'd entered their Common Room, Draco sank gratefully into the plush armchair before the fire and muttered, "Go to bed, Vince. I'll be up soon enough."
"'kay," Vincent grunted, lumbering up to the boy's dorms.
Draco waited until his footsteps ceased, then whispered, "I'm sorry, Father."
The slightly-green flames flickered in response, and if he squinted Draco could almost see his father there, Floo-calling him as he'd done so many times before to reassure him all would be well.
But that couldn't be. His father was in Azkaban, being slowly driven mad by dementors. And unless he fixed the Vanishing Cabinet and let the Death Eaters into the school, his entire family would waste away in a cold, bleak cell— or the Dark Lord would 'mercifully' kill them.
Suddenly overcome with angry, Draco stalked to his dorm. The fire had always been his friend; however, tonight it only reminded him of days gone by, when his future had been secure and he hadn't had to fear for his family's life or his own.
. . . . . . . . . . .
The corridor stretched empty before him, silent save for his, Crabbe, and Goyle's breathing and the faint sounds of battle.
It was peaceful, tranquil even, and Draco began to believe that they'd never find Potter here, that Potter'd already offed the Dark Lord and the noises below were in celebration, not battle. But his dreams were dashed, when suddenly the Room of Requirement produced a door and Potter of all people appeared from thin air, glanced about the seemingly vacant corridor, and stepped inside.
Crabbe started forward, but Draco grabbed his arm and whispered, eyes flashing, "Not yet."
"Fuck off," Crabbe grunted, shrugging off Draco's hand. "I want Potter."
"Let them split up first— they said they were looking for a diadem—"
But his logic fell upon deaf ears. Crabbe got to his feet, grunted to Goyle, and the two entered the Room of Requirement, leaving Draco alone in the passage, where the screams and spells and explosions from the battle below echoed around him. After standing there at a loss of what to do, he finally decided to follow: perhaps he could keep them out of trouble. The Dark Lord insisted on killing Potter himself, but Vincent had been rather... enthusiastic lately. Personally, Draco blamed the Carrows for making his minion unruly.
Draco stepped into the Room of Hidden Things and blanched. The Carrows had had more impact than he'd thought. Vincent stood there, his wand aimed at Potter's back, whispering a Dark, Dark curse to melt the Golden Boy's bones and boil his blood and shred his skin.
Vincent was a fool. But luckily for him, Draco was there to save his sorry arse. He cast a wordless Silencing Charm on his friend— the Dark Lord would have murdered Vince for such disobedience, but not before torturing him and the Crabbe family to insanity.
Vincent's eyes bulged when he found himself Silenced. Goyle, who'd been eagerly watching Potter, scowled at the interruption and began to lift his own wand— it was then Draco realised that he couldn't stop them, and that Potter would have to save himself.
The Golden Boy still had his back to them, searching frantically through the junk piled in the room, when suddenly he stilled and stared at an ancient, tarnished tiara and reached out to it—
"Hold it, Potter," Draco snarled, raising his mother's wand.
Potter spun, raising his own wand as well, and Draco's eyes widened as he recognised it— its hawthorn wood engraved with loopy swirls, its almost inaudible thrum as it readied itself to cast — "That's my wand, Potter."
Potter snorted. "Not anymore. Finders, keepers," he scoffed.
Draco's fingers tightened around his borrowed wand as the rage, burning red-hot, rose within him. But then he heard the whisper "Finite Incantatem" and saw Greg wave his wand over Vincent.
His blood froze. Potter didn't seem to notice anything, still too focused on the diadem for his own damn good, so it seemed it was up to him, Draco Malfoy, to save Potter's sorry skin. Somewhere out there, Dumbledore was laughing at him.
He turned on Vincent and cried, "Petrificus Totalus!"
But Vincent dodged away from the grey light, pointing his wand at the junk piled around them and shouting "Descendo!"
The towering columns shivered, then, with a dull groan, collapsed on top of them, burying them in dust and mold and musty old things. Hacking, Draco dug his way out of the mess just in time to see Vincent again levelling his wand at Potter.
"Stop!" he rasped desperately. "The Dark Lord—"
"I don't take orders from you," Vincent growled. "You and your dad are finished, Malfoy. Crucio!"
The Dark spell flew at Potter, but the boy dodged. Draco prayed for someone, anyone to intervene before Vincent killed Potter and the Dark Lord punished them all— and then, as if someone had heard his prayer, Granger appeared and shouted in alarm.
Both Greg and Vincent turned. "Granger," Greg grunted in surprise.
"Mudblood filth," Vincent snarled, a strange light in his eyes. "Avada Kedavra!"
Granger dodged the deadly green light and retaliated with a hex of her own, which Crabbe blocked.
Then, things went to hell. Weasley ran into the fray, Goyle collapsed, Potter suddenly had Goyle's wand, then Crabbe was shouting, "You like it hot, mudblood?" and a monstrous snake of fire was devouring the wardrobe. It turned to Vincent, who grinned at it, and for a split-second Draco convinced himself that Vincent had it under control.
And then Vincent's joy turned to fear and the snake lunged at them with empty, ravenous eyes.
Draco grabbed Greg and sprinted away, losing track of Potter and Vincent, too preoccupied with finding shelter from the inferno raging around them. As the fire blazed on, consuming the entire room, Draco found himself clutching the still-unconscious Greg as they huddled atop a cabinet. The flames held creatures which snarled, hissed, and cackled at him. Draco found himself wondering how he'd ever found comfort in a fire, for this conflagration was sure to devour him and Greg.
He'd resigned himself to burning alive like the witches and wizards of old, when suddenly Potter swooped down. "Take my hand!" the Gryffindork shouted over the roar of the fire.
But the broom could never carry them all, Draco thought desperately, tightening his grip around Greg while simultaneously reaching out to Potter. They had to escape, yet he couldn't leave his friend to burn—
Weasley and Granger appeared behind Potter, each riding their own brooms, and Weasley, Merlin bless him, landed atop the cabinet, hauled Greg onto his broom, and kicked off.
"Are you coming or not?" Potter cried, all previous antagonism gone. "Get on!"
Draco scrambled onto the broom behind Potter and grabbed the man's waist, eyes shut tight as they soared away not a second too soon. When he looked back, the cabinet had disappeared, and a sea of fire was all that remained. Ahead of them crackled that same sea of fire, where creatures with terrible, empty eyes prowled.
The hot, dry air buffeted their broomstick, and for one terrifying moment the broom began to dip and Draco feared it'd died and they'd now fall into those ravenous flames; then he realised Potter was diving, diving down towards that stupid tiara and the fiery pheonix below and he shrieked, "Stop! Potter! Stop!"
But Potter paid him no heed, swooping down and catching the diadem as it flew into the phoenix's maw. As it sat there glittering on his arm, a thick, dark liquid leaking out, Draco found himself grateful Potter was the youngest Seeker of the century. If he weren't so damn talented, they certainly would have died in Vincent's fire.
Vincent.
His corpse was somewhere behind them, either charred beyond recognition or simply ashes in that great Room.
And it could have been them. It could so easily have been him, or Goyle, or even Potter who had to defeat the Dark Lord before his Lord punished him and Goyle for their disobedience—
Potter swerved again, jarring his thoughts; the flaming chimera missed them by only a few inches, then before he knew it they'd flown through the doorway and into the hall.
Draco staggered off the broom, coughing and breathing in the fresh, sweet air. Ash clung to him, sticking to his sweat-soaked form, yet he only thought of Vincent, of how easily his lifelong friend had died in the flames.
Fire was dangerous, destructive, and deadly. It devoured anything in its power.
As Potter and his friends raced away, Draco leant against the wall, swearing he'd never burn alive as Vincent had.
. . . . . . . . . .
Draco awoke in a cold sweat. The fiery dragon had winked at him as it tore Vincent apart, and Vincent's screams still echoed in Draco's ears as he stared up at the Hogwarts canopy draped over his bed and listened to the Theo and Blaise's quiet breathing.
Taking a deep breath, Draco tried to forget his nightmare and drift back to sleep. But it was impossible. He lay there on his bed, wide awake in the middle of the night, until he finally admitted defeat.
After pulling his blanket around him, he descended into the Slytherin Common Room and sank into a leather couch by the fire. As a child he'd always done so after a bad dream, staring into its flames for comfort, but now the dancing flames only reminded him of Vincent and how the dragon had devoured his friend then turned to him, promising his death...
Eyes wild, Draco scrambled away, drawing his wand as he did so and shouting, "Aguamenti!"
To his relief, the water extinguished the flames, though as he stared at its ashes he thought again of Vince— all that would remain of him now was ashes, unless Fiendfyre burned purer than any other fire—
Cutting off that train of thought, Draco hurried back to his bed and began checking his fireproofing wards and charms, recasting them once he finished. Only when he'd triple-checked his protections and recast them twice that he finally lay back in his bed to relax.
As a child, he had been blind. Fire had been his friend. But now, an adult, Vincent's death had opened his eyes. Fire was a foe, a deadly foe.
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