Hullo Gentle Readers!

Wow, took me 5 tries to type "gentle" correctly. I'm obviously fatigued and need a nap. Gonna do that right after this.

Well, this one is weird, I'll admit it. Kinda confusing if you don't read the summary. But the first part is Harry's POV. Metaphors galore. YAY METAPHORS WE DON'T UNDERSTAND! 8D
But basically its post-Hogwarts, mid-war, and Voldie's hacking into Harry's mind, driving him crazy with loneliness, doubt and despair. The "fire" is the tricky part, I believe. I'll give you the benefit of the doubt and assume you'll be able to figure it out by the end. If not, tell me off in a review, demanding I explain things properly. I'll oblige x.x

Well, enjoy and REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW!


"Carry me from this cold empty room cause I'm feeling so desperate right now.
All those times, that I missed your sweet face, I just wanna be near you somehow...
But I'm trying so hard, to just start a fire.
This wishful thinking could bring me back...
home to your love..."

He held out his hand, cold fingertips passing through endless space. It was dark. A black so thick he couldn't see his body anymore. If he ever did. He couldn't feel it. The darkness was enveloping him in its icy emptiness. He wanted it to stop, to pause, to break, but it didn't.

He was drowning, suffocating. Struggling against the onslaught of nothing. Nothing...nothing...

Was that a light? No. Just a trick of the mind.Wishful thinking.

But some little part of him, some deep thread hidden underneath the filth, twitched. A gentle tug that connected to what was left of his dead heart. His fingers reached out a bit more, his nails glinting.
Something red trickled down the back of his hand and it was warm. So warm.

A chill crept up his back, its claws digging into his flesh until it wrapped round his neck and hissed quietly in his ear.

Let go...so easy...break...

Perhaps. Maybe...

His fingers recoiled and he shrank back into himself. Safer. Much safer.

But the red warmth.

No...break...so easy...drown...

It spread. Coldness filling his mouth and cradled his voice in a blanket of silence. He could feel his throat straining, the muscles struggling. Nothing...nothing...

Good...easy...break...

Break? Yes...Yes. Break. So easy.

A subtle warmth slithered round his wrist, the wounds prickling. It hurt...No...No it hurts! It hurts!

Let go...break...break...

Stop! No! It hurts! Make it stop! GO AWAY!

Let go...let go...stop...

The chill was subsiding and he was scared. His body began to move ever so slightly and he raised his hand once more. Fingers flexed uncertainly, not sure of the action.

There it was...The trick of the mind...What was it?

No...look away...break..break...

Growing bigger. The warmth spread faster. Up his arm, across his chest, down his stomach.

Stop it...stop...break...break...

Across his shoulders, around his back, down his legs.

Stop it!...Easy...let go...BREAK...

Fingers enclosed his wrist and the heat engulfed him...

His breath returned, quickened, shallow, panicked. His muscles screamed out in pain, scar tissue holding them in its grip.

Break! Break! Break!

His bones ached, his eyes stung, his lips chapped...Please...

Perhaps...Maybe...Yes...

Yes?

Yes.

He gasped, a raspy sort of sound; so unfamiliar. The warmth spread faster, increasing...So warm...

NO!

He squinted in the light, his eyes flinching. Eyelids fluttered open. Had they always been closed? There it was. The light. No trick. There it was.

He hesitated, but the warmth carressed him. The chill was losing its grip.

Nooooo!

His fingers stretched out and he strained. Nothing. Nothing? Nothing.

No.

A searing heat caught his fingertips . He screamed...It hurt...Hurt so bad...No, no stop it...STOP IT!
STOP!

Break...break...break...

Don't want to! But it hurts!

BREAK.

He felt. He moved. He breathed. He saw. In blinding colors, in swirrling masses of motion, in bleeding droplets of emotion. The light was red. The warmth was red. The fingers were red.

I want to burn.

NO! BREAK! LET GO!

I WANT to burn. I want to.

So he did.

The reds drowned him in a pool of passion and fury and pain. But he felt. So long he was crippled...he was cold. The chill had left, its claws dangling by fractions of ice.

But the reds thawed them away. And he was hot.

The reds licked at his cheeks, brushed his eyelashes, stroked his hair, tickled his fingers. He reached out with both hands and there was no space. No emptiness. No nothing.

Hands gripped his own and he stood. Finally. His head spun, so dizzy, so much. His body hurt, his heart felt shredded, his eyes wept Longing. The hands gripped tighter and he blinked.

The reds danced round his feet, up his back, around his head. He burned.

Yes?

Yes.

He kept his eyes open as the reds drowned him. And he was pain. He was fear. He was love. Everything was everything. Nothing was nothing. He was alone, but he wasn't. He was feeling and he was loved.

The reds flickered and danced and stroked. He leaned into them, pressing his chest against theirs. Fingers threaded through his hair and he watched as his heart broke and shattered across the floor. Yes. He hurt. Yes. He was scared. Yes. He was broken.

But the reds flamed round him. They surrounded him and no chill could ever touch him again.

He burned. Brighter than bright.

So long in coldness. So long in black.

He wrapped his arms round the reds, burying himself in their warmth. He tilted his chin up and fire brushed his lips gently. His throat eased and he parted his mouth. Fire spilled inside him, warming him eternally.

Yes...?

Yes...?

He stared into the eyes of the reds. And he let himself feel everything they offered. The desperate longing, the blinding pain, the consuming adoration.

He parted his lips.

Yes?...Do you burn?

"...Yes. I burn."

And the fire spilled out of him, consuming his dark cell.

DHDHDH+

Draco tore open his grey eyes with a gasp, and didn't fully register the semicircle of anxious faces awaiting his return to consciousness.

"Well? Did it work?" Granger insisted, her brown eyes ringed with red.

"Did your spell find him?" Weasley added on, fatigue and worry drawing lines all over his once youthful face.

Draco blinked back tears, only now noticing that his face was already littered with them, and drew in a slow ragged breath. His lungs hurt. So did every other part of his body. Traveling across all that distance and breaking through Voldemort's barriers surrounding Harry took alot out of him.

He barely realized he had slumped forward, and was now being led to lay down on a nearby worn couch. A potion was pressed to his lips and he felt marginally better. Snape shuffled back to his corner.

"Well! Out with it! We're all waiting," Wealsey growled, ignoring manners. As usual.

Draco stared at the others, drifting from face to face. Poor Remus, he was practically nothing but frown lines and grey hair. Granger was so skinny. Wealsey was, well-- St.Mungo's would be expecting him soon. The other Weasleys weren't much better. Even that daft Tonks was at her wits end.

So, imagine their surprise when Draco got to his feet and headed up the stairs of Black Manor.

They followed, completely baffled, and watched as Draco proceeded to dump most of Harry's things out of his trunk and onto the bed. He then magicked a bowl of hot water, a washcloth, and a full tea set. At a loss, and more than agitated, Ron stomped his foot, upsetting the teacups.

"Damn it Draco! Tell us what happened! And what the HELL are you doing!"

Draco tenderly set out a pajama set and smoothed back the sheets. Turning, a tearful smile broke out across his face." He burned."

The Order stared at eachother, confused, but then the front door slammed open and hoarse yells floated up the stairs. Draco smiled wider. "And he's home."