Season 10; Round 2

Appleby Arrows

Keeper

Prompt: Firestarter

Word count: 2880

Triggers: Character death; gore

Harry wakes up to the sound of screaming.

His own screaming, he realizes after a moment. He stares in dismay at the fire all around his room. It is spreading, and it will continue to spread. He sighs, trying to reel in his emotions. But it doesn't work. Not now, not ever.

"Quite emotional for a pyrokinetic, aren't you?" He remembers Hermione Granger's haughty words, before he and Ron defeated a troll with a levitation charm, before they became friends.

Harry couldn't work for the Ministry due to his pyrokinesis. He works separate from the Ministry, still capturing criminals but now it doesn't make it to the records if he accidentally lights something on fire.

The war has turned him even more volatile, even more prone to snapping. He sees it in Hermione's eyes when he rudely shuts her down for even mentioning going to a mind-specialist. He sees it in Ginny's eyes when he proposes they should break up. He sees it in Ron's eyes when he looks at Harry and sees broken, jagged pieces joined at all the wrong angles. He knows that it hurts his friends, and Merlin, he tries to curb his behavior. But the war has changed everyone, maybe this is more noticeable because he is all alone.

He will always be alone.

Harry takes a deep breath and enters Head Auror Richards' office. It is a beautiful room, covered in rich shades of mahogany and red.

"Ah yes!" Richards proclaims. "Here it is. Look through it, tell me now if you have any doubt."

Harry wordlessly accepts it.

He reads it, and reads it again. Then, he reads it one more time just to make sure.

"You want me to investigate a series of attacks in Caemlyn?" Harry asks incredulously. Caemlyn is a secluded town in the middle of nowhere. Going there is a punishment, a sign that your career is over.

"No, no, no," Richards says, quickly catching on to what Harry must be thinking and not wanting his office to go up in flames. "Look, the series of attacks are all fire-based. Not normal fire, but not fiendfyre either. The Minister wants us to get involved because Caemlyn is an old town with thousands of years of magical history and, if it continues, it might just burn to the ground. You are the only person I know who is attuned to flames. I don't want to risk anyone."

"Fine, I'll go," Harry says after a few moments of careful deliberation. Caemlyn is totally isolated, with most of its citizens not being able to get out, or get outside information. They wouldn't know him. Also, it might just be what he needs to calm his anger.

"Brilliant! We'll have a Portkey ready for you tomorrow. You need to get here by 9 o'clock, sharp."

Harry nods tightly and walks out of the office.

"But! Harry! There are so many problems: the town is already shaken as it is, if you lose control—" Hermione starts lecturing him the moment he tells them.

"Thank you for your faith in me," Harry snaps. Hermione's mouth clicks shut, her eyes full of pain. Harry feels like breaking something.

"Hey! Don't talk with Hermione like that!" Ron says. And Harry tries, he tries so hard. But he always comes across as a jerk nowadays—snapping at small things, getting angry over minute details. But they don't know, they don't know the effort it takes him to not burn down the entire wizarding world. It would be so easy, his fire always itching at the back of his mind, demanding to be used. Harry has to spend every minute of every day to stop it.

But they don't know that, and Harry doesn't bother telling, because they wouldn't—couldn't—understand. They are not pyrokinetics. In fact, there is currently no pyrokinetic in the wizarding world apart from him, which makes him even more of a freak. He sees it in the eyes of all the Aurors he used to work with—the fear and the disgust. Pyrokinesis is a dangerous ability, and there are bound to be disasters when its wielder is so emotional.

"Fine, sorry," Harry mutters.

"You have changed," Ron whispers.

"Good change or bad change?" Harry asks, already knowing the answer.

Neither of them reply. Harry smiles—a bitter, fragile thing—then turns around and sees himself out.

The town of Caemlyn is saturated with magic. Harry—who is generally not that magic sensitive—feels ozone in the air. This is what pure magic feels like, Harry wonders. Not a few paltry tricks with wands, but magic so ancient and oppressive that it threatens to choke him, to strangle him.

Harry loves it.

The people of Caemlyn seem welcoming. Everyone here is happy, content. They have not seen the war, have not experienced the death and disaster that has left his mind scarred, that has engraved itself on Hermione's hand with the word 'Mudblood'.

But, despite the happiness, there is an underlying tension. The seemingly idyllic town with all its clean roads and beautiful white houses is being threatened. Harry is quickly sought out by the town leader who speaks to him in low hushed tones.

"We had another attack yesterday. Are you sure you will be able to stop the attacks? We've already had two casualties, we cannot afford anymore, being the small town that we are."

"I'll try my best," Harry says.

"See that you do," the town leader mutters and goes off to his own business, leaving Harry alone with a bunch of kids who want to know what the outside world is like.

"Mr Potter? Mr Potter!" comes a voice from outside his door the next day. Harry sighs and opens it to come face-to-face with a flushed man covered in soot.

"Please, help us, a cottage is on fire!" the man exclaims. Harry widens his eyes.

"Did they get everyone out?"

"Yes, but please, come fast!" the man says.

Harry closes the door and dresses in the first thing that he sees. He then rushes out to the cottage.

It is in a horrible state. The fire raging like a beast deprived of food. It looks bluish and it burns, filling his nose with the acrid stench. Any other time, he would've admired the enormous fire, but not today.

Harry takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, focusing on the heat and the stench and the flame. He wants it to extinguish, he doesn't want it to destroy anything else. The fire is powerful, and Harry has no doubt that the caster is extremely strong, but Harry's will is not something to be contested with.

You will listen to me, Harry thinks, the fire lashing out against the trickle of magic he had sent towards the fire to stop it.

You will listen! Harry snarls in his mind, and the fire bows down. It slowly starts to recede. Harry opens his eyes just in time to see the fire burn one last time in a beautiful mix of orange, red and blue before dissipating all together.

Harry takes deep breaths and he falls to the ground, the gravel digging into his knees. He has not had to put out fires that strong, ever. It has taken a huge toll on him. But his magic is happy, it has been a long time since he has put his pyrokinesis ability to full use.

"Wow!" a young voice exclaims and everyone starts cheering. Harry stands up with difficulty and turns around to see everyone in town has gathered behind him at some point and was looking at him with barely restrained wonder and curiosity.

"What?" Harry snaps, feeling uncomfortable at all the attention.

"You are a pyrokinetic?" a woman with blond hair and a kind face asks.

"Yes," Harry answers shortly.

"Oh, do you know what started the fire?" the woman asks.

Harry shakes his head regretfully.

"You can't just understand whose fire it is by controlling it. All I know is that this was certainly not a normal fire, and it was probably done by a human. Creatures would not be able to maintain such a vicious, controlled attack for long," Harry explains.

"Meaning that the perpetrator is among us?" a short man with a bowler hat and mustache asks.

"Yes, most probably," Harry says and adds, "But you can't go around suspecting everyone. These are dark times, and you need to stay conscious of your every move. If you start arguing amongst yourselves, then your enemy will grow stronger, and you will grow weaker."

There are murmurs as he says this. Harry knows people will not accept it, they will continue to blame someone for all the things that's happening. Harry wonders for a moment if it would have been better to just lie, but then he quickly discards the idea.

"Thank you," the wizened town leader says, stopping everyone's murmuring. Harry smiles slightly at the genuine gratitude and says, "Does anyone know where I can get something to eat?"

And that is how he gets roped into attending lunches of at least eight different families.

"I should probably let someone accompany you around our town," the town leader says the next day when he sees Harry. and then adds upon seeing Harry opening his mouth. "No buts, young man. You helped us yesterday. If you hadn't, I shudder to think what would've happened. So, please accept this as a token of my gratitude."

"Valerius! Valerius!" the town leader shouts out and a dark-eyed, dark-haired boy appears, seemingly out of thin air.

"Yes sir?" Valerius asks in a velvety voice.

"You are to accompany Mr Potter here and show him the wonders of this town," the town leader says.

"Of course, sir," Valerius replies and Harry thinks he sees a muscle twitch in his jaw.

"Very well then, I should get going."

"You really don't like me, do you?" Harry asks as they enter the most beautiful wood he has ever seen. It is not dark as the Forbidden Forest, but inviting and warm. The sun shines through the gaps between the trees, illuminating the forest. Harry feels at peace just by being here.

"What gave it away?" Valerius asks, his lips twitching slightly.

"Oh just your attitude at being asked to escort me around," Harry says airily. "Why, am I so much of a hassle for you to bear?"

"No, of course not," the man says dryly and Harry bursts out into laughter. Pure, unadulterated laughter. After he stops laughing, he realizes that it is the first time since the war that he has laughed. Harry brings his fingers to his lips to feel the physical embodiment of his joy.

"First time you've laughed?" the man asks, still in the same dry tone.

"First time in a year," Harry confirms. When he looks up, he sees the man staring at him with a look that says Valerius isn't sure whether he is joking or not. "It's true." Harry says and waits for the barrage of questions.

"Well then, I'm glad to be of use," Valerius says and Harry looks at him in wonder. Harry can see it in the man's eyes that he has tons of questions, but he doesn't ask. Harry smiles again. This is the man-the breath of fresh air-that he was looking for. Someone who would listen, but wouldn't ask.

"That is the ancient offspring of Yggdrasil," Valerius points at the heart of the forest, looking away from Harry. Harry isn't surprised. The amount of magic emanating from the tree is astounding.

"Apparently, our ancestors and the Norse pantheon once fought side-by-side against Loki. As a reward for our bravery, Odin gave us the branch of Yggdrasil to create this tree." Valerius continues. "This is the tree that gave magic to people outside Caemlyn-or, as it was called in those days, Avalon."

"It's beautiful," Harry whispers.

"It's magic," Valerius says.

In the end, Valerius finds Harry too curious to pass up, and Harry genuinely starts enjoying Valerius' company. Valerius was quite knowledgeable, and Harry has never met someone who is more passionate about teaching.

And then, he has been having these urges.

These are not normal, Harry thinks furiously to himself. The urge to always be with Valerius, to hear him talk about some invention or the other he knows of from his limited correspondence of the outside world.

His work of catching the perpetrator goes on very slowly, but he was able to catch and put out a few more flames.

Somedays, he feels as though everything is alright. Sometimes he even forgets why he has come here, who Ron and Hermione are. It should disgust him, forgetting about his friends. But all he wishes is to forget everything permanently, to live in the quiet idyllic town where no one says a word when he gets too emotional and almost burns his bunk down, where he could live freely with his maybe-crush Valerius.

But Harry is content to enjoy the few days that he has in this town and cherish it forever.

If only fate had been so accepting of his choices.

This is what happens in life: when you are at your happiest moment, it abruptly submerges you into an icy-cold pit of disaster.

It started out as a normal day.

Harry wakes up, has his breakfast and goes to the forest as usual. It is their regular meeting spot-Valerius is obsessed with the tree for some reason and Harry likes the comforting magic of the forest.

But what he sees utterly shocks him: Valerius, playing with fire. Not any fire, for they would be red and yellow, but bluish orange fire. The same fire that has already burnt down so many houses and would've burnt down more if it had the chance.

"Val-Valerius?" Harry asks, his throat not working properly. Valerius abruptly looks up, widens his eyes and ends the fire.

"Harry! I was wondering when you would come!" Valerius exclaims. But they both know the damage has been done. Harry has already seen.

"Why? Why? WHY?" Harry shouts, and his fire, for the first time in many days flares up around him in a beautiful ring of blue and yellow.

"Harry, you don't understand—"

"What don't I understand?" Harry demands, and his fire grows. Distantly, he can see the fire-his fire-burning down the trees, making way towards the Yggdrasil.

"The people in here are weak," Valerius says, his eyes burning with that feverish light he gets when he talks about something he is particularly passionate about. "They have grown complacent. The magic of Yggdrasil, of Avalon and Merlin and Morgana doesn't deserve that. It deserves glory, praise. Can't you see Harry? What am I really doing? I am making Caemlyn a better place!"

"By burning it to the ground," Harry shouts back.

"I will make it a hundred times more glorious than what it is now," Valerius says with all the arrogance of a king.

Harry shakes his head sadly. "What you are doing isn't the right way. Destroying and rebuilding anew isn't always the answer. And what about those who are living here?"

"They are weak," Valerius sneers. "They don't deserve to live."

Harry closes his eyes. This is not the Valerius he knows. But maybe the Valerius he knew wasn't real at all. Maybe it was just a facade to hide the ugliness within.

"I will not let you do this," Harry says, pointing his wand shakily at him.

Valerius gives a harsh laugh.

"What will you do, darling?" he coos. "You know, I should just end you now. Despite being lovely, you are a nuisance. But, don't worry Harry love, I will do something for you when I get out. Name an orphanage after you, perhaps. Avada-"

But even kings fall.

Harry's eyes widen as a stray tongue of fire wraps itself around Valerius' wand arm, making him scream and drop his wand. Then, the fire multiplies, and soon it covers his entire body. Valerius tries to bargain with him, to put out the flames, to do anything else. Harry is too stupefied to do anything and can only watch in horror. It seems as though his magic is not listening to him and is intent to kill Valerius.

The snake-like flames burn away his flesh, which drops to the ground like molten wax, revealing the bones and organs within. He watches in horror as the bones become charred and drop to the ground. The organs shrink and tear apart, falling to the ground with a soft thump. He gives his last agonizing scream of pure pain and suffering before succumbing to the powerful flames.

Harry feels drops of water running down his cheeks. He is crying, he realizes, for the first time in many years.

"I am sorry, I am so, so sorry," Harry screams-or maybe he whispers-trying to make someone understand. It feels as though someone has torn his heart right from his rib cage. "I am so, so, so sorry. I didn't mean it, I am so, so sorry. Please, please forgive me."

Harry then sinks down to the leaf-covered ground beside the charred remains of Valerius and wails out to the high heavens.

"Quite emotional for a pyrokinetic, aren't you?" and Merlin, he couldn't agree more.