It's been about four months since I published the Prologue for Let it Burn. I have decided that the time has come to finally begin it. This is dedicated to LadiePhoenix007. She has been amazingly supportive, though I haven't heard from her in months. I hope you're alright, girl!
Note: I am not exactly sure how many chapters there will be, but I assure you it will be somewhere between 60-75. Updates will come every Friday and Tuesday, and won't exceed more than 4500-5000 words a chapter. I will let y'all know if something happens on my Tumblr. I hope y'all like the name change; I know I do.
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I don't know if books/movies count. But, I do take pride in the stories that I create and write. Respect that, please.
Title: Let it Burn
Author: Carolare Scarletus
Dedicated to: LadiePhoenix007, whom has been a huge supporter of all, if not most of my stories. I adopted the title Let's Burn It from her but decided to change it. Hope you don't mind!
Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Hermione Granger and others.
Universe: Alternate Universe.
Summary:
For years he's harbored these feelings and for years it's been a deathly secret of his. When the threat of the rise of the Dark Lord comes to fruition, a young wizard's world turns upside down. Drawn by the upbringing of his childhood, Draco Malfoy struggles profusely to stay away from the dark while at the same time fighting the light. As the years pass, the decision to embark on the journey to find enlightenment and purpose draws him to one startling development and unexpected relationships blossom. All he has known comes falling down upon him and he is left destitute in its wake. Fallen from grace, the Malfoy heir treads new territory as he seeks a new horizon.
An unmoving photograph, a heart stricken with sorrow, and the untouched caress of time.
The heart screams for what the heart truly yearns to have, and that's the affection of woman beyond his reach.
As always, enjoy.
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Let it Burn
Chapter One
The Sparrow.
.~.
~*- Sometimes, it's better to step back and allow fate to decide the best course of action-*~
.~.
And ruin'd love when
It is built anew,
Grows fairer than at
first, more strong,
far greater
-William Shakespeare.
.~.
Draco Malfoy was a mission. Through the winding terrace of the corridors of Hogwarts, his intuition has lead him deep within the castle, forcing him to stop once again as his mind raced to find what he was trying to recollect. For weeks he's been trying to find a safe haven. The task that was instructed to him was not an easy one, he knew. He just needed a safe place to retreat to during the night and be certain that no one would find during the day. As the admission of smoldering summer heat pressed down upon him, Draco found himself out of options.
He couldn't remember where he had read it, if it had even existed for that matter. It may be the lack of sleep playing with his mind, but he could have sworn he had encountered the Room of Requirement countless times during his more childish escapades as part as the Inquisitorial Squad during his Fifth year. Looking back now, he realized he had been entirely too upset about Saint Potter and his band of misfits running around like they owned the damn place. He only joined them to piss him off. Eventually, it came to pass that their little group had been ratted out by some Ravenclaw, by whom everyone still regarded as the sniveling girl who almost ruined their plans. He did, however, knew the person that he was reluctant to seek help from. The last person on earth who he was practically snarling at the mere thought of her face.
Hermione Granger.
He couldn't believe that he was even considering the know-it-all Mudblood to help him. Despite his past infidelities, he had grown just a bit envious of her vast knowledge. It didn't mean it gave him any reason for him to ask her about the Room of Requirement. He could see how that conversation would go after so many years of deriding her and calling out on her blood status.
For years he has hated her. Loathed her for everything that he was worth, and that was hefty price. Purebloods were infamously known for their prized traits and grandeur; it wouldn't get past him if the little witch had a secret crush on him. He knew he was quite charming, but that didn't change the fact that she was still a filth little Mudblood, no matter how extraordinarily gifted and beautiful she had become. All these years, if there was one thing he could provide her was the simple fact that he found her exceptionally stunning. Blood status or not, Granger had become something to silently gawk at.
A bestial growl tore from his throat. God dammit. Why did his mind have to run away from him? Now, he had two seemingly different problems, both the result of thinking about that fucking bitch.
Grudgingly sighing, he returned back to the task at hand- finding the bloody room so he could at least go back to bed before dawn broke from the horizon. Merlin knew he couldn't afford another sleepless night. Nearly a month into the new term and his grades were already slipping. Snape had reprimanded him twice for the failure to turn in three essays and failing his first Defense Against the Dark Arts test. With Lord Voldemort's presence looming over him, he hardly had the time to study, nor did he care. Receiving an Outstanding on an assignment was the least of his worries now. He had far greater things to worry about, especially with the last message that he received from his Lord.
To say the least, he wasn't all too thrilled about the progress with the Vanishing Cabinet. In fact, as his written words cursed him, the sentimental value of what he must accomplish before time ran out unexpectedly increased. He needed time. Time would provide him with what he needed, along with a place to actively do his research. The library had been of no use, and the bloody matron of the ancient tomes had basically kicked him out the second he came up to her as if he already asked about Dark Artifacts. How the hell was he supposed to fix the damn thing? If Snape wasn't always constantly on his back and his mother badgering about writing her, maybe he would be able to actually sit down and fix it. How the else was he supposed to do it? He wasn't given much leverage when it came to assistance and he was too afraid to ask anyone other than his Godfather, who told him he would do everything within his power to help. Despite that promise, his help was nothing more than words aimed to appease him.
"Your mother had given me the task to watch over you," he had told him in the drastically dark and deep tone," it is your job to do the work that the Dark Lord has given you."
What the fuck? Some Godfather and he doesn't give him even a hint of how to fix the fucking thing? Even now, weeks after that conversation with his dear Godfather, he was blessed with the insatiable urge to wring him until there was no air left in his lungs. Useless as he has been, he found the reassurance quite inspirational. At least he didn't have to worry about someone following him. Not that he could afford someone pestering him, anyway.
Draco passed another disgruntled portrait and stampeding stallions. He's passed the same line of paintings twice now, and it was coming to the point where he has memorized each other their intricate strokes and brushes. Women with glowing textures and children with curious eyes afforded him the smallest of glances before drifting back to sleep. Somewhere between finding wonder and trying to redirect his focus back on his task he heard it.
It was a distant sound, coming off from just around the corner. It hadn't been there twenty minutes ago when he first treaded the halls. He stepped carefully around the corner, just making out two distant figures down the corridor.
Voices. Two of them, and they seemed to be arguing about something. Draco was always a night owl, finding it pleasantly alluring, but knowing that someone else was drifting precariously through the corridors made him uneasy. His whole body was tense, and it felt like someone casted Petrificus Totalus on him. Frozen on the spot, he stood and listened.
"-load of rubbage if I ever heard!" a feminine voice. "Do you know how idiotic that sounds?"
Draco's brows furrowed. He knew that voice, knew the owner but he unfortunately couldn't place it. Whatever the poor bloke had done to earn such a shrill treatment was beyond him. He hoped for his sake it was worth being yelled at like that.
"Oh, come off it." the deep voice countered. "You would have done the same thing if you had the heart. He fell asleep in the library, 'Mione. You've done it before and the Prefects before us let you off. Why is this any different?"
"If you were paying attention," she hissed, her anger rising painfully with each word," you would have realized that he hadn't come from the library, Ronald. He was holding one of your brother's Detonation Bombs and was planning to plant it in the girl's lavatory on the third floor."
Weaslebee let out an agitated sigh. "Merlin, Hermione. Why does it always have to be rules with you? Have you ever considered life would be more pleasurable if you let lose every once in a while? I don't know. Let your overbearing attitude and outlook slip in a different direction? It's no wonder you've only got two friends. No one else would be abl-"
Before he had the chance to finish that sentence, something attacked him. Draco didn't know exactly what Granger had sent after him, but it did just the trick. He smirked at the sound of the weasel's terrified squeals. He sounded like a misplaced pig running away from a farmer.
"Don't you dare finish that sentence, you pig!"
Oh, so he was correct.
"I don't care what you bloody think! You are just the same and I'm done trying to stop you from harming yourself, or worse, killing yourself. You're on your own from now on!"
"Hermione, I-"
"Don't you speak!"
"Please, just-"
"No." she whispered in a strangled cry. "For once can you do the right thing and just walk away? I care about you Ron, but you continue to disregard my concern. Now that I know how you feel about me… just leave, please."
You've done it now, haven't you?
Weaslebee made a shuffling noise, debating whether or not he should go. Any respectable friend would comfort her, but he wasn't like any friend Granger has ever had. Sure, she was a bloody know-it-all nuisance, but even she didn't deserve to be treated as second best. Weasel had a lot to learn before her trust in him could be renewed.
"Alright, fine." He told her. "If you're going to be like that then I'll go."
The way Granger sobbed made his heart clenched abnormally inside his chest. Why the hell was he feeling like this when it was Weaslebee that should be experiencing the heart-wrenching feeling of breaking the trust and bonds of friendship? Sweet Circe, did the boy even know what the meaning of friendship was? A smile formed on Draco's lips; as much as he liked deriding the youngest Weasley, Granger's tears were becoming a bit too much to handle.
He never knew what to do with a crying girl. Granger was a strong witch, but she was just like every other teenaged girl at Hogwarts. She had her moments. She got hurt like everyone else, felt the disastrous feeling of rejection. Never did he imagine that she would be as weak to allow someone else see her cry.
Of course Draco has heard the stories. The Golden-fucking-trio's escapades was renowned as it was awed. What happened at the Department of Mystery was still a topic of interest among the school; even he pondered what happened in the department time to time. But, that wasn't the point of this exercise. Word had it was that Antonin Dolohov delivered the almost fatal blow, bestowing the witch with something that the students had went wild with. Some have said she lost two of her ribs, while others have speculated that she was at the mercy of her attacker. Whatever the influence, Draco was slightly curious as to what laid underneath her clothing. He wanted to see for himself what that bastard did. He didn't know why, though. Why he cared, why it mattered. All he knew was that he had to pay for what he did. Whatever it was that Granger had to deal with. For the rest of her natural life, nobody knew, but she would have to be reminded of it every time she looked in the mirror, or lingered in the recess of her dreams.
With a sudden, abrupt thought he wondered why he was even bothering thinking about the Mudblood.
You care for her, said a voice.
Like hell he did. She was an annoying know-it-all that has the penchant for driving every bloke she came in contact with to their graves. She has no sense of fashion, no filter whatsoever, but has been blessed with an extraordinary gift in magic and a powerful encouragement for-
Did he just compliment her?
Dear Merlin. It was entirely too late. Finding the Room of Requirement may have to come at a later date. For now, he needed rest. Hopefully by morning he will have forgotten this night and be strong enough to face the day without having to look behind him every five seconds. Just as he was about to leave, Granger's sobs erupted around hm.
All the years that he's known her, he's never heard her cry. She was strong, yet so fragile. Draco bit his lip nervously. Perhaps it wouldn't hurt to go talk to her. At least, cheer her up. She didn't even have to speak to him. The proximity itself would be more than enough for him.
One thing was certain, he couldn't fight the feelings he had toward the little know-it-all. No matter how troublesome they were.
It was a split minute decision, and before he had the chance to stop himself from withdrawing his wand from his robes, he casted a charm that would enable her to at least find some resolution in the broken bond of her six-year friendship.
A symbol that someone was there and watching her.
He sent her sparrows.
Hermione watched as Ron retreated back into the dark. She held onto the tears that threatened to spill from her eyes as long as she could. Once he was gone, she let it all out. Crying, sobbing, her nose running as if she were but a child that had no control over their emotions. She wasn't prone to crying, and usually did so in the company where no one would be present. Razed for the last time by her friend, or should she say ex friend, she was thrown into irretrievably grief.
She hiccupped as she attempted to dry her tears, but it was to no avail. She couldn't believe the words that Ron so blatantly told her. She knew she was a bit cautious at times, too preoccupied by the rules and lived her life with vigilance, but that didn't give him the right to say what he did. For years she has walked in the shadows of her best friends. Now, it seemed, that those days were over.
Although she cared immensely for Harry and Ron, going as far as accompanying them on their little schemes in their younger years, she couldn't understand his reasoning behind lashing out like that. For Merlin's sake, she fought a small allegiance of Death Eaters, helped defeat a giant snake whilst she cheered them on and stood by their sides through thick and thin and he still had the audacity to say that she didn't live every second of her life the way it ought to be lived? To the extreme, no doubt? Hermione was sick of him trying to control every aspect of her life, and wanted nothing more to stick him in his rightful place, which she had done in a meniscal sort of way.
Alas, the time for that had fleeted. Perhaps it would be better just to go and apologize and live the remaining years of her life with friends who secretly didn't care for her. As she thought, the legendary mark upon her torso began to hurt. Dolohov's curse still bothered her even now. Every so often she had to take a potion to alleviate the mounting pain before it became too unbearable. Sometimes, she would forego the potion, finding comfort in the fact that she indeed could feel such emotions as anger and sadness. She didn't know where to place this strange need to remember what he did, but she knew she couldn't go on with the secret. One of these days she would completely stop taking anything that was meant to help appease it and she would inevitably find herself in a position worse than one she was in now.
Sighing, she stood from the ground, discovering just then that she had allowed herself to slide down and rest against the cold, stoned wall. A part of her, the sick part of her that agreed to the statement of placement, told her that the ground was where she belonged, and that is where she was meant to stay.
Standing up straight, Hermione withdrew from the wall, drying her cheeks with the tips of her fingers. It was late, and she really must go to bed.
As she turned, something caught her eye.
It was small, delicate. Nothing like the things she usually witnessed during the day. Strange as it was, she decided to follow the small glowing ball of light. Captured by the simple wonderment of the floating orbs, she immediately set out to find the origin. Never the one to embark on dangerous journeys alone, Hermione found herself enjoying the freedom, the pleasantness of the notion rather enjoyable to say the least. Darkness may be following closely after her, but she was not afraid. Strangely enough, as long as she kept following the light, she knew she would be able to find safety.
Hermione knew instantly where the orbs were taking her. The Room of Requirement, as she remembered, was somewhere on the seventh floor, across from the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy. Breathing heavily, she scurried after the portrait, coming to the end of the corridor. There, she saw them.
A whole flock of sparrows awaited her arrival. Each of them were a different variety of hues. All singing to the same tune. As Hermione's eyes gazed upon the birds, her heart hammering away, she realized something extraordinary about them.
They were all entirely made of parchment. As if someone sat down and constructed them out of old books, parchment, newspaper clippings, and everything else they could get their hands on. She was in complete awe of it, and wanted to exactly which spell could have created the lovely little birds. Giggling as one of them plopped itself on her shoulder, her sadness all but a forgotten memory, she found herself learning out it felt to be happy and not miserable with worry. The young witch twirled around, humming wondrously. She never felt so alive, she restless with ease. As the birds gathered around her, chirping their beautiful song, she didn't notice the retreating figure in the background, or the steel grey eyes that landed on her one last time before vanishing.
Totem-
(Noun); plural noun:
totems
-a natural object or animal believed by a particular society to have spiritual significance and adopted by it as an emblem.
-Sparrow Totem:
Sparrows derive power and protection from their numbers. Always in a clan, they move in clusters, eat in clusters, and are alwayscontent as such. This can be quite intimidating to some would-be predators. Safety in numbers is a lesson the Sparrow has to share with us.
The Sparrow is ever vigilant in her goals. She is always bustling for her food, foraging for her nests, and gathering for her young. Fastidious and productive, the Sparrow is a reminder that idle hands (and idle minds) should be avoided in order to live a full, healthy life.
She is a master of flight, and camouflage, and as such the Sparrow teaches us to use our creativity to get around in life - think outside the box, and be creative in solving our problems.
As an Bird Totem, the Sparrow speaks of higher thoughts and ideals. She beckons us to keep our burdens as light as we can in order to avoid a heavy heart.
(More information about Totems can be found on this website- www. / sparrow-meaning. html)- No spaces, of course.
-Musical composition for this chapter (End of scene two):
www. youtube watch?v = oTi5pZ- G3pg
(No spaces).