Summary: Seamus knew that the feeling under his skin was not just magic, it was something more, and he feared what it could mean.
Rated: T
Genre: General
Warning Tag: References Burning Bodies; References Fear of Institutionalization
Competition/Challenge Block
Written for/Stacked with: Monthly Challenges for All (Year 5); Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition (Season 10)
Quidditch: Wigtown Wanderers - Keeper (Firestarter)
MC4A: VoB (5C - Fanatical); SuB (5B - Forest/Woods); TrB (5B - Percussive Therapy); FaB (5E - Jar/Can); SetB (1E - Castle); AUB (5E - Powers Are Norm); WiB (1E - Huddling for Warmth); SpB (2E - Blessing);
Beta: starspangledpumpkin; wintergreen825
Word Count: 1,253
Warning Tag: References Burning Bodies; References Fear of Institutionalization
A Fire Inside
Seamus never thought that the tingling under his skin was actually real magic, or that feeling would open up an entirely new world to him as a result. Yet, he also didn't quite feel that magic was all it was, either. It was more than a tingle and it didn't always feel pleasant or warm. Oftentimes it was uncomfortable, like an itch that wouldn't go away, or a burning sensation, like his skin was boiling from the inside. The accidental magic that erupted from him was a lot more dangerous than it should be, too.
Despite the initial joy his mother felt at the first sign of magic from him, Seamus knew it also confused and scared her. His father had fainted and didn't wake up for three days when he was told about magic and wixen existing outside of films after witnessing his son's magic. It certainly wasn't the best early memory Seamus had, but he did nearly set the house on fire while she was cooking supper at a wee three years old, after all. Actually moving the fire from the stove to streak around the room because he didn't like what was being prepared wasn't quite how accidental magic should work. Not really.
Sure, such a miraculous thing occurred when a wixen child was scared, upset, in danger, or even very happy, but normally it was expressed as little sparks or in self defense, like repelling or blocking type magic. It made him nervous about why his first bout of magic was so aggressive when he learned a little bit more from others' experiences with it.
It was also unexplainable as to why he was so fascinated and drawn to fire. Not only was it beautiful in its simplicity, it provided warmth and light; it made food edible and water drinkable. It was a very useful tool. It also was very capable of destruction. If his mother witnessed the number of times he lit something on fire in the comfort of his room, he'd likely have been taken to Saint Mungo's Permanent Care Ward and never come out of it because he would be deemed a danger to himself and others. But again, it begged the question if what Seamus experienced was actually magic, or something far more profound that just so happened to involve fire?
Regardless of what it really was, Seamus knew it was not safe—that he was not safe. Sure, he can perform magic like all of his peers just fine, but there were also more accidents that happened whenever he did. Often it came in the form of a small explosion or something being scorched and leaving a lot of smoke behind. None of the teachers paid any real attention to it at all, but he was also scared of telling them about how and why it happened. That the magic tingling wasn't quite a tingle but more of a burning, and his concentration became frustration and the outcome of feathers turning to ash or a desk forming a new blackened mark on it by the end of classes as a result. They just assumed it was a trial and error situation even though no one else experienced the same outcome of failure like he did.
All he could do is contain it as best as he could and hope to not completely blow up or set fire to anything majorly important along the way. There had to be an explanation for it that he just hadn't found it yet. The school had a massive library with endless books about everything magic within it. Surely there was something in there to help him.
Seamus struggled with this inner turmoil of feeling different for a long time, covering up his explosive magical mistakes as being just that: mistakes. But he was the only one that knew it wasn't normal, and as long as no one questioned him about it, he was safe. What was more difficult to conceal was watching the embers in the iron stove sizzle and snap. He often had to deflect questions from his dorm mates that woke up and spotted him perched in front of the open stove door, seeming to pull and bend the fire out of it and catch it in a jar. It was easy to claim they were seeing things through sleepy eyes and he was simply warming up after a trip to the loo.
It wasn't until his second year that Seamus bore witness to another classmate using something that was not like the typical magic that was expected from everyone. Harry Freaking Potter spoke to snakes, something that was practically a myth based on how rare it allegedly was in modern day wixen society, but it was still considered magic, and it was only then did it hit Seamus that perhaps his own predicament with fire was like what Harry possessed. A very rare, but very dangerous, special kind of magic.
One would think that would bring comfort to him, but it only scared him even more. The only person everyone knew well in recent history who spoke Parseltongue was He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, and in the school's ancient history, Salazar Slytherin himself. Such a thing was hereditary which meant that Harry was really the Heir to Slytherin…
Who was Seamus related to that could unleash such terrifying destruction as fire was? Someone possibly far more sinister, fanatical, and ruthless than He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, right? If people feared someone who spoke to snakes, they certainly would be mortified of him if they discovered his unusual talent. Whatever the case, he refused to use it for evil, just as Harry refused to accept that he was doing the same with his own curse.
Until he found himself standing before a wooden bridge and an army of Snatchers several years later. The gadget he made to destroy it malfunctioned and he was desperately attempting to salvage the device, even if it meant it would take his life if he was successful in the process. Dean tried to stop him, but he broke out of his grasp and bolted for it once they were not able to hit the explosive with their spells. Nerves sucked sometimes; adrenaline, exhaustion, and facing defeat took its toll, but Seamus had one last burst of bravery.
When it came down to it, his panic overwhelmed him and the spark that was coming from the bomb gave him an idea. Seamus spent years in secret practicing the manipulation of fire, but he never tried creating it from something…
The spark was just enough for him to erupt the bridge into a roaring inferno of heat, flame, and destruction. The screams from the enemy ripped through the crackling and sizzling of burning wood and sap. The smell of flesh and smoke assaulted Seamus' senses as it stung his eyes and nose, but he watched and shakily guided the fire to sweep across the bridge and engulf the Snatchers that now fled back toward the Forbidden Forest. He made sure the fire's tendrils lashed out at the retreating fleet, scorching them and reducing them down into nothing more than writhing cries of agony. Even when the rogue wixen were far from the collapsing bridge, Seamus made sure the fire crept across the grass to catch the haunches of the stragglers. He refused to allow even one escape.
At least one good thing came out of being able to control fire, it allowed him to protect the ones and the castle he loved.