Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling's publishers, etc, etc. I own nothing but the plot and I can't make profit off this piece of writing, except for my own satisfaction.
A/N: A slightly modified chapter.
Fire
By Katie
Part One
Burn
It was not particularly unusual, near the city of London, to see the sky painted scarlet with the fire from the stakes or to have the air weighed down by the screams of the anguished. For Draco Malfoy, witch burning was an inseparable element of his life, as his parents went to every single one.
He always found perverse pleasure as he watched the wizards and witches die among the flames, for he was taught to never feel sorry for them. Those who died, his father once said contemptuously, were fools.
"Fools," he had explained, and the words embedded themselves in the young boy's mind, "who flaunted their magic in front of the muggles, yet failed to use it to save themselves. Fools, who exposed the existence of magic, yet failed to prove it."
And Draco had known, right away, that he was not one of them. He had looked up at his parents, the master and mistress of the wealthy Malfoy Manor, and smiled confidently.
Yet he would not know, till much later, that there was much more to the burnings.
*
Two years after he witnessed the first burning, Draco found out that his parents could do magic.
He had been half past eight then, an arrogant and self-assuming child, feared and despised by many. And he had been particularly scared that August morning to see his mother idly twirling a stick of wood in her hand, changing the colour of her dress at will.
"Mother!" he had gasped from the doorway. "You…"
"Calm down, Draco," his father spoke up, coming up from behind him and gripping his shoulders so tightly that later Draco found bruises there. "There is no need to be theatrical."
"But - that was -"
Narcissa smiled. She walked over and lay a cool hand on Draco's feverish cheek. "We are wizards and witches," she said. "There is no need to be afraid or ashamed, darling. It is an honour. It is power, my dear. It is a gift given to the very few, and you should feel fortunate that you were not born a Squib."
"A Squib?"
"A non-magical person, born to magical parents," Narcissa said, wrinkling her nose. "The worst of our kind."
It did not occur to Draco, till years later, that Muggle-born wizards existed as well, and they were the ones often found upon the stakes.
At the time, he only gazed as his parents in fear. "You will be caught!" he cried. "You will be burned too!"
Narcissa laughed and tossed her head scornfully, while Lucius' grip on Draco's shoulders became very painful.
"Nothing like that will happen," Lucius drawled. "We are much too careful to suffer the same fates as vermin. We are associated with people of the highest society, affiliated with other strong wizards. Nobody dares to accuse us."
"Even if we do," Narcissa added, making a cup of tea appear with a flick of her wand, "we know the very spell that will save us from that painful and awfully undignified death."
But why couldn't those other people do it? Draco wanted to ask, but his parents had already lost interest in the conversation.
*
The little girl was burned when Draco Malfoy was ten. He had seen her red dress merge with the orange flames, seen her face reddened by the heat as it licked her body, before she finally disappeared into the ashes.
She was the first child to be burned in five years, and her burning was the first that unsettled Draco. All throughout the proceedings, after she was brought to the centre of the clearing, he'd thought she was too pretty and proud to be one of those fools her parents hated. He'd even admired her recklessness when she shook free of the two muggle men forcing her onto the scaffold.
"Why should I be killed?" she demanded shrilly. "I have done nothing wrong. You have no proof!"
"You curdled my milk," a woman spoke from the crowds. Draco thought he remembered her from one of his parents' balls - she was a witch herself.
The girl glanced at her and rolled her eyes. "That was the sun, Madam," she said quietly, "as you should know from experience…"
There were more accusations and she answered each with calmness and precision. In spite of himself, Draco began to feel a weight settle in his stomach. She could talk all she wanted, but it would only stall her burning for a few minutes.
"You turned my hair pink!" shouted a final accusation from the crowd.
The little girl blinked, and looked to the sound of the voice. "Oh, it's you," she sneered at a woman Draco knew as Dolores Umbridge. Scornfully, she tossed her head, a gesture that reminded Draco of his mother. "Well, of course I did. You look horrible either way."
A murmur passed over the crowd as the woman began to wail. The men quickly slammed the girl against the blackened stake and began to tie her up. Her dress fluttered in the breeze and the usual excitement began to build.
"Do you have any accomplices?" Draco heard one of the men murmur.
The girl hesitated only a moment. Draco saw her eyes dart to a corner, where a red-haired woman was standing, her handkerchief pressed to her mouth. Then…"No!" the girl said defiantly, turning back to the man. "I have no family. You have killed them all."
"Very well," the man said mercilessly. "Very well."
*
The fire had begun at her feet, and then worked its way up to her dress, to her face. All around, people stepped back and cringed, partly because of the heat, and partly because of the girl's shrieks.
Draco only watched as the flames consumed her, slowly, so very slowly, as if she were merely becoming one with the flames. Briefly, her eyes met his, and he saw that they were brown and full of tears. Soon, the flames reached up to the sky, and he could no longer see her face.
Just before the last scream died, however, Draco saw her hair, her long red hair.
And he could never forget her hair, because it was the exact colour of the flames, the fiery red mixed with the tinges of orange, the ferocious rage of the fire.
Narcissa squeezed his hand, a rare motherly gesture. "It's all right, darling," she said soothingly. "It will never happen to you."
Draco knew she was right, for he had heard of the academy that trained wizards and witches to learn magic, a privilege granted to few. Yet for a long time afterwards, he would wake up dripping from a nightmare, for he could not stop thinking about the girl with the long red tresses, who was not privileged enough to live.
A/N: Go on to chapter two, but please review if you have the time!