Fire

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!

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: Sorry to everyone for the wait. I lost my inspiration to write for a while, but not anymore.

Anyway, a few notes on the story: first of all, I realized that the witch burning was way earlier than sixteenth century (more like, two hundred years earlier) and I have not much idea how Great Britain is like back then. (In fact, I’m not even sure if Scotland is a part of Britain.) Which is why I’m creating a time period of my own, for the purpose of the story. No, it’s not going to be outlandish, and I’ll have a backstory to explain it. Please bear with it.

Secondly, I modified the first chapter, which is why it may be a good idea to skim it. After all, I took so long to update, it might help you understand this chapter better.

I’m done. Let’s go.

Fire

By Katie

Part Two

Inflame

The first time Draco saw her, he thought he was hallucinating. But there she was, carefully selecting items and bargaining with the vendors.

The second time he saw her, he admired her hair – still beautiful after all these years – before reminding himself that she had been dead for nearly a decade.

The third time, when he saw her in the same marketplace, Draco knew. It had to be her.

But after he’d shaken free of Pansy Parkinson, the girl had already disappeared in a flash of red, as if she had sensed Draco’s presence from a few yards away.

*

Ginny Weasley walked briskly through the wet and unpaved streets, holding a dying lantern in one hand and a sack of provisions in another. She paused as a dilapidated building loomed into view and glanced around discreetly. Though nobody but her and the Order of the Phoenix could see it – Harry was the Secret Keeper – It still would not be wise for anyone to see her.

Luckily, this part of the city was declared unfit even for slums, having endured much destruction in the past. And so Ginny slipped through the door without being noticed. Inside, the house was still dark and gloomy with the lack of adequate light, though not as rundown as its appearance entailed. There were three floors, but they usually congregated on the first. Indeed, in the area that might have once been a parlour, Ginny found Hermione Granger and Ron.

“Oh good, Ginny, you’re back,” Hermione said, looking up from the cauldron. Her face was drawn and tired. “I was afraid you would get caught. We just heard that Voldemort’s henchmen are beginning to scour the city again.”

“I think one of them saw me, but I got away in time. We still need the toads’ eyes though,” Ginny said, handing over the sack. Then she bit her lips. “How is he?”

Hermione and Ron exchanged a look. “Not very good,” Ron admitted. “He still hasn’t woken up. This potion might be too late already…”

“Dumbledore should be here soon,” Hermione interrupted, trying to sound reassuring. “He’ll be here soon…”

Ginny tried to smile at her, but she couldn’t. Hermione had been saying that for the last ten years, and for all she knew, Albus Dumbledore had never existed.

The three of them were silent as they listened to the laboured breathing upstairs. Outside, it had begun to rain.

*

Later, Ginny knew it was a stupid idea to dash out in the rain for the toads’ eyes, but she was, driven by impulse as usual. In fact, she didn’t realize she’d bolted from the room in tears until she found herself again in the marketplace, completely drenched. But nobody was there. No toads’ eyes. No anything.

It’s midnight, you idiot, she thought fiercely. Of course nobody will be here!

But all she had thought was that Harry couldn’t die. All these years, he had been their only hope as he did his best to keep everyone safe. He was the one who had taught her the Flame Freezing Spell the week before she was captured herself. He was the one who had rescued Hermione from unfeeling muggle parents to give her a home. He had held the resistance together after Dumbledore disappeared.

If he died, Ginny knew, the resistance would crumble and sooner or later, they would all be burned or, in Ginny’s case, killed by the Killing Curse.

And he might very well die, a nasty little thought occurred to her. He hasn’t woken up in more than a year…how do you know he’ll get up again?

Ginny looked up suddenly. The rain suddenly stopped and a shadow loomed over her. She turned around to meet a pair of hostile grey eyes. She glanced up and saw that he was holding a silk umbrella over her. She tensed immediately. A silk umbrella meant that he was either involved with Voldemort or that he was a wealthy muggle who lived to see witches burn.

The man began to speak, but Ginny didn’t wait. She turned and took off.

*

“Wait!” Draco shouted. He didn’t bother running after her, for she was rather fast for someone that thin and small. Besides, he knew how to stop her kind. “If you don’t stop, I’ll call the police!”

That worked like a charm. The girl stopped and glanced down at the ground, shoulders trembling. Calmly, Draco caught up to her and put the umbrella over her, more to get a better look at her than to shield her from the rain. Suddenly, she glared up, so angrily that he was unnaturally surprised.

“What do you want from me?” she demanded. She pushed her dripping hair back from her flushed face. “How dare you threaten me?”

If Draco had any doubts before, they dissipated. It was her, all right. She had the same fiery voice and spirit. For a rare moment, he wasn’t sure how to retort. She didn’t know who he was, and if she did, she would only think that he was a Death Eater. Which he almost was, ironically enough. That wasn’t the image he wanted to give off though. It seemed too mundane for such a coincidence.

“I know who you are,” Draco said finally, plunging ahead with his original plan. He kept his tone even and cool, like his mother.

The girl raised an eyebrow. “I don’t think so,” she said. “Stop making small talk. What do you want? Money? I have some.” She bent down and pulled out some bits of rags. Then she hesitated over the money. “What money do you use?” she said, a little fearfully. “Pence? Pounds?”

Draco smiled to himself. She was afraid of exposing herself. He wondered if she should take advantage of that, but his curiosity won. “I’m a wizard, just like you,” he said.

“Well, I have five Galleons. That’s all I have. Take that and leave me alone,” the girl said. There was a note of hysteria in her voice now.

Draco liked it. “No, I don’t want your money,” he said calmly. Idly, he admired the picture she made, the way her wet clothes hugged her malnourished body. “What is your name? And if you don’t tell me…”

She stiffened. “Ginny,” she said finally. “Call me Ginny.”

“Ginny,” Draco repeated. Definitely not from Hogwarts or high society. “Well, hello, Ginny. My name is Draco Malfoy.”

Ginny gave a start. Evidently she knew who the Malfoys were. She tried to move away, but Draco seized her arm. “Let me go!” she snarled.

“No, you don’t want that,” Draco said. “My threat still stands, Ginny, and now you know I can make it come true. Although I suppose it doesn’t matter, because you are supposedly dead.”

Ginny’s eyes widened.

“I was there at your burning, eight years ago,” Draco said. “Tell me, how did you stay alive?”

Ginny did not speak. She only looked at him, sparks flying from her eyes.

“Tell me,” demanded Draco, who always got whatever he wanted. “If you don’t, I will hex you.”

That didn’t have the effect he intended.

“Hex me?” Ginny said. “Hex me?” she repeated shrilly. “Do you honestly think I care if you hex me or not? I won’t be any worse off! I know you and your people. You call us vermin, but you are vermin yourself. You laugh at us because we can’t use our magic, but at least we don’t use our magic to hurt other people.”

Draco shook his head. “What are you talking about?”

“You don’t know?” Ginny said. She sounded scornful, and once more Draco was reminded of his proud and beautiful mother. “Well, since I’m stuck here, I might as well tell you. You watched me burn. Do you know why I burned? It isn’t because I used my magic, because I can’t use my magic. You know why? Because your master, and his spies, reported us to the muggles, and the stupid muggles believed them, and went and captured me. They can just accuse me of anything and I’ll be killed without question. You know that?”

Her voice was thin, but it was gaining momentum. “Your master tries to catch all of us to put on the stakes. The muggles think they’re doing it for themselves, but they aren’t. They are only helping your master to kill us all. And when he does, he’ll kill the muggles, and then he’ll kill you. Meanwhile, you get to go to a school to make your magic better, so you can do the same thing as your master, so he’ll spare you.”

“No,” Draco said. “No, that’s not true! All of you died because you’re worthless! I know your people, and all you do is making excuses!”

“We died because you made us die!” Ginny shrieked. “Two of my brothers died because of you! Your master doesn’t tell you anything. They don’t tell you how they are trying to kill everyone who’s worthless all over the continents and –”

Draco slapped her with all the fury he could muster. She stumbled back but caught herself. No handprint appeared on her flushed face.

“It’s not going to make what I said untrue just because you slapped me,” she shouted.

“Is something the matter?”

Two muggle policemen had appeared, each holding a lantern. Draco thought he and Ginny must’ve made a strange picture, unmatched in attire yet equalled in anger. He merely shook his hand. “My maid and I are merely having an altercation,” he said haughtily. “She will be punished, no worries.”

When the police left, Draco looked at her. She was shaking with the effort of trying to breathe.

“Listen –” he began.

But she didn’t listen. She turned and punched him in the face. It wasn’t as hard as his slap, but it was enough for him to fall backwards onto the cold ground, sputtering. “Go ahead and tell everyone,” she snarled. “Burn me again. I’m dead already, aren’t I? I have nothing else to lose.”

She began to walk away. As the sound of her footsteps began to dim, Draco shouted, “If you don’t come back here tomorrow, I’ll track you down and make you, and all your friends, suffer!”

He didn’t know if she heard, but Draco knew that she would come back.

A/N: As before, please review! Otherwise, I’d assume that nobody wants to read it and I’ll go work on my other unfinished stories.

Any questions, as usual, I hope I addressed. If not, tell me!

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: I’m glad people still like reading it. I was afraid everyone forgot this ever existed. Here’s the second part of the second part, or if you prefer, the third chapter.

Fire

By Katie a.k.a. Katrina Littlebird

Part Two

Inflame

Later, Ginny would wonder whether she should have listened to Draco Malfoy, but at the time the option of not going back was unthinkable. She had to if she were to protect the Order and get the last ingredients. In fact, she was too afraid to go back home, and thus spent the night shivering on the streets.

She was glad for the sunny morning when she woke up. It was fortunate that she was used to spending harsh nights, or else she would’ve come down with a fever. As the case was, Ginny felt quite clear-minded and healthy as she hurried over to the marketplace, only to be stopped in her tracks by the sight of Draco Malfoy.

He spotted her as well and he flaunted a frustrating smirk. “Hello, Ginny,” he said, beckoning to her. “You cannot expect me to walk over to you.”

Of course not, Ginny thought sourly, as she dragged herself toward him. Of course he, with his immaculate and elegant robes and cloak, would not degrade himself by approaching her, with her soiled and ragged smock. “Well, so I’m here,” she said. “What do you want?”

“It would do you some good,” Draco said, “to apologize to me.”

“For what?” Ginny nearly shouted, before she realized she’d punched him. Which wasn’t intelligent, she supposed, since she could well be burned for that. She swallowed her pride and said, very painfully, “I apologize for punching you in the face.”

Draco seemed pleased. “Apology accepted,” he said. “I’d like to finish that conversation we’ve been having, but I have important business to attend to –”

“To watch someone else burn?” Ginny blurted out; she couldn’t help it. It was disgusting for someone like him to enjoy it, and for someone like her to still have nightmares about fire.

Disgusting, and unfair.

Draco did not seem perturbed in the least. “In fact, yes,” he said, as he slipped on gloves, as if he were merely going to a show. He flashed her a smile. “It’s quite a pastime of mine, actually.” He scrunched up his nose. “You better get away from me. My companion will be arriving soon and I don’t want her to know I associate myself with you.”

Ginny glared at him, but she was too happy to move away. However, just when she thought she was free to go, he added after her, “Tomorrow, same time.”

And she knew it was not a question.

*

“Who was that you were talking to?” demanded Pansy when they reached the stakes.

“Who are you talking about?” Draco asked, playing dumb. “If you meant that girl, I wasn’t talking to her. She was trying to beg for money, the poor fool.”

He shot her a sidelong glance. Pansy’s face was placid, although she was clearly fighting down a look of pleasure. She never could hide her emotions well, and unlike Ginny, her expressions were rather boring.

As the newest victim – a wizard this time – was brought to the stakes, Ginny’s angry rush of words came back to him. Draco had known, even then, that they were true, but he didn’t want to accept it. Not that he was disturbed, because he saw too many things to be disturbed, but that he hadn’t known. He’d built his beliefs on that wizards were worthy because they would not be caught by muggles, but now Ginny managed to scrap that foundation.

He looked at Pansy, wondering if she knew, but he doubted it. She was his fiancée, but for all he cared she could be his owl. No, even Aphrodite had more of a brain. Pansy’s life revolved around the tradition established by Voldemort. Before, it had made sense to Draco, but now –

“Draco, it’s starting!” simpered Pansy, grabbing his hand and pointing. “Look!”

Draco looked. Yes, the robes were already smoking. Soon, the wizard would die. And become ashes. Because your kind reported us, a voice oddly reminiscent of Ginny cried out. Draco closed his eyes. How could a foul-mouthed girl tear out the roots of his beliefs?

“Draco, watch,” Pansy said, her eyes reflecting the gruesome scene unfolding before everyone. She had been brought up on the burnings as well, and she enjoyed it as much as Draco had.

“I’m watching, darling,” Draco said, though his eyes were blind to the burning wizard.

When he got home, he sat by his window for a long time. He thought of the beautiful castle with its towers and turrets, the slimy streets with the huddled people, and a girl with shiny brown eyes. For a moment, he was ten again, twisting in bed and crying out in fear, because that girl had come back to haunt him.

*

“Tell me how you died,” Draco said immediately, as soon as he saw Ginny the next morning.

Ginny felt her face pale. Her eyes darted around quickly; the marketplace was still sparse, but she didn’t want to attract any attention. “Can we not talk about it here?” she pleaded.

“No,” Draco said, an urgency in his tone. He seized Ginny’s shoulders and squeezed them painfully. “Tell me how you managed to survive.”

Ginny was afraid. He seemed so furious that she was afraid he wanted to tear her apart. “I – I – I managed to use a spell,” she said.

“A spell,” repeated Draco disbelievingly. “The Flame Freezing Spell. That’s impossible. You don’t even have a wand. How can you do magic?”

Ginny looked away. She didn’t want to tell him about Harry or the Order. “I just got lucky, I suppose,” she said, and it was true. She’d managed to curb her wandless magic into a spell that could save her life. Of course, for a long afterwards, she couldn’t muster enough energy, but –

Draco’s hands released their tight grip and he stepped back from her, as if she were a demon. “You can do magic,” he said. “It’s not as if you are unfit to use magic. I don’t understand why so many of you aren’t.”

“I never said we’re unfit to do magic,” Ginny said. “I only said that we can’t use my magic at will, not like you can, and if you don’t become quiet now, you’ll get me killed.”

“But so many of you are killed already,” Draco said.

There was a look on his face that made Ginny recoil. She watched as his body heaved with something she couldn’t identify. Then, without warning, he turned around and disappeared with a pop, leaving her staring after him in confusion.

*

The next time she and Draco met, neither of them greeted each other. Draco didn’t even bother acknowledging her as he began toward the part of the city Ginny never dared approach, and it took all of Ginny’s courage to follow. When the scorched buildings and uneven sidewalks were replaced by shining mansions and broad avenues, Draco turned to her.

“How’s your mother?”

“My mother?” repeated Ginny, dumbfounded. “What does it matter to you what happened to her?”

“I saw her in the crowds when you supposedly died,” Draco said. “She looked like she was about to cry, but she didn’t try to save you.”

Ginny cursed the way he had with words, to bring the conversation back to her death. “She can’t save me,” she replied. “She would’ve been killed herself.”

“I thought mothers would die for their children,” Draco said.

Ginny looked at him, surprised by the subtle bitterness in his tone. She wouldn’t learn about Narcissa till later. “She would’ve died for me, if it helped,” she defended her mother. “Besides, she knew that Ha – that I could save myself.”

“She is still alive now, then?”

“She’s dead now, if that makes you feel any better!” Ginny said angrily.

“It does,” Draco said harshly. “It makes my day all the more cheery.” He paused. “Who do you live with then? How do you live? Where did you get your five Galleons?”

“I have friends,” Ginny said, not bothering to mention that Luna and Neville were now adept at the Summoning Spell and transfiguring simple things. “We manage.”

“Where do you live?”

“A place that’s not nearly as nice as this one,” Ginny answered.

Draco nodded absently, and then he was quiet.

Ginny, too, was silent, though she didn’t want to be. She wanted to ask him about himself, about the life she could have led, the school she could’ve gone to, but the questions never left her lips. She looked down and kicked at the puddles on the ground. It rained again last night, and Hermione had predicted a thunderstorm.

“I don’t understand,” Draco said, “why you chose to stay here.” Then, more dreamily, “I don’t understand why nobody remembers who you are.”

His words sounded scornful, although Ginny thought she could discern a touch of sympathy underneath. Or pity? Sadness maybe?

Ginny didn’t know. She debated whether she should say something, but before she could reach a conclusion, he leaned over and held a lock of her hair between his fingers.

She winced internally, not because it hurt, but because her hair looked a mess next to his manicured fingers. She remembered that it had been bright red, curling softly around her face in ringlets. That was when she was younger, when she’d actually cared. Now it was dirty and limp, and she could hardly discern that it was red unless it was under bright light.

Draco dropped her hair, almost gently. “You have beautiful hair,” he said, distantly and unexpectedly. Then he turned and walked away.

You have beautiful hair.

It took some effort for Ginny to remember that she was in a dangerous neighbourhood and that she should probably leave. In a daze, she walked back to her part of London, the words echoing in her head. Hermione looked up as she entered the parlour. “Is it warm outside?” she asked, frowning slightly.

“Warm?” Ginny said, and as she pressed a hand to her cheek, she realized that she’d been blushing.

-

A/N: As usual, review is good. =)