Frozen Fire
Draco Malfoy sat in his armchair in the middle of the hall, surveying the servants. They led a peculiar life, he concluded, watching as they rushed about the hall; dashing in and out of doors with trays in their hands, scurrying to their masters when they were called. Pathetic, he thought to himself, standing up. A house elf paused to see if he wished anything, but scampered away when Draco rose his hand as to strike the creature.
A bright fire blazed in the grate, causing a looming shadow to form on the floor as Draco strode past, arrogance and confidence evident in his strut. He was no normal man of twenty; he held more power than most any other wizard, his situation in life was practically perfect. He had seen more dark arts than possibly Harry Potter had; after all, being a Death Eater had its perks.
His tall figure loomed momentarily in the doorframe, soon disappearing as he stepped into the room. He let his disgusted eye fall over the clutter in the room, swearing he was going to give one of the house elves clothes. Sweeping a pair of emerald dress robes off his bed, Draco descended onto the soft piece of furniture, letting his head sink into the pillows. The cool comfort they exhibited made his mind rest at ease; ease as it had not done since he was seventeen. A warm breeze fluttered through the window, a soft pane of moonlight streaming into the room, the white satin curtains blowing in a swooping motion inside the room by the gentle summer breeze. His soft eyes fluttered closed, his mind drifting to sleep.
He looked as an angel lying on the bed so peacefully, his hair tossed out behind him, forming a golden halo. He may have looked like an angel, but he certainly was not one. If anything, he was the devil's minion. He took the spot as right hand man after his father had died. Nothing had been the same since his father was murdered; then again, many others were killed that same night causing the change of fate.
Lord Voldemort had fallen in the end of Draco's seventh year, but life seemed to cling to the foul creature, not letting him lapse into the everlasting darkness of death. So, once again the Lord stayed dormant until he acquired another body, gathering strength once again. It had taken him less time than before, though he had much bigger plans. More severe plans which involved many deaths and tears; though Draco dreamt of none of this.
A small girl who chose neither side in the last war consumed his thoughts, sleeping or not. She was spiteful and disrespectful. She came from a dirty clan of wizards, but his Lord had forbid her death. He had a fondness of her no one could explain, nor begin to fathom; and Draco was punished for raising his wand to her.
He saw the entire incident from the inside of his eyelids, his dream drifting to that rainy night. She had been sitting on a bench in the middle of a deserted, Muggle park. It seemed that she had been waiting for something, though what she was waiting for, Draco could never guess.
He stumbled upon her, his ribs cracking beneath him as he walked. He did not see her at once, for a clump of trees hid her from sight. Draco shuffled past the trees, his eyes barely catching a fleck of her hair. If it had not been for her crimson hair, he would never have seen her. Doubling back on his glance, he assured himself it was she. She saw him looking at her, her cinnamon eyes narrowing. A cruel smile twisted about the corners of her lips.
An invisible flame licked the ends of her robes, causing them to flare out beneath her. It was her spirit, a flame that could not be doused. She emitted nothing any man had seen before, which caused fear when one crossed her path. You could feel her presence by simply walking by her, and that fact chilled Draco to the bones, it was the root of his hatred of her.
His hand had immediately flown to his pocket, grasping tightly to his wand. He watched, as if in slow motion, as she stood up, brandishing her own weapon made of wood. Draco had flicked his head to the side, causing the hair that had lain in his face to soar over to the side of his head. She laughed… a cold laugh that seemed to echo for miles; a laugh that still echoed in his head, he would never forget it. A clump of birds, which had been nesting in a nearby tree, took off into the sky.
"Just pull your wand," she dared him, cocking her eyebrow in delight, watching as he was tormented from the inside out with the decision. She could see how badly he wanted to hurt her, the way he wanted to crack every bone in her frail body. She saw his orders flicking across his mind, she could even see his pain, his ribs cracking closer together every moment he stood facing her. It had caused her delight.
"It must be nice," he had chortled more to himself than anyone. He had watched with amusement, as her face grew pale, her eyes asking him what he had meant. "It must be nice, having people protecting you on both sides."
Her breath became shallow, her chest heaving with every breath she took. Draco watched with glee as he saw the anger rising in her face. Her cheeks had flushed, her lips protruding into a slight pout.
The rain had fallen silently around them, plastering their hair to their heads. Her long plait had dripped with water, the ends of the tendrils hanging from her face caused the rain to trace paths along her cheeks, between her freckles. She looked like a sour candy, waiting for someone to taste her, to pucker at her putrid taste. A candy that was reserved for one person only, though even she did not know to whom she belonged.
Draco had raised his wand, the wetness of his robe making it evident, pointing it straight at her. He wanted nothing more than to crush her, to make her cry out in pain. No one should be pampered to the extent she was; no one deserved to be that pampered. Malice danced in his eyes as he pointed his wand at her heart, his robes billowing out behind him with a sort of power, which made her bones freeze.
"Cr-" Draco had begun, but was hit with the curse himself. She had watched him wriggle on the ground with glee; her eyes shining with thank at the one who was causing him so much pain. A small voice had hissed in his ear. "I told you not to do so much as raise your wand to her,"
Draco suddenly woke, a searing pain coursing through the veins in his left arm. He looked down, watching as what seemed to be a tattoo of a skull with a snake protruding from it's mouth glowed brighter on his fair skin. He always woke when coming upon that spot of his dream, his memory, no, his phantom of a memory. It was neither past nor present. It was in between, always hovering over him like a dreary cloud.
Draco snapped himself up and out of bed, changing his silver robes to a hooded black garb, which covered every inch of himself, with a swish of his wand. With a soft 'pop', he disappeared into the gloom of a courtyard.
He was not alone; hundreds of men and women covered in similar black robes sauntered past him, forming a circle with their bodies. It seemed they had assigned places, for not one stumbled onto the other, nor did they talk. All was silent, except for the padding of footsteps on the grungy soil.
Draco waited where his father had just three years before, rigid as a board. He did not sway on his heels, he did not bounce on the balls of his foot; he stood as still as a statue. Their circle was slowly filled, save for one spot next to Draco. It was always empty; the Dark Lord had assured them it was for someone they could not yet see.
Their heads snapped up slightly in unison as they saw their Lord approach, a string of Dementors forming a circle outside of their own. They bowed deeply, raising their heads enough to see one booted foot stepped through the opening of the always-expected servant, a filled form stepping into the circle. He tossed his head back, a grin extending to his slits-for-a-nose.
"Tonight my loyal servant comes," he chuckled, a shiver running down a few of the member's spines. As if on cue, a slender figure made its way to its spot, closing the gap in the circle. It felt complete now, though Draco did not know why this uneased him, he knew it only pleased his master, and what pleased his master should please him.
"This is the hour, my servants, in which we will rise up and take this world by force!" Voldemort began his speech; it seemed routine to Draco now, boring him. Every meeting, his Lord gave this certain pep talk, which only resulted in fake screams of triumph from the Death Eaters.
Draco involuntarily shivered, a strong wind licking the ends of his robes, sending a chill up his legs. He would have blamed it on the wind, only there was none. His gray eyes narrowed in accusation, chancing a quick glance to the Death Eater next to him. He spotted a dash of flaming hair sticking out from the end of the hood. He flicked his eyes down to the ground below him, telling himself it could not be her.
Though it made perfect sense, he denied it. He refused to believe that the person standing next to him was the same girl he had faced years ago. She had surely been killed once Dumbledore's side had found out she was loyal to no one.
His breath swelled in his chest, anger rising in his breast. After all he had done, she was more valued, but for what? She was valued for nothing, she had not killed a single person, she had not even devoted herself to his service. His breath became quick and heavy, his mouth forming a solid frown.
She didn't deserve to stand next to him; she did not even deserve to stand in this circle of true followers. Now they were people who devoted their life to service, people who did not just join for something to do, like he supposed she had done. He wanted noting more than to reach out his hands and curl them around her fragile neck.
He was jealous, though he would never admit it. He had worked so hard, and barely managed to scrape the respect he held now. He was greedy, and wanted to be the best, the one everyone wanted; and he was, up until now.
"Is there a problem Mr. Malfoy?" Voldemort sneered, his blood red eyes glaring down at Draco's fists. Draco shook his head, inwardly smiling as he heard his 'comrade' next to him gasp in fear.
Lord Voldemort let his jealous eyes loom over the pair of his servants, cursing Draco silently. He remained staring at the two as he continued lecturing his other Death Eaters, observing as they reacted to each other, watching as one cursed the other with their eyes. Their eyes were hidden beneath their black garb, but that did not matter. The Dark Lord could see beyond what many normal wizards could see.
Draco grinned, knowing he still held a power over her, not even noticing that his Lord was observing him all the while. Good, he sneered to himself, letting his eyes loom over her figure. Now that he knew she was female, her curves seemed to be evident. Her hips seemed to flow out from her torso, her frame filled and luscious. Draco looked away from her, his mouth beginning to fill with saliva.
He could not tell what was going on inside, but it was conflicting with his feelings as of moments ago. His eyes focused on the Dark Lord, though his thoughts did not. They strayed to what any twenty-year old man would think if he saw a beautiful woman. Draco shook his head. He did not even know if she was beautiful.
"That is all," Voldemort dismissed his followers, but stayed Draco's wand. "You will stay."
Draco looked up at him, seeing that the girl next to him was also staying behind. He trotted along like a faithful dog beside Voldemort. Lowering himself to the ground, Draco bowed, his nose touching his polished shoe. Draco straightened himself, looking at Voldemort intently.
"Obviously, neither of you like each other. I will not allow tension in my army, Mr. Malfoy, it will cause problems; and my plans cannot be flawed in any way." The Dark Lord looked at the pair, feeling the rising tension between them. He hissed in disgust. "You will show our newest member the ropes. You will show her what to do, and what being a Death Eater is truly about. If she is assigned a job, you are as well, understood?" he barked, staring into the top of Draco's head. Draco nodded his head, and with that, Voldemort was gone.
His eyes flicked to the girl next to him, watching as she pulled her hood down, revealing her milky skin. Her hair tumbled down in a sea of orange curls. Gold shone in her ringlets thanks to the moon's light.
"Well, well, well… if it isn't Virginia Weasley…" Draco sneered with pleasure as she recoiled at her own name. "Or would you prefer Ginny?"