Cry Me Tears of Fire
By Pensive Puddles
Draco sat back into his chair and looked around the Great Hall. This was going to be his first Christmas at Hogwarts. Usually, he persuaded his father and mother to invite him home for Christmas, not that going home was a large thrill.
He didn't come from an unloving family. Rather, his home was structured more for business then for children and youth. It was cold and morbid. It was mature and demanded perfection. It abhorred anything less than that. Sure, his family would put up a Christmas tree, but they never really put the Christmas tree up and decorated it together. He didn't even know that families did that until he visited Blaise's home and helped participate in decorating the tree and 'decking the halls with balls of holly'.
No, the House Elves did all the decorating in his manor. And there were never bright, flashy warm colors. It was dark colors, blue, green, and occasionally silver. Nothing red, nothing gold…traditional Slytherin colors ran deeper than just in Hogwarts. He sometimes wondered what his house would look like if his family gathered around the hearth and he and his parents would drink hot drinks and laugh and talk and open presents.
Draco chortled coldly at the ghastly thought. His father clapping him on the back and telling him how proud he is of him. Or his mother fawning over him, playing with his hair, asking repeatedly if he really wants to go back to school, there always were private tutors. Draco shook his head at the thought. Those things only happened in movies, not in real life, especially his life.
Giggling grated his ears. He hated giggling. It made his ears bleed. He had to grind his teeth together to keep himself cool. He could only wait for the sound to pass and then when silence came, he'd relax. His curiosity did not stop him from looking, though.
He took a steely glance at the students entering. What was so damn funny? He scowled. Potter surrounded by all his friends and adoring fans, he should have known. If Potter wouldn't let himself be flattered like that, Snape wouldn't pick on him so often. No, the Golden Boy had to be the center of attention, had to be famous.
Draco watched as Harry mumbled something into the group of people who leaned eagerly forward to hear what he was saying and then they burst apart, laughing hysterically and holding their sides. And those who were not part of the group leaned closer and cast a wishful look, wishing that they could be part of Potter's wonderful clique. The snickering continued and suddenly, Draco noticed that the group's eyes were staring more at him than any other person or thing in the room. He tried not to fidget under the multitude of gazes that seemed to be scrutinizing him for every last detail. Merlin, he hated being looked at like that, as if he were a filthy Mudblood when the real Mudblood was skulking in their own presence! The group sat down and the glances averted back at their 'glorious hero', Potter. It made Draco sick.
Draco grabbed his lighter, lit it and made the fire play along his hand, dancing and transforming into a ball that slithered into a seductive lady that danced suggestively and swung her hair around wildly. He made it dance faster and faster until the fire lady collapsed in a flaming heap in his palm. He crushed her into his hand and the fire shot out from the openings in his hand, making a quiet, high-pitched shriek of a dying animal. He opened his palm again and the fire was black, with the body of a fairy that had been beaten and destroyed. Dark wings were placed perfectly into its small back, but instead of being whole and complete, holes were ripped randomly in them and all along the edges, it appeared as if they'd been fringed. Bright red eyes gleamed morbidly up at him and he smirked. Blowing it, he extinguished the dark fairy. And with that single blow, he blew away his anger.
Merlin, it felt so good to practice Dark Magic. He didn't know how he had survived without it before her had taught himself it.
Potter sat down amongst his sea of fans and smiled at everyone. Mr. Congeniality was he to everyone, everyone except the Slytherins. Potter had no idea how he effect Draco's house. They weren't scared of him, but rather intimidated. They, the Slytherins had to go to school with the enemy. They had to walk down the same hall with the enemy, share classes with the enemy, the enemy that their parents had whispered horrible things about in their ears since the fall of the Dark Lord. And the Dark Lord had risen, meaning they were now his ears to Potter's whereabouts, actions and words. Pawns, that's what Slytherins were. Merlin, was there every a point to being alive when they were basically told when to breathe and not to breathe?
A soft tone scolded Potter, causing laughter at the action. Draco couldn't help but look up at her; he was finding that he had a habit of looking at her rather than at Potter or Weasley. It was always her. He didn' t know why either. She was just…ordinary. And maybe that was why. Her face tried to imitate a mother who had just caught the child sneaking a cookie out of the cookie jar, but her warm eyes took out any sting or malice in those words. She had a hard time making believable lies.
No, that wasn't true. She could act. There was that one time where she had made Umbridge follow her into the Forbidden Forest. Crafty girl, rather Slytherinish, and Salazar be cursed, he had actually been proud of her.
OK, so maybe proud was too strong of a word. He respected her, slightly, not a whole lot, but he did start to respect her, admire her. That was the word: admire. He admired how she could act like that. She really was two faced, which brought him to always ask, what was her true face? Was this face, this loyal-even-to-death best friend of Potter, was this just something that she pretended to be? Was there another side to her?
He knew that Granger was not always what people made her out to be. She wasn't the example of innocence. She had been in the Restricted Section more than once, looking up the most dangerous and unspeakable curses that rested in the pages of those historic books. He should know; he had been there most of the times she was there, hiding under his own personal invisible coat. And had anyone else seen her in a flimsy tang top before? He silently hoped he was the only person who had the opportunity to see her bare shoulders.
It would sound strange to talk about Granger's shoulders as a treat, as if seeing them was like seeing a girl strut around completely in the buff. But remember, Granger was a very modest girl. Her skirt stayed the required length. It never rose higher than what it should be, it never had any charm that would make it appear longer to the Professor's eye, but shorter to any horny male. Her shirt was always buttoned up, and if a button or two were undone, there was always another shirt underneath. Her tie was never out of line. She never let the male's eyes rake over her and undress her with his eyes. If he did, he'd have to guess what she looked like. She never wore tight clothes, or form fitting. She just wore clothes that were comfortable for her.
And Draco was rather intrigued with her attitude towards herself. She was ordinary, yet completely unique. She was nothing like any of the other girls in the school. To the majority of the female population, life for them was just a mad race determining who could be considered the prettiest in the whole school. And so they would wear clothes that would try and catch an eye or two, or paint their faces with more make up to define their features to get guys to comment on it. And they would always chatter and flirt and bat their eyelashes, trying desperately for the male to sit closer to her or give her more glances than the rest. It was all a game, a fierce game that they tended to play until they were old and wrinkled and realized that they had just wasted their whole life worrying about petty things like looks and acceptance, all the while losing their true selves, their true character and personality. It was all a sham, a masquerade. Their make-up, their mask. Their clothes, the character they wanted to play. Their words, a beautiful script ripped and edited and improvised poorly. And those beautiful words written so clearly and simply on the script were easily discarded because it wasn't what the boys wanted to hear. And what the boys wanted was what the boys would get.
But she never wore a mask. She never tried to be someone else. And she didn't even have a script. She spoke from the heart. She certainly was unique.
A pale, freckled, red haired freak sat next to her and draped an arm around her shoulder, then preceded to plant a large, wet kiss on her cheek. She blushed darkly, eyes glowing in embarrassment and pleasure of such treatment. He hugged her closer. They had only being going out since the end of the summer. How could she let herself be treated like that? Like some prize when she was so much more? He never a saw her have her way with him, kiss him when she wanted to. No, she just let herself be toyed with, played with. It angered him how that red headed freak could take advantage of such a modest girl.
Draco wasn't kind hearted. He was considered a player, not remembering names of the girls he slept with and not caring if he broke their hearts. He'd do as many as he could. He'd do girls who'd recently broken up. He was their crying shoulder. He'd mess with girls who still had boyfriends. He was the wedge between a good relationship, the tester of loyalty. He'd never do it if they asked him; he always chose. But he never messed with girls like Granger. No…they were too clean to get dirty, and he knew it would only make him feel guilty, not the other way around as he was accustomed too. Besides, all his girls were willing to take her shirt off if she received a little more attention than other girls, had the word spread around so that she would be recognized. But Granger…
Draco took out his lighter again. It was habit now. It helped him express his anger or irritation. When he was younger, he used to smoke to ease his fury. He had always thought it to be a disgusting habit, but hell, everyone else was doing it. People would do it at all the parities; it seemed like the norm to see twelve year olds get drunk and smoke themselves a pack or two senseless. His parents would smoke. Their friends would smoke. It seemed like the cool, natural thing to do and so he dumbly added his name to the list of those who smoked because they had nothing else to do.
He couldn't smoke anymore. It nearly took his position on the Quidditch team away. He used to do two packs a day, smoking while he dressed, during break, before and after every meal, during trips to the bathroom, before going to bed, after a shag in a unused corridors…constantly smoking, constantly lighting. Even while believing that he was immune to anything harmful, he still found himself flat on his back after falling off his broom, falling from such a great height that the nurse wondered how he hadn't died.
He remembered that practice perfectly. He had seen the Snitch and he was about to go dive after it on his new Lightening Bolt 3000 when he couldn't catch his breath. He coughed and choked. He coughed so hard he felt as if he'd cough up his stomach. Weak and dizzy, he forgot which side was up and he fell off his broom, letting gravity have its way. He blacked out on the way down. He had somehow slipped out of the darkness for a painful short time and he remembered his peers looking over him and calling for the nurse.
It was horrible feeling, not being able to breathe. He had made such horrible noises, trying to suck in at least one sweet breath of air. Deep breathes were hard to take, and short, quick breaths that left him light headed seemed to be the only way, but even that appeared to be unhelpful when it felt as if he wasn't breathing anything in.
He passed out.
They had cleared his lungs. Snape had made a potion that would help ease the pain and deteriorate the tar that coated the inside of his lungs. No more smoking for him. And so he resorted to other ways to lighting up.
It was like a drug. It entertained him and it gave him an adrenaline rush, not to mention leaving him slightly giddy. Dark Magic had a habit of draining energy out of the user.
The lighter clicked two times and a yellow flame spluttered to life and slithered around his arm around. He played with it.
"There he goes again!"
"Wow! That's so cool!"
"I've been studying how to do that."
"Phish, I highly doubt you're getting far. That's Dark Magic. Only advanced wizards know how to control one of the four elements," contradicted one of the voices. Voices started whispering in awe at the new information.
It wasn't something new to see Draco play around with his Dark Magic tricks. He'd openly flaunt his art in front of the younger years, flirting with the young, innocent girls by making fire fairies that would flicker and give them short, sharp, burning kisses on their cheeks. Then the kisses would cool as quickly as they came and the girls would beg to be kissed again, to feel the fairies again. It was, however, odd to see him actually use his powers in public.
"Draco, I highly recommend that you stop your shenanigans and put your lighter away. Don't boast your powers," Snape snapped telepathically. Draco glared defiantly over at the Head of the Slytherin's. Draco stared him down, steely gray against thick black. It was a never-ending battle. Narrowing his eyes, he held his palm before his Professor and slowly brought his fingers together. The fire nymph struggled and choked and Draco blew harshly. It extinguished with a horrified look in its fiery face.
"Happy?" Draco responded telepathically. Snape gave one last fierce, warning glare and returned to talking with his colleagues. He and Snape had taken after school lessons to expand Draco's magic skills after Draco showed true magical potential that exceed everyone else in school. Now he had mastered the art of being telepathic.
Draco rolled his eyes. "Old man made you quit?" Blaise quipped, taking one of the sugar cookies laid on the table and shoving it into his mouth.
"Shut up, Blaise," Draco grumbled. Blaise shrugged.
"So, what are you doing for the holidays? Going home?" He asked, not really paying attention to the glances Draco shot him, which many would interpret as shut-up-now-and-I-won't-hex-you-into-oblivion.
Draco remained silent. Blaise continued on anyway, "You can come stay with us again, if you want."
"I'm staying here for Christmas. I need to catch up on some work," Draco replied coolly.
Blaise stopped eating and stared long and hard at his friend. "Draco, this is going to get you sick again."
"I'm not going to get sick," he snapped angrily, his pride of his power wounded, and didn't really want to remember past experiences. "I'm stronger now," he added quietly, more to give himself assurance than for Blaise.
"No you're not. So you can do a few more neat tricks; you still can't control it, Draco. You're not strong enough to control any of the four elements yet," Blaise warned.
"Blaise!" Draco growled warningly. His clenched fists started to glow. He was angry now. He hated being told he was weak. Damn it! He got that enough from his father! He didn't need Blaise telling him he was weak as well. He slammed his hand down hard against the table, trying to vent his anger on the table. Everyone flinched at the sound. All but Blaise and Draco. Blaise, unfazed by the childish act, looked with boredom at the pale hand of his friend.
Draco glowered at his hand and pressed his lips as if in pain. He removed his hand. A burnt mark of his hand was burnt crisply into the tablecloth. "You can't even control your temper," Blaise scolded softly, not wanting to infuriate Draco again. "How are you supposed to control an Element?"
Draco didn't speak. Grabbing some of the cloth napkins, he poured cold water onto them and wrapped his burnt and blistered hands with the cold cloth. Blaise was already soaking some other clean clothes with cold water, so that he could switch the short term bandages that would slightly ease the burning pain. "It appears," he whispered quietly so that only Draco could hear him, "we're being watched."
Draco looked up and saw dark brown eyes staring at him in a mixture of curiosity, and shock and some other motion that Draco couldn't quite place. He glared with pure malice at those brown eyes. Startled at the change of atmosphere, the brown eyes hardened and glared back just as ruthlessly. But Draco knew the curiosity still lurked inside her.
"Damn it, you sure did a number on yourself," Blaise remarked, turning the burnt palm upward. Draco growled and snatched his hand away as Blaise placed some Aloe on his hands. Ever since he had know Draco possessed the ability to use the power of an Element, Blaise had picked up the habit of carry a small tube of Aloe with him just in case Draco had sudden outbursts of uncontrollable anger such as this.
"I'll take care of it," Draco snarled and stood from the table. He ignored the eyes that looked at their idol of their House. He glided away. He was used to eyes burning into his back and so he thought nothing of it. However, there were one pair of eyes that he could feel scorching him alive, and he quickened his steps to get out of their view. Sighing, he walked to the Hospital Wing.
Merlin, he certainly had lost control of himself back there. He was becoming too obvious with his magic. True, he had done it under the table and had made sure that tall people sat around him to shield him from unwanted gazes. But now and then, curious eyes would peak through the cracks. He'd be punished soon for boasting his Dark power. He could already feel the pain well inside his bowels. Merlin, this one would really hurt. He had to stop and crouch on the ground, leaning forward and trying to ease the pain in his abdomen.
He started to cough, reaching up to cover his mouth. He tried to breathe and it was harder to control himself. It was as soot was grouping and sticking to the inside of his lungs, clogging his air pipes. He coughed violently, like a long time smoker, and it felt as if he'd never stop coughing. The back of his throat felt as if they were being clawed with sharp nails, and his lungs felt as if metal bands were clasping tighter and tighter the more he struggled to breathe, like one of those Chinese finger gadgets. He gasped for breath and finally, after an excruciating moment, he could breathe and it felt as if nothing had happened. He rubbed his hand over his mouth and looked down to see a mixture of blood and soot. He got up and looked down at his hands. The pale skin was perfect and flawless again. No scar or trace could be detected on his palms that gave away any hint that they had second degree burning moments before.
Dusting himself off, he straightened himself up. He was exhausted. He walked to his dormitory and gratefully crawled into his large bed. Lying on his back, he stared with blurry eyes at one of the symbols of the four elements that was engraved in his canopy bed.
"Damn you, Lucius, for doing this to me," he cursed and fell into a dark sleep.
A/N: Alrighty then! Sorry, but I just needed something angsty. Well, I don't know if that was exactly angsty, but it sure made me feel good writing it! Of course, maybe not as dark as my other fics. What can I saw? I was born for darkness…Anyway, this is a working progress…I actually have NO idea what the plot is going to be, which is really odd considering I usually plan what I'm going to write before I write it. Ah, there's a first for everything I suppose.
Anyhow, if you'd just be an awesome person, drop me a little review, signed or anonymous, I don't care. Because I don't believe in flaming people when they flame you because a review is the way the reader expressed himself or herself on what they thought of the fic. Thus, the author has NO right to tell the person to back off when the author asked for their opinion. Ok, so if you're one of those people who get nervous of the author feeling hurt of being flamed, believe me, I'm not one of those people who'll hunt you down and gut you like a fish. Beside, you're really going to have to try hard to get me to feel hurt by what you said. So write away! Express your hatred for my work! I dare you! Review, tough shot, and make the computer burst into flames when I read it…like a Howler…
If you can't tell, I love reviews. By the way, if you want a more romantic, comedy, angst, action/adventure fic, check out this other story I have up called The Dragonstar Quest. Personally, I don't find it that horrible, just really long. Anyway, if your one of those computer junkies like me who love to read stuff that seem to never end, you'll like that fic, believe me…