In folklore, a phoenix is a bird from Greek mythology that can be reborn or regenerate itself by bursting into flames, its new body rising from the ashes. In the Wizarding World, phoenixes are able to be reborn from the Killing Curse, and are also immune to the stare of basilisks.
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I was frozen in place. My arms felt like water, and I could not summon the strength to get up again. The sounds around me had muffled, as if someone had thrown a blanket over the room. I could only hear what was happening in front of me.
Draco's white-blond hair turned bright red, the smatterings of blood as if he had dipped his head in red paint. There was barely any lull between the thuds, some of them wet as the snake fangs drew blood from broken flesh and bone.
Draco, who bat a Bludger into my side, who boasted about his Italian silk suit at the Yule Ball. Draco, who dragged the constellations down to earth just so I could touch them, who insisted to have me dressed in gold and jewels when I was neither royalty nor pureblood. Draco, who rested next to me every night, eyelashes of fine gossamer fluttering with uneasy sleep.
I looked to my friends. Susan had turned away, her face scrunched up in despair. Dear Susan, gentle as a running creek, who could hardly bear to sit on grass because it might hurt them. Uprooted from her home and torn away from her precious pets in a desperate quest to save her best friend. Forced to kill, to speak ugly spells she would never have otherwise used.
Lorcan was looking on bravely, his jaw set hard as stone. Lorcan the Laugh, who always knew what to say and whose eyes were never not crinkled with a smile. He would never shy away from atrocities; he always said it was important to know about the vile and wicked things happening in the world, even if you did not have the power to stop them. Knowledge is knowledge, even if it is undesirable.
Hannah had somehow forced out the gag, her mouth now wrenched open with muted shouts as her tongue catapulted insults and cusses. Dauntless Hannah, her words have always been loud. Loud, but never empty. She would move mountains to keep her promises. Always the shield and sword of the group, thrusting fearlessly into battle. I will forever remember what she had said when we were children; words that, years later, had shaken my memory and commanded it to remember the boy I loved.
They risked everything to save me, and it would be for nothing. The Second Wizarding War was fought in vain. Harry Potter, the Trio, the Order, and Hogwarts have lost everything only for this to be our future.
I felt something, like a strike of a flame in between my ribcage. Anger.
It started small, a warmth that crept in slowly. Within seconds, it had grown into a bonfire. Its black smoke rose in my throat, choking me, and my chest heaved as I competed with it for air. It ate my soul, consuming it in its entirety. I let it.
They may have taken my will and my body, but they will not take away Draco. I have stood by and watched him bleed out once from the Sectumsempra curse all those years ago. But Snape was not here to save him now. There was only me. And I will not watch as life seeps out f him like water through my fingers. I will no longer be a bystander and allow them power over us, for as long as Polaris burns in the sky and in my heart.
My father had once told me hate would be the death of humanity, and for a long time, I believed him. But there was another part to it that he had kept from me, a part he wanted me to learn for myself. It is this: sometimes the best way to fight fire is with fire. It only depends on whose flame is stronger.
My flame was stronger.
My father's voice echoed in my head, cheery as a Sunday morning. You have to stand up, my darling. Come on, on your feet, now. Up, up!
Stand up.
My soles found the tiled floor beneath me. With every ounce of strength I had left, I pushed myself back onto my feet.
I was angry. So angry I wanted to scream. I wanted to open up the sky so it could yawn down and swallow them whole. I wanted rip the ground open so that I may draw up hellfire and set it upon them. I wanted them to burn.
Incendio. The word whirled around in my head. Incendio, Incendio, Incendio. Incendio.
Then, I was screaming it, so loudly I thought I might have made myself deaf. An energy gurgled from the pits of my chest, and I pushed both arms outwards. An invisible force threw Lucius off his feet and sent him smashing into the Malfoy family portrait that hung high above the fireplace.
Something told me if my arms dropped, he would too. I held them out, and he remained nailed to the wall, arms and legs spread out like a star.
But my anger was not done. I now burned with the heat of the sun itself; my skin was white-hot, the backs of my eyes blazing. I have never felt wrath so unfathomable in my life. I did not understand it, and yet, I felt it all the same. It came like a burning Phoenix, pouring out of my every orifice.
Whether or not I had truly been on fire, I did not know. But the one that burned Lucius now was very, very real, because his skin began to blister. White wisps of smoke drifted from his skin into the air, and the odour of charring flesh hung light and sharp around us.
I regarded at him with a hatred I never thought possible. There was fear in Lucius' cold eyes as his lips curled back to show teeth, like a snarling dog. He despised me, I could see it. But I hated him more.
You Mudblood maggot! You fucking bitch! he was saying. How dare you!
I did not relent. They have tried to destroy me twice - once at the Manor, and once at the final confrontation. I survived each time. No one will hurt my family and friends ever again. I will not allow it. Lucius will burn, and so will the next pureblood supremacist who rises to take his place, and the one after that. I will dismantle their institution; pick them apart bone by bone until they become nothing but specks of matter and empty air.
My body will never be used for anything else other than my own pleasure. I am mine, and I am Draco's. Only, forevermore.
He began to beg for mercy.
No.
You will have mercy when the earth stops spinning and the last star in the sky has burned out. You will have it when the sun no longer rises in the East and sets in the West, and the world has plunged into forever darkness.
I said nothing. I would not give him the satisfaction of hearing me respond. I watched him like how he had watched Draco earlier, delighting in his suffering. My eyes never left his as his melting flesh became one with the painting.
It was painful; he told me in his screams and shouts. Torrents of words were flying from his mouth, but my ears turned them away like shutting the windows to a howling January wind.
This isn't over! You think you know everything but you don't!
Everything he was saying was fodder, meaningless. Everything except-
"The prophecy was not given to me, but the Malfoy family! You can't kill us! My son will carry on the legacy. We will live... forever!"
The implication that Draco was anything like him was almost laughable. "Draco was never, and will NEVER be like you!" My voice was coarse with fury.
"Foolish child... Draco is no son of mine! His brother... he will finish what's been started!"
Lies. Draco had no brother. His serpentine tongue can continue wagging for Salazar in hell.
He chortled through the last of his pain. "Codrus, do us proud."
He disintegrated away to nothing but bones, and even his bones turned into dust. It was finally silent. Nothing remained of Lucius except soot and ashes that chalked the painting and fireplace mantle.
I let my arms fall. Lucius' last words were barely on my mind as I inched towards Draco's unmoving body, afraid to lay my hands upon him in case I burned him too.
His eyes had fallen close. I touched his shoulder first; it was cold through his shirt. Immediately, my anger ebbed away. It was replaced by something soft, like laying in a field of wildflowers. I wedged my finger to his neck. A heartbeat, faint, but there. Relief washed over me as my lungs finally took in fresh air.
I cradled his broken body, pressing my forehead to his. He still smelt like pine, apples, and the scent of skin that belonged only to him.
"Draco," I whispered hoarsely. My fingers were sticky with his blood as I pushed the hair out of his eyes. "Draco, I'm here with you. I'm here with you, love."
A squeak and shuffle came from the other end of the hall, and it was only then I remembered I was not alone. They all stood like statues, mouths agape and staring at me in complete fear. Was I covered in soot? Was my skin bubbling from burns? I did not care. I could only think about Draco.
Hannah approached first, carefully, as if not to wake a sleeping dragon. "Angel..." she breathed. "Are you alright?"
The fierce power my anger bestowed me had completely vanished. I suddenly felt small and weak, like I could drop to the floor and sleep for years. I looked to her with tears in my eyes. "Hannah... Help me. Please."
Susan dashed forward, pushing past Hannah. She motioned for me to lay Draco back down onto the floor. I did so, still clutching his arm, unwilling to let go as Hannah and Susan touched their wands to him and muttered a string of spells.
"Leave him," Susan commanded. "We need space." I held on. My fingers just would not release.
"Angel, go!"
Someone yanked me up to my feet and away from his body. I found myself in Lorcan's arms, hyperventilating from dry sobs as he stroked my back. "S'alright, darling. S'alright..." he murmured softly.
A loud and sudden wailing startled all of us. Narcissa was prostrate by the fireplace, scrabbling at the ashes that dusted the floor. Codrus, Amora, and the rest of the Death Eaters had disappeared, somehow leaving her alone. Either that, or she had chosen not to go with them. I wanted to feel sorry for her, but my mind was still in a daze.
"H- how did you..." I sputtered.
"Your friend, Morie. She undid our ropes just before they escaped," Lorcan explained, "when you were-"
"We can't stay here," Susan interrupted, straightening back up, "We have to go."
I stared at her arms, bloodied all the way up to her elbows. "G- go where...?"