Fire & Ice: War Games

\'Fear is a question: What are you afraid of, and why? Just as the seed of health is an illness, because illness contains information, your fears are a treasure house of self-knowledge if you explore them.’

Marilyn Ferguson



Beads of sweat trickled down his clammy skin, gluing the bed sheets to him. His body twisted and turned as he whimpered into the night. Tears trickled down his scrunched face as he spoke soundless words to unhearing dead ears. His blankets wrapped around him like a snake coiling itself around a helpless rodent. Arms and legs thrashed fruitlessly at the restraining material, a lock of hair clung to the sallow forehead as his head rolled restlessly from side to side across the damp pillow.

He moaned, his eyes moving rapidly beneath their lids as a sob broke from his partially parted lips. Thunder clapped outside his bedroom window as rain pelted the glass pane and lightening flashed across the sky, illuminating his terror stricken face. His fingers clawed at the soft linen until the tender flesh under the nails was raw and small dots of blood soaked into the material as his feet kicked, straining against the juggernaut tying him in the web of fabric.




He swallowed nervously as the voices echoed down the hall. Arms wrapped themselves around his lean frame as he tried to block out the angry words drifting into his ears. His body slipped down the closet wall as pottery shattered in the room three doors down. He whimpered softly, afraid they would hear him and use his body to vent their anger out on. His limbs wrapped themselves around his balled body as memories of the previous night’s beating played themselves in his mind.

He couldn’t understand the words they were saying, but he recognized the tone all to well. Trembling, he pushed his small body further into the ant-sized corner as their voices escalated. His eyes squeezed shut at the sound of furniture scrapping along the exposed stone floor and wood splintering under an unknown force. Tears fell down his pale cheeks as muffled sobs jerked his body.

He jerked foward, frantically brushing the spider from his hair as the heart in his chest pounded. His leg knocked the polished cane leaning against the wall, the same cane that had given him the teeth rattling bruises swelling on his back. The echo of the fallen cane as it crashed to the floor seemed to pierce through the thunderous noise down the hall. He held his breath, sure that the clatter had been heard over their argument and another beating was swiftly on its way to him. He expected the closet door to suddenly burst open and look up to see an angry, frowning face staring back at him and a hand reaching down, pulling him to his feet by the roots of his hair.

He held his breath, listening for the angry footsteps that were sure to signal the eventual fear of a new punishment. He swallowed and waited breathlessly, straining to hear over the thundering beating of his heart as it stampeded in his ears. A new kind of terror slithered into his heart, holding it in it’s grasp and squeezing until he thought it would explode from confinement alone. He whimpered softly as the seconds stretched into eternities in his darken hell. Choking back the tears stinging in his eyes, he buried his face and curled into a tighter ball, wrapping his arms tightly around his boney knees as the strained fingers of his hands cried in pain.

Bleach white knuckles cramped and convulsed as his hair fell, curtaining his face. Tears ran marathons down the red streaks of his cheeks and were sponged by the material drapped over his meatless frame as muffled sobs tormented him. In the back of his mind, he saw himself as a scared little animal sensing the wolf was at the door.

Sniffling, he rubbed his nose on the sleeve of his robe and quickly repeated the action with the flash flood of tears streaming down his face. He rocked his aching body back and forth, his robe rubbing the stale layers of dust. A lifetime seemed to pass by before he slowly extracted his protesting body off the cold floor. Shaking, he reached trembling fingers through the darkness until he felt the rough surface of the closet door. Inching foward across the vast floor of the tiny closet, dust smudged across his face.

The closet door slowly creaked open, the deafening sound screamed over the roar of silence hovering over the estate. Fearful eyes swerved from side to side, up and down the deserted hallway. The closet door moaned as he pushed it open further, cautious and weary of the unpredictable, predictable nature of the master of the estate. Licking his parched lips, wide eyes peered around the wooden barrier of the closet door before darting back again to the blinding side. Chewing on the inside of his cheek, he willed his racing heart to slow.

He bite his lip, muffling the sudden sob trembling deep in his soul. Dust stained fingers slowly wrapped around the door, he swallowed hard before peering around the moving wall. Seconds stretched out before him as frightened eyes darted back and forth in the still hall. A soft, small sigh inwardly and he unfolded his limber frame cautiously. Wincing at the dull ache of his body, he crept in the shadows along the wall as he made his way down the endless hallway.

He peeked around the suit of armor, fearful of being caught and beaten. He shrank back against the wall as his stomach grumbled from the lack of food. His labored breathing gradually stifled the thundering stampede of his racing heartbeat. His stomach growled angrily as it cramped and twisted, sharp stabs of pain tore through his abdomen. Sliding down the wall, his arms circled around his meatless waist as he doubled over. Spasms rocked his toothpick frame, blood tricked from between his clenched lips as he bit down on his tongue.

Wiping the blood from his mouth and chin on the robe’s sleeve as the spasms slowly subsided, he groaned softly in the catacomb atmosphere. The arm of the suit of armor creaked sharply, shattering the fragile silence as he pulled himself to his feet. He stumbled foward as his foot tripped on the suit’s stand, the ground hurtled eagerly upwards to greet him as he fell. He whimpered softly as the sting stabs of pain shot through his hands and coursed through his arms. His knees burned with concentrated pain tingting through the length of his legs. Pushing himself to his feet, he crawled along the shadows of the wall.

The young house elf always left a plate of food set out for him, when he managed to sneak down to the kitchens. As he passed his father’s study, he collapsed outside the heavy redwood door. A sob caught in his throat at the sight that met his eyes. Tears stung, threatening to fall unchecked down his cheeks as his appetite abruptly deserted him. The feeling, the need to cry surged in what remained of his brittle heart as pale fingers brushed through his hair.

His brain refused to acknowledge the scene his eyes showed him. Long, flowing chestnut hair sprawled across the oriental rug. The sculpted form appeared to be sleeping, but he knew that wasn’t true. The prfigufigure’s body was unnaturally twisted and lying encased in a dark crimson pool. Inching closer under the blanket of shadows, he gasped. Slapping his mouth, he dived behind the large armchair as the wizard turned sharply towards the door.




Christmas morning dawned, bringing with it an end to his nightmares and the heralding in the horrors yet to be unveiled. Since his mother’s murder, what little joy the holiday had held died the moment he had crept into his father’s study that twenty-third of December.

He slowly treaded down the stained mahogany staircase to the face the ghosts of the day. Despite his obvious dislike of the holiday and the day particularly, the chief house elf had insisted on decorating. He growled at the evergreen reefs wrapped along the sloping, curved staircase railing, the halo of lighted candles hovering above the hall’s floor and the yuletide tree dripping with ornaments in the library.

Dropping into the armchair, he stared out he stain glass window and ignored the packages wrapped beneath the cheerful tree. The world around him, consisting of the librar pre present, faded into oblivion as the few happy memories of the holiday unflurried in his mind. Most occurred after his parents’ deaths and the few Christmases that he had elected to spend at Hogwarts rather then return to the home of his birth, not that anyone had bothered to care or concern themselves with him.

If he were honest with himself, he would acknowledge the truth rather then the comforting lie that he always told himself. He would admit that there was one who had always appeared to care about his well-being, even if it had been and was for the individual’s own benefit. But he was use to being the target of other’s manipulation. In turn, he had learned the art of negotiating in order to be compensated. His fingers curled around the stem of the crystle flute that a house elf had left, reminiscent of the pain that the day always brought her master. Tipping it, the ruby liquid raced to greet his tongue.




The great hall was swept away in a sea of people dancing, conversing and generally socializing in the holiday atmosphere. House elves were flying high on excitement as they diligent patrolled the room in search of trays and bowls to refill, removing garbage littering the floors and tables to the oblivious wizards and witches mingling within the hall’s walls.

Laughter rippled through the air as a small boy crept through the doorway. Huddling against the wall in the shadows, his eyes followed the snow-capped wizard through the hall and the throng of bodies. He found himself enthralled with the stranger with the twinkling eyes.

Something about the wizard captivated his attention, an aura of strength surrounded the elder wizard. It wasn’t so much the power that glowed from his, but rather the way he carried himself that drew the boy’s attention. His father was a powerful wizard and radiated a cold, malicious strength of his own, often using it against his only child. The older wizard appeared in his eyes different, the kindness glistening in those blue eyes was almost an alien emotion to the boy.

Lost in his own thoughts, he was oblivious to the figure slowly approaching his dark corner of the hall. He jerked slightly, shrinking back against the wall as a hand touched his shoulder. Frightened eyes darted to the sides, seeking an escape as his mind worked frantically on a believable excuse for being up and out of his room at the late hour. The fear of his father’s predictable temper and the course of his punishments that would follow.

“Easy there.” The boy started at the kind voice, he glanced up and found himself staring into those friendly eyes. It almost seemed that those eyes burrowed their way into his soul and discovered the horrendous secrets bearing down upon him. He shivered as those eyes stopped twinkling and flickered with a familiar look that always meant trouble was not that far away from him. The wizard’s smile was obviously meant to put him at ease and to relax him, but the lessons taught by his father’s wand where too far engraved in his mind to be easily lulled.

He regarded the wizard from hooded eyes as the other attempted to draw him into an appearing innocent conversation. Determined to discover the wizard’s agenda, he listened carefully and responded when necessary with short and vague answers. He had to admit, the snow-capped wizard was skillful as he gently prodded him with innocent looking questions and sneaking a few not so innocent ones in.

At age ten, he had mastered the universal lies and half-truths that seemed to always appear to please the endless stream of adults he had encountered. Lost in the web of ‘political correct’ and ‘safe’ answers, the boy was oblivious to the scowling figure stalking towards his corner. His eyebrows furrowed as he watched the albino wizard straighten sharply as a shadow fell across them. His timid frame trembled as he recognized the dark face silently glaring down at him before the stormy eyes turned to the older wizard.

Swallowing, he brushed soundlessly against the wall until he reached the doors to the great hall. Once in the hallway, he fled up the stairs as fast as his feet could carry him. He closed the door to his bedroom before crawling beneath his bed and flattened himself against the far wall. His heart thundered inside and against his chest as he waited for the punishment that would soon be given him. If anything, he knew the contemptuous attitude his father viewed the overly curious wizard in and the fact he had been caught out of bed, would only fuel the anger he would vent on him. The boy knew he shouldn’t hide and it would only infuriate his father more, fear kept him from crawling out of his hiding place.




He shook his head swiftly, trying to drive the memory back into the furthest recesses of his mind. For eleven months of the year he was able to forget his life before Hogwarts, but December always forced him to relive the past and the events that molded and sculpted him. What should be a time that should be spent celebrating the anniversary of his liberation, was always spent hiding from the past.

He closed his eyes, wishing to be whisked away into oblivion and away from the memories that persistently plagued his dreams. With the rising level of the Dark Lord’s supporters, so did the wizard’s influence over the wizarding world at large. He knew that if the dark wizard was victorious, he would be plunged back into the world that had existed under the tyrannical rule that was once dominated by his father. If Voldemort was miraculously defeated, his life’s value would drop further then it already had because he had been sorted into Slytherin and not one of the ‘good’ houses. Either way he figured that his life was already damned.

He vaguely registered the house elf’s sudden appearance or the refilled flute resting on his knee. Absorbed in his troubling thoughts of a bleak future, he missed the concerned look that the servant appraised him with. Knowing the boy was adrift in his own world and wouldn’t notice the ending of the known world, the house elf sighed as she left the library. If it wasn’t part of their enslavement, the servant-slave knew she would’ve sought help for her young master years before. Closing the library door behind her, the house elf could only hope that he would reach out to someone who could help where she and the others had failed.




He pulled the material tighter around his shivering frame as he battled the throbbing beat of his heart. Angry voices breached the cryptic silence looming above the estate. A shroud of terror spilled over him as the voices escalated, penetrating the stone walls and ringing in his ears. As the shouted words began to register, a small smile slowly spread across his youthfully aged face.

Brushing against the wall, he crept closer to the source of the heated confrontation three doors down. Using the blanketing shadows as a cloak, his confidence grew. His eyes narrowed as each step drem clm closer to the familiar voices dueling in the study. The faint crackling of a burning log filled the agonizing silence between the bouts of clashing words.

He held his breath, anticipating the verbal battle’s resumption as he stopped outside the half closed door. Licking his lips as he willed the raging beating beneath his chest to calm, he prayed silently that the room’s combatants wouldn’t hear clamoring in his own ears.

As the clashing resumed inside the study, he peered between around the door. His eyes widened as he watched the wizards slash the empty air with vicious and wild strokes of their hands. The building friction of emotions swelled, consuming the pair on a electrified atmosphere as tempers flared. He smirked as his father was unceremoniously shoved against the wall, the family portraits rattling from the impact. His mind flared with a victorious high as he watched beads of sweat form on his sire’s forehead.

A feeling of perverted triumph swelled in the boy’s weaken heart as the wizard closed the short distance between him and the boy’s father. The boy’s eyes swarmed with undulated delight as he watched, transfixed as the color drained from his father’s face. He held his breath, absorbing the terror rippling through his sire’s eyes. Spellbound as his father’s fate became clear, he swallowed the salvia pooling in his mouth. His eyes followed the glint of steel as it slashed through his father’s flesh and blood rushed from the gaping cut. The crimson liquid gushed to the floor, drowning the carpet at his father’s feet.

The boy watched as he fell to his knees, blood spilling from the wizard’s neck as his gargled pleas were swallowed by the snapping flames. A light chuckle slipped from the boy’s lips and drew the attention of his father’s assailant. Onyx eyes gleamed at the boy as a warm smile spread across his face. The wizard ignored the desperate hands clawing at the hem of his robes as he slowly approached the boy, his onyx eyes never wavering from the smaller wizard.

A dry laugh echoed in the quiet world when the boy stepped backwards, unconsciously falling back into the familiar routine of serving the instinctive fear benefitting his survival. A triumphant smile lit his eyes as the boy stopped retreating a step before the wall, realization flashed in the child’s eyes. “Justice is a fickle mistress, as is her sister. Be ware and remember well,, for this the fate that awaits those who betray our Lord. Loyalty,” the wizard paused as he retraced his stepsthe the other’s side.

Grasping the boy’s father by the roots of his hair, “is the only price He asks of us.” They watched as the bleeding figure’s last, rattling breath slipped into memory. The wizard noted the puzzled look in the boy’s eyes, “His mark.” Pushing back a stray of greasy, greying hair as he spoke. The wizard pushed up the dead man’s sleeve. He gasped slightly, stumbling backwards as his eyes absorbed the skull and snake branded into his father’s forearm. A chill swept through as his eyes lifted from the tattoo to the wizard’s face, “your future.”




The morning aged, waning to the approach of the noon hour as he stirred back to the present. Cracking his neck, he smiled faintly as his cramped muscles slowly relaxed. Sighing, he casually strolled towards the pile of various shaped packages beneath the branches of the overly cheerful tree twinkling at him. A bored expression sprawled across his face as he collapsed on the library floor.

Eyes closed, he could still hear the wizard’s departing words as though they had been spoken that day. “Happy Christmas, Severus.”

A/N

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