A Land of Volcanoes and Kisses

Kisses and Volcanoes

A/N: Here is my Christmas/New Year´s gift to everyone; a short, complete, Ron/Pansy cookie. I´m experimenting a bit with style, so tell me what you think.

His hair explodes from pale skin like lava bursting from a white volcano. The dark read twists into half curls and I am reminded of fire. He burns me, my love. His burning hair, temper, and lips smother me with liquid flames. Just a smile from him and I begin to melt.

He is the complete opposite of my previous love, of the man I professed to love when I still feared feeling. He was ice, that one, but he burned too. He sucked out all my warmth and in the morning, my breasts, neck, and arms would be covered in violet splotches from his icicle kisses. He hurt me and I thanked him for it. For, if one can sense pain, one must still be alive. And I needed to feel alive.

He left me though in the throes of a winter rage. A child with golden hair and earthen eyes led him away from me with her warm laughter and promise of spring. He broke me then. I had long ago closed myself to the world, only his painful presence could penetrate me; make me feel like I had a reason to wake up each day. But now, I had even lost his wintry touch. I tried to move on, but a shattered glass flower can´t mend itself. The sharp edges of my broken spirit jagged along the tender flesh of my heart, slicing me open to anyone. My dignity, pride, vitality--all was gone. Everything was gone. I didn´t want to die, but I couldn´t survive a life of nothing.

Then He came... my brilliant volcano. I was writing outside. My lips had turned a dark blue and my fingers were long and white. I shuddered with each freezing breath, but the cold reminded me of Draco and so I stayed. Then He tripped over me--my clumsy, clever fire-love. I said nothing; I didn´t care much anymore. So He took advantage of my silence, calling me, "Stupid Slytherin" and "Death-eater spawn!" His diatribe lasted nearly three minutes though none of it was particularly good or original. And yet, as He spoke I began to get angry. His harsh, ill-spoke words catapulted me out of my numbness, my complete apathy, and forced me to care again.

Feeling my old passions, I opened my mouth to rebut him, but He beat me and stopped me completely with his words. "You´re shivering like mad, Parkinson. Go inside or you´ll freeze to death." Then He left and I went inside. That was the beginning of my pyromania.

He, Ron, in a scant three minutes, had entranced me so completely that I became slightly obsessive. His red hair and bright brown eyes warmed me, his fired had melted the sharpest edges of my shattered inner flower and seared my wounds. I did not love him or even lust him though, I was merely hypnotized, which is as all moths know, a rather dangerous condition for anyone drawn to close to fire is bound to be consumed by it.

Life returned to me after that. My studies improved to their normal levels and I almost felt like my old self again, except that my flower was still broken. Ron and I argued often after that and our discourses became a popular entertainment. Before I had only goaded his friend Granger, but now I need His cure--I needed the anger He incited in me to feel human again.

At first we only engaged in name-calling, basic house insults, the `Slytherin´ `Gryffindor´ sort of thing. Then we tried to hurt each other with more calculated insults intended to cut. His words were often passionate, spoken with emphasis, but not really cruel. My words were sharp and quiet like brittle glass. We danced, He and I, in our silly game; circling each other, occasionally darting out with long daggers, sometimes drawing blood, but usually not. We became almost immune to each other and a constant. Despite whatever happened, I always knew that I could argue with Ron. He became something I depended upon.

I could feel his hot eyes on me always, searching for chinks in my self-made armor. He knew my habits better than anyone else. So it was no surprise when He was the first notice when I stumbled out of the warm school and into the winter storms of January. I know He noticed, because He followed me. I don´t know why and I´ve never asked.

He found me half-buried in snow by the lake. My fingers were lean and pale again and my teeth chattered. "Come on, Parkinson, let´s get you inside." He reached down and pulled me to my feet. I did not resist when He wrapped his scarf around my neck and led me back to the school.

We did not go back into the Great Hall. I sat on a step and he paced--the moment seemed almost reminiscent of my childhood when my father would chastise me. The memory gave an odd sort of hope; I wanted to trust Ron as much as I did my father. The memory also scared me, I wanted to trust someone again; my protections were faltering.

"Why did you run outside, Parkinson? You know how cold it is!"

"Why do you care?"

He stopped pacing then and turned toward me. I had stumped him it seemed. Why exactly did He, a Gryffindor, care about me?

"I don´t know."

I sighed and he stared at the stone wall--neither of us was sure what to do next. Finally, I answered his question.

"My father is sick, Weasley, possibly dying. But he´s in the States right now and unless he has insurance they won´t treat him. He has to get back to England, but he can´t port-key, floo, apparate, or stay on a broomstick. He´s too weak and can´t move or talk properly. There´s nothing I can do."

Ron stared at the wall, barely nodding to show his understanding. Finally he asked, "If he got back in England, could be treated?"

I nodded. "Yes, easily. Despite my mother´s influence, my father still has a few friends."

Ron stood up. "Where in the States is he?"

"Seattle."

"Don´t worry then, I´ll get him back to England."

I just stared at him, dumbfounded. "Why are you doing this? Shouldn´t you be making me cry right now? You´ve had every opportunity."

Ron shrugged. "I don´t know. Mum always said to help out when you can and to never hurt someone without their wand."

"Even Slytherins?"

"I guess, besides your more fun when you´re angry than when you´re weepy anyway." Then he left.

He did manage to help too. He coerced his Squib uncle into flying my father home in a Muggle thing; I think he called it a `plane.´ The physicians prescribed some herbs and a poultice for my father who quickly regained his health. It was then that I realized the severity of my emotions towards my volcano and the intensity terrified me and so I avoided him.

The school bemoaned the loss of its favorite drama, but I didn´t care. I needed to escape my prison of flames. A week passed and then a fortnight more before Ron finally caught up with me.

"Why are you avoiding me?" I jerked from his grasp. "Why do you care? You should be glad to be rid of me."

"What?"

"Don´t you see what´s happening?" I asked him, spinning toward him angrily, "We have to stop this before we go too far."

"Too far into what?"

"Into this... this..." I struggled for the right word, "this relationship. Think about it Weasley, since when do you care about a Slytherin?"

"Since you," he answered quickly without thinking and then winced as he realized what he had said.

"Exactly, that´s why it must end."

"Alright."  He stared at me and for a second I wanted to run to him and collapse in his warmth. But instead I gathered what little emotion I had left, pulling it up around me like shield, and left.

The following weeks were cold and only worsened by the too-quickly approaching Valentine´s Day. Without the daily onslaught of my volcano´s rush, I froze and again grew numb. Only this time, no one saved me. I was tired all the time, my entire body seemed to fall through each day like lead shots through water. Ron had been my only lifeline and I had cut him off.

I tried to gain back my painful, Ice-love, but Draco was too busy with Emma, the second-year Ravenclaw who had stolen him from me in the first place. So I was alone, just small fragments of glass floating in an ocean of turpentine.

I berated my self often and harshly for needing anyone to repair me--Independent women shouldn´t need such aide. But I couldn´t help it. I tried the wooden Blaise with his strong hands and olive skin, but his strength threatened to crush me. I submitted to iron, steel, and stone, but none had the healing touch that I required. So I tried the gentle winds of Terry Boot and even the gentle waves of Hannah Abbot, but the only served to force the pieces of my disjointed heart further and further apart.

They all left me more fragile--fine cracks formed in my glass. My body bore their marks of love; kisses, caresses, bruises, and flattery. I left myself open to the world and the world destroyed me. All the while, I could feel Ron´s gaze upon me. He always seemed somewhat perplexed and sad, withdrawn even. But I never allowed myself the time to try and think why.

The school year ended anticlimactically. Potter defeated You-Know-Who again and the Wizarding World rejoiced. I was only glad to finally be leaving Hogwarts for the last time, to escape my 7-year prison so that I could go out into the world and find some manner of living. I sat alone on the train ride home, I had a `reputation´ now as a harlot, even though I had not slept with anyone but Draco, and didn´t want to deal with all the cruel stares and whispers.

Fifteen minutes into the ride and the door to my compartment slid open. It was Ron.

"What do you want?" I asked, my voice soft, "I thought we had an agreement."

He sat down on the cushion across from me and sighed, pushing his hair back as he rested his head in his hands. "What are you doing, Parkinson? Do you not care about anything anymore?"

"I don´t think that concerns anymore, does it?"

"Sod it, Pansy!" He shouted. His brown eyes burned with dark fire, "I don´t know why I bloody care or why I risk my friendship with Harry and Hermione for you, but I do and I know that you´re better than this!"

In that moment I wanted him, not just physically, but also as the sort of lover with whom the physical is just sparkle to the charm. His passion stirred me and I wanted him, but I did have my pride.

"How insightful of you, Weasley. You´ve been listening to Trelawney more than I gave you credit. Do you want to read my palm to back up your wild predictions?" I held out my hand to him, palm up. His eruption ceased and Ron stood up abrubtly.

"Fine, Parkinson, have it your way. I don´t know why I bother." He pushed his hands back through his hair and turned toward the door. My entire body was seared with his dismissal and every carefully constructed wall that I had built around my broken glass heart burned away. I needed him.

"Wait, Ron, don´t leave." He stopped and turned around, his face stoic and arms crossed. "Please, sit down." He did. And I told him about Draco and my glass nature and his fire and my fear. I told him about the substitute lovers and how none of them had measured up. I told him more than I had ever told anyone, breaking every unwritten rule I had ever been taught and he listened. I don´t think I had ever seen him sit so still for so long. When I told him about Nott and Avery and their rough idea of love, his fists clenched tightly, but he stayed silent, for me.

Then, when I had finished, he asked a question.

"Can fire mend glass?" I nodded and he kissed me. He was a little clumsy at first, as though he wasn´t sure if he wanted to do it, but as he gained confidence he pulled me across the space between our seats into his lap and I could feel his heat pulsating within me. His lips pressed and burned mine, he was everything I had wanted since Draco and everything I had been afraid to gain. His touch both scalded and healed me and I loved him for it. I loved him completely. We had been dancing around each other for a long time, not realizing the real stakes of the game. But now the game was done, school was over, and we had each other.

When he pulled away, he said nothing, but I knew that he knew that this was the beginning of something eternal. When we got off the train, he kissed me again in front of his parents and promised to owl. I went home with my father, finally being old enough to escape my mother, and owled him back. We met as often as possible and I finally felt truly happy and alive.

I have finally found my place in a world of volcanoes and kisses. My lover is a volcano and with every touch, kiss, smile, or word my broken heart is slowly mended and reshaped into a small, tender blossom. His fire heals me and in return I feed his flames, giving him control. We are glass and fire and our love and our passion will last forever. After all, despite the stigma and disapproval we have faced, we´ve already lasted 20 years, in all honesty, what´s an eternity more?