Burning Snow

It was a crisp and chilly October morning on the grounds of Hogwarts. The grass was crystylized with frost, and dew was frozen to the fallen leaves. On the horizon one could see the sun half risen and shining brilliantly . A lone girl walked across the frost covered lawns, the only sound being the faint crunch of the frozen grass under her feet. Her breath came in little clouds in front of her face, but pulling her cloak tighter around herself, she walked on. Not noticing, nor caring about the frigid air. This was her favourite time of the day. Perfect Quidditch conditions. She reached the part of the vast grounds that she'd been most anxious to reach. In front of her, sweeping downwards was a large field. Stands rose higer on either side, and tall golden goal hoops shone in the early morning sun. The Quidditch pitch.

On the other end of the pitch a boy walked briskly accross the grass, a broom clasped tight in his ice cold fingers. He didn't mind the cold. He loved it. He grew up in the frigid dungeons of the Slytherin quarters, so he took no notice of the chilly fall air. Stopping suddenly he took in a great breath and straddled his broom. He'd reached the Quidditch pitch. His only solace in the many years he'd been at this wretched school. The one place where he could release all his tensions at once, twisting and turning, veering and diving his troubles away. Kicking off hard he shot like a bullet through the freezing October air. The wind whipped his white blonde hair into his eyes but he took no notice. He curved, he rolled, he rose higher and higher. The adrenaline was pumping through his veins. All cold forgotten he stopped suddenly, shading his eyes against the brilliant sun. The morning was perfect. He spun around, diving to the ground and brushing the frosted grass with his toes . He smiled to himself. I'm Home.

The girl inhaled deeply the scent of the frozen grass, the fallen leaves and the cold air. It stung her nose as she breathed, chilling the back of her throat. Breathing out in a puff of steam, she grasped the old broom in her small cold hand and straddled it. Kicking hard off the firm, frozen ground she rose as high as she could into the brightening sky. The air pressed against her skin. Sweat was beading on her forehead, despite the frigid conditions. She turned and rolled, diving towards the ground and then just as suddenly shooting towards the sky. She was working so intently she didn't notice anyone else there. They won't be sorry! They'll be glad I'm on the team! Shewas getting very warm very fast. Reaching towards her neck she ripped herself free of her red and gold scarf. She'd regrett it later, but now it seemed to be very important that she be as free as possible. Her red hair whipped in her eyes and she brushed it away impatiently. It took a split second to r ealize that she had both hands off her broom and she frantically tried to grasp the handle to no avail. Her palms were sweaty, and she slipped. Hanging by one hand she did what anyone would do. Screamed for help, before falling over fifty meters. Straight for the fridgid lake.

Draco spiraled upwards furiously, the wind whistling and the blood pounding in his ears. Looking down, he saw a blur of red and black falling straight down, the lake wooshing dangerously beneath her. It took him half a second to realize what he had to do. Diving straight down, down, down. His heart was hammering in his chest. He was the only thing that stood between this girl and a watery grave. The water was laping up at her, taunting her. The cold would seep into her very skin, it would kill her. I'm not going to make it! Concentrating furiously he urged his broom to go faster. This is just a Quidditch game. He thought. She's only a snitch. I can catch her. With this put on a burst of speed and zoomed right under her falling form. He rushed as fast as he could, but missed her by inches. For a second he watched her fall, down towards the icy blackness of the lake. He shook himself forcefully and pointed his broom towards the lake. He was going so fast that time itself seemed paused. He balanced out over the surface of the lake, just as she plunged into the frigid waters. Without thinking twice, he jumped in after her. The cold, it was like millions of icicles stabbing him and taking all his warmth. He could feel himself trembling but moved on. He scanned the icy waters, saw a flash of red hair and without thinking dove in after it. The cold seemed to deflate his very lungs. Suddenly, seeing her falling deeper yet, he reached out and grabbed her by the arm, dragging her to the top. They broke the surface. After drinking in the cold fresh air hungrily, he hauled her limp form up and onto his broom.