Flame Thrower (Blairon)

Blaise

Ron wanted to slip. He needed to slip. But he hadn't slipped into little space in years and wasn't planning on doing it again. "Thank you for the bandage but I have to go," he said hastily, limping away. Z watched him go. Little did Ron know, Z had never been so serious about something in his life. He sniffed before stuffing his hands in the pockets of his jeans. He was itching to run after the red head but he thought better of it. Instead, he went to the library early, just to think. When he got there, he wasn't shocked to find the female Weasley already there, sitting at a desk, staring at her phone with a loving expression on her face. She looked up and sneered at him. He picked up a book and sat down opposite her. Ginny sighed, flipping her hair away from her face as she gazed at her phone. She didn't want this boy sitting with her. Not at all. So she decided to speak up. "Why are you sitting with me?" She asked hesitantly and Z raised an eyebrow. "Is it against the law?" He asked and Ginny shook her head. "There's your answer," he replied off-handedly before going back to his book. Ginny didn't look at him again. Instead, she scoffed and left the library. Z grinned in triumph. Suddenly, he heard light footsteps behind him, but he made no move to look back. He knew who it was. "If you're trying to be sneaky you're failing miserably. I thought we were only meeting at eleven?" He said softly and the person stopped in their tracks. "We saw you walking in here and we watched Weasley go. Might as well talk now," Draco said and Z stood up to face him. Next to the blonde, stood a girl. A girl he remembered. "Pansy," he said, looking into her eyes. Pansy's breath hitched in her throat. "You know my name. How and why?" She asked angrily and Draco put a hand on hers. She looked up at him and shook her head. "This can't be happening. You died along with Loralie that night!" Pansy shouted and Z took a step closer to her. Pansy latched onto Draco's arm and looked up at him. Draco nodded. Z and Pansy stared at each other for a long time. She saw it. In his eyes. The old times they had together back when they were but toddlers. For a second, she saw the timid, little boy standing behind his mother. The boy that was infatuated by the way the fire danced in the grate during the winter. The boy that she'd hug every minute of every moment. The boy that was once her friend. Then she took a glance at the ring on his finger and she knew. It was him.
"I-" she choked out, holding back tears. "What have you become?" She sobbed, glaring at Z who continued to stare at her. "I ask myself that question everyday," he replied and Pansy choked out a chuckle. "You killed your-"
"Mother, I know." He said, his head lowering. "Do you still remember my name?" Z asked randomly and Draco and Pansy both stiffened. "Of course I do." Pansy sniffed. "Bl-"
"Stop. It brings back bad memories," Z sighed, rubbing the back of his head. "Not saying it isn't going to help you," Draco said, his lip quivering slightly. "I know," Z said, his face becoming still as he stared at a fly perching itself on a book on the shelf he was next to. "Anyway, I should go," he mumbled before taking off. Draco heaved in a sigh. What he was about to do was probably one of the most riskiest and stupid things he was ever going to do but it had to be done.

"Don't run from it, Blaise!"

He shouted after him and the boy stopped in his tracks, breathing heavily. True to his words, the name surfaced terrible memories he tried all his life to forget. They haunted him everywhere he went and was constantly reminded of the grave mistakes he made. "Don't-" he said, his legs trembling slightly. "Don't say it again," and with that, he left. Blaise. The name had done alot to him. It's how he got his odd infatuation with fire and it's attributes. It's the reason why he burned most of his victims. The adrenaline rush felt as if with every person he burned, each memory was burning with them. Sick, he knew, but it worked. There were times when he'd try blame his terrible actions on his other personality because of his DID which people had named the Flame Thrower. But other times, it was just him. Blaise Azar Zabini. The boy who killed his family at age fifteen. The boy who robbed eight banks that same year. The boy who had an unhealthy obsession with fire. The boy who worked alone. The boy who no one knew. No one loved. The boy who everyone hated. Feared. The boy that enjoyed watching people suffer, enjoyed the defeaning screams and pleading cries of his victims.
The boy who had problems he tried to burn to hell, knowing that he'd meet them there when he left. Blaise Azar Zabini. That was who he was. It irked him to know a single name had such an affect on him but it did. His own name no matter. And he needed to rid it again. But how? Killing someone wasn't an option while he was stuck in the school. But, there are many other ways too forget. And he was going to use them. He wanted to forget.
He needed to forget to finally feel.