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Fire by BrieJeanne

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Chapter Notes: I am not JK Rowling. I do not own her characters or her brilliant wizarding world. A big Thank You to xxbabewithbrainsxx for being my beta.

I have an ominous feeling that trouble is brewing. Call it whatever you want—foresight into the future or a Slytherin’s sense of self-preservation. Either way, I know something is going to happen tonight and it’s not going to be good.




Lying on my back I look up at the emerald green hangings draping around my dark four-poster bed, my eyes already adjusted to the darkness. I try to recognise the feeling, the pit, in my stomach. Was it fear?

This is bloody stupid. Maybe I just have a stomach ache. As I think this however, I know I am lying to myself. Angry and confused, I turn onto my side, curling up under the covers and I squeeze my eyes shut, trying desperately to fall asleep.

That prat Millicent and her God-awful snoring! my mind screams. I flip over again, this time onto my uneasy belly and ram my pillow over my head, pressing it against my ears, trying to block out the noise. I wait, listening. Sure enough, snores, though slightly muted, still reach my ears, sounding like a far off foghorn.

It is no use. I could never fall asleep with my mind so full of thoughts and the dormitory so full of the sound of Millicent’s snores. I sit up and grab my wand from the bedside table. A part of me desires to send a jinx in Millicent’s direction but the other part knows I would never take such a risk. Keep your head down, stay behind the scenes; that’s how you avoid trouble. Probably the best advice my dad has ever given me.

This year I had kept my head down. More than ever before, I stayed in the background, away from trouble. It wasn’t easy. First off, the classes had become a joke. The Carrows were just as dim-witted and mindless as the two oafs in my year were—Crabbe and Goyle. I would feel bile in my throat whenever I had to address the Carrows as ‘Professor’. I had even overheard Amycus Carrow teaching Crabbe about Fiendfyre. Fiendfyre! A form of powerful Dark Magic, and that in the hands of Vincent Crabbe, it made me fear for my life. The other professors tried to keep things normal, going about teaching us like they would have any other year. That was impossible, though, because it wasn’t any other year. The Dark Lord finally had his hands on Hogwarts and it is hard to teach or learn with Death Eaters bursting into the classrooms whenever they bloody well felt like it.

Pansy Parkinson and the other Slytherin girls had also reached the point of unbearable. You could say that I was a part of the gang that Pansy was the ringleader for. I was usually with them; I followed their lead and laughed at their humourless jokes. But whenever I could, I would slip away into the library or the quiet dormitory to read. I was and still am a loner. I’m just clever enough to know that if you’re a part of the group that’s on top, then you’re not picked on. But I also know that my small group of so-called friends would never protect or stick up for me just as I would never do the same for them. Sticking around Pansy and her gang this year has been the worst. They love ruling the school, enjoying the other students’ fear. It makes me sick.

However, the worst, the absolute worse, the time I came so close to dropping the act, to telling everyone exactly what I thought about the new regime, was when I was told to practice the Cruciatus Curse on another student. It was Seamus Finnigan, a Gryffindor in the same year as me. He looked awful, cut, beaten and bruised. He was barely recognisable. I knew that if I refused, if I politely or forcefully declined to torture him; I would be subjected to the Cruciatus Curse as well.

So I tried—the guilt welling up inside me, crushing me. I barely made Seamus twitch. Luckily Crabbe pushed me aside, greedily finishing the job for me. Later that night I allowed a tear or two to fall silently down my cheek as I wallowed. I had never before liked Gryffindor students. They are pig-headed and naĂŻve. They're ruled by their emotions, ready to jump blindly onto a battlefield to defend their own or even somebody else’s honour. It’s slightly pathetic. However, when I stood over Seamus Finnigan, my wand shaking slightly in my hand, I saw, for a brief second, fire. A fierce, fervent, and deadly fire burned brightly in his eyes. He didn’t care about the pain; he wanted me, was daring me, to bring it. I knew in that moment that nothing would stop them from fighting. Later that evening and, still, even now, I can feel a tiny seed of envy growing inside me; the desire to be brave to fight for something good.

But I’ve got brains! I reason angrily with myself. I’m not going to run around the castle shouting that I’m starting to doubt the Dark Lord and his plans. That would be completely mental! I shake my head, furious at where my thoughts have led me.

I slowly and silently climb out of bed and change from my pyjamas into my long black school robes. Then, my wand still clutched tightly in my hand, I make my way into the Slytherin common room. To my surprise it isn’t empty. A lone figure, pale and thin, is seated in a green armchair by the fire. He stares into the flames, his mind, seemingly, in thinking far off thoughts.

It is one of the rare times I have seen Draco Malfoy without his two henchmen, Crabbe and Goyle. I have never cared for Draco. There is no logical reason as to why, except maybe his two dunderheaded friends. In the moment though, I can’t help but slightly pity him. His face is held in concentration and his mind, most likely, buried in unwelcomed thoughts. I know the feeling.

I cough quietly, trying to alert him to my presence. When he doesn’t make even the slightest movement I go and sit down in the armchair next to his. Still he gazes intently at the fire, ignoring my company. Five whole minutes drag by before he rips his eyes from the crackling flames and turns them in my direction. I gaze back. He just stares at me. He doesn’t seem all there.

“Couldn’t sleep,” I say simply.

“Me neither.”

I don’t ask why he can’t sleep or what he is doing downstairs still dressed in his school robes. Thankfully he doesn’t ask me why either. Together we sit in silence, both trying to ponder incoherent thoughts and ideas.

Then the entrance to the common room bangs open and Horace Slughorn, in emerald green pyjamas, enters, breathing heavily and clutching a stitch in his side. I jump up in shock. “Professor!” I say, my voice sounding strange and unnaturally high.

“Ah, Miss Greengrass, please go and wake the prefects. Everyone is needed in the Great Hall immediately,” he says in a frantic rush as he wipes the back of his hand against his sweaty brow. “Quickly!” he adds in panic when he notices I haven’t moved.

I follow his order without a second more of hesitation. My body feels numb. This isn’t good; something is wrong and I’m sure that whatever my body was feeling would happen tonight is about to begin. The knot in my stomach tightens painfully. I wake up the prefects and help them round up all the annoyed and sleepy Slytherins and walk nervously with them into the Great Hall.

The Hall is packed with sleepy-eyed and frightened students. Most are still in their pyjamas. I run and sit down next to my younger sister, Astoria, who looks so scared. I see the relief flood her face when she spots me. “Daphne!” she says her voice filled with comfort. I place my arm around her shoulders and give her a quick and hopefully reassuring squeeze.

“What’s going on?”

I shake my head. “I don’t know.”

We watch as Professor McGonagall gets up and starts speaking. I don’t listen. Every eye in the room is glued on her. This is weird, I think, looking around. I see no sign of Professor Snape. Something is definitely off; something’s wrong. Shouldn’t the headmaster be the one speaking? “Where’s Professor Snape?” I ask in a quiet whisper. Astoria immediately begins scanning the Great Hall.

Finally I decide to actually listen to what Professor McGonagall is explaining and I feel ice flood through my veins. The castle is about to be attacked. I can’t think; I don’t want to think. Professor McGonagall continues speaking her voice surprisingly clear and ringing with authority. They have to evacuate the school because the Dark Lord is coming. He’s coming to Hogwarts.

I feel the fear flood me as Astoria grasps my hand tightly.

“And what if we want to stay and fight!” [1] Shouts a burly Hufflepuff student. There is loud cheering and a round of applause.

Stay and fight!? Don’t they know what will happen to them if the Dark Lord wins? No… when the Dark Lord wins. It is inevitable. He is too powerful; they could never win. Yet, they were willing to die trying. It is stupid, careless. I look around at their faces, the older kids in my year, and they are set and determined—fierce.

Professor McGonagall tells them that if they are of age, then they can stay and fight. I shake my head trying to understand why they would stay, knowing full well they would most likely die. Maybe they didn’t think they would die? Maybe they felt themselves so skilled at magic that they were under the deluded assumption that they could win.

“Where’s Professor Snape?” [5] Astoria shouts. I glare at her. She has never mastered the art of keeping her head down and probably never will. If she wants to say something, she says it—it’s as simple as that.

“He has, to use the common phrase, done a bunk.” [2] Professor McGonagall says, barely concealing a smirk.

I feel my eyes widen in surprised anger as Gryffindor, Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff students again clap and cheer. Despite the rumour that Professor Snape killed Dumbledore, he had also been lenient and helpful, always keeping a close eye on the Carrows. I thought of the many times he could have sent misbehaving students to the Carrows for punishment and instead let the incident slide or punished them differently, less severely.

“I know you are preparing to fight.” A cold high-pitched voice echoes through the Hall, interrupting my thoughts. My entire body freezes with shock; the only thing moving is my heart, which is puttering widely against my chest. “Your efforts are futile. You cannot fight me. I do not want to kill you. I have great respect for the teachers of Hogwarts. I do not want to spill magical blood.” [3]

I feel a shiver pass down my spine, the silence in the Great Hall bearing down upon me. Everyone holds their breath, waiting, in fear.

“Give me Harry Potter and none shall be harmed,” the Dark Lord’s voice continued. I feel my eyes searching the Great Hall for Harry Potter. “Give me Harry Potter and I shall leave the school untouched. Give me Harry Potter, and you will be rewarded.” [3]

I search frantically. I haven’t seen Harry Potter all year, no one has. But then I see him. Tall, with his famous untidy black hair and round glasses, he’s standing against the wall on the opposite side of the Great Hall. I squint my eyes, trying to see him more clearly. He seems tired and unkempt but not scared.

Just then, Pansy Parkinson stands up, pointing a shaking arm towards Harry Potter. “But he’s there!” she screams, her eyes popping making her look slightly crazed. “Potter’s there! Someone grab him!” [4]

I barely have time to comprehend her words; they are filled with fear and desperation. There is a rumble of hundreds of students standing up. First Gryffindors, then Hufflepuffs, followed closely by Ravenclaws. All of them reaching in their pockets, pulling out their wands, and shielding Potter from the Slytherin table. I feel my mouth drop in amazement. All of these students were defending him. Protecting him. They were going to fight to save him.

I can’t comprehend it; I can’t understand why. Do they truly believe this scrawny boy has the power to defeat He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named? Do they actually think Harry Potter is the Chosen One?

I continue to ponder these questions as I follow the Slytherins out of the Great Hall toward the evacuation point. Astoria is walking close beside me and I feel her shaking. I rub her back, trying to comfort her in some way, but it’s hard because I’m scared too. I’m confused. I don’t know what to think or what to do. My whole body is screaming at me to get to safety! But then I remember the fire; the fierce, deadly and passionate fire. I close my eyes and see it dancing in Seamus’ eyes. The seed of envy grows a little more.

Professor Slughorn leads us to a small room and we are directed through a painting. I realise it’s a secret passageway heading out of Hogwarts, and most likely leading into Hogsmeade.

We walk and walk. I feel like we’ve been walking forever, but time doesn’t seem to be making much sense anymore. I’m conflicted but I can’t even understand why.

“Daphne? Daphne!”

I look down at Astoria, her dark eyes wide with fright and something else. Desperation?

“Do you think they can stop him?”

“Stop who?” I ask, confused. Astoria blinks back a few tears and tucks a strand of her dark hair behind one ear. She ponders a while before answering.

“You-Know-Who,” she finally whispers, quickly looking around to make sure no one is listening.

My mouth goes dry and I hear a pounding in my ears. For a few seconds, all I see is her scared face, eyebrows scrunched in worry.

“I-I d-don’t know,” I stutter honestly. The look on her face crushes my heart. It causes me physical pain. My elder-sisterly protective instincts wash over me.

“I just want this to be over,” she says. Her bottom lip sticks out, making her look like a small child. “The pain… the fear… and confusion…it’s just…it’s just all too much.”

I see, finally, the end of the passageway. My head is reeling and I can’t keep my thoughts coherent. But then, out of nowhere, I feel it, slowly bubbling up inside of me—fire. Astoria has just said it all. This needs to end. I want it to stop, need it to stop. The pain, fear, confusion, it’s all too much.

We’ve finally reached the end of the tunnel. I stop in my tracks and grab Astoria’s hand. I know what I need to do. “You’re right,” I tell her simply. I barely hear my own voice. My heart is beating so loud I’m surprised that she doesn’t hear it. I can’t believe what I’m about to do. Astoria’s eyes widen for a split second, and then they narrow suspiciously. “What do you mean?”

“Astoria, you’re right. This must end.” She continues to stare at me. “I don’t want to live in this kind of world. I don’t want you to have to live in a world like this; riddled with darkness and fear.”

Astoria lets go of my hand, understanding crossing her face. “That’s not what I meant.” She says. Her voice is shaky and high-pitched.

“Astoria, they need all the help they can get.”

All of the Slytherins have already exited the tunnel. We’re alone, facing each other in defiance. But not for long; I can faintly hear the sounds of more people entering the long passageway.

“No, I was being naïve. They won’t win. There is no way they can beat You-Know-Who.” She says it fiercely in a mixture of anger and fear.

“Maybe not,” I whisper the deadly truth. Astoria glares at me, her eyes becoming thin slits. “But I’ve got to help.” Before I realise what’s happening, Astoria throws her arms around me. I let out a sigh of relief and hug her back tightly. “Love you, little sis,” I say. After a few seconds I pull her away. She bravely gives me a weak and strained grin.

“Love you too.”

I don’t give her a chance to say more. I don’t give myself a chance to change my mind. I turn around and take off, running back the way we came. I shove my way through the evacuating group of Ravenclaw students, weave my way past the crowd of Hufflepuffs and throw myself around the small cluster of underage Gryffindors. Scrambling back into the small evacuation room, I hear distant bangs and screaming. It has begun.

A small group of Gryffindor students are standing huddled together inside the evacuation room. I recognize some of them. They are underage and clearly being tempted to sneak back inside the castle and fight. One girl with long red hair looks up at me with one eyebrow raised slightly—there’ no mistaking it, she’s a Weasley. I’m already breathing heavy, out of breath from running, but adrenaline is coursing through my veins.

“I want to fight,” I say, my voice sounding much braver than I actually feel.

To my surprise, after a long moment, she smiles, and the smile lights up the burning fire that’s dancing dangerously in her eyes. Just like a typical Gryffindor. Still, I look at the Weasley girl and I hope, with all my heart, that she is seeing exactly the same fierceness in my own eyes.
Chapter Endnotes: Quotes are all from Deathly Hallows the Chapter 'Battle at Hogwarts".
[1] Ernie Macmillan
[2] Professor McGonagall
[3] Lord Voldemort
[4] Pansy Parkinson
[5] Unnamed Slytherin girl