The Silver Cauldron

Chapter 8 - Dreams

I lay on my bed gazing up at the red canopy above. Shaking tears fell like crystallised thoughts silently down my cheeks. Gradually darkness fell, enveloping me. The unicorn shining on the side of my cauldron flickered and went out.

Six years old. Sitting on the floor. Loud voices in the room above me. Arguing. It's always been like this.

My mother had married a muggle. For love. In return for his love he demanded that she kept her magic hidden. Her life became a misery. Torn between her love for him and her powers she became embittered, unhappy. She spent a lot of time alone, crying. I was only a child - how could I have known? Only when it was too late I realised the great sacrifice she'd made to be with my father.

After her death. My father had changed. I was a constant reminder of what he'd done. As soon as the letter from Durmstrang arrived he told me to go. Shut me out. He hated me.

Thirteen years old. Being picked on at school. "Mudblood, Mudblood" - the words ringing in my ears as I crossed the frost covered grounds. Spending all my time concentrating on the one passion I had; the art of potion making.

Potions. Don't think you're anything special. You haven't even got pure blood. Pure blood. Blood. Burning. Shame. Desire. Power. Polluted, soiled by his touch. Dragged down deep into depravity, his face sneering at me in the cold candlelight. Mocking, jeering, I reach out but all I can feel is blackness, darkness...

I woke with a jolt. The pillow was wet with tears. Through the semi - darkness I could make out the shapes of familiar objects. Pens. Paper. Bottles. I turned over, trying to get comfortable. The stale smell of my own emotions overpowered me; pain, laced with the traces of fear. Pure blood. Of all the dreams I have ever dreamt that was the worst.

Chapter 9 - Toast and Alchemy

"Where were you last night?" Madame Hooch enquired through mouthfuls of buttered toast. "You weren't at dinner; we missed you."

"I wasn't feeling very well." She raised her eyebrows in concern.

"Hmm, you don't look too good. Pale face, dark shadows under your eyes...you'll be starting to look like Severus if you're not careful." She chuckled. I felt sick. "He didn't look well either last night. Went for a walk straight after tea. Wanted to be alone. Stupid, really, what with the storm and everything...are you all right?" I had pushed my plate aside.

"Yes, I'm fine" I lied. "I'm just not very hungry that's all."

I was on my way back to the classroom when I saw him. Standing at the bottom of the stairs like a bird of prey. Waiting.

"Steel yourself." I thought. "Don't look at him." Holding my head high I tried to march straight past him but he blocked my way.

"Philoma..."

"Don't touch me." I pulled my wand out of my robes. "Let me past." The sorrowful, bitter look had returned to Snape's face. It suddenly struck me how tired he was looking.

"Please. Listen to me."

"I have nothing to say to you."

"Where are you going?"

"I am going to prepare for your class. To improve my poor teaching. To show you don't need pure blood to be a good witch."

He drew a sharp breath. "I didn't mean..."

"I don't want to talk about it." I tried to push past him.

"But I do. Wait. I want to speak to you about this. WAIT!" He caught my wrist roughly and made me face him.

BANG! A flash of purple light liberated me. Snape staggered back, crashing into the wall.

"Keep away from me" I hissed. I stormed off down the corridor before he could think of retaliating, but he didn't. He just stood there.

I will never know how I got through the next few hours. Despite my attempts to remain cool I kept feeling waves of nausea wash over me every time he came near. My hands were shaking; I kept dropping things. I supposed this was also partly the side effects of Neville's potion. Poor Neville - I dreaded to think how Snape would bully him after yesterday's lesson. Attacking Neville was the easiest way of attacking me, and Snape knew it.

***

"Miss, how did you get that bruise on your neck?" I choked, feeling a hot flush rise to my face.

"Malfoy, get on with your work" Snape said coldly. The boy's eyes narrowed.

"I just wondered. Curious. Don't you want to know where she got it Sir?"

"Five points from Slytherin." A collective gasp echoed around the room. Draco looked stunned.

"But Professor..."

"If you don't get on with your essay this instant Malfoy, I will make it ten." Draco stared at him, and then at me, before sullenly going back to his work. I nervously moved my collar so it covered my neck. I caught him staring at me again later in the lesson, something that looked horribly like comprehension dawning on his sharp features.

***

The flames licked the base of the cauldron. It glowed like a brilliant moon, sending shards of cold light splintering across the room. As I added a handful of dried thistles the liquid turned black. A fine mist rose from its surface. It smelt of old letters, ancient books, forgotten churches. One final ingredient needed...The sharp steel ran across my finger. A single drop fell into the basin. The potion became red; the dark red of nightmares. I shuddered as two wisps of smoke broke away from the writhing mass. The hung suspended, coiling, swirling. Before mingling together. As of on cue I turned and noticed the letter on my pillow for the first time. I picked it up with trembling fingers. I knew what I had to do. I was afraid.

Dressed on my plainest black robes I walked through the corridors. Fixed, white expression. Hair neatly tied back. Cold exterior. Fear tearing my insides apart. I reached the door. Heavy, iron wrought, studded bolts. I knocked gingerly. "Enter" called a voice. I opened the door and went in.