Fireheart

Fireheart

Chapter 1: The Second Prophecy

- - -

Sunday, 1 September 1996

Professor Dumbledore, the Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, was currently sitting at the desk in his office, his gaze settled on the rune-marked basin in front of him. Recalling a memory from the beginning of that summer, he prodded the silvery substance inside the basin with his wand. The substance, neither a gas nor liquid, began to circulate very quickly. Almost at once, a figure rose up out of the basin. It opened its mouth and began to speak:

“At the time of the lunar eclipse, the power of the Fire Stone will be released. Only the being that holds enough remorse in his heart will be able to control the element of fire. That power will help vanquish the strengthening dark forces that are continually threatening to shroud our world with evil...”

The figure, one that had taken on the form of a woman with a mass of frizzy hair and large glasses, slowly sank back into the pensieve, its hoarse, hollow voice still echoing eerily throughout the room. The Headmaster placed his wand down on the desk and sighed deeply. He had an inkling of whom the prophecy could be referring to, but he was hoping that he was wrong. If his sources were correct, the lunar eclipse wasn’t for over three weeks. He’d have to wait until then to see if his suspicions will be confirmed.

A moment later, a knock brought Professor Dumbledore out of his thoughts. “Come in,” he said clearly, getting to his feet. The door opened and Professor McGonagall stepped into the office.

“We should begin getting ready for the arrival of the students, Albus,” she stated. She then noticed the intense, pensive look on his face. “Is everything all right?”

“Yes,” the Headmaster replied. “I was just thinking.” He picked up the basin and placed it back into the cabinet by the door, fully aware of the questioning look that the other professor was giving him. “These are dark times, Minerva. We need all the help we can get, no matter what form it is in.” He knew that the second statement would confuse her a bit, but he would elaborate later. There were many thoughts flitting through his mind, but only one stood out from the rest.

Only time will tell...

- - -

“I see it!” Ron exclaimed. He drew back from the carriage window, from which he could now see the looming silhouette of the castle, and settled in his seat next to Hermione. A smile spread across their faces as they looked at the building, which they have come to know and love over the past five years. However, by glancing at their raven-haired companion, they could see that he didn’t appear to be sharing their joy. He appeared to be looking at the castle, but his emerald eyes seemed to be a bit unfocused and a confused expression was on his face.

“We’re here, Harry,” Hermione said in a somewhat louder voice than normal, attempting to bring him back from whatever he was thinking about. It worked. His eyes focused and eventually registered the sight of the castle, a small smile appearing on his face.

“It’s about time,” he muttered, just as the carriage was coming to a halt in front of the steps. They exited and joined the mass of students making their way up the stairs and into Hogwarts.

“How I wish my father had sent me to Durmstrang,” a sneering voice drawled loudly from behind them. The trio glanced back and saw Draco Malfoy, Vincent Crabbe, and Gregory Goyle just a few paces back, smirking at them. “I would no longer have to set eyes on pathetic, worthless filth such as this again.”

“Why, you sodding little--” Ron began as he lunged for Draco. Harry and Hermione immediately seized the back of Ron’s robes to prevent him from starting a fight in the middle of the entrance hall.

“It’s the first night back, Ron!” Hermione hissed vehemently as she and Harry attempted to keep a hold on the struggling boy. “Keep your temper in check! You’ll end up getting a detention before classes even start!”

“I don’t care!” he growled. He renewed his attempts to break free of his two friends’ grips. “If I could just...slam my fist into...that arrogant...” His sentence couldn’t even be finished due to the fact that he was breathing so hard.

“What’s the matter, Weasley?” Draco taunted. “Not even strong enough to take on your two friends? You’re as pathetic as they are. I mean, come on. One is a weak little Mudblood and the other is an orphan whose parents died just so they could be rid of him.”

That did it. Harry froze at the last remark, his blood boiling. He let go of Ron just as the redhead made another attempt to dive at the Slytherin. The sudden lack of resistance caught him and Hermione unawares, sending them both sprawling to the floor. Harry ignored them as he strode over to Draco and grabbed the other boy by the neck of his robes.

“Where the hell do you get off saying those things, Malfoy?” he growled. “Are you just using the insults to cover up the fact that no one actually cares about you and that you’re starving for attention?” Harry felt a vindictive pleasure when Draco’s pale face took on a pinkish tint. He steeled himself, knowing that would earn him a punch in the face. Sure enough, the Slytherin pulled his arm back, that same vengefulness in his eyes.

“Just what is going on here?”

Draco froze at the sharp voice, his fist inches from Harry’s face. Professor McGonagall stood at the foot of the stairs leading up to the higher floors. Her narrowed eyes swept from Ron and Hermione, who quickly got to their feet, to Harry and Draco. Harry released his grip on Draco’s robes and Draco let his arm drop to his side. The two stepped back from each other after exchanging a quick contemptuous glance.

“Must you two fight every time you set eyes on one another? This is getting out of control.” The professor stalked over to them, her mouth set in a grim line. “I’ll let this go with a warning seeing as how this is the first day back. If I or one of the other professors catch wind of you two confronting each other like this again, you’ll be in detention faster than you can blink. Am I making myself clear?” She received nods in reply. “Good. Now get yourselves into the Great Hall. The Sorting is about to begin.” She then turned on her heel and walked toward the front doors, no doubt getting ready to bring in the first years.

With one last glare, Draco roughly shoved past Harry and went into the Great Hall, Crabbe and Goyle not too far behind. More insults immediately sprang to Harry’s mind as he watched the blonde go, but he bit his lip to hold them back, instead giving in to the persistent tugging on his sleeve and followed Hermione and Ron to the Gryffindor table.

“You two must be out of your minds!” Hermione growled as she sat opposite of the other two. “Honestly! It’s as if I am taking care of two young children who don’t know how to behave properly. No offense, of course,” she added. Harry could detect somewhat of a sarcastic undertone in her voice.

“None taken,” Ron replied irascibly, obviously taking her words as an affront nonetheless. Hermione ignored him and ploughed on.

“As prefects, we are supposed to prevent fights, Ron, not become involved in them!” she growled. “Have you taken leave of your senses? No, don’t answer that. I’d rather not--”

Harry tuned out what was sure to turn into his friends’ bickering. He was too accustomed to their constant sniping. Over the past year or so, it has become almost an everyday occurrence. He was just hoping that this would be one of their more ephemeral disputes.

As he waited for either his friends to end their argument or for the feast to begin, Harry studied the table before him. As dull as it was, it prevented him from seeking out a certain Slytherin and getting his blood boiling again. Even the mere thought of him made a bit of anger flare up in Harry’s chest. In order to get rid of it, he followed a dark vein in the wood along the table, a bored expression almost immediately making its way onto his face.

Harry was eventually brought out of his reverie by a hard nudge in the ribs from Ron. He looked up agitatedly, ready to demand what that was about, but then he noticed that the Sorting was beginning. Instead he held his tongue and rubbed the offended area, glaring at nothing in particular as the Sorting Hat began to sing.

After the hat finished, Harry couldn’t help but notice that even though the words were different, the song held the same message as last year’s: come together as one joined force or fall apart and be conquered by evil. It was obvious that Hermione realized this as well; her eyebrows were knitted together, and she appeared to be thinking the same thing he was, although she wouldn’t voice it out loud. There wasn’t much of a chance for all of them to join together and keep the darkness at bay because there were some who were very much against the idea. Harry’s eyes flickered over to the Slytherin table. A good number of them were smirking, scoffing, or a combination of the two. He felt a small rush of anger as he looked away, feeling that they would be what would bring them down in this war. His prejudice against them would not waver; his stubbornness wouldn’t allow it.

Harry was brought out of his musings by the first name being called by Professor McGonagall. He watched as the person, a small, brown-haired girl, made her way up to the stool in front of the teachers’ table. She took a seat with an air of confidence and waited patiently for Professor McGonagall to place the hat on her head. It only took a second or so before “RAVENCLAW!” was shouted for everyone in the hall to hear. She scuttled off to the table next to the Gryffindors’.

The remainder of the Sorting went by fairly quick, despite the fact that there were a good number of first years. As Professor McGonagall took the hat and stool away, Dumbledore stood. “I would like to welcome you all to a brand new year at Hogwarts. Now, before I make the start-of-term announcements, I would like you to take part in this delicious feast.”

Many of the students muttered appreciatively as the dishes in front of them filled with any kind of food imaginable. His stomach rumbling incessantly, Harry reached for all of his favorites. Ron had already managed to clear half of his mountain of food by the time Harry had taken his first bite. Hermione, whose fork was poised in midair, was eyeing him disgustedly. “Ron, must you make a pig out of yourself during every feast? Honestly! You act like you’re never fed at home!” Ron had the decency to turn red at her remark. He even managed to slow his pace somewhat. Harry just rolled his eyes, doing his best to hold back a chuckle on his redheaded friend’s behalf.

After the remnants of the meal disappeared from everyone’s plates, Professor Dumbledore stood once more to address them. Harry tuned out the first part about the forest being forbidden and a number of objects not allowed in the school. What snagged his attention, however, was the announcement of the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. Harry looked up at the teachers’ table, looking for the new face. When he saw the person, he nearly choked.

“Lupin?” he muttered incredulously, swinging around to look at his friends. “But I thought --”

“Maybe Dumbledore had such a hard time finding another replacement and had to persuade the Ministry to appoint him the position again,” Hermione offered. She looked just as surprised as he did. That look was soon replaced with a worried one, however. “I can’t help but think about what he’ll go through this year. I’m sure he is going to catch a lot of grief from parents because of what he is. You see? This is the kind of prejudice that gets in the way of us helping one another to defeat Voldemort.” She banged her fist on the table, causing the plates and goblets to rattle. Harry had the decency to look away, feeling a mixture of embarrassment and guilt. He couldn’t deny the truth in her words.

“With all of that being said, I would now like you all to make your way to your respective dormitories,” Professor Dumbledore called out. “You want to be fresh and attentive for your morning classes. Goodnight.” He waved them all off with a large smile. Harry, Ron, and Hermione hesitated a moment, trying to catch Remus’ eye. It took them only a moment. He sent them a small smile and a wave before they were forced to join the swelling throng of students making their way into the entrance hall.

“He doesn’t seem to be doing so well, does he?” Ron muttered, briefly looking over his shoulder. He was right. The three of them shared a worried glance. Remus was looking even more haggard than the last time they saw him. His ragged clothes seemed to be hanging more loosely off of him and his hair was as grizzled as ever, making the man seem far beyond his years.

“Well, after what happened last year --” Hermione began hesitantly but cut herself off after seeing the look on Harry’s face, but what she meant to say was clear. It was obvious that the loss of Sirius was still greatly affecting him. It was very difficult tiptoeing around the subject all the time. There was going to be one day in the near future where it was going to be brought out into the open whether they liked it or not.

The three Gryffindors traipsed to their tower in a slightly awkward silence, which was broken by Hermione offering the Fat Lady the password. The three of them entered the common room, which was somewhat loud due to all of the catching-up that was going on between the students.

“I think I’m just going to go up to bed,” Harry told Ron and Hermione. “I’m beat. Plus, if we have Snape first thing in the morning...” He trailed off, although what he implied was clear; no one wanted to irritate Snape with lateness or inattentiveness in the morning. His two friends nodded in agreement.

“I’m with you, mate,” Ron replied with a yawn, stretching languidly. “I ate so much, I feel like I could sleep for a week.” He rubbed his overly full stomach with a small groan. Hermione made to roll her eyes, but a chuckle escaped her lips instead. The atmosphere immediately became less tense.

“Well, at the rate you sleep already, I wouldn’t be that surprised,” she muttered. Ron looked as if he wanted to stick his tongue out, but he seemed to think better of it. This only drew another laugh from Hermione.

“Goodnight, you two,” she said before sauntering toward the staircase that led up to the girls’ dormitories. Harry and Ron made their way to their own dormitory situated at the top of the second staircase. Ron immediately fell facedown onto his neatly made bed.

“I am so knackered,” he mumbled, his words barely distinguishable. He rolled over and threw an arm over his eyes, heaving a huge yawn. “I don’t even feel like getting into pajamas.”

“Then don’t eat so much next time,” Harry retorted, throwing his robes at his friend. “It’s as simple as that.” Ron muttered incoherently in response as he got sluggishly to his feet and rummaged in his trunk. In a matter of moments the two of them were changed and comfortably in bed. Another moment more and Ron was snoring loudly. Harry turned over and drew his hangings closed, though it did little to block out the noise. He was surely just as tired as Ron, but he wasn’t looking forward to falling asleep. He knew what it would mean, and he wasn’t looking forward to it happening again. But he was weighed down with fatigue, so going to sleep right now was unavoidable.

Sure enough, within seconds, Harry’s breathing evened out and he began snoring gently.

- - -

Fire was everywhere, consuming everything in its path as it headed toward him. Harry made to run away, but his feet were held fast to the ground. There was no chance of him escaping it. He needed help, but no one else was around.

“Sirius!”

His voice echoed eerily, repeating the name over and over again. Harry had called out without thinking. He knew his godfather wouldn’t be able to help him. This thought brought a pain into the center of his chest, right around his heart. Guilt washed over him from head to toe. It was his entire fault Sirius couldn’t come and help him. It was his fault he was gone.

The fire was now a great deal closer. The flames circled around him, drawing nearer all the while. Harry was beginning to feel the intense heat. He tried his best to wrench his feet from the ground, but it was as if someone had cast a Permanent Sticking Charm on them. He was beginning to sweat profusely now, reds, oranges, and yellows dancing before his eyes. He began yelling, feeling sure he was about to be burned alive at any moment, but no one was coming. He was forced to give up as the intense waves of heat rolled over him, the pain in his chest growing worse with each erratic beat of his heart...

. : : .

Harry’s eyes snapped open. He sat up quickly in his bed, his breath coming out in short gasps. Feeling disoriented, he ran a shaking hand across his sweaty forehead. He punched his pillow agitatedly, growling low in his throat. He knew it. He knew he would have this dream again sooner or later.

Over the summer, Harry began having this recurring dream. At first he thought nothing of it; his mind and heart were in turmoil after the nightmare at the Ministry. But then he began having it over and over; at first it was sporadic, but then it became an almost daily occurrence. Harry was becoming fed up. He had no idea what this dream and the lingering pain in his chest were supposed to mean. He foolishly wished he had paid more attention during the dream interpretation lessons in Divination.

With a low groan, Harry kicked his blanket off and drew open his hangings. The bright morning sun dazzled his eyes as he reached for his glasses and stood to head for the bathroom. He wanted nothing more than to take a cold shower to wash away the remaining perspiration from his heated skin and to numb that persistent pain in his chest.

Approximately fifteen minutes later, Harry returned to the dormitory, feeling much better. He was putting on his socks when his other dorm mates began stirring. There were mumbled greetings and much stumbling about as they got ready. Harry went over to Ron’s bed and shook him awake. The redhead was extremely reluctant to get out of bed, but with some persuasion (or rather a reminder that Snape may be the first teacher of the day), he was up and dressed. The two of them then made their way down to the common room, where Hermione was waiting, already immersed in Standard Book of Spells (Grade 6).

“Did you both sleep well?” she asked, putting the book aside. Ron merely yawned while Harry nodded in response, not trusting himself to speak at the moment. It wasn’t that he was lying; he just didn’t want to have any reason to bring the dream up right now.

“That’s good.” She looked down at her watch. “If we leave now, we’ll have twenty minutes to eat breakfast.” The trio then made their way toward the portrait hole.

“You know, I’m beginning to get this feeling of foreboding,” Harry said as portrait closed behind them. “I just have this feeling that we are really not going to enjoy our first class.”

. : : .

“Bloody hell,” Ron groaned, his timetable slipping from his hand. “How can fate be so cruel as to make us have double Potions on the first morning?” Harry merely chuckled into his plate of eggs.

“I told you so,” he taunted, earning himself a light smack on the head.

“Shut up, you,” Hermione said. “You just got lucky.” She then turned her attention to Ron, trying to make sure he didn’t drown in his misery. “Let’s just go. If we get there early enough, Snape will have no reason to yell at us.” She stood and tugged at Ron’s robes to get him to do the same. The redhead looked longingly at his half-finished plate of food, but he consented all the same. He, Harry, and Hermione left the Great Hall and made their way down to the dungeons.

When they reached the dungeon, a small number of students were there. Since this was an N.E.W.T. Potions course, the number of people would be more limited. The three Gryffindors took their seats at a table in the back well away from the teacher’s desk. Snape wasn’t in the room at the moment, surprisingly enough.

“How the hell did you two manage to get into this class?”

Harry looked up to see Draco facing him and Ron from his seat in the front. He had a highly disgusted look on his face.

“It’s no surprise that the bucktoothed, brainy wonder managed to score a high O.W.L., but you two?” The blonde scoffed. “What, did you have to cheat your way in? Or did you just use your undeserved title?” His grey eyes moved over to settle directly on Harry as the last words left his mouth. The raven-haired boy knew he was just being provoked into fighting. But he wasn’t going to rise to the Slytherin’s bait. It was pointless. Don’t retaliate, he thought to himself. Don’t say anything. Don’t --

“You know that, don’t you Potter?” Harry brought his attention back to the other boy, despite his better judgment. “You don’t deserve it. ‘The-Boy-Who-Lived’ my ass. All of this ‘Chosen One’ business is a bunch of nonsense. You were lucky. You should have died like all the others when that curse hit you , just like your useless parents.”

Don’t, Harry continued telling himself, though his fists were clenched tightly and he couldn’t stop himself from shaking in anger. This is what he wants. He just wants to get back at you because you landed his father in Azkaban.

“What’s wrong, Scarhead?” the blonde drawled. A smirk played across his lips as he took in the way his words were getting to the Gryffindor. “Just realizing that you’re not special after all? Just coming to the conclusion that you have no purpose in life, that it was all just a hoax? You’re as special as Weasley’s pathetic, poverty-stricken family. Maybe you’ll lead them into another pointless battle against the Dark Lord and and will be responsible for even more innocent deaths, including your own. God knows it would be much better without the whole lot of you.”

After Draco’s last words, a couple of things happened in very quick succession. Harry and Ron both sprang from their seats, knocking them down in the process; Hermione and a couple of the other girls in the room shrieked in fright; Draco sprawled out on the floor after Harry’s fist collided with his face.

“Take that back, you sadistic bastard,” Harry hissed. He was so mad he could barely think straight. All he could hear was his own labored breathing and his blood rushing in his ears.

“Just what is going on here?”

The whole class jumped at the voice. Snape strode into the classroom and slammed the door behind him, his face set in a very dark scowl. His black eyes traveled from Harry to Ron, who had their wands aimed at Draco, who was still lying on the floor.

“Class hasn’t even started and we’re already on his bad side,” Ron muttered out of the corner of his mouth, his arm falling to his side.

“I will be seeing the Headmaster about this,” the professor hissed. “Now get back to your seats!” They didn’t need telling twice. Hermione glared at them as they returned to their table.

“And Potter, Weasley?” Snape added as he turned to write on the board. The two boys raised their eyes hesitantly to look to the front of the room. “Detention for three weeks starting next Monday.”

The silence of the room was broken by two groans and a loud thud as two heads hit the table simultaneously.

- - -

To be continued...