The Fire of Hatred

The Fire of Hatred
Chapter One

The fire crackled beneath the pewter cauldron, dimly lighting the dark dungeon room. Shelves littered with mysterious vials full of eerie potions surrounded the damp walls, and a large workbench lay in the midst of all this, with the simmering cauldron sitting atop it. A man stared into the depths of the rich lilac potion, grabbing the lionroot that lay next to the flames. He then seized a knife and began slicing the root into equal-sized portions. As he worked, he thought of Hogwarts' Founders' Document, which allowed impure blood (children with Muggle parents) to be taught at Hogwarts, and muttered in disgust. "Gryffindor's an imbecile...shouldn't allow those foul miscreants in..."

At this point, the man's face twisted into a cruel smile. "Perhaps," he murmured, "I shall leave him a gift, and will he have a liking for it..." A knock sounded at the door, interrupting his thoughts. His sharp gray eyes flickered toward the door, and without further hesitation, he barked a short order. "Enter."

A young woman, age thirty or so, quietly entered the room, and stepped up to the bench. "Rowena," the man drawled, adding the lionroot to his concoction, "what is the meaning of this intrusion?"

"Godric wishes to speak with you, Salazar." She replied icily and the man spat. The dimmed light shone off her eyes and cast shadows across her face.

"On what grounds does he wish to speak to me for?" He demanded rudely.

The reply was short, but clear.

"Something concerning the document."

Upon those words, Rowena turned on her heel and strode out of the room, leaving Salazar to glare at her retreating figure.

"Foul pests." He spat as he exited the room, slamming the heavy wooden door behind him, and leaving the cauldron bubbling angrily away.

Hermione jerked awake with a start. She placed a hand over her chest in attempt to slow her racing heart, and glanced tiredly about the dormitory. It had now been two years since these dreams had started; right at the end of her fifth year of Hogwarts. She breathed deeply, and took a minute to think about her latest dream. It had been different than usual. In her past dreams, nothing had been so detailed. Before, the faces of the founders had been hazy beyond recognition... except when they called each other by their names. The thing that troubled Hermione the most was that she never told anyone about her dreams, and they were starting to come more rapidly. Once every month shorted to once every week, and then it became every other day, quickly progressing to every day.

She listened to the soft snores and shallow breathing of the girls for a while, before she reached over to grab her watch from the tiny nightstand. Four thirty, it read. The troubled girl checked it again to make sure. Four thirty, she thought dismally, if only my dreams were to let me sleep a bit longer...Seventh year at Hogwarts wasn't bad, but it wasn't easy, especially if you were head girl. Classes had become an easy challenge for Hermione, but it was catching up with her. The ink from study papers and textbooks and begun to wear at her eyes...

Hermione groaned and rolled over.

Though she'd never admit it out loud, Hermione had started to become sick of books. She allowed Harry and Ron to drag her out of the castle, on Hogsmeade weekends, without complaint or fuss. The girl doubted either one of the friends had noticed; but she always tagged along anyway. The fresh, cool breezes were rewarding after being cooped up in the stuffy castle.

She sighed and sat up after much tossing and turning. The dormitory was strangely quiet, she noticed, one advantage of early morning. The silence was peaceful. Being as restless as she was, she stood and pulled on a night robe, walking through the dormitory and down the stone step to the warmth of the common room. This room was also silent, with the occasional crackling and popping of the small fire. As inviting as it seemed, Hermione did not feel like settling down in a squashy armchair. Instead, the girl climbed out of the portrait hole and began to wander the corridors.

Being a Head Girl has its advantages, Hermione had concluded, especially when all you need is a nighttime stroll without being interrupted by that bumbling git Filch. She chuckled quietly to herself, and pressed onward.

It seemed, to Hermione, that the days the trio had spent at Hogwarts had passed rather quickly, and it was depressing to know that graduation was in half a year. As she turned the corner of the corridor, she grinned at the sight in front of her. In front of her was the old, out-of-order girl's bathroom. She immediately seized the door handle and entered without another thought. The bathroom was considerably worse than it was in her second year. Every mirror was broken, though it showed no sign of glass on the cobbled floor, and a rusting, broken sink lay up against the far wall. When she ventured further, she could hear Myrtle muttering in her stall.

"I'm dead, but does anyone care to visit me? No, they don't..." Here a muffled sob seeped from under the stall door.

Grinning, Hermione rapped lightly on the door. The sobbing noise stopped almost at once.

"Who's there?" Myrtle asked sharply, her voice still damp with tears. Hermione opened the stall, smiling widely at the look of astonishment on the ghost's face.

"Hermione Granger, Myrtle. Thought I might stop by for a visit."

The transparent girl peered at Hermione through her spectacles and a small smile stole over her ghostly features. "Oh, it is you! It's been ages since you and your two friends came to see me."

Her ghostly face suddenly sobered. "Why haven't you been to see me much?" At this, Hermione sighed.

"Seventh year is quite a challenge, Myrtle. Between the exams, homework, and studying, it doesn't leave much leisure time for any of us, but I suppose that's not an excuse, is it?" Myrtle nodded her head, and Hermione began to talk again. "The truth is, Myrtle, that I haven't had much sleep since fifth year. And with lack of sleep nagging at me, I have spent my free time napping or outdoors."

Silence followed that statement, until the Moaning Myrtle asked, "What is troubling your sleep, Hermione?"

But Hermione just shook her head.

"I don't really want to explain right now. I'm still trying to figure out everything for myself," she paused, and sighed. "I've got to go, Myrtle."

Myrtle gave a dry sob. "You will come back some time, won't you?"

Hermione nodded, and left.

The corridors were still and quiet as Hermione walked around, but she was too used to this by now that she hardly noticed. She bounded down three flights of stairs and then stopped in the Great Hall for a rest. When the weary girl sat down at the Gryffindor table, an image flashed before her eyes.

Two men stood in front of the professors' table, arguing like a pair of rabid beasts. One had messy brown hair, with eyes of deep green, and the other, who fought more viciously, had soft black hair and eyes like rough weather; a stormy gray, unlike his fiery temper.

"Godric," the black-haired man shouted crossly, "they have no right to be taught here. They have absolutely no history of magic, and I shall not tolerate it!"

"They have every much right as the average pureblood child, Salazar. If we do not allow them in, wizard folk will slowly diminish and there will be no students to teach, if muggleborns are excluded;" Godric bellowed back, standing firmly upon his ground and glaring defiantly at Salazar. "If you disagree to those terms, Salazar, then leave the castle."

Salazar gave his half-brother a cold glare, and stormed out of the room.

Hermione gaped as the scene began to fade from mind, and, feeling overwhelmed, she passed out on the cold table.

About an hour later, a finger prodded Hermione awake. She blinked rapidly, letting her vision swim into focus, as she looked up to see whom the finger belonged to. Two abnormally large eyes stared back at her, and Hermione instantly recognized the face.

It was Dobby.

After fighting back a yawn, she addressed the house elf. "Hello Dobby, what brings you to the," a long, tired yawn escaped her lips, "dormitory?" As soon as she said it, Hermione realized the question was quite lame. Instead of going back to the dorm like she ought to have done, she was still in the high-ceilinged chamber.

Poke. Hermione winced, and looked back to Dobby. "You is still in the Great Hall, Miss. Shouldn't Miss be in bed like the other sirs and misses?" He had a point.

The small creature stood back as she rose, and she thanked him. "Yes, I should. Thanks for waking me Dobby. I might've still been here when everyone came in for breakfast." The house elf bowed deeply and disappeared when she blinked.

"Strange creatures, house elves." She mused mentally as she made her way back to the portrait hole.

The walk didn't take long, and before long, the sight of the slumbering Fat Lady greeted her eyes. At first, Hermione didn't have the heart to wake the live portrait for it looked like she was having a very nice dream ("Oh Salem, you shouldn't have." The portrait murmured with a slight giggle.), but another yawn left Hermione's lips, showing how extremely tired she felt.

The girl prodded the portrait gently awake, and murmured, "Lion pride."

As the Fat Lady swung forward to admit her, she took a step back to avoid being hit by the frame, and climbed up through, but not before she murmured quick thanks to the groggy portrait.

The common room was empty, as expected, and dimly lit by the dying embers of the fire. Since she had no intention of falling asleep to find herself in another exhausting dream, Hermione sat on the edge of an armchair closest to the fire, with a poker in her hands. "Incendio." She murmured softly, and the fire roared to life.

She must have sat there for quite some time, poking and staring blankly into the fire. When she looked out the tower window, a crack of orange light peeked out over the horizon. Sure enough, the faint sounds of morning rustle wafted through the chamber.

Better get dressed, the girl thought with a sigh, and trudged up the dormitory stairs.

Hermione dressed herself rather sluggishly, and it was as though the tiredness was a slow poison, killing her more painfully with every second that trickled by. As she donned her usual black robe, she caught snatches of the other dorm girls' discussion.

"-She just doesn't seem his type, that's all." Came Lavender's voice.

"Nonsense, 'Lav, she's perfect. That poor boy needs cheering up."

After that, she tuned out and moved into the bathroom, brushing her tangled hair in front of the mirror. She washed her face next; feeling slightly refreshed by the cool water. When she was about finished, Lavender poked her head in.

"Hey 'Mione, you about finished in here?" She gestured to the bathroom. Hermione shrugged dully.

"Knock yourself out."

Lavender didn't notice how off Hermione looked or sounded, but she chirped in a painfully annoying high-pitched voice, "Thanks!" As Hermione shuffled out the door.

By the time she reached the common room, Ron and Harry were already waiting. Both of them greeted her and started climbing out of the portrait hole. She didn't reply. The trio walked through the castle in complete silence, all too tired to speak yet, but neither of them as tired as Hermione felt. They descended down another staircase and turned into the Great Hall.

As usual, goblets, plates, and silverware with forks of all sizes sat on each of the four tables. Food filled the platters in pyramids, and that was a sign to dig in. By the time the Owl Post came, normal chatter settled amongst the tables, and light streamed in through the ceiling, making the room feel much warmer. Hermione hadn't touched her food, Harry noticed. "Something bothering you, Hermione?" he asked gently. Hermione looked up; looking surprised at being addressed. "I'm fine." She answered quietly, and stood suddenly.

"I've got to do something back at the tower; I'll meet you at class."

It concerned Harry that she acted so...strangely. About five minutes after she had sped out of the room, he followed.

He caught up with her almost immediately; The Head Girl walked with such sluggishness, that it was possible a tortoise went faster. He reached from behind and placed his hand on her shoulder. She didn't respond to it, but instead, walked on. Harry gripped her shoulder firmly and finally, stopped her. "Hermione, what's wrong with you?"

A pale face turned to look at him. Dark bags had formed under her eyes, and her tired eyes were dull, with a detached far away look about them.

"I haven't slept well, Harry."

Across the castle, another girl was having problems as well. Her face was almost smothered in a large feather pillow, hidden by her messy, long raven-black hair. Light shone across her pillows and she groaned when the reality hit her, bolting up quickly.

"Dammit, Hodges, you're late again." She growled to herself, emerging from the jade curtains of her bed, and almost tripping on her blankets as she went.

Everyone had gone to breakfast, Heather assumed, by the time she had finished braiding her raven hair. The girl picked up her Hogwarts robes and threw it around her shoulders. It was her favorite robe of all. The sleeves had been torn off, leaving it like a thick T-shirt with frayed edges. The robe was ragged and a faded black, slightly short so that it barely came down past her knees. She left the robe open so that it showed her muggle shirt and bellbottoms.

Heather knew she'd get major point deductions for sloppiness, but she didn't care. It was second nature to have torn clothes and an attitude to match.

Slinging her bag over her shoulder, she raced out of the dormitory and common room, and climbed the stone steps to the dungeons' corridor. She continued to jog down the cold hall, until she turned the corner and climbed another set of stone steps, and out into the main hall.

She made it about halfway down the corridor when she suddenly slammed into a shocked Ravenclaw 5^th year. Heather picked up her bag, and eyed the stunned girl and the pens she'd dropped before Heather picked up where she left off, and ran to the end of the hall.

"Sorry!" Heather called over her shoulder as she ran. Watch where you're going, Hodges.

Finally, she skidded into the emptying Great Hall. Heather sighed and picked her way through the chattering crowd. She plucked a piece of toast off the nearest table (which happened to be the Gryffindor table) and joined the moving flow of people who made their way to morning classes. Her first class was Herbology with the Ravenclaws, and once more the raven-haired girl groaned.

Just what the doc ordered...grime and dirt beneath my fingernails...she thought bitterly, joining the rest of the group.

Herbology, Heather had to admit, was interesting. The earthy Professor Sprout assigned the class into groups. She ended up being grouped with Terry Boot, who was tanned, and a tall amazon like herself, a freckly Mandy Brocklehurst, and a sneering, unpleasant Draco Malfoy.

Heather moaned. Draco Malfoy...the gods were so unforgiving. She may have been placed in Slytherin, but she despised everyone in the house. Sometimes she wondered why the hat put her there, and she thought it might be because of cleverness. Heather shook her head.

"All right now, get to work." Ordered Professor Sprout. And, grudgingly, everyone did.

Everyone in the group was trying to concentrate on peeling off the pedals of the Yendora flower instead of talking, Heather noticed. A sly grin stole over her tanned face. Perfect

A short while later, a loud yelp echoed throughout the greenhouse. Everyone turned his or her heads.

Draco Malfoy, who was more pale than usual (if possible), had his bony hand clamped round his arm, and his face pained. A short bark sounded from the earth-covered professor as she barged her way forward.

"What is it, Malfoy?" she eyed his arm, and sighed when the blond only clutched at it tighter, glaring angrily at her.

"Let me see your arm, boy." Grudgingly, he unwound his hand from his arm.

It was an ugly sight, his arm. Sitting there upon the middle of Draco's arm was a large raw boil, which had popped, and was strained the same butter yellow as the pedal of a Yendora flower. In the middle of the boil was a rather large wart.

Draco groaned in despair. Heather did all she could but laugh. That's the...ugliest thing...I've seen besides his face...

She kept these little thoughts to herself, but her restrained laughter made her face break out into a large grin. Draco noted this, and glared sharply at her. This caused her to snort triumphantly in laughter with the rest of the class. Even Professor Sprout was having trouble maintaining a straight face.

"All right now, class. Quiet down...quiet down." She looked down at Draco and added, "Go to the hospital wing and see Madam Pomfrey; she'll have a potion to cure this..." She let go of his wrist, and watched him slink out the door.

Once the professor was sure he had left, she turned back to the class. "Get back to work, everyone."

Another snort produced from Heather's nose, and she managed to calm herself down. When she did, she noticed Terry and Mandy both had huge, friendly grins on.

"That was great, what you did." Said Terry, whose grin had become too large for him.

"Positively excellent!" added Mandy.

And for the rest of the class period, the small group was friendlier with each other. It wasn't the funniest thing to throw a squirt of bubotuber puss at Malfoy, but it was worth it.

After lunch was double potions with the Slytherins, and Hermione was slightly more cheerful than she had been in the morning. She practically whistled as Harry, Ron, and herself walked briskly towards the dungeons.

"'Potions with Snape, how wonderful." Ron commented dryly. Hermione and Harry grinned.

"Though, " he added, eyeing their grins, "it's absolutely nothing to blow a gasket with excitement about."

Hermione turned on him, tauntingly, but Harry got there first.

"Aw, icky Ronnie doesn't want to see his old buddy Malfoy."

"Ronnie isn't crushing on Pansy anymore? Poor Ronniekins."

Ron rolled his eyes at the two, and swung his arms around both of their shoulders. The redhead grinned.

"Ah, a beautiful friendship it was from the beginning." And they walked into the dungeon classroom without another word and took their seats beside the cauldrons. A swarm of other students followed their suit likewise.

Professor Snape swept into the room. His cold black eyes scanned the sea of heads. "I see everyone was gracious enough to come to class today," he said, giving a cold glare to Harry, Ron and Hermione, "So let us begin."

He gestured to the ingredients before him on his large stone desk, and murmured. "You will be starting on the Potion of Invisibility today. It is extremely delicate and difficult to brew. Should you mess up," he scanned the room once more, with a nasty glint in his eyes, "you might, daresay, disappear for good." After that, he assigned partners.

"Parkinson and Weasley together.... Granger and Longbottom... Malfoy and Bullstrode..." He continued to call off.

"Hodges and Potter," was the second to last pair announced.

Once he was done, he stood before rigidly as before. Snape smiled nastily, and snarled. "Now get to work, all of you."

Heather sighed, and took a seat next to Harry, who was already starting to slice cressweed. She seized a knife as well, and began chopping. It was a rather dull job, and became more boring with every second. Every once and a while, her eyes strayed over to look at Harry, who ignored her as best he could. She sighed, and tried her best after that to strike up a conversation.

"Your friends, Weasley and Granger, have you known them long?" Heather noticed he was staring because of her thick, Australian accent, and winced.

He nodded, and all was silent again. She began to powder beetles, before Harry asked.

"Australia, is it nice there?" Heather grinned. Now we're getting somewhere.

"Beautiful, babe, beautiful. England is so...so foreign when you've grown up in a dry, grassy outback, you know? I've been here two years, and I'm still trying to get the hang of it."

"I see, " he began once more and grinned, "Seen many dingoes?"

Heather winced. It was the kind of question you got a lot. "Actually, yes, but only at a zoo, the poor things."

Harry frowned. "Why, are they caged?" Heather shook her head.

"Hell no. You can't cage a dingo; they're absolutely vicious. What I mean is that it would be better to see them hunting for their own food, instead of being fed by humans. Pathetic, really." She added. Harry started to ask another question, but a crash of a cauldron at Snape's desk stopped him short.

Neville seemed to have knocked over the cauldron on the way back to his seat. He stood next to the front row bench and scrambled into his seat. The beginnings of a smoking blue potion oozed across the floor as a puddle, shining magnificently even in the dim light. Snape stormed out of the student storage room, stopped, and stared at the blue liquid.

"Who did this?" he asked, dangerously calm, staring accusingly at the frozen pupils. "Longbottom..."

Heather stood up, and the greasy professor blinked. "Sit down, Hodges." He ordered sharply.

But Heather still stood.

"I did it, Professor Snape."