The Flame

Chapter 1

"Firestar Sea Elethea, get your fire butt down here! You're going to miss the train!"

My mother's usually calm, soft, voice, now fuming with exasperation, broke the sweet, calm, quietness of my sleep.

I groaned and twisted onto my other side...

And fell off the bed, with a loud thud and a squeak, onto the soft, thick carpet of my bright red room.

If you walked into my room, you would seriously think it was on fire. It was a large, circular room, with a ceiling that echoed the weather out side, and a large crystal chandelier whose candles exploded into a soft flickering flame as soon as I asked them to. The walls were a fire engine red, and my bed was white with fire-patterned sheets. The large desk sat just under a window, there was one door on each side of the room. These both lead to closets, one with muggle clothes the other wizard robes.

I untangled myself from the sheets, grabbed onto the comforter. I stood up, shaking my head to rid it of the spinning sensation that had come into effect when the ground had come into contact with it.

As I clung to the white frame of my bed, I spotted a large leather trunk just at the head of it. It had a crest of a lion, a serpent, a badger, and a raven, all surrounding a large purple H.

I crept up to it; there was a box on top of it.

A white box, I found out, as I slipped the brown paper off, I took the top from its partner, and there sitting in a bed of scarlet silk, was my wand.

Long, thin, and gleaming white. Fourteen and a half inches, moon-soaked rowan wood, containing, the feather of a Phoenix.

I had gotten it yesterday, along with the contents of the trunk, which I had opened. A pile of neatly folded black robes each emblazoned with the same crest that was on the trunk. Many over-large books were stacked neatly between the robes and a cauldron. A set of crystal phials sat between a collapsible brass telescope, and a ball that held two figures; one in dark red robes, my father, who was holding a small girl and swinging her around, me.

He had given it to me when I had been seven; he had died when I was nine. Just looking at it comforted me though, as I looked back at the crest.

The Hogwarts Crest, I thought, wearily, Now I remember I'm going to Hogwarts today. I did not want to go. I was afraid I would be made fun of, because of my...strange attributes.

My appearance was rather normal, other than a few things. My hair was a dark chestnut brown, with ten or fifteen streaks of fire in it, they didn't burn anything, but nonetheless, they were there. My eyes were a bright, electric blue, which grew bright red if I was angry. My hands were perfectly normal except that the nails were afire, this fire, at my request or if I am particularly furious, will consume my hands. Odd? Well I think so.

It was because of these traits that, at the age of three, I was taken to Professor Albus Dumbledore, a very good friend of my parents, and not to mention an extraordinary wizard. When my mother set me on his desk at the school I would be doomed to go to, his eyes had widened, and he had told my mother that I was a special kind of witch, that I was of an ancient race of people called the Firien. These people, lived with fire, fire was part of their life. Fire gave them extra powers, like being able to create anything from flames, like swords or well... anything. That they could shoot fireballs from their hands, and could move things with their minds. They're most famous characteristic, however, was their abilities to talk to animals, trees, anything that existed. The old wizard had said that he had not seen one of my kind for Centuries, and believed me to be the last of the ancient people.

Now the curse of being a Firien was slightly taken when I got on the wrong side of an experimental potion and ended up being able to change into any animal of my desire. This I would have gladly loved to have instead of the Firien blood, but, unfortunately, I got both. My mother is Muggle-born witch, and my dad is-was a pure blood wizard. But the people I lived with weren't my real family, I didn't know who my real family was, I was an orphan. My 'dad' had been the best. I was torn apart when he died.

At this thought, my mind whistled back to the present as my mother's footstep were heard on the stairs to my room. I changed into my black robes which hang loosely on my small, first year frame.

My mom came in and said, moodily, "We are going to be late on your first day, oh, Locomotor trunk!" I moved out of the way as my trunk rose three feet off the floor and followed my mother down the stairs.

"You're going to be late for your first day!" My little sister sang tauntingly.

I swatted her, but missed, and my mother directed me toward the breakfast table.

"Mom, I want to go to Hogwarts!" The small girl whined, wiping a lock of raven black hair like her father's from her eyes.

"You're too young, Arrissa, like I've said a million times," the woman said, exasperated.

After breakfast mom loaded the trunk into our beat up car and drove to Kings Cross, not knowing what trouble she was heading into.