Taming the True Fire (HP)

Catherine pushed herself off the ground, her gaze locking onto her teacher. She had never seen such fury in him before. His face had gone deep red, a twitch visible in his right cheek. His eyes still shimmered with silver, and a fresh gust of wind circled her, drying her clothes completely. Startled, the young witch let out a surprised yelp, glancing at Greg, who had also gotten back up and now stared at the ground.

"Is anyone going to answer me?" – the teacher yelled, his rage barely contained, his eyes darting between the boy and the girl, neither of whom dared to raise their heads – "Using elemental magic to attack each other! Do you have any idea how dangerous and irresponsible that is? I can't believe two... two housemates could have such a disagreement that they'd resort to this kind of violence!"

"Nobody's hurt… Sir." – Catherine finally found the courage to say.

"Really, Miss Plantier?" – Thorne snapped, his blue eyes boring into her – "So, in your opinion, any spell is acceptable as long as no one gets hurt? I will speak with Dumbledore about your training and general discipline! And what are you even doing here in the first place? Unless you've somehow skipped a year, I don't see any reason for you to be in Hogsmeade."

The young witch lowered her eyes, deciding not to argue. There was no point—she was guilty, and she felt foolish over the entire situation, especially considering Professor Thorne was unaware of her encounter with Adrian Borealis.

"You're unusually quiet." – the Professor remarked, now looking at Greg, who remained silent – "Is there any other rule-breaking you're trying to hide?"

"No, Sir." – the girl answered, only for her brother to let out a bitter chuckle. 

"Except the fact you nearly used true fire against Adrian Borealis, right?" – he asked mockingly, and Catherine's eyes widened in shock.

"What?!" – Thorne exclaimed, his face twisting in horror, his eyes growing round as his mouth hung open for a moment – "Detention! For a month! And be thankful it's not longer!"

"But…" – Catherine began to protest.

"I warned you about provoking His Grace, and you didn't listen!" – he hissed, his voice dangerously low – "It seems you need a different kind of persuasion, but rest assured, I will make sure this lesson sinks in. Now, go back to the castle immediately! I will speak with both Professor McGonagall and the Headmaster!"

The girl pursed her lips, clearly angry, but the guilt must have been overwhelming because she left without another word. Carsilion ran his hand over his face, completely at a loss for how to handle the situation.

"I don't think he knows who she is." – Greg said with a sigh – "I tried my best to provoke him enough to focus all his attention on me."

"That much was obvious. I felt what he did from the other end of the village." – the man growled – "I understand why you acted in such manner, but this could have ended very badly for you."

"Better that than Catherine setting him on fire." – the boy replied with a sad smile – "When I arrived, the air was so charged with power it was impossible not to notice something was wrong. And it was strange too—I've never felt true fire before. It's completely different from the other elements."

"It is." – Carsilion agreed with a nod – "Since Fire Mages are so rare, most of us aren't used to them. I remember being overwhelmed the first time I met Dumbledore. I think I was a few years older than you."

"What are we going to do about her?" – the fifth-year asked tentatively.

"Unfortunately, I'm about to turn her life into hell." – the man sighed in turn – "It's for her own good. She can't just go wherever she pleases. Adrian might be a jackass, but he's not stupid. I don't want to challenge him by giving him a puzzle to solve."

"Good!" – Greg said coldly, earning a surprised look from his teacher – "Make sure this lesson is drilled into her thick skull once and for all!"

"Are you sure you're alright?" – the older wizard asked, concerned. This reaction was unexpected from Greg, who had always been calm, collected, and fiercely protective of his sister.

"I'm fine." – Greg snapped, turning away, his voice catching slightly – "But sometimes, you have to hurt the ones you love to keep them safe."

***

The flickering firelight danced across the grand silver mirror mounted on the opposite wall. It was an intricate piece, pristine and untouched by time, forged from Goblin Silver. At the top of the ornate frame, a bold letter 'B' was prominently displayed, surrounded by wings and armour. At the base, the words "Fortuna Favet Audaci"[1] were etched in graceful script.

Deep blue velvet drapes hung gracefully beside the tall windows, allowing soft natural light to spill into the room, catching on the silver accents—from the delicate inlays on the mahogany bookshelves to the ornate candle holders adorning the polished desk. Behind the desk stood a grand armchair, upholstered in rich blue leather made from Kraken hide, a detail only discernible to those with a keen eye.

Duke Adrian Borealis lay comfortably on a plush, deep-cushioned sofa near the window. One arm rested casually over his head, the other across his chest, his long legs crossed at the ankles. His tie hung loose, and the top three buttons of his white shirt were undone, lending him an air of relaxed elegance.

A discreet knock on the door broke the quiet, and Victor entered, carrying a bottle of dark, smoky glass, its neck sealed with a wax emblem. Adrian opened his topaz-blue eyes, glancing at his assistant before gesturing toward one of the chairs in front of the desk.

"Have a seat." - he ordered curtly - "I need you to send a few letters."

"Yes, Your Grace!" – the other man replied with a bow, placing the bottle on a small table beside the sofa. Adrian stood, opened the bottle, and poured the amber liquid into two crystal tumblers. His eyes flashed silver for a moment as he used a subtle gust of air to chill the whiskey to perfection.

"I've always thought it a shame to dilute a quality drink with ice." – he said with a smirk, handing one of the glasses to Victor – "You'll find that Dragon's Breath Reserve has a distinctive smoky flavour - aged for at least 30 years in dragon-charred oak casks."

"It's an honour!" – the assistant replied, taking a tentative sip – "The flavour is truly refined indeed."

"Naturally." – the Duke smiled, his gaze fixed on his glass – "Everything I own is refined. I wouldn't accept anything less."

"Shall I send a formal complaint to Duke Prince regarding today's incident?" – Victor asked, pulling out a small notebook and pen – "I believe there's still room on next week's Council meeting agenda."

"No." – Adrian replied, moving to stand by the window, his eyes on the purple hues of the spring dusk outside – "They won't punish McMahon's brat for something so trivial. Edward and his boy-toy Carsilion will frame it as a harmless teenage prank, and I'll end up looking overly sensitive. It's not the image I want."

"So, you're letting it slide?" – the other wizard asked, his voice laced with disbelief.

"Don't they say revenge is a dish best served cold?" – the Duke smirked, settling behind his desk – "For now, we'll just watch. Our plans are already in motion anyway. Which reminds me—write back to Marquise Redmond and agree to the proposed meeting. And has Whiters replied yet? I don't like how Louisa McMahon comes and goes from Blazewood Manor as she pleases. It's suspicious."

"She is very close to Marchioness Whiters." – Victor remarked – "It's probably another elaborated scheme to capture His Lordship's attention."

"Hah!" – the Duke chuckled – "Speaking of lost causes. Lauren probably pays attention, but not to poor Leona. Our dear Duchess, on the other hand, fits perfectly into his kink for non-humans. Still, I want more information on this budding friendship between McMahon and Whiters. I don't like surprises."

"I'll look into it, Your Grace." – the other man nodded, jotting a note in his book – "Perhaps one of the young masters could handle this. They're of similar age to the Whiters' children, and it's not unusual for Academy peers to visit one another."

"Try something else." – Adrian scoffed condescendingly – "Unfortunately, my sons are hardly dependable for anything beyond their own indulgences. Genetics played a cruel joke, giving them their mother's brains. Although, at the end of the day, the joke's on me."

"Lady Delilah was here this morning." – Victor mentioned suddenly, watching his employer's reaction – "Apparently, young Sebastien jumped from their balcony when left unattended, but managed to glide safely to the ground."

The Duke arched an eyebrow, clearly impressed. "A remarkably strong inclination toward air at such a young age! He's only four! Still, it could have ended badly. Remind my dear cousin Thelonius that I expect proper care to be taken for his son."

"Certainly, Your Grace." – the assistant replied, a cold smile on his lips – "Would there be anything else?"

"You may go." – Adrian gestured dismissively, then paused – "Ah, one last thing - send a note to Abraxas Malfoy regarding the task assigned to him. I want a full report on Greg McMahon's activities. Where he goes, who he meets, every friend and enemy he has at Hogwarts. We can't be too cautious about that wretched family. I have an unpleasant feeling they're planning something."

Victor bowed and exited, leaving the Duke alone with his half-empty glass. Adrian stared at the amber liquid, attempting to organise his scattered thoughts. Eventually, he sighed, draining the glass in one go, still finding it impossible to focus. Despite himself, his mind kept drifting back to Louisa McMahon, her jade-green eyes lingering vividly in his thoughts.

[1] Fortune favours the brave.