Taming the True Fire (HP)

For several days, Catherine anxiously waited for the all-too-familiar symptoms to come back. But to her surprise, the dizziness, weakness, and nausea vanished completely. Despite her lack of sleep, she felt so much better that she couldn't help but smile constantly—a reaction that puzzled many of the students around her.

"I'm really glad you're no longer sick, Flame!" – Peter said sincerely as they sat together for lunch in the Great Hall.

"Thanks, Peter." – the girl smiled warmly – "I owe a lot to your mom. Her remedy was a lifesaver!"

"You certainly look more energetic." – James observed, casting her an appraising look.

"Honestly, I had forgotten what being fine even feels like." – the witch admitted with a wry smile – "Now, if only I could figure out how to soothe these nightmares, things would be perfect. Dumbledore thinks Occlumency might help. And since I'm no longer sick from using Elemental magic, he's going to start teaching me. I can't wait!" 

Catherine had written to Dumbledore the moment she realised her recovery wasn't just a coincidence and that her body had adjusted to Elemental magic. Though she hadn't received a reply yet, she felt certain that their next lesson would finally dive into Occlumency. Determined to get a head start, she had decided to stay at Hogwarts over the Easter break. Nearly all her classmates were heading home, except for Lily, whose family was visiting relatives in Ireland, and Remus, who had mentioned he preferred Hogwarts during that time of year. This quiet holiday was something Catherine welcomed—no more running into Sirius and Marianne snogging at every corner.

"You should come spend Easter with us if you don't want to go home." – James suggested as they walked back to the Common Room after their usual morning jog – "Sirius won't be there."

"Thanks, but my parents would lose it if I asked to visit you again so soon." – the young witch chuckled, though the smile didn't quite reach her eyes – "They won't mind me staying for school, though. Plus, I really want to start learning Occlumency as soon as I can."

"I just don't get it—why are your nightmares so persistent?" – the boy sighed, running a hand through his hair – "Do you think it could be a curse?"

"I doubt it, but I can ask Thorne during detention next week." – Catherine scoffed – "He'd love the idea of me being cursed, considering how much he hates me."

James shook his head, clearly frustrated. "I still can't believe you landed a whole month of detention just for sneaking off to Hogsmeade! That was definitely not worth it just to pretend you had a date. What do you think Thorne will make you do?"

Catherine shrugged, choosing to omit the last remark, but her expression became visibly darker. "Who knows? The guy probably thinks he caught the flu from me too. I'm expecting anything—from scrubbing every toilet in the castle with a toothbrush to being fed to a manticore."

"Poor manticore!" – James laughed – "It's going to starve if it relies on you as dinner."

"Sod off!" – Catherine punched him on the arm, though it was only her fist that ended up hurting, judging by the boy's chuckle – "Come on, let's check that potion before breakfast."

James agreed, and after a quick shower and a change into their school uniforms, the two Gryffindors made a brief detour to the Room of Requirement on their way to the Great Hall. The potion in the cauldron had turned a deep, almost midnight blue, with flecks of shimmering silver swirling within, like tiny stars suspended in its depths. Occasionally, flashes of emerald green and amber flickered across the surface of the thick, syrupy liquid. The room was filled with a rich, earthy, herbal scent.

"It's ready." – the girl whispered in awe, leaning over the cauldron. Her eyes sparkled with excitement, and her heart swelled with pride—she had actually brewed something as advanced as the Animagi potion.

"Are you sure?" – James asked, disbelief etched on his face.

"Absolutely positive!" – his friend grinned – "Now all we need is a thunderstorm. We put the Mandrake leaves in and drink it while reciting the incantation."

"Sounds easy enough." – the wizard smiled in his turn, the thrill of the forbidden adventure finally setting in – "Can't we just use magic to cause a storm?"

"Better not risk it." – Catherine replied thoughtfully – "Transfiguration this complicated can be affected by the smallest thing. And residual magic from Weather-Modifying Charms could mess with the potion. Let's just wait. It's spring, after all—storms in Scotland are always just around the corner."

***

To their utter disappointment, the weather for the entire week remained stubbornly clear and sunny. Carter Thorne recovered from his illness and wasted no time informing Catherine that her first detention would be on Friday evening.

The girl was particularly displeased. Not only did she have to endure Thorne during Defence Against the Dark Arts class that morning, but she would also have to face him again later. To make matters worse, it was James' birthday, and instead of celebrating with cake and friends, she'd be stuck with the snarky, sarcastic professor she suspected might be a spy.

Her day started off badly when she opened the Daily Prophet to find a gruesome story splashed across the front page. A group of wizards had apparently tortured a Muggle-born wizard into insanity, leaving him in such a state that the Healers at St. Mungo's refused to give a prognosis. The details were murky, but it was clear the man had been found alone, in his home in the countryside. Catherine stared at the accompanying photograph of hooded figures— the so-called Death Eaters. Something about their cold, menacing stance turned her stomach. She had heard of them before, but this was different. Seeing their presence in stark black and white made the threat feel disturbingly real.

During their DADA class, the young witch was only vaguely paying attention. Her mind snapped back to the present when she heard Professor Thorne mention Azkaban. Naturally, the fourth-year had heard about the prison before, but she had never given much thought to either the fortress or its inhabitants—the Dementors, which were the topic of today's lesson.

'That's where they'll eventually send those monsters.' – the girl thought darkly, her mind still fixed on the article in the Daily Prophet. The image of the hooded Death Eaters gnawed at her thoughts.

"Dementors do have a chilling effect on humans, draining them of hope and happiness with every moment they linger nearby. Their presence brings an unbearable coldness, not just in the physical sense but also a deep, bone-aching emptiness." – Professor Thorne explained, showing the class images of the dark creatures - "For prisoners in Azkaban, this effect is amplified tenfold."

"It's not enough." – Catherine muttered under her breath, not realising she had spoken aloud.

"Not enough?" – the DADA teacher's eyebrow arched as he looked toward her – "Miss Plantier, what made you so bloodthirsty this early in the morning?"

The black-haired girl met his gaze steadily, a flicker of defiance in her eyes. "I'm not bloodthirsty, sir." - she said, her tone measured and collected - "But there are certain crimes that deserve more than just sitting in a cell, feeling miserable. Take the aristocrats, for instance, the Council punishes only the gravest offenses, but the consequences are either disownment or death."

The Professor's face turned pale, and he couldn't hide the nervous tic that appeared on his cheek as he stared at Catherine in disbelief. The young witch felt a surge of satisfaction at having made him uncomfortable, though she wasn't entirely sure why he had reacted so strongly. It took her several seconds to realise that what she had just said might not have been common knowledge, judging by her classmates' surprised expressions.

"Or so I've heard…" – the girl added, attempting to sound nonchalant.

Carter Thorne cleared his throat, silencing the murmurs in the room. "I can't confirm whether that's true, Miss Plantier, so I suggest you refrain from spreading rumours." – he said with a smirk, his tone dripping with condescension – "However, even if what you claim were accurate, it pales compared to spending your life in Azkaban. Imagine what it feels like to be stripped of any comfort or joyful memory, left to relive your worst experiences, every ounce of light and warmth being sucked from your soul. Most prisoners lose their will to live, trapped in a cycle of reliving their fears and regrets until they are left as empty shells of who they once were. Even the strongest minds find it nearly impossible to withstand the relentless presence of the Dementors, as the relentless psychological torment eats away at their very being. Even hope itself dies on this island."

Catherine swallowed hard, the weight of his words sinking in. She hadn't considered the full horror of Azkaban before. The memory of the Boggart in Honeydukes' cellar flashed before her eyes—the tall, hooded figure and the crushing despair that accompanied it. Back then, adrenaline and determination to save her friends had driven her forward, but now the image felt disturbingly vivid. She glanced at Sirius anxiously, but he didn't seem affected, grinning at her when their eyes met.

"Don't forget your detention with me this evening, Miss Plantier." – the DADA teacher reminded her after class as the Gryffindors gathered their things to head for lunch – "Eight o'clock sharp."

As soon as they were out of earshot, Catherine hissed. "I can't stand him!" Her entire afternoon felt ruined by the perspective of spending hours alone with Carter Thorne. The only thing worse, she thought bitterly, would be sharing detention with Snape.

When the girl arrived at Thorne's office that evening, she seriously questioned whether she could endure the entire ordeal without losing her cool. Her patience with the DADA professor, who she had long suspected of being a spy for one of the other Houses, was wearing thin.

The young witch stood in the corridor until exactly eight o'clock, then knocked on the door and entered without waiting for an invitation.

"You have rather peculiar manners, Miss Plantier." – Carter Thorne remarked, barely looking up from the essays he was grading. His auburn hair, perfectly styled as always, glowed like molten copper under the candlelight.

"I figured since you were expecting me, there was no need for formalities." – Catherine replied coldly. She felt extremely uncomfortable being alone with her teacher. Ever since she had seen him with McGonagall, the fourth-year couldn't look at him without feeling embarrassed.

"Well, at least you got that part right." – the wizard sneered mockingly – "Let's not waste any more of your detention time. I want you to clean my office—top to bottom—without using magic. I'm very particular about hygiene, so you can be sure I'll hold you to a high standard."

Catherine clenched her jaw, the irritation bubbling up. Cleaning as punishment wasn't new to her, but the thought of being used to tidy Thorne's personal space felt particularly demeaning. And he wasn't joking about his standards; at one point, he pointed out a small smudge on his coffee table that she had missed, forcing her to clean the entire thing again.

After two and a half hours, the young witch was sweaty, her knees aching from scrubbing the stone hearth for the past forty minutes. Frustration burned in her chest, each breath coming out shaky as she tried to keep her composure. She glanced at Thorne, who continued grading his papers as if she weren't there.

"Make sure you don't touch anything when leaving." – the wizard's voice startled her – "You did a decent job so far, but you're a bit messy. There's soot all over your face and clothes."

Catherine's green eyes blazed with anger as she imagined wiping her filthy hands thoroughly on Thorne's expensive-looking blue robes.

"Next week, same time." – the teacher said, pretending not to notice her hateful expression – "I hope you know how to sew—I have a few items I need you to repair for me."

"Don't you have access to house-elves, or are you just some kind of pervert who enjoys watching young girls serve him?" – Catherine snapped, her voice laced with defiance. The words slipped out before she could think better of them.

In a blink of an eye, she was lifted high into the air, her entire body immobilised by swirling air currents. Professor Thorne was no longer behind his desk; he now stood in the centre of the room, looking at her with an arrogant smirk. His eyes gleamed in silver, their cold light giving his face a harsher, almost cruel expression.

The fourth-year loved flying, but being completely restrained and floating helplessly was terrifying—especially when she was at Carter Thorne's mercy. She managed to send a stream of flames toward the DADA Professor, but he didn't even flinch. A gust of wind dispersed the fire and extinguished it in seconds. The girl felt overwhelmed, as though all the air in her lungs was being forced out. At the same time, her senses dulled—no sound, no smell, no sight—just a hollow emptiness.

Unexpectedly, the wind disappeared, along with the strange sensation, and Catherine found herself pinned against one of the walls with magic. Thorne stood in front of her, his expression emotionless and unreadable.

For the first time, the young witch felt real fear toward her teacher. It hit her suddenly: this man was far more powerful and dangerous than she had ever imagined. She couldn't help but wonder, if he had so much magic power, why did he choose to be a puppet for the aristocrats?

"Why are you so weak?" – the wizard's harsh voice cut through her thoughts.

Catherine opened her mouth, anger boiling up, but no words came out. Her throat was dry as she watched in horror while Thorne closed the distance between them, stopping mere centimetres from her face. She could smell the scent of bergamot and green tea on him. His voice dropped to a low, throaty whisper, and her skin prickled as he spoke.

"Do you think you can survive against your enemies if you can't even free yourself from a simple wind bind? How disappointing, Miss Plantier. I expected much more from a Fire Mage. Perhaps you need to put more effort into your training. Hurry up and become stronger! Then, maybe one day, you might stand a chance against someone like me."

With that, the wizard turned away and returned to his desk. Catherine felt the pressure release, and she collapsed against the wall, struggling to catch her breath. She stared at the Professor, who seemed completely unfazed, before darting out the door without another word. She ran halfway to Gryffindor Tower before she finally stopped, panting, her heart pounding wildly.

'What the fuck is wrong with this guy?!' – she screamed internally, torn between anger and shame at her helplessness. A few hot tears of humiliation rolled down her cheeks – 'I need to pull myself together. I won't ruin James' birthday and make it all about me.'

She took a deep breath and forced a smile, trying to steady herself. Just as she was about to head back to the Common Room, a loud crack made her jump. She rushed to the nearest window, and her eyes widened as the darkness outside was split by a flash of blazing lightning, thunder rumbling moments later.

Catherine wasted no time. She sprinted towards the Room of Requirement to retrieve the potion—it seemed James was about to receive an unexpected birthday gift.