Flames

Chapter 13

"It's bloody hilarious," Theodore told him back in the common room, as he handed Hydrus a plate laden with treacle tarts - his favourite dessert. "A guy and a girl walk into the loo, and when they come out, half the place is in ruins. Wonder what went on in there. Do tell - I need some tips for the future."

Hydrus held a tart in his trembling fingers and felt them spasm against the tar. Daphne might have wrung Theodore's neck, but she only stared out the window, watching small fish dance amongst seaweed.

She was shaken, he could tell. Her hands trembled ever so slightly as she reached for a tart, and when spoken to, Daphne responded with a weak smile and a sort of jerky nod.

Perhaps it was not everyday that one saw their betrothed rolling on the ground, hands ablaze. Even thinking about it, made his palms ache. The flames had been quenched, how, he did not know, but Professor Dumbledore had reassured him that his accidental magic had been taken care of.

It wasn't accidental magic, of that Hydrus was certain. But he could not possibly explain it to him, not with the red eyes brimming in the back of his consciousness, staring down at him with malevolent eyes. So Hydrus had nodded, and thanked the Headmaster.

Some part of him was certain Professor Dumbledore couldn't possibly believe what he did was a spark of unruly magic. The walls of the bathroom stalls had been a mess of melted, charred plastic and ceramic, that puddled onto the ground. What remained of the troll was black and crisp, and smoked, even though the Headmaster had found a way to quench the flames. When Hydrus asked him how, he had replied with, "A little magic, of course," and had handed him a chocolate bar.

His fingers were stiff and spastic when he took the bar, and he almost dropped it into a mess of fiery-hot troll-skin.

And as for Hermione... her face was a mess of mottled pink skin and dark red splotches. Burns, Hydrus knew. She was shaking and shaking and couldn't seem to open her mouth or talk or do anything, for that matter. Madame Pomfrey had been forced to levitate the young witch out of the bathroom. She would not be spending her night in Gryffindor Tower, perhaps not for the next week.

Yet, as Hydrus brushed his teeth in the boy's lavatory, he studied his pale face and saw no angry red pustules, or little blisters that dotted his own face.

And slowly, slowly, he thought back to his childhood, to the repressed memories. He thought of the Durselys, with their filthy muggle life, and remembered how they died.

By his hand as well, in a blaze of flame and glory so violent it had shook the foundations of the house, and he could remember no more.

When morning came, half the school seemed to detest Hydrus with their every breath, and another seemed to worship him.

"Our Lord and Saviour!" Theodore declared when he walked into the Great Hall for breakfast. "Please, take my seat. I am not worthy to sit while you stand, so great and mighty." He went to one knee, and held another plate of treacle tart in his hands. "If I might offer Your Grace a slice -"

Hydrus tried to smile, but he had slept fitfully last night, and was tired and drained. "Thank you," he told him.

The rest of the school regarded him with much more solemnity. As breakfast passed, some of the students came up to him, with tentative, shy steps, and begged his forgiveness.

"I'm sorry I was such an ass to you," Terry Boot said. "I can't believe I was so rude. It was dishonest of me - to think that you were a bigoted pureblood but then to save a muggle-born like that." He laughed bitterly. "I guess that means I'm more of a racist than you."

A queer feeling of warmth spread through him, and Hydrus even scraped a smile for Boot. "It's all forgiven," he told him, part of him meaning it, much to his surprise.