"What have you done?" I heard my mother scream as tears tumbled down her cheeks. The hatred in her eyes seemed to pierce my chest, causing my breaths to become short and ragged. Luminous streaks of orange licked the night sky as flames danced around the building in front of us. The heat was so intense that I could have wrung my hands of the sweat. It was only then that I realised that the reason why I was so hot.
Staring down at myself in horror, I found that I was engulfed in flames, but there was no pain at all. I felt only the same loathing that my mother did; I was a monster. Looking from her to the charred, lifeless body of my father, I realised what I'd done. "Mummy," I whispered, "Mum-"
"Leave, you freak!" screamed my mother, provoking a steady flow of tears to stream down my face. Not even they could douse the flames that enveloped my body. Seeking comfort, I took a step towards her only for her to recoil in both fear and repugnance. "What kind of devil are you?" she asked, her voice becoming hoarse. With that, I turned and ran. I ran until my legs could no longer carry me and the flames that engulfed my body slowly flickered out of existence.
I sat up and wiped the sweat from my brow, hoping it would take the awful memory with it. When that didn't work, I climbed out of my bed, careful not to disturb the other girls in the dorm.
I'd had that dream practically every night since I left home when I was ten. It felt almost as if my brain was still trying to punish me for what happened five years ago. When I turned eleven and Professor Dumbledore visited the orphanage I was staying at, he'd told me that it wasn't my fault, that I couldn't possibly have known I was a witch or how to control my power. That had provided little comfort; I had-after all- killed my own father. It had been somewhat a relief, however, to find out that it wasn't just me: there was a whole world out there full of magic.
After a quick shower, I lazily pulled on my uniform and headed towards the great hall, even though there were still two hours before class started. The hall was almost deserted, the only occupants being the slytherin quiddich team, who had just finished an early morning training session.
"You're up early, mudblood," called a bedraggled Draco Malfoy. It must have been raining outside.
"That I am," was my only reply as I settled down at the far end of the Hufflepuff table. I'd never been one to react to insults; in fact, I'd never considered the word "mudblood" an insult at all. I was who I was and, despite my past, I'd never been ashamed of my muggle heritage in the slightest.
"I do hope you're not ignoring me," Malfoy said as he leapt onto the table and rested his muddy boots beside me on the bench. "You've cut me deep, Hayes!" he exclaimed, feigning distress. I peered at him with an eyebrow raised.
"Bravo!" I said, "I think you've found your true calling." Malfoy appeared smug.
"Of course, I am destined fame! No woman can resist my charm-" I snorted at that, provoking an indignant look from Malfoy.
"Let's scram, Draco," called one of the slytherin cronies, "I can smell the mudblood from here!"
"Always a pleasure!" I called after them as they left the hall. Malfoy shot me an amused look in reply. I'd always found it hard to hate people, even if they were complete jerks. To be honest- whether positive or negative- I'd never felt very strongly about anyone. I'd gone through my years at Hogwarts being friendly with most people, but not having anyone who I could actually eat lunch with or take to Hogsmead. I can't say it was a very fulfilling existence.
On my way out of the hall, I bumped into a particularly miffed-looking Pansy Parkinson. "You were talking to Malfoy," she stated. Here we go again. Everyone knew that Pansy had some strange, almost stalker-like, crush on Malfoy since year one. Apparently that entitled her to hound me every time the unfortunate subject of her obsession went out of his way to talk to me. It wasn't like anything was going on between us. He was a Slytherin and I was a Hufflepuff mudblood, full stop. He'd just made a sport of trying to get a reaction out of me. Not that he'd ever been very successful.
"Good morning, Pansy," I said, attempting to sidestep around her.
"You better watch out," she growled in the most threatening voice she could muster.
"I'll do just that," I replied as I walked past her. I could tell that my failure to be scared senseless was annoying her, but there was little I could do about that.
"Mudblood freak," she muttered in one last attempt to get to me. And damn, it worked. I froze on the spot, startled by the familiar word.
"Say that again," I whispered, scarily slowly. Pansy only grinned in triumph and crossed her arms.
"Mudblood," she taunted, clearly missing the point.
"The other word, you dimwit," I spat icily, much to Pansy's surprise, "Say it!" I was practically screaming now and a crowd had gathered from the people who were on their way to breakfast. Desperate not to lose face, Pansy fought to regain her composure.
"Freak," she said, as agonisingly slowly as was humanly possible.
"Again,"
"Freak,"
"Again,"
"Freak,"
"LOUDER!" Pansy- in fact- the whole school was looking at me like I'd totally gone off my rocker, but I was far too worked up to even notice. The painful familiarity of the word brought back unwanted memories. No-one had called me a freak since...
Pansy was laughing in sinister glee. She'd found my kryptonite and she knew it. "Come on everybody," she laughed, "take a look at this crazy freak." I was just about ready to crack.
"Call me a freak... one more time," I said, my voice eerily calm.
"FREAK!" hollered a delighted Pansy.
Crack. That was the sound of my sanity packing its bags and all my reason being tossed out the window. The sound that everyone else heard, however, was more of a crackle and a violent rush of air as my body went up in flames. There was a collective yelp as the crowd backed up and Pansy herself leapt about halfway up the wall. I menacingly advanced on her, unsure of my own intentions. If it wasn't for the large body of water that suddenly splashed over my head, I probably would have killed her there and then. I stared down at my hands. It wasn't actually the water that had doused the fire, it was more the shock. I somehow doubted that any conventional methods would have prevailed in quenching those flames.
"Trisha Hayes!" shouted a sharp-looking Professor McGonagall as she returned her wand back to her pocket, "My office. NOW!"