Chapter 168: Brewing Storms (1)

"Yvette!" – a sweet child voice prompted Catherine to look away from the parchment she was writing on. She smiled at the chubby, blond three-year-old beaming up at her, his big blue eyes wide with adoration, and lips still sticky with honey from the cake he had just eaten.

"Fyeh puppit?" - he babbled.

"Don't you ever get tired of this, Davey?" – the fifteen-year-old asked, but nevertheless, she opened her palm, and a little salamander made of flames began crawling playfully, causing the toddler to erupt in cheers. 

Warmth spread through Catherine's chest as the fire curled around her fingers, different from the intense, frightening heat she usually conjured. It was soft and comforting.

"How many times have I told you not to play with elemental magic?!" – the sharp voice of Duchess Muire McMahon cut through the moment, startling the children.

"I apologise, mother." – Yvette replied quickly, closing her fist. The salamander vanished in a puff of smoke, and her eyes, that had been gleaming in red, returned to their usual brown.

"I know you have remarkable control over true fire, but I still feel uneasy when you use it around Davey." – the older witch explained, lifting Davey into her arms as he whined over the loss of his fiery playmate – "In any case, I'll feel much better after your birthday."

"It's three months away." – the girl shrugged – "Besides, I don't see what's going to change so dramatically."

"Once your magic stabilises, we can think about you taking your place as a member of House McMahon." – the woman remarked with determination – "Plus, there will be plenty of marriage proposals as well."

"Marriage?" – Yvette exclaimed, clearly caught off guard – "I don't think this is really something I'm interested in. I certainly never thought about it."

"As a woman, it's part of your duty." – the Duchess said, her tone matter-of-fact – "We shall see which branch family of a major House would be most suitable. I'd assume, since you're a female Fire Mage, House Whiters will be very interested. They may even want to ask the Council for permission for marriage between the main families."

"So, you're telling me I'll finally be free from being a prisoner at home, only to be confined to Blazewood Manor, churning out children until I've produced enough Fire Mages to satisfy them?" – the young witch asked, her tone completely even.

"What an awful attitude you have!" – Muire snapped, her face flushed with anger – "It's a miracle you're even alive! I've shed countless tears over the years, thinking I'd never see you grow up, let alone plan your wedding or hold your children! How can you be so selfish?"

"It's hardly a miracle." – the girl replied icily – "I've fought every moment to survive. It was my own efforts that got me here. My Occlumency shields keep the demon at bay and prevent the leaking magic from consuming me. I won't throw away everything I've worked for just to marry someone I don't know and I'll never love."

Without another word, Yvette stood and left. She wandered the empty halls of McMahon Castle, her restlessness making it impossible to return to her room. She wished her father were there—he always knew how to make her feel better. But the Duke was away, not expected back for another week.

An hour later, lying in the darkness of her room, the young witch tried to clear her mind to reinforce her shields before sleep. It was an exercise she'd first practiced with her father when she was eight, when the nightmares began. They were so terrible she had dreaded sleep, but with Eoin McMahon's love and support, she had managed to block almost all of the bad dreams—except for those about the previous vessels. They still haunted her.

'They say my Occlumency skills rival Slytherin's himself, yet I still can't block her completely.' - the girl thought, irritation bubbling up, fuelled by the earlier argument with her mother.

The next thing she knew, the witch was dreaming, yet unable to shake how real it felt. She found herself pinned to the bed by a large man with red hair, his face hidden. Yvette tried to scream, but the sound was muffled as his mouth crushed against hers.

"My beautiful wife!" – he growled, tearing off the blue robe she was wearing.

"No!" – she screamed, trying to use true fire but without any success. Her desperation and distress were growing with each second, as the man's hands grabbed her thighs and forcefully spread them open.

'Do you want your power back, little girl?' – a mocking voice rang in her head – 'All you have to do is reach out for me. You can't rely on anyone but yourself! So strong and yet chained up… such a pity…'

Sharp panic rose in Yvette's blurry mind as she felt the man's huge, scorching hot shaft pressed against her most intimate area. Her whole being cried out in fear and betrayal. She reached out, and this time a torrent of fire erupted from her fingers, making the man vanish as if he had never been there. 

The young witch realised she was sitting in her own bed, alone in her bedroom. However, the fire she had used was real, evidenced by the blanket still burning on the floor. Yvette quickly jumped to her feet, trying to use her power to extinguish the flames.

Catherine almost choked on the acrid, cloying scent of Fiendfyre that lingered, her ancestor's agony flooding her senses as she sank to her knees, overwhelmed by pain and nausea.

"No…" – Yvette whispered, her voice trembling with desperation – "Not now… no…"

She fought to build her Occlumency shields, but they crumbled instantly, like sandcastles washed away by an unrelenting tide. 

"I have to leave now!" – the girl muttered, struggling to her feet – "I need to get as far from Davey as possible."

The scenery shifted, and Catherine found herself amid the ruins of a village or small town. The silence was eerie, broken only by the crackle of fires lazily consuming the remains of the buildings. Yvette, or what was left of her, lay among countless burnt bodies. Beside her knelt a man, his hand still gripping the handle of the Skyfall Athame, tears silently streaking down his face.

"Stand up, Your Grace!" – a tall, bulky man with fiery red hair and a beard commanded, his gaze scanning the devastation with grim sobriety – "I never imagined I'd witness such destruction. Perhaps it's due to the vessel's initial inclination, but it still reeks of Fiendfyre here. What an unimaginable power."

"Her name was Yvette." – Eoin whispered, finally tearing his eyes from his daughter's lifeless form – "She was not just a vessel but a smart, clever and compassionate young woman."

"As were many of those she killed." – Marquise Fintan Whiters replied coldly, running a massive hand through his red hair – "I'm sorry, but we've lost too many—muggles, wizards, even members of the main families. Duchess Prince might not survive. I know this sounds harsh, Eoin, but this cannot continue. We cannot endure such a catastrophe every time a girl is born into your family. House Whiters will demand drastic measures."

The Duke said nothing, his eyes drifting back to Yvette's body. Just two weeks ago, they had been planning her future. They were so proud of her for keeping the demon at bay for fifteen years. She'd nearly succeeded. What had gone wrong in the end? 

'Is it all hopeless?' – he thought, fighting back his tears – 'Should we accept House Redmond's heartless proposition? It isn't fair to sacrifice so many lives for our daughters if there's no way for them to resist the demon.'