Kiara Pride-Lander: Book 3

by Kimberly Joan Amethyst

The third book in Kiara's story. Disclaimer: I OWN NOTHING, apart from my own characters, of course. Please R&R as you go along, for feedback would be great. Timon will make his appearance later on in the story. Sarabi and Sarafina are still included, just so you know. Thank you.

1. Chapter 1

Kiara Pride-Lander

And the Prisoners of Azkaban

By K.J.A.

Hey everyone. K.J.A. here again. This is just a brief note to say that whilst I am writing this, I am also currently writing the fourth (and one of the longest) book in the series, so I will be uploading a chapter, two at most a week. So, I'm sorry if you are annoyed at this announcement, but that's the way it is. I will be uploading three today, and then you will be waiting until next week for a new chapter or two. So, without further ado, let's start this new book, shall we?

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Chapter 1

Owl Post

KIARA

Hello, my dear readers. It's me, Kiara again, giving you my third instalment on the road to me defeating the evil Lady Zira. In this year there are not going to be as many character change-overs as there was last year and we also get to see Sian acting a little differently too, but we'll get to that later. And do you remember back in my first year when I said that I didn't know why no one told me about my parents, and something along the lines of why no one ever mentioned them, and that why my parents weren't never mentioned in my grandmothers' cottage until I was thirteen? Well in the year that I am writing of, I am thirteen, so I'll tell you all about it. Well, you'll find out more about it towards the end of my third year, but for now, though, I'm going back to the summer of 2006, back to my grandmothers' cottage, to where I was spending my summer holidays.

I was a highly unusual girl in many ways, which you have all obviously picked up on by this point, haven't you, my fellow readers? I liked my summer holidays, which wasn't that unusual, but I had to do my homework in the dead of night, for now that I was thirteen, my grandmothers wanted me to do more things for them around the house; it was annoying to me, but what could I do about it? And, of course, I did happen to be a witch.

As I recall, it was nearing midnight, and I was lying on my front in my bed, the blankets drawn right over my head like a tent, a torch in one hand and a large leather-bound book (A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot) propped open against the pillow. I moved the tip of my eagle feather quill down the page, frowning as I looked for something that would help me write my essay: "Witch-Burning in the Fourteenth Century was Completely Pointless – Discuss".

The quill paused at the top of a likely-looking paragraph. I moved my torch closer to the book and read:

Non-magic people (more commonly known as Muggles) were particularly afraid of magic in medieval times, but not very good at recognising it. On the rare occasion that they did catch a real witch or wizard, burning had no effect whatsoever. The witch or wizard would perform a basic Flame-Freezing Charm, and then pretend to shriek with pain while enjoying a gentle, tickling sensation. Indeed, Gwendolyn the Weird enjoyed being burnt so much that she allowed herself to be caught no fewer than forty-seven times in various disguises.

I put my quill between my teeth and reached under my pillow for my ink bottle and a roll of parchment. Slowly and very carefully I unscrewed the ink bottle, dipped my quill into it and began to write, pausing every now and then to listen, because if my grandmothers had heard the scratching of my quill at that time of the morning, I would get a good telling off from them, I would. Mind you, saying that, I know that if the Smiths – my aunt, uncle and cousin for those of you who have forgotten – had heard me, they would have given me a far worse punishment for sure.

The Smith family were the one thing that I didn't like about the summer holidays. Oh don't get me wrong, it was great living with my grandmothers, for they loved me dearly and treated me with great love and kindness, but the Smiths made my life a living hell when I was home for the summer – apart from Uncle Frank, who always loved me, as he said so last year. Keep up with the times, people! Anyhoo, they were Muggles, who had a very medieval attitude towards magic. My grandmother Sarafina was a Muggle too, but she loved the idea of magic and liked to hear anything to do with the wizarding world, as did Uncle Frank. Anyway, I was taken away from my parents, who were a witch and wizard themselves, and were never mentioned under my grandmothers' roof, or anyone else's, for that matter. For years, my grandmothers treated me kindly and forced me to keep the magic within me going, whilst the Smiths treated me with hatred and tried to squeeze the magic out of me, which they were successful at. My aunt and cousin were living in terror of anyone finding out that they were related to a witch who was attending Dragon Mort Magical Academy, and the most that they could do in those days was to not mention me to any of their friends. On the other hand, my grandmothers were very supportive and told as many people as they could about me and were pleased and proud of what I had been doing at the school. Well, for the most part, anyway.

The separation from my books during most of the days at home had caused me great discomfort, because my teachers had given me a great heap of holiday homework. One of the essays was a particularly nasty one about Shrinking Potions, was for my favourite teacher – yep, you guessed it – Professor Tiana Triphorm, who would have been delighted to give me a detention for a month. You see, I remember during that holiday that I took my horse Timmy for exercise almost every day, along with cleaning him, and on top of that I was doing chores for my grandmothers all over the cottage about every five minutes after I'd finished the last one, so the only time I could get my work done was after dark and the dishes had been washed. I could leave spots of ink on the sheets, so they knew that I was doing my homework and I didn't get punished for it, so that wasn't so bad.

I had not had a visit from my aunt, uncle and cousin so far that summer, which was lucky for me. I supposed that they must have been angry with me for what happened last summer with Dokey and the pudding. But I wasn't too worried, for this summer I got a few calls from my three best friends, who are the eldest three of the Dawson Clan: Sian Dawson, the eldest of the bunch, her twin sister, Chrissie and their adopted brother, Chris Rickers, who I shared a Soul Bond with. The Soul Bond was something that Sian had told us about when I first met them. For those of you who have forgotten all about it, I will give you a quick recap now. You see, when a witch and wizard meet for the first time, a bond is created that grows with time, and as it grows, you will see into their thoughts, dreams and other stuff, and it will turn into love. That's what happened with me and Chris, and yes, the bond was growing stronger between us, but at this moment in time, we were still friends. But that wouldn't last for ever. And if any of you are thinking that me and Chris are getting together this year, then I'm afraid you are going to have to wait for the sixth book. Ha, ha!

Anyhoo, Harold my owl was out hunting (so I thought) as I finished writing about Gwendolyn the Weird and paused to listen again. The silence in the dark house was broken only by the muffled sleep-talking of my grandmother Sirabi, so it must have been very late. I could feel my eyes were itching with tiredness, so I thought I'd finish the essay tomorrow night …

I replaced the top of the ink bottle, pulled out an old pillowcase from under my bed, put the torch, A History of Magic, my essay, quill and ink inside it, got out of bed and hid the lot under my bed. Then I stood up, stretched and checked the time on the luminous alarm clock on my bedside table.

It was one o'clock in the morning. I felt a funny jolt in my stomach. I had been thirteen years old for an hour without even realising it.

I always looked forward to my birthdays. I know my grandmothers always got me some things, but I was worried that my friends would leave me with nothing, and that would come as an insult to me, never mind that it would hurt me deeply if they forgot about it.

I walked across the dark room, past Harold's large, empty cage, to the open window. I leant on the sill, the cool night air pleasant on my face after a long time under the blankets. Harold had been absent for two hours, but I wasn't worried about him – he'd been gone that long before – but I hoped he would be back soon. He, Crooks the cat and my grandmothers were the only creatures who came in the house and didn't flinch at the sight of me.

I was still rather tall and skinny for my age, but I had grown a few inches over the past year. My golden hair was just as it always had been: long straight, but curled slightly towards the end and perfectly beautiful, no matter what I did to it. The eyes were dark amber in colour and were shaped like oranges, like my mother's were also shaped. But clearly visible on my forehead was a thin scar, shaped like a flame.

Of all the unusual things about me, this scar happened to be the most extraordinary of them all. My grandmothers had kept the truth from me for ten years, but on my eleventh birthday, they told me that I had been taken from my parents, Simba and Nala Pride-Lander because I had almost been murdered by the most feared Dark witch for a hundred years, Lady Zira. I had escaped from her with nothing more than a scar on my forehead, when Zira's curse, instead of killing me, rebounded upon its originator. Barely alive, Zira had fled …

But I had come face-to-face with her since being at Dragon Mort. Remembering our last meeting as I stood at the dark window, I had to admit to myself at that moment that I was pretty lucky to have reached my thirteenth birthday, and to also have such a good friend as Sian Zoe Katrina Dawson on my side.

I scanned the starry sky for a sign of Harold, perhaps soaring back to me with a dead mouse dangling from his beak, expecting praise. Gazing absently over the trees that were here and there towards the horizon, it was a few seconds before I realised what I was seeing.

Silhouetted against the silvery moon, and growing larger every moment was a large, strangely lop-sided creature, and it was flapping in my direction. I stood quite still, watching it sink lower and lower. For a split second I hesitated, my hand on the window-lock, wondering whether to slam it shut, but then the bizarre creature soared over my fence and I, realising what it was, leaped aside.

Through the window soared three owls, two of them holding up the third, which appeared to be unconscious. They landed with a soft flump on my bed, and the middle owl, which was large and grey, keeled right over and lay motionless. There was a large package tied to its legs.

I recognised the unconscious owl at once – his name was Arrol, and he belonged to the Dawsons. I dashed to the bed at once, untied the cords around Arrol's legs, took off the parcel and then carried Arrol to Harold's cage. Arrol opened one bleary eye, gave a feeble hoot of thanks and began to gulp some water.

I turned back to the remaining owls. One of them, the large snowy one, was my own Harold. He, too, was carrying a parcel, and looked extremely pleased with himself. He gave me an affectionate nip with his beak as I removed his burden, then flew across the room to join Arrol.

I didn't recognise the third owl, a handsome tawny one, but I knew at once where it had come from, because in addition to a third parcel, it was carrying a letter bearing the Dragon Mort crest. When I relieved this owl of its post it ruffled its feathers importantly, stretched its wings and took off through the open window into the night.

I sat down on my bed, grabbed Arrol's present, ripped off the brown paper and discovered two presents wrapped in gold, and two birthday cards. Fingers trembling slightly, I opened the envelope first. Three pieces of paper fell out – two letters and a newspaper cutting.

The cutting had clearly come out of the wizarding newspaper, the Daily Squabbler, because the people in the black and white photo were moving. I picked up the cutting, smoothed it out and read:

MINISTRY OF MAGIC EMPLOYEE SCOOPS GRAND PRIZE

Matthew Dawson, part of the Auror Headquarters at the Ministry of Magic, has won the annual Daily Squabbler Grand Prize Galleon Draw.

A delighted Mr Dawson told the Daily Squabbler, "Except my eldest daughter, we will be spending the gold on a summer holiday in Egypt where my niece, Sam, works as a curse breaker for Fauntrotts Wizard Bank."

The Dawson family will be spending a month in Egypt, returning for the start of the new school year at Dragon Mort, which five of the Dawson children currently attend.

I scanned the moving photograph, and a grin spread across my face as I saw all ten of the Dawsons which did include the adopted brother, Chris and the foster brothers Ben and Dave, were waving furiously at me, standing in front of a large pyramid. Tall, greying Mr Dawson, four daughters and five sons. The Dawsons all (although the picture didn't show it) had dark brown hair; Chris' was a light shade of brown and Ben and Dave's were darker because they were black haired. Anyhoo, right in the middle of the picture were Sian, Chris and Chrissie, both tall, with Chris' pet rat, Claws, on his shoulder, and Chrissie holding her cat, Felix in her arms. Chris had his arm around one of his younger sisters, Kestrel.

I couldn't think of anyone who deserved the gold more than the Dawsons, who even though they were rich already, they were extremely nice people and did lots of work for charity. I picked up Chrissie's letter and unfolded it.

Dear Kiara,

Happy Birthday!

It's brilliant here in Egypt. Sam's taken us round all the tombs, and you wouldn't believe the curses those old Egyptian wizards put on them. Dad wouldn't let Merida, Joe, Jack, Ben and Dave come in the last one. There were all these mutant skeletons in there of Muggles who'd broken in and grown extra heads and other nasty stuff.

I couldn't believe it when Dad won the Daily Squabbler Draw. Seven hundred Galleons! Most of it's gone on this holiday, but Dad is going to buy me a new wand for next year, as an added reward for what happened at the end of last year.

I remembered only too well the occasion when Chrissie's old wand had snapped. For those of you who had forgotten, it had happened when the two of us had been flying a car to Dragon Mort had crashed into a tree in the school grounds. For those of you who don't remember how it happened, go back to the second book and check it out, for I have more things to write about this year. Anyway, back to Chrissie's letter.

We will be back a week before term starts and we'll be going to Southport to get my new wand and our new books. Any chance of meeting you there?

Don't let your aunt and cousin get you down and give my love to your grandmothers from me, Chris and Sian.

See you in Southport,

Chrissie

P.S.: Chris' present, letter and card are attached to this. Sorry!

I now turned to Chrissie's present and unwrapped it. Inside was what looked like a miniature glass spinning top. There was another note from Chrissie beneath it.

Kiara – this is a pocket Sneakscope. If there's someone untrustworthy around, it's supposed to light up and spin. Sam said its rubbish sold for wizard tourists and isn't reliable, because it kept lighting up at dinner last night. But she didn't realise that Ben and Dave had put beetles in her soup.

Bye – Chrissie.

I put the pocket Sneakscope on my bedside table, where it stood quite still, balanced on its point, reflecting luminous hands of my clock. I looked at it happily for a few seconds, and then turned to Chris'.

Dear Kiara,

Egypt is awesome! Sian was in Jamaica with Ma for two weeks, before she came here to Egypt with us. She's really enjoying it here, and is getting some attention from the locals, but that's a big family secret that I'm not supposed to tell you about, so forget I wrote this and don't mention what I wrote to anyone.

I hope your aunt and cousin aren't there spoiling your summer; but if they are, just keep your chin up, for it'll be over before you know it. Enjoy the chocolate I got you for your birthday, since I couldn't think of anything else to get you. Sian's been more antsy of late, but I think that's because Max our youngest brother is starting school this year, and Sian doesn't know which magic school he's going to, and believe me when I say, I don't blame her. We all hate him for what he did to Sian – and I wasn't meant to write that down either. Drat! I'm a bit like Chrissie today!

Give my love to your grandmothers. Enjoy the rest of your holidays and we'll see you in Southport.

Signed Chris

I laughed and put Chris' card with Chrissie's and turned to pick up the parcel Harold had brought.

Inside this, too, there was a wrapped present, a card and a letter, but from Sian this time.

Dear Kiara,

Ma and I went to Jamaica two weeks after term finished. She took me there, for not only because I had never been there before, but as a reward for figuring out the mystery. I was going to send this to you – what if they opened it at customs? – but then Harold turned up! I think he wanted to make sure you got something for your birthday from a friend (if you are going to read this to your relatives, please tell them not to be offended, because I really like them and I appreciate that they give you presents, too. It's just that I'd thought you'd like a change). I bought your present by owl-order; there was an advertisement in the Daily Squabbler (I've been getting it delivered; it's so good to be keeping up with the wizarding world).

I'm now in Egypt with my family, which I'm glad of. Did you see the picture of my family that was taken a week ago? We're learning loads here, and the ancient Egyptian wizards are just fascinating.

There's some interesting local history that I'm picking up here as well as in Jamaica. I've re-written my whole essay for History of Magic to include some of the things I've found out. I hope it's not too long; it's two rolls of parchment more than Professor Yawn asked for.

As you are probably aware of by now, me and the rest of my family will be in Southport for the last week of the holidays. I hope you will make it, for I have no reason for why your grandmothers will stop you coming. I really hope you can, but if not, I'll see you in our Submarine on September the First.

Give my love to your grandmothers for me.

With love from your dear friend,

Sian

P.S.: just in case no one's informed you, our cousin Perdy has become Head Girl. The rest aren't too pleased about it, but good for her, I say!

I knew that Perdy Fang, Sian's cousin, was extremely ambitious and would do well in the wizarding world. I smiled as I put Sian's letter down and picked up her present. It was very heavy. I thought it was a large book filled with difficult spells, seeing as it was from Sian – but it wasn't. my heart gave a huge bound as I ripped back the paper and saw a sleek black leather case with silver words stamped across it: Broomstick Servicing Kit.

"Wow, Sian!" I whispered, unzipping the case to look inside.

There was a large jar of Fleetwood's High-Finish Handle Polish, a pair of gleaming silver Tail-Twig Clippers, a tiny brass compass to clip onto your broomstick for long journeys and a Handbook of Do-It-Yourself Broomcare.

Apart from my friends, the thing that I missed most about Dragon Mort was Quidditch, the most popular sport in the magical world – highly dangerous, very exciting and played on broomsticks, just to sum up quickly. I happened to be a very good player; I had been the youngest player in the century to be picked for one of the Dragon Mort house teams. One of my most prized possessions was my Scoot-Zoomer Two Thousand racing broom. Of course, I don't get to play Quidditch these days, but that's only because of my station in this world now.

I put the leather case aside and picked up my last parcel. I recognised the untidy scrawl on the brown paper at once: this was from Mina, the Dragon Mort gamekeeper. I tore off the top layer of paper and glimpsed something green and leathery, but before I could unwrap it properly, the parcel gave a strange quiver, and whatever was inside it snapped loudly – as though it had jaws.

I froze. I knew that Mina would never send me anything dangerous on purpose, but then, Mina didn't have a normal person's view on what was dangerous. Mina had been known to befriend giant spiders, buy vicious three-headed cats from women in pubs and sneak illegal dragon eggs into her cabin.

I poked the parcel nervously. It snapped loudly again. I reached for the lamp on my bedside table, gripped it firmly in one hand and raised it over my head, ready to strike. Then I seized the rest of the wrapping paper in my other hand and pulled.

And out fell – a book. I had just enough time to register the handsome green cover, emblazoned with the golden title, The Monster Book of Monster Facts, before it flipped on its edge and scuttled sideways along the bed like some weird cat.

"Uh-oh," I muttered.

The book toppled off the bed with a loud clunk and shuffled rapidly across the room. I followed it stealthily. The book was hiding in the dark space under my desk. Praying that my grandmothers were still fast asleep, I got down on my hands and knees and reached towards it.

"Ouch!"

The book snapped shut on my hand and then flapped past me, still scuttling on its covers. I scrambled around, threw myself forward and managed to flatten it. I heard a bed creaking, but it was just one of my grandmothers turning over in her sleep.

Harold and Arrol watched interestedly as I clamped the struggling book tightly in my arms, hurried to my chest of drawers and pulled out a belt, which I buckled tightly around it. The Monster Book shuddered angrily, but it could no longer flap and snap, so I threw it down on my bed and reached for Mina's card.

Dear Kiara,

Happy Birthday!

Think you might find this useful for next year. Won't say no more here. Tell you when I see you.

Hope your grandmothers are well.

All the best,

Mina

It struck me as ominous that Mina thought a biting green book would come in useful, but I put up Mina's card and next to Chris, Sian and Chrissie's, grinning more broadly than ever. Now there was only the letter from Dragon Mort to deal with.

Noticing that it was more thicker than usual, I slit open the envelope, pulled out the first page of parchment within and read:

Dear Miss Pride-Lander,

Please note that the school year will begin on September the first. The Dragon Mort Submarines will leave from the Devon Docks, The Sub House, at eleven o'clock.

Third-years are permitted to visit the village of Dragsmeade on certain weekends. Please give the enclosed permission form to your parent or guardian to sign.

A list for next year is enclosed.

Yours sincerely,

Professor D. Darbus.

Deputy Headmistress.

I pulled out the Dragsmeade permission form and looked at it, a bigger grin spreading across my face. It would be wonderful to visit Dragsmeade at weekends; I knew it was an entirely wizarding village, and I had never set foot there. I knew my grandmothers would both sign it as soon as I put the form in front of their faces, for they would do anything to make me happy.

I looked over at my alarm clock. It was now two o'clock in the morning.

Deciding that I'd leave the Dragsmeade form for when the rest of the house was awake, I got back into bed and reached up to cross another day off the chart that I had made for myself, counting down the days left until I returned to Dragon Mort. Then I lay down with my eyes open, looking at my four birthday cards.

Extremely unusual as I was, I was content and blest with having such good friends and good grandmothers who were there for me when I needed them, and who loved me, cared for me and remembered that it was my birthday. Hooray!