A new adventure.
That was what her mother called it when they inevitably uprooted their lives, usually with little notice. Over the past eleven years, Amara had grown used to her sudden urge for a change in scenery and resigned herself to the fact that it was their 'normal'. After bouncing from one coast to another and from continent to continent, sometimes within the span of a few weeks, she abandoned all hope of making any meaningful friendships.
Her sole friend was her mother, which she did not mind as a child but she soon found herself wishing she could spend time with someone her own age. Joining the other children in the neighborhood in a game of tag or hide and seek sounded simple enough except for one small problem: that she was a witch. While she could never predict where she and her mother would travel to next, the one thing she knew, even at a young age, was that their new home resided in a muggle neighborhood.
Amara always wondered why but never voiced her curiosity out loud. The simplest answer, in her mind, was that her mother wished to turn her back on her wizarding heritage, to live without magic. That proved difficult when Amara's own abilities surfaced but instead of sending her to a proper school, she chose to homeschool her. Her mother was an extremely gifted witch (though Amara had no one else to honestly compare her to) and when they were not brewing potions or reading about historical events, she trained her heavily in defense, as if expecting an attack at any moment.
In the midst of pouring a glass of orange juice, she heard her mother's silvery laugh from the hallway. Chester, the mailman, was telling her a joke, a daily occurrence when he personally dropped off their mail. When Amara and her mother first moved to the small town in Kansas, where everyone knew each other, it sparked heavy interest amongst the townspeople.
The men, in particular, immediately found themselves fighting for the chance to meet what they called 'the exotic flower of Fairville'. Chester was one of those men but, knowing he had little chance for a romantic relationship, he settled for getting a smile from her each morning.
Walking past the living room, sipping her orange juice while squeezing a squishy blue ball in the other hand, she noticed the cartoon on the living room was replaced by a breaking news report. The young woman with an impossibly white smile discussed a breakout from a maximum security prison in Europe. There was a worldwide hunt for the escaped convict named Sirius Black, who was deemed extremely dangerous and hostile.
A photo of the convict appeared behind the woman as she gave information on a special tip hotline. There was something haunting yet familiar about the skeletal-looking man, his unnaturally thin face surrounded by messy ebony that fell to his elbows.
Her mother joined her in the hallway, holding a stack of envelopes. "He's good for a laugh. Honestly, I don't know where he comes up with those jokes."
"Doesn't he look familiar, Mom?" Amara asked, trying to figure out where she had seen the man.
According to the reporter, he had been in prison for twelve years though she did not give any specifics on his crimes. The way her mother's face fell, Amara knew that it was not her mind playing tricks on her, that the man was likely a wizard. She suspected that she had seen his face in her mother's study, where she hid vestiges of her old life. Tucked under the floorboards were old newspapers from all over the wizarding world and folders with pictures of random witches and wizards.
"Yes, he does," her mother replied, with surprising honesty. "He's a very dangerous man, sweetheart. Escaping from Azkaban is no easy feat and that's why I've decided we're moving again."
Amara nearly choked on her juice. "Wh—Mom, I don't think he's going to show up in Fairville. I'm pretty sure no one knows how to find this place."
"I won't take that risk. All I care about is your safety and until Black is behind bars again, I need you somewhere that he could never get to you." She handed Amara a thick envelope made of yellowish parchment. "That's why this is for you."
Curious where her mother would consider her safe, Amara flipped over the envelope, skimming the emerald green writing.
Miss A. Rivera
16 Elm Lane
Fairville, Kansas
Her heart leapt out of her chest as she opened the letter. She read the words at the top over a dozen times, certain it was a dream. Her mother's encouraging nod not enough of a confirmation, she pinched her arm and squealed in excitement despite the pain. It was an acceptance letter to Hogwarts, an actual wizarding school.
"Before you start bouncing around," her mother said, gently gripping her shoulders. "This may not be permanent, Amara, but it is our only option considering the circumstances. Black would be foolish to challenge Albus Dumbledore. It's precisely why I want you there. I need you to promise me something."
"Anything," said Amara, the letter shaking in her hand.
"I need you to keep a level head." Behind the warm motherly tone was a hint of nerves. "Hogwarts is well-protected but it doesn't mean there isn't danger within its walls. You'll do the same as you do whenever we move to a new place. Keep your head down and don't cause any trouble."
"I never do, Mom," she replied, having heard the same speech before every move. "We have a lot to do. I have to pick my electives from this list. They all sound really fun. Can we get my supplies today and—"
Her mother's hands rose to her face. "Slow down, angel. We have plenty of time for all that. While I get everything packed, why don't you look over that list and then we'll head to the Ministry to finalize your transfer?"
The first time Amara realized just how frequently they hopped from place to place, she was clueless how it never raised suspicions from their neighbors. She learned the truth last summer, when they chose to leave their beachside home in Barcelona after four days. Her mother, in a showcase of her power, cast a memory charm that was strong enough to wipe the minds of those they came into contact with, whether it was a mailman or a random person in a boutique. The second they left for their new home, it was as if they never existed in the town.
As she decided on her electives, her mother was packing their belongings and erasing every trace of them from the two-story house. She would have gladly chosen them all, even if she was basically an expert on muggle life, but thought it was best to limit her expectations. With her luck, she would be at Hogwarts for a single day before her mother decided to move for the thousandth time.
"Ready to go, sweetheart?" her mother asked, wearing a black silk jacket over her dress. "I've sent all of the boxes over so let's make a quick stop at the Ministry and then we can get settled."
"Are you excited to see your boyfriend?" Amara blushed at her mistake. "House. See the house…"
"Amara, what have we talked about?" she whispered, acting like the walls had ears. "This is precisely why I'm worried about letting you go to school. If the other children notice, it'll start rumors."
"I—it slipped," said Amara, looking apologetic. "I'm just really excited and I wasn't focusing. I swear it won't happen again…but what's he like?"
Her mother avoided her gaze. "There is no boyfriend. He's an acquaintance I met at MACUSA and he's been very gracious, helping to smooth over your acceptance to Hogwarts. Merlin knows President Lockwood only passed that ridiculous law to keep me—it's unimportant."
She grasped Amara's hand and a split second later, they were standing at the end of a long, ornate hall with a highly polished floor. The golden symbols on the ceiling constantly changed and on either side of the hall were many fireplaces, wizards either emerging from or entering the bright green flames. Following her mother through the massive crowd, she glanced at the golden fountain in the middle of the hall. Statues of a wizard, witch, centaur, house-elf, and goblin stood in the center, shooting out glittering jets of water.
The other witches and wizards did not share in her silent awe, looking grumpy and tired as they headed to their offices. They stopped at a desk where a badly shaven wizard in peacock blue robes was reading a newspaper called The Daily Prophet, the front page covered by a photo of Sirius Black.
"Hello there," greeted her mother. "I have a meeting with Mrs. Monroe and was told that I needed to stop by here if it's my first time at the Ministry."
Grumbling, he lowered his newspaper. "Give me a mi—" He pushed the hair out of his dirt brown eyes. "Apologies, miss. Name?" he asked, attentively.
"Reina Rivera and this is my daughter Amara," she said, gesturing to Amara. "Is there anything else you need from me, Mister…"
"Eric," he replied, eagerly rising from the wooden chair. "Just Eric is fine. I will need to register both of your wands into the system and do a quick security check. Apologies but it's procedure."
Their wands were placed on a brass scale that vibrated and produced two separate pieces of parchment. Each parchment contained details of their wands, including the length, wood, and core. He looked intrigued by her and her mother's wand cores, wampus cat hair and thunderbird tail feather respectively. As Amara picked up her willow wand, a pearly spiral pattern on the handle, the security guard passed a thin golden rod down her front and back.
He took twice as long with her mother, purposely taking his time to pass it over her chest. It amazed Amara how she could handle such boorish behavior with grace. Lowering the rod, he directed them to the second level. They joined a small crowd in one of the lifts, packed like sardines. Amara squeezed the ball in the pocket of her cardigan, keeping her eyes on the floor.
She tuned out the gruff man's voice complaining about a Mr. Bagman and another woman's voice fretting about her horrible date the previous night. The voices went silent as her mother placed a hand on her back. When they reached level four, the lift was empty besides the two of them.
"See? No trouble at all," said her mother, comfortingly. "We'll practice in time for school and then it'll be effortless."
"Level two, Department of Magical Law Enforcement, including the Improper Use of Magic Office, Auror Headquarters, and Wizengamot Administration Services," a monotone female voice rang through a speaker.
Her mother led her out of the lift and down to a door at the end of the corridor. Instructing her to sit on a nearby bench while she engaged in 'boring adult talk', she disappeared through a door with a golden plaque marked Department of Magical Education. Left to her own thoughts, Amara tapped her foot restlessly on the floor, to drive away any troubling thoughts. She worried that this was all too good to be true. What if the security check detected something bad and Mrs. Monroe was about to rescind her acceptance?
A light tapping sound distracted her. Turning her head, she realized that rain droplets were striking the window though seconds ago, it had been bright and sunny outside. She stood on the bench to peek out the window but as her fingers brushed against the glass, a small shock traveled up her arm. It startled her, causing her to stumble until she bumped into something hard. Tilting her head up, whatever it was scratched the back of her neck and let out a soft chuckle.
A muscular man, dressed in dark blue robes that brought out his eyes, was behind her, one massive hand on her waist. Hands behind her back and fighting the stinging sensation in her fingers, she looked from the handsome stranger to the window, which was now showing nothing but darkness.
"Got your footing?" She quietly nodded. "Enchanted windows. It's a neat little trick to keep us from staring at dirt all day since we're underground. The maintenance team decides the weather each day."
The office door swung open. "All set, sweetheart. Now we can—are you all right?" Her mother looked at the stranger, surprised. "Gawain, what are you doing here?"
"I knew you were stopping by today and wanted to wish you luck with Ophelia," he said, with a grin. "She can be a bit tough, especially when it comes to bending the rules. I should've known this was your daughter. She looks just like you. I think she got a little spooked by the window. Reg must be angling for another raise. It's an easy fix."
With a flick of his wand, he created a flurry of snow in the window. "Oh, isn't that wonderful, Amara? I'd be utterly helpless at a spell like that."
She looked at her mother strangely. Creating snow was hardly impressive compared to her many feats over the years. Even stranger, she was being overly friendly with Gawain, batting her eyelashes and flashing him a smile.
"You two haven't been properly introduced. This is Gawain Robards, a friend I met back home while I was at MACUSA for that meeting with President Lockwood," she explained, standing beside him. "He was a great help with all this transfer business. I know Amara's extremely grateful for all your hard work."
"It was nothing," he said, with a wave of his hand. "Ophelia owed me a favor for something I helped her with back in the day and it was easy to find a loophole around his rules considering she never actually attended a school before. Why don't I take you both to lunch?"
"Oh, we wouldn't want to be a bother," her mother said, ignoring Amara's puzzled expression.
He shook his head. "Not at all. Consider it a welcome gift. It must be difficult moving to a completely new place and I can be your personal guide and even tell Amara about my time at Hogwarts in case she has some new school jitters. Let me tell Scrimgeour I'll be out."
"Don't make that face" her mother whispered, as he turned around the corner. "Sometimes, we have to play a part. You'll learn that as you get older."
"So your part is the witch who gets excited over a simple spell that makes snow?" asked Amara, failing to understand why her brilliant mother was dumbing herself down for some man. "I could do that too."
Her mother sighed at her sarcastic comment. "Gawain is a good friend to have and I'd like to keep it that way. As I said, he helped to get around the new MACUSA rules and if it weren't for him, you wouldn't be able to attend Hogwarts. If it takes stroking his ego to keep you safe, then I'll do it. He's not exactly hard on the eyes, is he?"
The invitation extended to Amara seemed to be more out of gaining favor with her mother than a genuine desire in getting to know her. From the moment they arrived at the expensive restaurant ("Best in the city," claimed Gawain), he had not taken his eyes off of the beautiful older woman. Amara was used to this scenario, where she was the silent observer to a man hoping to win her mother's affections.
When he was not bragging about his own accomplishments as an auror, he was listening to her mother's stories of growing up in the Phillipines and moving to the states to attend Ilvermorny. Her mother proved to be an amazing actress, somehow maintaining interest even though his stories all sounded the same.
"And down he went and it was another one for Azkaban," he said, as Amara mouthed along between bites of her grilled salmon. "That was probably my toughest case…well, until now. Black's a slippery one but we'll find him."
"Have they figured out how he escaped?" her mother asked, lightly kicking Amara's leg under the table. "What if another prisoner attempts it?"
"They're strengthened the security tenfold," he assured her. "They don't want another fiasco like this, believe me. Once Black is caught, he'll be made an example of to dissuade any more nonsense."
Clutching her glass of red wine, she shuddered. "It's just unsettling. If he could manage to slip past the dementors, imagine what someone far more dangerous and clever could do."
"Well, it's my job to make the world a little less dangerous," he said, like some valiant hero.
Amara resisted the urge to roll her eyes. "Always the noble one," she heard.
Two men, the very definition of rich and entitled with their velvet lined robes and air of superiority, walked towards the table. One of the men, his white blonde hair tied back with a matching wine colored ribbon, was holding onto a sleek black cane with a snake headed ornament. Her mother visibly frowned as Gawain greeted them cordially, shaking their hands, tiny cracks forming in her wine glass. It was swiftly replaced with a kind smile as the three men faced her.
"Where are my manners? Reina, I'd like you to meet Lucius Malfoy and Preston Parkinson." Judging by how he spoke, they were more than acquaintances. "This is Reina Rivera and her daughter Amara."
"Pleasure," she replied, lowering her glass.
"Ah, so this is the famous Reina," said Mr. Malfoy, taking her hand in his after Mr. Parkinson. "Gawain spoke of you so frequently that we were beginning to think you were a figment of his imagination. I'm glad to see that's not the case. You're even more lovely than he described. Believe me, the pleasure is certainly ours."
A fire brewed in her dark eyes as he planted a kiss on the back of her hand. "You didn't come all this way for nothing, I assume," said Gawain, shifting slightly closer to her.
"Rufus said you were here for lunch and with the deadline approaching, we thought we'd handle some business," said Mr. Parkinson, a folder tucked under his arm. "Unless it would be an intrusion."
"Not at all. I'm sure it won't take long." He glanced over at her mother. "Do you mind, Reina? It's an important proposal that would assist with Black's capture."
"Perhaps we should leave." She reached for her jacket on the back of her chair. "Amara needs to get her supplies for school and we have much to—"
"Nonsense. There's no need to deal with that burden," said Mr. Malfoy, Amara not too pleased with being considered a burden. "Diagon Alley can be a daunting place for someone who's never been there before. I was planning to take my son today as well. Why don't the children go ahead and we'll catch up with them?"
Asking her mother to leave her with a stranger was like asking her to ingest poison. It was a rare occasion for her to allow Amara to venture anywhere alone and in those cases, she was within the general area, close enough to keep an eye on her. Before she could even object, he called over his son from the waiting area.
As if hit by a summoning charm, a boy appeared by his side. Resembling his father greatly, even standing in a similar manner, he looked like a grown man in a teenager's body. The way his pale grey eyes lingered over her reminded her of the glances her mother dealt with on a daily basis.
Mr. Malfoy placed a firm hand on his shoulder. "Draco, Miss Rivera and her daughter Amara have just moved here and she needs to purchase her school supplies. I believe she'll be joining you in third year. You wouldn't mind accompanying her while the adults handle some business, would you?"
"Of course, Father," he replied, a bit too eager.
"He'll be a perfect gentleman, as always," said Mr. Malfoy, though that hardly assuaged her mother's fears.
The way she held her glass, Amara thought he was about to fall to the floor with his throat slit open. His saving grace was the public setting of a fancy restaurant. To the three men, her smile seemed genuine but it was one she wore when secretly imagining the recipient on fire.
Feeling her mother's hand over hers, Amara took it as a sign to accept Mr. Malfoy's offer. He seemed like the type to rarely heard the word 'no' and those who dared would face terrible consequences. She picked up her purse and slid right past Draco's extended arm. The other diners abandoned their meals and private conversations, their eyes on her and her tall, unwanted companion. Most whispers were about Draco ("Looking more like his handsome father every day," a middle-aged woman cooed to her friends) and she caught on that his family held a certain esteem among wizards.
"The fireplace is this way."
Amara moved her hand before he could touch a single finger. "I'm not blind," she muttered, walking towards the fireplace in the corner.
Towering over her, he easily managed to snatch the pot of floo powder on the mantle. He tossed a pinch of glittering powder into the fireplace, the flames turning emerald green.
"Traveling by floo powder can be tricky," he said, holding out his arm again. "I wouldn't want you to fall."
"Last I checked, I wasn't a newborn foal. I can walk just fine." She stepped into the fireplace, forced to look at his amused face. "Diagon Alley."
As the words escaped her lips, she spun around extremely fast and a second later, she landed inside a small, grubby-looking pub. She lowered her wand behind her as she walked over to the elderly, bald bartender, who directed her to the hidden entrance. The instructions were easy: tap a specific brick in the walled courtyard behind the pub three times. Doing as he said, she watched a small hole appear, growing into a giant archway.
Her eyes darted around the many shops that lined the cobbled street. The butterflies inside her stomach, there since the moment she read her Hogwarts letter, were now fluttering out of joy, not nerves. She dreamed of visiting the wizarding world, a place that had been off-limits for many years. Whenever they moved to a new city or country, Amara hoped her mother would change her mind about not interacting with fellow wizards but her wishes were met with disappointment, time after time.
She could barely take in all of the amazing sights, from the apothecary selling bat spleens and dragon livers to the hovering broomsticks displayed in a shop window.
A familiar voice broke her out of her stupor. "Forgetting something?" Draco strolled towards her, cupping his elbow. "I'm supposed to be helping you."
"I didn't ask for your help," she said, grabbing the supply list from her purse. "Did you fall? Legs still a bit shaky?"
He rolled his sleeve down, hiding the shallow scrape. "There was a convenient patch of ice outside the fireplace."
"How did that happen?" she asked, feigning surprise. "Maybe it's a sign. I'm sure some friend of yours is around here. Go find them."
"It would be ungentlemanly of me to leave you alone." She quietly scoffed. "Besides, you'll want some friends yourself before you get to Hogwarts and I'm a good one to have, Amara."
"Debatable," she countered, walking down the street. "And I'm perfectly capable of deciding my friends for myself."
"Then wouldn't it be polite to give me a chance?" he asked, easily catching up to her. "You barely know me."
"Let's keep it that way," she said, her smile belying her harsh response.
Turning on her heel, she entered Madam Malkin's, a robe shop. A squat witch with short white hair bustled towards her, a tape measure dangling around her neck. Seeing the Hogwarts list in her hand, she told Amara to step up on one of the footstools, her reflection staring back at her in four different mirrors. In one mirror, she saw Draco leaning against the wall, twisting the silver ring on his finger.
The tape measure zoomed around her, starting at her neck and ending at her ankles. "My, you're a tiny thing, aren't you? Not to fret, dear. I always find the perfect match." She smiled fondly at Draco. "I helped Mr. Malfoy here a few days ago with his robes. He's sprouted like a tree since the previous summer."
As Amara was poked with many sharp pins, she realized something strange about Madam Malkin's comment. The elderly woman finished in a matter of minutes and after paying for her robes, she left the shop, Draco close behind her.
"You already have all your things, don't you?" she accused. He remained quiet but his slight smirk was enough of an answer. "Your father was never bringing you here today so why did he lie?"
"Clearly, we think alike," he said, smoothly. "He thinks we should get to know each other better."
She scrunched her nose. "The only thing you'll get to know is the back of my head."
Tossing her hair, she stormed off and used her petite stature to her advantage, blending into the crowd. She slipped into an ice cream parlor but he kept the door open with his foot, though that did not deter her from pushing it with all of her strength. It led to an intense staring contest, neither willing to break until a young girl with blonde pigtails whined that he was in her way. Conceding that it was unwise to make a scene in public, she loosened her grip on the door.
"Didn't your mother ever tell you not to judge a book by its cover?" he whispered, as the girl excitedly ran past him, an exasperated man chasing after her. "Why don't we sit and talk so you can decide for yourself if I'm not worthy of being your friend?"
Amara reluctantly followed him over to a back table. A bubbly waitress walked over to them and placed two bowls on the table before taking their orders. Retrieving her wand from her pocket, the young woman waved it over both bowls and to Amara's amazement, her bowl was soon filled with several scoops of mint chocolate chip ice cream. Grabbing a spoon, she realized that Draco was staring at her.
"You're pureblood, aren't you?" he asked, his brow raised. "You know how to use floo powder but then you act like you've never seen magic before."
"Back home, they make the ice cream in a kitchen and then bring it out to you," she lied, hoping it was convincing. "My mother doesn't usually let me have it. Sometimes, it makes me hyper and—sugar highs and magic don't mix well."
"It's just you and your mother?" Taking a bite of her ice cream, she nodded. "Is your father…"
"He uh died when I was two," she said, shifting in her chair. "He was an auror with MACUSA and he helped fight over here against you know who. I don't really remember him. All I really have of his is his old ring that I wear as a necklace."
"I shouldn't have brought it up. I'm—" She wrenched her hand back as he reached for it. "I didn't mean to upset you."
"You didn't. I'm…kind of a germaphobe." Her hand in her lap curled into a fist. "One of my old nannies was one and I guess she rubbed off on me. We can stop talking about me now. What's Hogwarts like? I've always been homeschooled so it's a big change. I mean, they have me paired up with someone for classes and everything. Hermione Granger?"
He lowered his spoon. "Granger? She's not someone you want to be friends with, believe me. You won't learn anything useful from her. I can tell you everything you need to know."
When she initially agreed to sit with him in the parlor, she planned to devour her ice cream and leave to explore Diagon Alley herself. As much as she hated to admit it, she was slowly warming up to him. He told her all about Hogwarts, from the classes (History of Magic being a good time to nap) to the four houses. New students were sorted into one of the houses (Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin) based on certain traits and according to him, Slytherin was the best choice.
"I'm sure you'll get into Slytherin," he said, confidently. "You are pureblood."
"Is that a requirement?" she asked, confused.
"Well, when the founders decided what students they wanted in their houses, Salazar Slytherin wanted only the greatest wizards and witches," he explained. "It makes sense that purebloods would be chosen. We have a rich magical history, don't you agree?"
"I guess," she said, unsure. "I don't really care where I get sorted. I just don't want to make a fool of myself."
"You won't," he insisted, shaking his head. "Most of the kids in our year are brainless. I'm practically top of the class so I can help you. Speaking of classes, why don't we get your books next?"
Paying for their ice cream, he led her to Flourish Blotts. They walked around the shop, gathering her books. He spoke with the manager who became anxious at the mention of The Monster Book of Monsters, the required text for Care of Magical Creatures. Drawing on a pair of thick gloves and picking up a knobbly walking stick, he cautiously stepped towards a iron cage near the window. It was filled to the brim with green, leathery books that snapped at each other, sending bits of parchment all over the bottom of the cage.
After a short fight, the manager suffering multiple scratches, he whacked one of the books and slid it through the small opening.
"I'll be glad to be rid of these," he said, wiping a bead of sweat from his forehead. "Now, you'll want to be careful. As you can see, they are quite aggressive. I've recommended a few solutions to your peers. A belt or bit of rope works b—"
As he gave her the book, she whimpered, feeling like her hand was on fire. That sudden pain caused her to stumble backwards, knocking into one of the shelves. The concerned manager moved to help her ("Miss, are you all right?") but Draco blocked his path, looking murderous. Regaining her balance, her uninjured hand keeping the other steady, she watched him throw a slew of insults at the innocent man, threatening to have him fired from his job.
"Stop it," she said, pushing him back with her elbow. "He didn't do anything wrong."
The manager conjured a thick belt over the book and placed all of her books into a bag. "Miss, I am terribly sorry. That's never happened before. Consider these on the house."
"Th—"
"Are you always this incompetent?" snarled Draco.
"Ignore him. He's a jerk." She stamped on his foot. "I don't need your help anymore. Don't follow me."
Amara hid in the alley beside the book shop and ducked down behind a trash bin. Hearing him call her name, she glanced at her hand. Her palm was bright red, as if she had rested it on a stove top for too long. She grabbed the blue ball from her purse and squeezed it tightly. The ball emitted a faint silver glow and seconds later, her hand returned to normal.