"Wow, that smells gr—"

Her voice faltered as she sleepily stepped into the kitchen, internally groaning at the sight of Gawain by the stove. Ever since that day in Diagon Alley, her mother tracking her to the alley like a bloodhound and panicking over what Draco might have done or seen, he had been a constant presence in their lives.

As she was told over and over again by her mother, he was a 'good friend to have', someone to keep them safe. Amara's sole relief was that after this morning, when she was on her way to Hogwarts, she would be miles away from him and his boring stories, saved from their sickening flirtations.

His excuse for being in her home early in the morning was laughable. Only someone with half a brain would believe that he wanted to stop by to assist Amara and her mother with any last minute packing, her mother beginning to fret the night before and nearly changing her mind about Hogwarts. It would have been plausible, if he were dressed in his work attire and not a short-sleeved shirt and sweat pants. A horrid image forming in her mind, she opened her fridge, distracting herself with the carton of orange juice.

"That candy trolley on the train does have some tasty sweets," he said, cracking an egg. "But I'm sure your mother would prefer if you had a proper meal."

"So you spend the night and now what, you know what your mother would want?" He froze, the spatula hovering inches above the sizzling pan. "You were wearing that shirt last night when you went to the bathroom."

"Amara, I'm sure this is a strange situation," he started. "I care very much about your mother. I want you to know that I would never hurt her."

"Good," she replied, looking serious. "Because if you do in any way, you'll be begging me to make the pain stop."

Her harsh remark left him in stunned silence. "What are we talking about?" her mother asked, entering the kitchen in a black silk robe. "Oh Gawain, you didn't have to make all of this. With a hectic day like today, we'll hardly have time to sit and I don't want all this hard work to go to waste."

He tore his gaze away from Amara, who was sipping her orange juice. "Nonsense. You have plenty of time. I'm sure you've got everything ready for the train. Don't you want to enjoy your last meal together?" Realizing it was a poor choice of words, he quickly corrected himself. "Until she's home for the holidays, of course."

She followed them into the dining room, choosing to sit directly across from him. The multiple courses he prepared were close behind, floating in the air and landing on the table. Unlike their previous meals, Gawain was not his usual talkative self, abandoning his auror stories for subtle glances at the young teenage girl who had blatantly threatened his life.

"This looks wonderful," her mother cooed.

While she busied herself with the tray of scrambled eggs, Amara roughly tore into a slice of bacon. "I've had better," she mouthed.

Sensing the odd tension, her mother suggested for her to get dressed and check that she had packed all of her necessities. Within ten minutes, it looked like a tornado struck the inside of her room. She could not decide on the perfect outfit, tossing half of her closet on the floor. With her mother's strict rules, she rarely spent time around children her own age and now, she would be surrounded by hundreds of them. What if everyone saw her as some freak and she spent the year friendless and alone?

With a little encouragement from her mother ("Honey, we need to leave soon! You don't want to be late!"), she decided on a sleeveless polka dot dress that stopped above her knee. Her mother opened the door as she observed herself in the mirror, tying a matching navy ribbon in her hair.

"All set? Gawain says the station can be a bit crowded, with everyone trying to get through the platform on time." Amara purposely turned her head, to hide her grimace. "I know it isn't easy, having him around so often but as I said, he's someone we should stay close to, Amara. He's a high-ranking auror—"

"So he's told us a thousand times," she muttered, slipping on a pair of flats.

Her mother cast a charm on her trunk, making it light as a feather. "And he hears things that we don't. Things that some people don't want others to hear but it's good for us to know. Everything I do is for you…to protect you."

"From what?" asked Amara. Facing her mother, she noticed her pinky on her right hand twitch, a common sign of her nerves. "Who wants to hurt us? Is this about Black?"

"No, of course not but he is dangerous," she said, grimly. "Our family may be small but as I've always told you, it's special and there are people in this world who want to take that for themselves. I don't want you to ever feel like you're lesser than anyone else. If those children upset you or that Malfoy twit bothers you again, I want you to tell me. To help with that…"

Her mother reached for something outside the door, leaving Amara baffled by her cryptic words, and returned with a large cage containing a small barn owl. Instead of the usual light brown color, its feathers were jet black and its face was darkened as well, not pure white.

Her mother grinned. "Isn't she lovely? I bought her in Diagon Alley when you thought I was out on my morning run. This coloring is quite rare, according to the shop owner. I thought she'd be more useful than a cat. This way, we can keep in touch. All she needs is a name."

As Amara carefully brushed her fingers against the owl's feathers, she spotted a mark on its chest, reminiscent of a crescent moon. "Selene?"

"Selene, it is," her mother replied, happily. "I think she likes you."

Carrying her trunk and Luna's cage, Amara joined her mother and Gawain, who disregarded her earlier threat, in the living room, where the fireplace was sporting emerald green flames.
One by one, they used the floo powder to transport themselves to a bakery around the corner from the train station, owned by an elderly witch who concealed her shop with various enchantments. To any muggles, the shop looked abandoned, its broken windows and tarnished sign unwelcoming.

Gawain, a former Hogwarts student himself, led them through the station. There were a few passing glances at Selene's cage, an owl being an odd choice of pet to muggles. Indicating the metal barrier between platforms nine and ten, he explained that it was a hidden entrance to platform nine and three-quarters and the Hogwarts Express and at the mention of running at the barrier, she thought it was a joke, a possible form of payback.

"If you're nervous, I'll help you," he offered. "Some like to run straight at it but it's best to be inconspicuous. Watch me."

Amara mimicked him, casually leaning against the metal barrier. Seconds later, she felt her body fall sideways and instead of the bustling station, she and Gawain were on a completely different platform, a scarlet steam engine resting on the tracks. All around her were witches and wizards, some even younger than her and some much older. She could hardly process what she was seeing with her own eyes, thinking she was in a dream but she was one step closer to what she imagined when she was trapped in her house and watching the neighborhood children through the window.

Her mother appeared by her side, the apprehension visible on her face. Like Amara, she seemed to be aware that their separation would be occurring in mere moments. Before she could voice her inner thoughts, an older boy with horn-rimmed glasses and vivid red hair walked towards them.

"Hello. Apologies if I'm interrupting but I wanted to introduce myself," he said, sounding like a politician. "I'm Percy Weasley."

Amara recognized the name from her Hogwarts letter. He was something called a Head Boy, an exceptional student in their seventh year responsible for overseeing the students and assisting the professors. The significant title was in full display with the shiny badge pinned to his gray sweater vest. According to the letter, he would act as her school guide, providing her with valuable advice.

"Percy's father works at the Ministry," said Gawain, with a soft chuckle. "I believe he tinkers with muggle toys?"

"He works in the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office," replied Percy, his ears as red as his hair. Judging by his bashful expression, his father's job was not as glamorous as an auror. "He assists muggles who find themselves in possession of bewitched items, particularly ones that cause them harm."

"Well, that sounds very important," said her mother, Gawain's amused smile faltering slightly. "I'm sure it's a thankless job but he should be proud that he helps those who don't share our gifts."

Her compliment even surprised Percy. "Yes, of course," he said, standing straight as a ruler. "I was hoping to meet Amara before getting on the train. I'm sure this must be daunting for her, as Professor Dumbledore informed me that she's never attended a wizarding school, and I want to ease any of her concerns. I thought it would be best if she meets my partner and the other prefects, to know who will be available to help her."

"How thoughtful. I can see I'm leaving her in good hands." Her mother pulled her into a hug, her hand cradling the back of her head. "Write me as soon as you can. I want to hear all about your first night. Don't be nervous. Remember what we talked about."

Amara found it just as difficult to let go of her. Even though this was everything she wanted, she was unsure if she could handle being separated from her mother, having been together her entire life. It would be strange not to see her every day.

Giving her one last hug, she followed Percy to a spacious compartment at the front of the train. As she sat down, he discussed the long list of school rules, such as no magic in the corridors and all students having to be in their common room by eight o'clock. He explained that aside from the Head Boy and Head Girl ("Amelia is running a bit late. She tends to get distracted easily," he lamented), there were prefects in each house, a boy and girl chosen in fifth to seventh year.

Doubting that she would remember much of what he said, she wrote it all down in a notebook he gave her, including the names of the prefects. Percy seemed to have an opinion of each one, varying from favorable to disparaging. He spent the longest time praising Penelope Clearwater, a Ravenclaw perfect in his year, with deep fondness.

"The new Gryffindor prefects this year are Alicia Spinnet and Damon Burke." He did not hide his spiteful tone well. "If you are sorted into Gryffindor, I recommend going to Alicia over him. He's not much of a people person. To be honest, I've barely heard him say more than a few sentences since he's been here."

"But he must be a good wizard if he's a prefect," she pointed out.

Percy nodded. "He's certainly talented but as I said, he's not one for stimulating conversation. To be honest, out of the potential candidates, he was regrettably the best option but perhaps being given the responsibility will change him for the better."

The door slid open and several teenagers poured into the compartment. Deep in conversation, they paid no attention to Amara until Percy loudly cleared his throat. Some rolled their eyes ("Of course it's Weasley," muttered a tall boy who looked like he had dung under his nose) and took their seats, curious about the young teenage girl by his side. A curvaceous girl, a black and yellow headband in her golden blonde hair, stumbled through the doorway.

"Sorry. I was catching up with Louis," she said, patting down her messy hair. Percy pursed his lips. "We haven't seen each other all summer. Is everyone here?"

"No. As expected, we're waiting on—" The door slid open a third time. "You're late, Burke. The meeting time was printed clearly in your letter."

Leaning against the doorway was a dark-haired boy with a jawline that could cut glass. As he slipped off his leather jacket, made of dragon hide, many of the girls admired his bulging biceps, barely contained by his black v-neck. The girls shifted in their seats to make room but he remained standing, locked in a staring contest with Percy.

"Don't get your panties in a bunch," he said, crossing his arms. "I'm here, aren't I? Can we get this pointless meeting over with now?"

Percy gritted his teeth. "It's not pointless. Before we begin, I wanted to introduce a new student. This is Amara Rivera. She's recently moved here from the states and she will be in third year." Clueless on what to do in this situation, she shyly waved. "Considering this is her first time at a wizarding school, I expect all of you to help her adjust. I—"

"Never?" asked a redheaded girl, freckles sprinkled over her button nose. "So do you know any magic?"

Her question was more out of interest than ridicule. "My mother homeschooled me."

"That sounds a lot better than—"

"If we're finished," interrupted Percy. "Idle chitchat can wait."

Amara stifled a giggle as the girl mocked him behind his back. Throughout the meeting, she sat in silence, feeling their eyes on her and not the uptight, rule-abiding Head Boy. She kept her eyes on the floor, afraid to make any eye contact. Did they think she was strange, to have never been around her own peers? Though her head was down, she could feel one pair of eyes boring into the back of her head.

In the midst of Percy reciting a rule about dress code, Amelia cut the meeting short, tired herself of his long speech. She pointed at her watch, telling her partner that she did not plan on wasting her whole day in the prefects' compartment. Knowing it was a losing battle, he grumbled to himself and dismissed the prefects.

Thanking Percy, Amara joined them and immediately winced, a sharp pain in the side of her head. Voices and loud laughter surrounded her, sounding like the drone of a thousand bees. She tried to focus on lessening the pain, wanting to look somewhat normal to whichever strangers she decided to sit with for the rest of the journey.

Amara whipped her head around as her trunk slipped through her fingers, the pain ceasing. Damon was holding it, his dark eyes passing over her.

"Do you come with a dollhouse too? Matching purse?" She looked at him confused. "I'm guessing you don't know anyone here…except the self-appointed, redheaded dictator of Hogwarts. A little lamb like you will get eaten alive by these idiots."

"I can handle myself," she said, confidently. "I'm not helpless."

"Sure you're not, doll," he said, amused by her bravado. "Well to save you from the awkward first meetings, you can stay in my compartment. I already know your name and I'll bet you don't want to keep rehashing your life story."

"R—really?" she asked, uncertain.

Percy made him out to be a silent loner, one who disliked the company of others, yet here he was, offering to let her sit with him. Thinking he made a fair point, she agreed and walked with him to a compartment at the back of the train. Unlike the others, packed with students, his only contained a single black trunk. He stretched out his legs on the seat across from him, his boots made of the same material as his jacket.

Instead of starting a conversation, he opened a book, The Dangerous Adventures of Alaric Weston. She tried to keep herself quiet, not wanting to be rude. He was kind enough to let her share his compartment but it did not make them friends. In all honesty, he probably pitied her.

"You shouldn't be reading that," she said, mentally scolding herself. "None of it's true."

He glanced up from the open book. "Who told you that?"

"I—it's obvious. I read it over the summer," she replied, the book momentarily part of her vast collection. "He couldn't have fought a zouwu in Brazil. They're native to China and it's only a myth that their fangs are poisonous. That was disproven by Newt Scamander decades ago. Plus, he says he fought a werewolf in New Orleans but its description fits a rougarou and it wasn't even a full moon on that date. Oh and the potions he supposedly created make no sense. You wouldn't get the outcome he says with those ingredients."

Amara blushed as he held her gaze. If she was hoping to make a friend, insulting something they enjoyed was not the best method. She expected him to laugh at her and call her clueless but unless her mind was playing tricks, he looked impressed.

"You figured that out by yourself?" She silently nodded. "And here I thought it was one of your built-in phrases. Between you and me, I know it's garbage. I just wanted to read it for myself, to figure out why his brainless fans buy this drivel. Guess it's not for the believable storytelling."

The compartment door slid open, revealing an elderly woman with a trolley full of sweets. Damon rose from his seat, taking out a money pouch from his jacket pocket.

"You don't want something, doll?"

Was he going to keep call her that? "No. My mom doesn't let me have candy."

He glanced over at the window, nothing but hills in the distance. "I didn't know she was coming along too. Is she that bird that just passed by?"

Despite her objections, he bought two of everything from the trolley and dumped the pile of sweets on her seat. As the woman left, he sat on the other side of an anxious Amara and picked up a blue and gold box.

"It won't kill you," he promised, dangling it in front of her face.

Amara unsealed the box to find a chocolate frog, its legs twitching. Damon claimed that it was just an enchantment. Picking up the frog, she hesitantly took a small bite. Her heart raced when he frowned and she touched her cheek, thinking that something was wrong. She lowered her hands as he snickered.

"It's a joke," he said, grabbing a pumpkin pasty. "See, you didn't die. It was good, right?"

"I—I guess." She took another bite. "I can't have a lot. It makes me hyper and then I can't
focus and…"

"Or maybe mommy doesn't want you to have fun." He bit into the pasty. "You must've gotten tired of being around her all the time."

She did not appreciate the insult. "No. She just wants me to be safe. She cares about me."

"Never said she didn't," he said, raising his hands in self defense. "But she has to let you fly sometime. Do you plan on staying glued to her side forever? That's not a life."

Uncomfortable with the conversation, she stood up, smoothing the front of her dress. "I need to use the bathroom."

"Hey, I didn't—"

She cut him off by shutting the door and walked down the corridor. As she passed the compartments, some students glanced in her direction, their questions ("Who's that?" "Where'd she come from?") bouncing around in her ears. Having time to herself was not as easy on a train, compared to when she could simply hole herself up in her bedroom. She started to wonder if she been too harsh with Damon when, lost in her thoughts, she bumped into someone. Luck not on her side, it happened to be Draco, who was flanked by two boys resembling gorillas.

"Watch where you're—" Upon seeing her, his glare fell. "Amara. About the other day, I—wait!"

She had spun on her heel, heading in the opposite direction. He easily caught up with her, blocking her path. Just as he was about to reach for her arm, he stopped himself.

"Give me a chance to explain," he said, sounding more like an order than a request. "I didn't—I know I shouldn't have yelled at the manager like that but you were hurt and to be fair, he was the one who gave you the book so—"

His failed apology was saved by the train slowing down on the track. Not seeing anything but the English countryside for miles, no sign of a castle or a station, she thought it was strange for the train to make a sudden stop. Rain continued to fall outside, the droplets pounding on the windows and steadily shifting into a torrential downpour. The windows of the nearest compartment shook with such ferocity, due to the heavy wind, that it looked to be seconds from shattering to pieces.

The train jolted to a sudden stop, sending luggage and people crashing onto the floor. Just as Amara managed to steady herself, the lights went out with a pop, plunging the corridor into complete darkness. She held out her wand, the tip illuminating most of the corridor. The temperature dropped considerably, enough that she was able to see her own breath. Further down the corridor, she saw a dark, shadowy figure. It moved into the compartment to its left, eliciting a few screams.

Draco tugged on her arm, pulling her into a compartment. It was already occupied by twin boys, who shared Percy's vivid red hair.

"Don't remember inviting you to join us, Malfoy," said the boy on the right.

Draco sneered. "I'd rather eat dragon dung than be within five feet of you, Weasley."

Were they Percy's brothers? Their faces broke out into identical mischievous grins.

"Aw, Fred, I think the big bad Slytherin is afraid of the dark," mocked the boy, nudging his twin's side.

"Dad always says to face our fears. Give 'em a good shove, George." He lowered himself into a bow towards Amara. "You're welcome to stay, m'lady. Blink twice if you're being held against your will."

"She's not staying with you id—" Draco was about to advance on the twins until Amara opened the door, at the sound of loud sobbing. "What are you doing? Don't go out there."

Ignoring his warning, she stepped out into the corridor. A group of children, no older than eleven, were pressed against the door to another compartment, cowering in fear and staring up at the towering cloaked figure. One of the boys, his eyes tightly shut, fell to his knees, a visible tear trickling down his cheek. The cloaked figure, floating a couple inches off the floor, glided towards them, reaching out with a slimy, grayish hand.

"Hey!" she shouted.

The cloaked figure turned towards her. Fighting the icy chill that ran down her spine, her breath catching in her throat, she raised her wand.

Draco moved in front of her. "Are you mad? Get back inside," he said, holding back a shiver.

Flicking her wand downward, an invisible force pushed him aside. She pointed her wand at the cloaked figure again, with a look of fierce determination.

"Expecto Patronum," she whispered.

A silvery light shot out of her wand, taking the form of a wolf. It bounded towards the cloaked figure, chasing it away from the children and out through a hatch in the ceiling. The wolf sped further down the corridor, knocking back more of the cloaked figures that were gliding into compartments.

Draco, slightly paler, stared at her, speechless. Reaching into her purse, she pulled out her chocolate frog and broke it into several pieces. The younger children were still in a state of panic, as if expecting the figure to return at any moment.

"It's okay," she assured. "If you eat this, that icky feeling will go away. Trust me. The more you eat, the better."

They devoured the chocolate in seconds but the boy who was affected the most remained on the floor, his head between his knees. She bent down beside him and asked his name.

"T—Toby," he mumbled.

"I'm Amara. Dementors aren't very nice, are they?" she said, calmly. "It wasn't trying to hurt you. It's just in its nature and it can't help it. Just like some people can't helping being jerks because they think they know better and everyone should just do what they say. Too bad there isn't a charm for that."

Her pointed comment shook Draco out of his stupor. "Am—"

Though his mouth kept moving, there was no sound. A few boys, including Toby, muffled their laughter with their sleeves. Fred and George did not bother to hide their raucous laughter while his friends stood by the doorway, dumbfounded.

"Or maybe there is," she said, watching his pale cheeks redden. "We all good now?"

They nodded in unison and with the lights back on, they headed back to their own compartments. Draco mimed at her, pointing at her wand then his mouth.

"What's that?" she asked, holding her hand to her ear. "Sorry. I don't speak mime. Oh, do you not know the counterspell? I thought you were top of your class. I mean, if we're comparing you to your two friends here, it's not much of an achievement."

"Top of his class?" repeated Fred, curiously.

"Never heard that one before," said George, smirking at the increasingly angry blonde. "Top in being a spoiled prat, maybe. This is a much needed improvement."

Even in silence, she understood the gist of what he was saying to the redheaded twins. She flicked her wand, reversing the charm.

"Can we talk in private?" he said, his voice low. "I don't want them to give you the wrong impression. They're just jealous of—"

"I don't need them to tell me anything," she said, cutting him off. "I think I know enough. I don't have to listen to a word out of your mouth. You want me to maybe give you another shot? Then leave me alone. You badgering me isn't winning you any points."

"I'm not—"

"Are you deaf or just incapable of hearing rejection?" she heard,

The silvery wolf returned, receding into her wand, Damon at its tail. Amara wished that she could apparate off the train, preferring a possible splinching of her limbs to being trapped in this situation.

"Don't remember asking for your opinion, Burke," said Draco, pure loathing in his tone. "This is between me and her. Go take yourself for a walk."

"Well now it's between you and me," countered Damon. "She's made herself pretty clear so you're the one who should take a walk. Spare us all the whining of a spoiled brat."

"Shut up!" Both boys looked at her, Draco abandoning his snarl. "I'm going to walk away. Enjoy your little pissing contest. If either of you follow me, you'll be getting off the train without a certain little appendage."

Waving her wand, she conjured Damon's trunk and shoved it into his chest. She spent the remaining train ride alone in the compartment, feeding Selene treats and changing into her uniform. As she adjusted her charm bracelet, she heard a knock on the door. She picked up her wand from the seat and partially slid it open, revealing Fred and George.

"We come in peace," said George, eyeing her wand. "Just us."

"Figured you were new when we heard your name. Percy was boasting about Dumbledore giving him the job of being your guide all summer," said Fred, rolling his eyes. "Didn't think you knew many people and you're not on the best of terms with who you do…"

"So we thought you'd like to ride up with us to the castle," offered George. "As a thank you for chasing off the dementor…"

"And to give you the honor of befriending the best looking, smartest, and most talented wizards in all of Hogwarts. No need for a contest between us. Our pants will stay up the entire time." She smiled at Fred's joke. "Completely up to you, of course."

"I'd appreciate that," she said, believing them to be genuine.

Once the train came to a stop, this time at an actual station, Fred grabbed her trunk for her and she followed them into the freezing rain. Keeping her wand above her head, she shielded the three of them from the barrage of droplets. Over a hundred stagecoaches were waiting outside the station, pulled by the strangest horses she had ever seen. Their black coats clung to their skeletal bodies, matching their leathery wings, and their eyes were an eerie milky white.

"What's pulling the carriages?" she asked the twins.

Both shrugged, Fred opening one of the carriage doors. "Some kind of enchantment. They move on their own."

Thinking she had lost her mind, she kept any mention of the horses to herself. They climbed into the carriage with another friend of theirs, a dark-skinned boy named Lee Jordan. Glimpsing out the window, she could clearly see the skeletal horses trotting up the twisted path. Her attention drifted away from the supposedly invisible horses to the enormous majestic castle that became more visible with each passing minute.

Over the summer, when she was not reading over her assigned textbooks (to be prepared and not make a fool of herself in front of her peers), her mother had given her another book, one about the school's long, interesting history. Seeing it in a drawing, no matter how detailed, was nothing compared to the real thing. At the iron gates were two more dementors, standing like guards.

"Bet it has to do with Black," suggested George, as she cast her charm again to protect her hair from the rain.

Up ahead, closer to the stone steps, she heard a familiar, taunting voice. Draco was standing in front of another boy, one with messy jet-black hair and glasses held together by tape, his pale face shining with vicious glee.

"What's this now, round 500?" joked Lee, acknowledging the tense exchange.

From what little she could hear, Draco was teasing the boy for fainting when one of the dementors entered his compartment. It was hardly something to mock, the dementors affecting some people worse than others.

"Don't get involved," Fred told her. "Malfoy and Harry have hated each other since day one. It's like a snake and a mongoose. Muggles will sprout wrings before those two are even halfway decent to each other."

Listening to his advice, she followed the crowd swarming the steps, through the giant oak doors. She was barely through the doorway when someone called out her name. A stern-faced woman, dressed in emerald green robes and her hair in a tight bun, beckoned her by a gargoyle statue.

"I am Professor McGonagall, your Transfiguration professor here at Hogwarts as well as Head of Gryffindor house and Deputy Headmistress," she explained. "Traditionally, new students are sorted in the Great Hall shortly before the feast but with your unique situation, Professor Dumbledore thought it would be best for you to have a private sorting."

"I don't mind," she said, relieved that it was one less way for her to stick out amongst the students. "Are we doing it now?"

"Momentarily." She cleared her throat. "Potter! Granger! I want to see you both!"

The boy who Draco had been taunting outside the castle pushed through the chattering crowd, along with two other students, all sharing a look of apprehension. McGonagall sent away the redheaded boy, apparently another Weasley brother, before guiding Amara, the dark-haired boy, and the bushy-haired girl, clutching a book, to an office on the second floor. Amara ignored their curious stares, knowing that she would endure them all night. She felt more like a zoo animal than a person.

Conjuring three chairs, she sat behind the desk while they sat across from her. The boy's face paled when she mentioned that a professor on the train informed her of him 'falling ill' due to the dementors. When another woman, a nurse, bustled into the room, he brushed off any attempts for her to check on him, claiming that he was unharmed. At the idea of spending the night in the hospital wing, he jumped out of his chair.

"I'm fine!" he insisted, neither woman completely convinced. He stopped as Amara held out her last piece of chocolate frog. "I've already had some. Professor Lupin gave me some. He gave it to all of us."

"Did he, now?" asked Madam Pomfrey, approvingly. "So we've finally got a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher who knows his remedies? And it's refreshing to see a student who knows them as well."

"Professor Lupin also informed me of your actions on the train. While he was aiding the students, he witnessed your protection of those first years," said McGonagall, turning to Amara. From the corner of her eye, she saw the boy look intrigued. "I'll award ten points to whichever house you are sorted into, for your bravery. A sorting we should not delay any further. Potter, Granger, would you mind stepping outside?"

Once they left, Madam Pomfrey accompanying them, McGonagall conjured a frayed, pointed hat and placed it on top of Amara's head.

"Hmm, you're an interesting one," said a small voice in her ear. "You're modest about your own potential…and what potential it is, dear. I sense a great power in you. You'll be a difficult one to place. Brilliant, ambitious, courageous, loyal, compassionate…yes, I think you'll do best in Gryffindor!"

Its last word appeared to be spoken aloud. As the enchanted hat was lifted up, her plain black tie was replaced with one of scarlet and gold stripes and a lion crest appeared on her robes. McGonagall had her wait outside the office while the girl met with her.

"W—welcome to Gryffindor," the boy said, awkwardly. "Are you new? Sorry, it's just—I've never seen you around here before. Not that I know everyone at Hogwarts but we're the same age and…well, you're obviously American."

"What gave it away?" she joked. "My mom and I just moved from Kansas. I'm Amara."

"Harry," he replied, as if gauging her reaction.

The door opened and the girl, looking very happy, and McGonagall emerged from the office. McGonagall led them down the staircase, Amara noticing that the stairs randomly changed directions, and through a pair of doors to the Great Hall. Walking behind Harry, she looked around the enormous hall, at the thousands of candles floating in midair over four long tables, each representing a different house, and the ceiling that reflected the stormy weather.

At the front of the hall was a fifth long table, where the professors were seated in a straight line. In the center, in a golden chair, was Albus Dumbledore, the headmaster of Hogwarts and a wizard with a stunning reputation. Amara had read about him in her mother's books, long before she received her letter, about his many accomplishments and his historic fight against the dark wizard Grindelwald.

Partially hearing Harry's offer for her to sit with him and his friends, she joined him at the Gryffindor table. He introduced her to the girl ("Hermione Granger. If you need anything, just ask," she said, with a kind smile) and the other Weasley brother ("Ron. You're American, aren't you?") but before she could get a single word out, she noticed hundreds of eyes on her. From all four tables, people were glancing in her direction, whispering amongst themselves. The pain in her head returned, quickly quelled as she clenched her fist inside her robes.

"You do sort of stand out." Hermione smacked Ron's shoulder. "Well, she does. I mean, we don't get a lot of Americans around here. Plus, you're…well, you're not exactly a troll. Not that—oh, keep your head down. Don't let him see you."

"Who?" she asked, watching him lower his gaze to his empty plate.

"Burke," he muttered. "He rarely goes to meals…well, he eats but not when we're all around. He's about as cuddly as a fire crab. Maybe McGonagall's forcing him to join the feast. If anyone could, it's her. I wonder where he'll sit."

His question was answered when Damon sat in the empty space beside her. Even Hermione, who seemed more mature than most, was on edge around his presence and it only added to the focus on Amara, some wondering if they were family. Their attention diverted to Dumbledore, who began to address the students.

"There are plenty of seats," she whispered under her breath. "And you pick that one. You really must not care about your baby carrot."

"Last I checked, you don't own the bench, doll." Her nails dug into her palm. "How conceited…to think I chose this spot because of you and to assume it's little."

Scrunching her nose in disgust, she faced Dumbledore, feeling the teasing boy's eyes on the back of her head. Unease washed over the hall as he revealed that the dementors would be a permanent fixture at the school, per Ministry orders, until Black's capture. Some of the first years she helped were fellow Gryffindors and looked at her, hoping to have her as a personal bodyguard against future dementor attacks. Dumbledore urges the students to not give the dementors any reason to harm them, with the added rule of not leaving the castle without permission.

Switching from gloomy to cheerful, he announced the appointment of two new teachers. Professor Lupin, who Harry had mentioned in McGonagall's office, looked like he had not slept in weeks, the bags visible under his eyes, and his patched robes added to his shabby appearance. He was greeted by scattered applause, most students silently judging him. The other new professor, for Care of Magical Creatures but who was also the groundskeeper, was met with a much grander reaction, particularly from the Gryffindors, his enormous size dwarfing anyone around him by several feet.

When Dumbledore's speech concluded, the tables became filled to the brim with all sorts of foods, enough to feed a small country. Throughout the feast, she got to know Harry, Ron, and Hermione better. Though they were different in many ways, it was clear that they had a strong friendship, made even stronger by their adventures over the past two years. Amara was careful with how she answered their questions, lying that her constant bouncing from place to place was due to her mother's job.

"We'll show you the way to the common room," said Harry, as the food vanished from the tables. "We just want to talk to Hagrid. It won't take long."

The three Gryffindors hurried up to the teachers' table. "I could show you," She kept her eyes on her empty goblet. "The silent treatment? Really? I was getting that pest away from you."

"I didn't ask for your help," she hissed. "I'm not some damsel in distress."

He rested his chin on his hand. "Clearly. Not many thirteen year olds can conjure a patronus that strong. All that power in such a little body."

"Everyone says you're some angsty loner who doesn't talk to anyone," she said, being blunt.

"I only talk to people who I find interesting," he replied. "As you can tell, not many do but someone like you? Without a doubt. I think we're a lot alike. I bet when mommy gave you that letter, you were all excited but trust me, you're in for disappointment. Oh and don't worry. Your secret's safe with me."

Their conversation was cut short by the return of Harry, Ron, and Hermione. Oblivious to the tension between her and Damon, the older boy hiding his smirk behind his goblet of pumpkin juice, Hermione suggested showing her around the castle before going to the common room. She followed them out of the Great Hall, half-listening to her new friends while experiencing an inner panic attack.