"He doesn't know. Stop being paranoid," she muttered, her brush moving along her ebony hair. "I didn't have to tell Mom anything. I can't ruin this."
After using Selene to send her mother a letter about her first night, leaving out the dementor encounter, Amara had gotten little sleep, tossing and turning in her bed while her roommates slept soundly. She wanted to chalk up the restlessness to excitement but the real reason was Damon. Part of her wanted to tell her mother about his words in the Great Hall but talked herself out of it, knowing it would lead to her leaving Hogwarts and being trapped in her house again, forced to listen to more of Gawain's boring stories.
She tried to convince herself that he was attempting to get under her skin. Though they were not well-acquainted, she was able to pick up on a person's personality fairly quickly and he seemed to be the type that enjoyed watching others squirm in discomfort. Pacing back and forth by her bed, the curtains drawn to hide her anxious behavior, she told herself that he was clueless, that he wanted this reaction from her as some twisted entertainment.
"Amara?" Holding the floating brush, she opened the curtain to Hermione, her schoolbag on her shoulder and stuffed with many books. "Are you ready to head down to breakfast?"
"Yeah, just fixing my hair," she said, hiding her nerves. "I'll be done in a billywig."
Lavender, a bubbly girl, giggled. "That's funny. Do all Americans say that?"
"Uh I don't think so." The phrase was second nature to her. "My dad used to say it."
Amara turned towards her bed, masking the somber gleam in her eyes. Her memories of her father were practically nonexistent, with her barely able to remember his face.
Grabbing her bag, she followed Hermione down to the common room, where Ron and Harry where, appearing to be half asleep, they were discussing a quidditch match they had been listening to the previous night with the other boys in their room.
Seeing the two girls, Harry greeted them. "How was your first night, Amara?"
"No one pulled my hair or tried to rip off my face so I'd say it was okay," she joked.
"Well, you look good to me." Ron's face became as red as his hair while Hermione rolled her eyes. "I just meant—I'm starving. I bet we all are…"
Stifling a laugh, she watched him disappear through the open archway. Hermione threw her a tiny apologetic glance before joining an equally awkward Harry, who nearly tripped over his own feet.
"And then he takes one look and just falls over," Amara heard, as they neared the doors to the Great Hall. "Pathetic, isn't it? Longbottom has more guts. Yeah, that's a good line."
"Don't let them bother you," she whispered to Harry. "They're a bunch of brainless trolls."
His look of confusion fell at a roar of laughter, coming from the Slytherin table. Draco was entertaining his fellow housemates with an imitation of a fainting fit. Holding his hands in circles over his eyes, there was no doubt he was mocking Harry. While Amara believed it to be childish, many of the Slytherins were doubled over in hysterics, spilling their drinks on the table and holding themselves steady to not fall to the floor. Between shrieky giggles, a pug-faced girl ("That's Pansy Parkinson. She's horrid," muttered Hermione) teased Harry, pointing to an invisible dementor behind him.
Amara, doing her best not to get involved in a fight before breakfast, sat across from George, who handed her a course schedule. Seeing Harry's glum expression, the twins scoffed at Draco's silly impression, fully aware that he did not fare well against the dementors himself. They cheered him up slightly with talk of the nasty effects the creatures had on everyone and beating Slytherin in the first quidditch match of the season.
"You play quidditch?" she asked, intrigued.
Having never seen a match herself or even heard one, she had to live vicariously through her mother's stories of playing as a chaser at Ilvermorny. Just as Harry began to tell her about the Gryffindor team ("I'm a seeker and Fred and George are beaters"), he was drowned out by the continuing laughter from the Slytherin table.
Ron rubbed his knuckles. "Foul gits. I'd like to—Amara, where are you going?"
Fed up, she walked over to the Slytherins, sitting beside Draco in the midst of another impression. Pansy immediately glared at her while he lowered his hands, cupped in circles, from his eyes. Instead of friendly faces, she was greeted with ones of distrust, directed at her Gryffindor crest. Several boys had wandering eyes, looking everywhere but her face.
Amara laughed mockingly. "Oh wow, that is so funny. Do you remember when he locked himself in another compartment the second he saw the dementor? Or when he nearly peed himself while he hung back like a coward and a girl saved his butt? Oh wait, that wasn't Harry. His name's on the tip of my tongue. Was it David?"
"What are you doing?" hissed Draco.
"No, maybe Dante? Not that either." She looked at him. "Hey, you were with me, right? Do you remember? Oh come on, I bet you do. It'll come back to me. Wait, hold on, it was you, Sir Wets A Lot."
Some of the Slytherin boys sniggered under their breath. Overhearing her nickname, there were a few chuckles from the other tables.
"If you keep it up, I'll tell my own fun story for everyone to hear," she threatened, her voice low and sweet. She waved her hand over her head. "And I'll project my memory of how supposedly brave you were all over these walls."
Grabbing the green apple in his hand, she returned to her seat beside Hermione. Many of the Gryffindors looked at her like she had just survived being blasted by dragon fire.
"What?" she asked, grabbing the tray of scrambled eggs. "Someone had to shut him up. Like I said, he wasn't exactly staring down the dementors himself. Besides, he needs to work on his impressions."
Harry was grateful for her actions. "Thanks, Am—"
"Amara, are you crazy?" interrupted Parvati, both her and Lavender looking fearful. "He's a Malfoy. You don't insult someone from a family like that. He'll try to get back at you."
"I'm shaking," she said, sarcastically.
Hermione changed the subject by mentioning their lessons for the day. It was a far more preferable topic to anything related to Draco and his bullying friends. She brushed off Ron's confusion over her being scheduled for three classes at the same time, though Amara saw her fiddle with the thin gold chain around her neck.
After breakfast, where Hagrid spoke to Harry, Ron, and Hermione about his excitement for his first lesson (a dead polecat dangling from his giant hand), they left the Great Hall for Divinations. Halfway up the staircase, Hermione giving her all sorts of tips about note-taking techniques and each professor's teaching style, she spotted Damon in a hallway on the third floor, with a blonde Slytherin girl his age. Their faces appeared to be glued together, the girl's hands sliding under his untucked shirt.
"I think I forgot my book. I'll catch up," she told Hermione.
Separating from the group moving along the staircase, she walked over to the passionate teenagers. As if sensing her presence, he separated himself from the girl, who responded with a frustrated pout and looked Amara over with disdain.
"Glad to see you're still in one piece, doll. I heard you hurt Malfoy's feelings," he said, with a half smile.
The girl crossed her arms. "What do you want, brat? Can't you see we're busy?"
"Saving the rest of the school from the horrifying sight of you sucking off each other's faces, I guess," replied Amara. "I wouldn't recommend doing beauty spells by yourself. If you're gonna lie about vacationing in the Bahamas, at least make the tan believable. You're looking a little orange."
He stopped the snarling girl, her hand partially inside her robes. "I'll handle it, Thalia. You don't want to get double detention from McGonagall for being late and hurting her newest little cub."
The girl purposely knocked into her shoulder, disappearing up the staircase. Damon remained by the wall, fixing the lower buttons of his shirt.
"So what's interesting about her?" asked Amara, genuinely curious.
He shrugged. "Nothing. We don't do much talking…but a guy has needs. No more silent treatment, doll?"
"Temporarily lifted to tell you that whatever you tried pulling last night, it isn't going to work," she said, attempting to sound brave. "I'm not hiding anything."
"Except that you're a legilimens." She did her best to portray a blank face. "It's obvious. Well, obvious to anyone with a fully functioning brain but sadly, those are in short supply in this place. You hid it really well during the prefect meeting and then that porcelain facade cracked when you stepped out into the corridor. One on one is a lot easier than hundreds swarming you like angry bees."
Deep down, she was relieved. All of her paranoia had been mostly for nothing, except that she would rather no one knew about her legilimency. From a young age, she had exhibited the ability, accidentally hearing her own mother's thoughts. Her mother trained her to maintain control but at times, particularly when she was stressed or experiencing a strong emotion, she could not help herself. It was difficult to silence the voices in a crowd, like the train or at the Ministry, which was why her mother did her best to keep her calm and focused.
Amara told herself to walk away, more concerned with getting away from Damon than being late to class, but her feet felt frozen to the floor. She tried to ignore the dull buzzing between her ears, a voice, his voice, creeping in the back of her head.
"You must be pretty powerful," he said, intrigued. "Even most adult wizards struggle with it but you're doing it without any effort. It must drive you mad, all those voices rattling around in your head. I bet you could hear a lot worse than Thalia Rosier faking a glamorous vacation."
"Is that why you're talking to me? So you can torment a bunch of kids with their secrets?" she asked, accusingly. "I'm not playing your stupid game. Just stay away from me."
She hurried up the staircase with the speed of a cheetah, not daring to look over her shoulder. It was tricky to navigate the immense castle when the staircases had minds of their own, switching direction at random moments or leading to dead ends. Halfway down an empty corridor, she nearly bumped into Hermione, who, along with Harry and Ron, was taking directions from a short, squat knight in a portrait.
"Ah, another comrade for our noble quest?" the knight asked, sounding a bit unbalanced. "Onward! What you seek lies ahead!"
The knight led them up a narrow spiral staircase at the end of the corridor. Bidding them farewell as they reached the tiny landing at the top, where the rest of the Gryffindors were assembled ("Complete nutter," muttered Ron), he vanished into another portrait, his armor clanging with each step. On the ceiling was a circular trapdoor with a brass plaque and as Harry read the plaque ("Sibyll Trelawney, Divination teacher"), the trapdoor popped open, revealing a silvery ladder.
One by one, they climbed up the ladder and into the odd classroom, bathed in a crimson light and looking more like a fortuneteller's room in a muggle movie. There were small circular tables, surrounded by chintz armchairs and small poufs, red scarves draped over lamps, and shelves crammed with teacups, crystal balls, tattered playing cards, and candles. The heavy perfume scent permeating the room made her lightheaded.
A thin woman stepped out of the darkened corner, draped in a gauzy shawl and many beads around her neck and several bangles and rings on both hands. Her glasses magnified her eyes, making her look like some kind of insect. Amara was reminded of the people in the streets of New Orleans, peddling fortunes. Many of them were muggles, unaware that magic was not merely fantasy, but some were wizards and witches themselves, scamming the locals with claims of seeing their futures.
"Sit, my children, sit," she said, in a misty voice.
Amara sat on the nearest pouf, sharing a table with Harry, Ron, and Hermione. The more Professor Trelawney spoke, of her inner eye and the Sight, her interest in Divination was faltering, a sentiment shared by her classmates. Hermione bristled at the mention of books being useless for the so-called noble art.
After scaring Neville, a round-faced, anxious boy, Trelawney discussed their overall lessons for the year, from tea leaves to crystal balls, giving random predictions like losing her voice and one of their classmates leaving forever. Parvati shifted her chair when she warned her of a red-headed man, her dark eyes on Ron. Handing the dramatic professor a teapot, Lavender was given a grim prediction, that something she dreaded would happen in mid October.
Trelawney instructed them to collect a teacup from the shelves, Neville being told to take a blue one when he broke his first, and split into pairs. Parvati and Lavender looked amazed as seconds later, the pink patterned cup slipped through his fingers. Draining her cup, Amara swapped with Hermione and peered at the soggy brown dregs.
"Broaden your minds, my dears, and allow your eyes to see past the mundane!" cried Trelawney.
"Sure," said Amara, opening her book to page five. "This one looks like an apple, which means success in school or work. Don't think you need a teacup to tell you that."
Hermione grinned. "Amara, be serious."
"Hey, don't insult my inner eye," she joked. She turned the cup to the right. "I think this is an animal. A dog…no, a fox. That's betrayal by a close friend…so I think I've got your year figured out. You're gonna think you're top of the class but then it turns out that Ron's been a secret genius all this time and he'll take your top spot. What a scandal."
Ron and Harry snorted into their teacups, dripping tea onto the table. Shaking her head, Hermione picked up Amara's cup. She spent a few minutes peering into the cup and glancing over the page of symbols.
"That looks like a forked line and that could be a snake. I suppose this is a clover," she said, sounding uncertain. "A clover means good luck."
"Or it's a sign," said Seamus, wiggling his eyebrows at Amara.
Before she could retort, she was distracted by Trelawney approaching their table. She was not pleased with their constant jokes and halfhearted attempts to decipher their cups. Staring into Harry's cup, she rotated it counterclockwise and painted a very grim picture. Amara was taken aback when Hermione quietly downplayed her mention of a deadly enemy, considering this 'You Know Who' (the vague name making people shudder while Amara was oblivious) was common knowledge. Amara had noticed that Harry received numerous stares from other students and even first years pointing him out in a crowd but never knew the reason for it.
Turning the cup a fourth time, Trelawney screamed, causing Neville to break another cup, and sank into an empty armchair. Her dramatics dialed up to an eleven, she placed her hand over her heart as the Gryffindors surrounded their table.
"My dear, you have the Grim," she said, her voice low.
Several people, including Ron clapped their hands to their mouths in horror. Amara had read about the Grim in one of her mother's books, a dark omen foretelling death. From what she understood, it was more of a superstition than an actual sign of doom for a witch of wizard. Harry looked puzzled by her startling reveal but, like Amara, Hermione was not convinced, openly proclaiming that it did not look like the fabled dog. Surveying the young girl with dislike, Trelawney suggested that she was not receptive to the mystical arts.
"When you've all finished deciding whether I'm going to die or not!" shouted Harry, amidst his peers debating if the leaves resembled a dog or another animal.
The awkward tension extended to their Transfiguration class. Most of them were too busy throwing furtive glances at him, not listening to a word of McGonagall's lecture on animagi. After her own transformation into a tabby cat received little attention, she questioned what caused their strange behavior and Hermione spoke up about their Divination lesson.
Though she had a more logical approach to Harry's impending death, barely concealing her less than favorable opinion of Trelawney, who apparently predicted a student's demise each year, it did not assuage everyone's fears.
Ron was among those who was still wary of Trelawney's death omen, staying silent until lunch. He dropped his fork into his stew when Harry told them about seeing a black dog near his house, the night he accidentally inflated his aunt.
"Hermione, if Harry's seen a Grim, that's—that's bad," he said, despite her dismissal of it as a stray. "My—my uncle Bilius saw one and—and he died twenty-four hours later!"
Hermione refused to believe in his superstitions, calling it mere coincidence. Their argument escalated when Ron accused her of bashing Divinations because she was not the best at it, like the other classes.
She slammed her Arithmancy book down on the table. "If being good at Divination means I have to pretend to see death omens in a lump of tea leaves, I'm not sure I'll be studying it much longer! That lesson was absolute rubbish compared with my Arithmancy class!"
"What's she talking about?" asked Ron, as she stormed out of the Great Hall. "She hasn't been to an Arithmancy class yet."
"Maybe all your fighting has finally broken her brain," suggested Harry, through a mouthful of stew.
"I'm gonna go find her." Amara threw a pointed look at Ron. "Can you not freak him out with your omen stuff?"
Using her legilimency, she listened out for Hermione. It was tough when she heard dozens of conflicting voices, gossiping about a cute boy and stressing over homework. She found her in the courtyard, sitting by the fountain with her Arithmancy book open on her lap.
"Amara, how—I—I'm fine," she said, unconvincingly. "Ron and I tend to butt heads every now and then. He's being ridiculous."
"Agreed but to be fair, he did grow up in this world," replied Amara. "Everyone believes in something silly. Death dogs, a man sliding down a chimney to deliver presents on Christmas…"
She closed her book. "I suppose in some way, it's comparable. He just drives me mad sometimes."
Sitting beside Hermione, she nodded. "Pretty sure that's the definition of being a boy."
They spent the rest of lunch in the courtyard then headed down to Care of Magical Creatures, meeting up with Harry and Ron along the way. Neither Hermione nor Ron made an attempt at an apology, choosing to not even acknowledge each other.
"They'll get over it eventually. You'll get used to it," whispered Harry.
Hagrid was standing outside a hut near the Forbidden Forest, a boarhound at his heels. Once all of the Gryffindors and Slytherins, the group sniggering to themselves, arrived, he led them to an empty paddock at the edge of the trees. Amara retrieved her book from her bag, when told, but the others had their copies bound shut with rope, belts, and clips.
"Hasn'—hasn' anyone bin able ter open their books?" asked Hagrid, looking crestfallen. "Amara's got it figured out."
Taking Hermione's book, he ran a finger down its spine and the book shivered, laying quiet in his hands. Everyone else reluctantly followed his example, afraid that their books would tear off their fingers. Draco, seemingly incapable of being nice to anyone besides the Slytherins, continued with his insults, shattering Hagrid's confidence. Stumbling over his words, he disappeared into the forest.
"God, this place is going to the dogs," said Malfoy, not bothering to lower his voice. "That oaf teaching classes…my father'll have a fit when I tell him—"
"Shut up, Malfoy," snapped Harry.
"Careful, Potter, there's a dementor behind you," he taunted.
"Do you ever shut up or is it a family trait to be a complete butthead?" asked Amara, stopping Harry from grabbing his wand.
Pansy moved in front of her like a guard dog. "You better watch it, Rivera."
"Or what?" she said, hardly intimidated. "You're gonna wag your tail at me? Go back to laughing at this idiot's lame jokes because no one else thinks he's funny."
Hagrid returned to the paddock with a dozen creatures that looked truly bizarre. Their hind legs and bodies resembled horses while their front half, wings, and heads resembled eagles, with steel-colored beaks and orange eyes. While they were strangely beautiful, with their gleaming coats, the long, threatening talons on their front legs did not go unnoticed. Parvati and Lavender, who were standing beside Amara, inched back slowly, clutching their books.
Tethering the creatures to the fence with chains, Hagrid happily introduced them as hippogriffs. He urged the class to step closer to the fence but no one moved a muscle. Amara moved towards the fence ("Amara, don't," said Lavender, frightened), with Harry, Ron, and Hermione soon joining her.
Emboldened by their courage, some of the class took a few steps but maintained their distance. As Hagrid discussed the rules of approaching a hippogriff, such as bowing and showing respect, she felt someone behind her.
"Are you Potter's bodyguard now?" muttered Draco. "He's not worth your time."
She kept her eyes forward. "Says you and I don't care what you think. Maybe you should be more like him."
"I'd rather be eaten by the giant squid," he said, disgusted. "Why was Burke coming to your rescue on the train? He's about as mute as a troll. Thalia can't get him to acknowledge her unless they're swallowing each other's tongues."
"I didn't need to be rescued," she replied, watching Harry climb over the fence to approach one of the hippogriffs. "And I know it's a foreign concept but when you're nice, people like you. What happened to you leaving me alone?"
One minute, Harry was bowing to the hippogriff, named Buckbeak, and the next, he was high in the air, riding on his back. The paddock filled with cheers from the Gryffindors, the Slytherins unimpressed (Draco scoffing to himself), as he returned, slightly out of breath but unharmed. Hagrid untied the other hippogriffs, allowing the rest of the class to try their luck.
Amara lowered herself into a partial bow and Buckbeak reciprocated, bending his front leg. Petting his beak, her smile fell as Draco appeared at her side, along with his goons who Ron called Crabbe and Goyle during breakfast. Pansy and her friends were throwing her dirty looks and whispering amongst themselves.
"I'm fine," she mouthed to the concerned Gryffindors. Amara lowered her hand. "You really need to take a hint."
"What do you mean? It's part of the lesson," he said, innocently. Buckbeak bowed back to him. "If this big bird can give me a chance, maybe you should too."
She crossed her arms. "I bet you think you're wearing me down but you're just making a very compelling argument to ignore you forever."
"I think you enjoy it…playing hard to get. When I want something, I tend to get it." His ego was the size of the castle. "You don't actually want to be friends with someone like Potter."
"Didn't realize you could read my thoughts," she said, wishing for the lesson to be over. "What's wrong with being his friend?"
"He's not as great as everyone says," he replied, with contempt. "He flew around on a glorified chicken for a couple minutes. I could do that too. He's not dangerous at all."
Buckbeak's eyes flashed wildly. "Hey, you shouldn't talk that. Remember what Hagrid—"
"Are you, you great ugly brute?" he teased.
Reacting angrily, Buckbeak reared on his hind legs. Amara was not quick enough to cast a shield charm and felt something sharp pierce her stomach. Both she and Draco collapsed to the ground, him clutching his arm in pain. Hearing the panicked screams ("Amara!"), she reached inside her robes and turned on her side. Hagrid was wrestling Buckbeak into his collar, the large creature beating its wings furiously.
"I—I'm fine," she told a terrified Hermione, who kneeled beside her. "It grazed me."
"Are you mad? You're not fine," said Ron, seeing blood splattered all over the grass.
"I'm dying!" yelled Draco. "I'm dying, look at me! It's killed me!"
"Yer not dyin'!" said Hagrid, his face pale as a sheet. "Someone help me—gotta get him outta here—I've got yeh, Amara…"
"I'm fine," she insisted, managing to sit up.
Picking up Draco with ease, he sprinted towards the castle. The Gryffindors treated her like a delicate flower, panicking as she made the slightest movement for her book. Panting heavily, she held it to her chest.
"Are you sure you don't want to go to the hospital wing?" asked Fay, biting her lower lip.
"Yeah, I just need a minute." Taking a deep breath, she stood up from the ground. "See? All good…aside from the blood."
Harry refused to let her carry her own bag, slinging it over his shoulder. On the way back to the castle, the Slytherins shouted about Hagrid, blaming him for Draco's injury.
"They should fire him straight away!" cried Pansy, tears in her eyes.
"It was Malfoy's fault!" snapped Dean. "He was being stupid and nearly got Amara hurt too!"
Crabbe and Goyle rubbed their knuckles menacingly. As they entered the castle, Pansy scurried to the hospital wing while the rest of the Slytherins headed down to the dungeons.
"Amara, you really should have it looked at," said Hermione, worried. "What if it's worse than you think?"
Amara fought the pain in her stomach. "Calm down, Mom. If it makes you feel better, I'll go see Madam Pomfrey. I can manage it by myself. Can I have my bag back?" She held her hand out to Harry. "Don't make me knock you down. Bag, please."
Once he gave her the bag, she promised to meet them in the common room. She waited for them to disappear up the staircase before sitting on a nearby bench and lifting her shirt. Dried blood was caked around the partially faded gash on her stomach.
"Come on, work faster," she mumbled, squeezing the book. "She can't see this when I get up there. It wasn't that bad."
Even as she said those words, she knew it was a lie. It felt like getting impaled on a metal spike, nowhere near as painless as she portrayed to her peers. The pages stopped moving and her wound completely healed, no trace of blood or a scar. She lifted her hand from inside her robes, the blue ball emitting a silver glow.
"Soak it up, buddy." The glow brightened. "A little bit more..."
As the ball returned to normal, she stuffed it, along with the book, inside her bag and continued her way to the hospital wing. Madam Pomfrey was tending to Draco, who was lying on a bed and moaning in pain. His arm was bound in a sling, bandages wrapped around the deep gash caused by Buckbeak's talons.
"This will help the pain, dear. It could've been much worse," she said, soothingly. The kind nurse spotted Amara by the doorway. "Oh, Miss Rivera, I heard you were injured as well. Come lie down."
"I didn't get hurt. Just have to fix up my shirt," said Amara, showing the talon-sized hole in her shirt. She sniffled quietly. "I don't think I'm adjusting to the weather yet. It's a lot different from Kansas. Do you have something for a head cold?"
With a nod, Madam Pomfrey walked into her office. "How are you not hurt?" asked Draco, sitting up in the bed. "You were right in front of me when it attacked. You were bleeding."
"Your blood," she corrected him.
"I'm sorry." To her surprise, he seemed sincere. "I was just—I didn't think—"
"Clearly," she said, knowing the attack was his fault. "All you cared about was ruining the lesson. If you actually listened to Hagrid, you wouldn't be in here. Whatever pain you're feeling, you deserve it."
Getting a pepperup potion from Madam Pomfrey, she pretended to take a sip and left the hospital wing. Two Hufflepuff girls sped past her, one girl in tears and cradling her elbow, and bumped into her, causing her to stumble into the wall. The stone began to crack in the same spot as her fingers, the hole widening by the second. With a flick of her wand, she repaired the wall and headed to the Gryffindor common room, hiding her hand under her robes.
