Thank you to everyone who has reviewed the story so far! The next few chapters will be more focused on Amelia, so please let me know what you think.
Also, if anyone could tell me how to get a horizontal line between story sections when I'm jumping time-periods within the same chapter, I'd be super grateful. I've tried putting loads of asterisks in a line with this document to show the change, but not sure if it will work, so if anyone has any tips that would be great!
Anyway, here we go:
Chapter 4 – Thestrals and Thunderbirds
In the Hospital Wing that night, while Snape slept the sleep of the drugged and exhausted, Amelia sat alone and stared out of the window. As she watched, a strange, winged, horse-like creature rose high over the tops of the trees, and a lonely smile touched at the corners of her lips. Beneath her bandages, her burns were almost fully healed, but Poppy had told her she could expect to have dry skin for weeks to come. Part of her was grateful it wouldn't simply disappear.
Although Professor Snape had thought she was coping well, the truth was, she was finding it increasingly difficult to keep a firm grip on reality, and her blasé attitude to their conversation had been a way of pushing away details she couldn't yet comprehend. The burns, at least, she knew were real, but when they vanished, what could she hold onto when it began to feel as though the world was spinning out of her control?
Now, left alone in the dark, she drew a deep breath in and tried to sort through the things she had learnt. First, that magic was real. This, in itself, didn't shock her. From her earliest memories she'd felt it; this strange warmth moving through and around her. But as she'd grown older, and realised that this was a power other people didn't have, she'd forced the knowledge away from herself as though its mere acknowledgement would mark her out as mad. Still, she'd maintained it as an uneasy secret. While alone in her kitchen, she'd sent water droplets skittering across her worktops, and delighted in making the candles in her living room grow and sway.
What had happened at the pub, though, had shaken her to her very core. When the people in masks had blasted the walls away, and the kindly bartender she'd struck up a conversation with had dropped dead at her feet, she'd felt something deep within her soul begin to strain and snap. The power had burst out of her just as Fenrir Greyback, his teeth bared and his mouth caked in blood, had leered into her face and prepared to pounce, and as the fire had danced and bloomed around her, she'd lost control. Truly, she'd expected to die, and when the flames finally retreated and gentle arms had swept beneath her, she'd clung to them as though they were her only lifeline. She supposed, in fact, they had been.
If she hadn't seen the carnage with her own eyes, she'd have been convinced she'd lost her mind, and a little part of her still supposed that this could all be some kind of elaborate fever dream, or a whole world created in the midst of a coma. And yet… And yet. The existence of the magical world struck her as inexplicably right, and she couldn't bring herself to doubt it. But the knowledge that an entire universe had always existed beneath the one she knew – a world of witches and wizards, strange beasts and magical wars – would take far longer to get used to. That she had seen people die, and very nearly died herself, she supposed, with a shudder, she might never put to rest.
As the winged horse was joined by another in the air, she lay back against her pillows and wondered what would happen to her now. She thought of her friends – the only real family she'd ever known – and whether they would be looking for her. She hoped that wherever they were, they were safe, and they knew that she missed them. Her last thought as she drifted into a fitful sleep, was of the dark eyes of the man who had saved her, staring out at her from behind the leering face of his soot-streaked Death Eater's mask.
"Good morning, Miss Bristol!" Dumbledore greeted her almost as soon as she'd opened her eyes.
"Good morning, Professor Dumbledore," she answered blearily.
"I hear you and Professor Snape have been getting on rather well since the start of your stay here?"
The black-clad professor behind him snorted derisively.
"Hardly, Headmaster," he drawled. "It has simply fallen to me to teach Miss Bristol about the existence of our world, since you find yourself conveniently too busy to take up the role."
He glared pointedly at the older man, and was startled to see Amelia attempting to disguise a smile when he turned back to the bed.
"Yes, yes, alright now Severus," Dumbledore smiled easily. "I know I have imposed upon much of your time these last few days, which is why I'm sure you'll be thrilled to hear that I've requested that Hagrid be the one to escort Miss Bristol to Diagon Alley today for the purchase of her new school things."
"New school things, Professor?" Amelia asked, as Snape's eyebrows drew together into a scowl.
"But of course!" Dumbledore beamed. "You'll need your textbooks, a wand, potions equipment, and if you would like, a Familiar in the form of either a cat, a toad, or an owl. The students will be arriving this evening, and term will start the day after tomorrow on Monday, so it will be best for you if you buy everything today. You'll find it all here in your – I'm sorry to say, much-delayed - acceptance letter."
His eyes twinkled as he handed her an envelope of thick parchment with emerald green writing on the front, which read:
Ms. Amelia Bristol
7th Bed, Hospital Wing
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
She laughed and tore open the seal, scanning through her welcome documents with mounting excitement. For some reason, the fact she was holding the letter in her hand solidified her new reality far more than any of the strange things she'd already seen, and a thrill of excitement leapt through her. She was a witch. She was going to buy a wand. It was all really real!
She couldn't wait to leave, and was halfway out of bed and reaching for the robes Poppy had lent her when Snape finally found his voice.
"Hagrid?" He said in disbelief. "Are you sure that's wise, Headmaster?"
Amelia paused, her borrowed robes clutched in one hand.
"Is something wrong with Hagrid?" She asked nervously.
"I don' think so!" I great booming voice sounded from the doorway. "Not ye', anyway."
She turned to see a giant of a man, with a wild bushy beard and kind, smiling eyes bearing down on them. Immediately, she relaxed and returned his smile.
"So, you're Hagrid?" she greeted him.
"Las' time I look'd I were, aye," he answered, gripping her fingers in a bone-crushing handshake. "Pleased ter meet ye,' Amelia, in't it?"
She nodded and grinned, massaging her hand.
"Lia, if you'd prefer, and I'm pleased to meet you too! Haven't I seen you out in the grounds? What was that horse you were with earlier today? I've seen them flying over the forest at night."
Professor Dumbledore and Snape exchanged an uneasy glance, and Hagrid hesitated before answering.
"Ah, so ye' can see Thestrals then, can ye'?" He said evasively.
Amelia frowned.
"Of course, I can see them," she answered. "Shouldn't I be able to?"
"Well…" Hagrid seemed to be searching for the right words, and Professor Snape stepped in smoothly.
"Not everyone has the required life experience to look upon a Thestral," he answered. "But rest assured, all four of us standing here can see them, too."
"So, there's nothing wrong with being able to see them?"
He surveyed her for a long moment.
"No, nothing at all."
Amelia smiled gratefully at him, and then looked back to Hagrid.
"So, when are we leaving?"
"Whenev'r ye' ready. Just ge' them robes on an' I'll meet ye' in th' Entrance Hall."
She nodded eagerly, but didn't miss the way Professor Snape's mouth opened as if to say something, before he was silenced by a stern look from Dumbledore.
Shaking it from her mind as the men left, she rushed to get ready, barely wincing as the strange new robes slid across her still-sore skin. There was so much she wanted to see.
Severus watched from the clock tower as Hagrid and Amelia walked across the grounds, chatting animatedly together as though they were old friends. Despite his outwardly calm appearance, beneath his robes, his hands were clenched and his knuckles white. What in Archimedes' name was Dumbledore thinking? The Dark Lord would be looking for any chance to get at the Undiscovered witch who had caused him so much trouble, and to send her off to Diagon Alley with only Hagrid for a bodyguard? It was ludicrous!
As the two of them mounted Hagrid's death trap of a flying motorcycle and disappeared from sight, Severus turned on the spot and strode towards his study in a billow of black robes. Well, it was out of his control now, wasn't it? Dumbledore had seen to that. If the first Undiscovered witch in 488 years ended up dead at the hands of the Death Eaters, then it was hardly his fault, was it? That guilt would be solely Dumbledore's to bear, and he'd make damn sure the man knew it.
As he stormed into the potions lab and began to chop ingredients for more burn paste, Severus took a number of calming breaths through his nose. He was not going to spend all day worrying about the witch. He wasn't. He had done all he could and she was no concern of his. Nevertheless, he admitted to himself in private, as he began to relax into the steady rhythm of potion making, it was only natural for him to feel protective of her, given that he'd been the one to bring her here. There was nothing wrong with that. And if it was also down to him to prevent the crackpot old fool and the well-meaning half-giant from getting her killed, before she'd had the chance to so much as start her first term at Hogwarts, then so be it. Thanks to Potter, he'd had more than enough experience of babysitting an incompetent. Why should she be any different?
Despite the concerns of a certain Potions Master, Amelia couldn't remember a day when she'd had so much fun, or felt more at home. Flying across the country on Hagrid's motorbike had been exhilarating, and after she'd grown tired of whooping and cheering as the wind whipped past them, the half-giant had told her tales of the castle, including of Professor Snape's fearsome reputation, and her rescuer's long-term distaste for a certain Harry Potter.
As they'd passed over the Midlands, she'd listened, wide-eyed, to the tale of Lord Voldemort's attack on Harry and his parents, and pondered with growing unease Snape's role as a double agent for the Order. She'd laughed aloud with wonder at Hagrid's nonchalant description of dragons, and by the time they'd touched down in London, and the story of the tragic ending to the TriWizard Tournament had been completed, she had a good idea that she and this Harry Potter may well get on far better than she'd first thought.
However, she kept this supposition to herself, and as they passed through the wall behind the Leaky Cauldron and into Diagon Alley, every coherent thought seemed to fly out of her head. The place was a marvel. Everywhere she looked, there were witches and wizards, and she could feel the magic humming in the air and skittering across her skin. Her mouth dropped open when she stepped into Gringotts to convert her Muggle money into Galleons, and promptly came face-to-face with her first goblin, and by the time they'd bought her potions ingredients, spellbooks, and robes, she felt like a child who'd been given too much sugar.
Then, of course, it was time for the visit she had most been looking forward to: Ollivander's. Hagrid waited outside while she stepped into the musty shop, and she breathed in deeply the scents of wood and resin, and the indefinable, electrical tang of suppressed magic.
"Good afternoon?" A soft voice enquired, and she jumped as the watery eyes of Mr. Ollivander sought her out from behind the counter.
Heart pounding, she put on her best smile, and strode towards him.
"Good afternoon, Mr Ollivander. I have a note here from Professor Dumbledore."
She handed him the envelope, and watched nervously as he scanned the document, before his eyes lit up and he raised his face to look at her.
"My, my," he murmured. "An Undiscovered? After all these years?"
She nodded uncomfortably, and forced a weak smile.
"So they tell me," she said.
"Well, this should be very interesting," he said. "Very interesting indeed."
Three hours later, neither Mr. Ollivander, Amelia, or Hagrid were finding it very interesting anymore. The wandmaker's shop was in disarray. Avalanches of thin boxes were scattered across the floor, some with their lids missing, some with their wands still shooting sparks haphazardly around the room. Amelia was beginning to feel like a fraud, and she'd apologised so many times that the word "sorry" had started to sound like gobbledegook.
"Maybe there's been some kind of a mistake," she said again, as the most recent wand leapt out of her hands and buried itself in a crack in the floorboards.
"No, there's been no mistake, Miss Bristol," Ollivander assured her. "You possess a very powerful magic. The problem is finding a wand that's willing to take you on…"
He began to hum thoughtfully to himself as Amelia regarded him sceptically.
"What do you mean, 'a wand that's willing to take me on'?" She asked, perplexed.
"The wand chooses the witch, Miss Bristol. That much has always been clear to those of us who've studied Wandlore. Now, I wonder…"
A feverish light lit up the old man's eyes, and he hurried into a backroom without another word.
Amelia caught Hagrid's eye, and the half-giant, who'd come inside an hour earlier when it had seemed as though they were no closer to finding her a wand, shook his head ruefully.
"Don' mind 'im," he said. "'e's a brilliant man, is Ollivander, but, well…"
"The line between madness and genius is sometimes a thin one?" She smiled.
"Exac'ly!" Hagrid agreed.
At that moment, Ollivander returned to the room, and Amelia felt a ripple of energy in the air. In his hands, was a deep purple box with sparks of light engraved around the edges.
"I wonder, my dear," he said. "If this wand may be the right one for you."
Even before he'd removed the lid, she knew they'd found the one. Lying in its box, the pale, elegant object seemed to draw her towards it, and as her hand closed around the handle, warmth flooded through her body and sparks seemed to leap between her fingers. Instantly, her magic seemed to bind with that of the core, and no sooner had she held it, than she couldn't imagine ever having survived so long without it.
"It's perfect," she breathed, as the wide, delighted eyes of her two companions stared back at her, amazed.
Mr. Ollivander clapped his hands together and regarded her hungrily.
"Willow, 10.5 inches, nice and supple," he said. "Magnificent. Just magnificent!"
Her fingers still clasping the remarkable object, Amelia regarded him warily.
"Excuse me, but what's so magnificent, sir?" She asked.
"My dear girl, did you see when you stepped inside, the sign showing the three cores I use to make my wands?"
She nodded.
"Dragon heart-string, unicorn hair, and phoenix feather," she said, leaving out the fact that she was still finding it hard to believe that dragons, unicorns, and phoenixes were anything more than fairy stories.
"Very good," he said. "Now, would you like to have a guess at what your wand's core is?"
She hesitated, rolling it reverently back and forth in her hands.
"Phoenix feather?" She asked hopefully.
"Wrong!" He chuckled. "But you are, in many ways, close, and I am being unfair. You see, I only make my wands with these three cores, but my father, long before his death, made one very special wand – a very special wand indeed - using a feather he'd taken from a Thunderbird."
"Yer kiddin?!" Hagrid had jumped to his feet.
"What's a Thunderbird?" Amelia asked, looking quizzically between them.
"A Thunderbird is a legendary creature," Mr. Ollivander answered. "More powerful than the phoenix, although less long-lived, it is only once in a generation that a feather can be found, and the wands they create are both exceptionally powerful and difficult to master. Once mastered, however, they are an exceptional tool, capable of sensing danger and casting curses on their own to protect the one who wields it."
Amelia looked down with wonder at her new wand, a blissful smile spreading across her face.
"And it chose me?" She hardly dared to whisper.
"It certainly did," Mr. Ollivander agreed. "It certainly did."