And the plot thickens!
Amelia stared at roll of parchment and sighed. History of Magic class would put her to sleep if she paid attention. The ghost Professor droned on about the life of Merlin-knows-what-wizard as Amelia day dreamed to herself. She planned to read the history herself once she was out of here, so there was no reason to stress about it. Books usually gave just as solid information as people, especially when the person was Professor Binns and every word he said floated over the tops of students' heads.
As she listened lazily to the droning of Professor Binns much as she would listen to the lulling water of the ocean, Amelia looked around the room. All of the students were from different parts of Europe or the Middle East. She knew none of them. Though she didn't stand out as far as looks went – what with her wiry brown hair, brown eyes, and unexciting looks - as soon as she opened her mouth she was an outsider. That was how she felt, at least. Everyone had some kind of accent from their homes, and she was no different. She was simply the only one with blunt vowels, slightly inarticulate words, and a loose manner of speaking. She was certainly the only one who said things like 'chick' and 'far out'. She was also quick to realize that she was more apt to curse with real curse words when she was angry, as opposed to saying "bloody hell" or "rubbish". She supposed that the ever-proper British were nothing compared to a Californian like her. Still, perhaps she should tone it down a little…
Just then the ringing that represented the end of class was heard, and students in History of Magic class groggily began stumbling to their feet and out the door. Amelia did the same as she slung her book-leaden bag on to her shoulder, grunting under its weight.
Well, she thought. At least I know that if I get attacked, I have a heavy weapon with me.
As Amelia merged in with the flood of students and shuffled along with traffic, she thought about the class she had next. She believed that it would be Defense Against the Dark Arts with Gryffindors.
D.A.D.A. was probably her least favorite and most successful class of all her classes. Her uncle had been teaching her these lessons ever since her eleventh birthday. On the chance that one day she would meet her parents and, more importantly, her insane aunt and uncle-in-law, he had prepared her for nearly everything they could throw at her. Everything, that is, except the magic-stealing ritual he continually warned her about. Because no one who encountered it yet had lived to tell the tale, it was the greatest and most dangerous secret attack of all. Yet, Uncle Ray had been convinced that it had been used, and on increasingly powerful witches and wizards at that.
Keeping an eye on the news as much as he could, Ray had noticed a series of attacks that the 'Muggle'-world (Amelia always thought that the word to describe non-magical humans was odd at best and insulting at worst) had interpreted as "impossible". All of the victims were young, healthy, and successful in the world. There was no preference of the attacker towards male or female victims, as is common in normal serial killers. All of them were found dead with seemingly no cause of death. There were no cut wounds, not blunt-object injuries, no brain damage, no poison, no… anything. The only thing that forensic investigators could find in common with the victims was that three spots – one on either of the victims' palms, and one of the forehead – had circles of pink, raw skin. It was almost as if the attackers had scrubbed the victims clean in these three places. Other than that, the only clue left for detectives was the absolutely terrified look they had carried, even in death.
Amelia shivered at the thought, and was glad that she wasn't one of those forensic investigators who had seen the bodies. Of course, Muggles wouldn't understand the significance of such an attack. Uncle Ray had already formed the theory that the magic was sucked out of the unfortunate witch or wizard through the palms of their hands and forehead. These, he had told her, were the three places where magic was most acute on the human body. He was positive after the third body of these attacks was discovered that the magic-stealing ritual had been perfected.
Amelia knew that nothing in Defense Against the Dark Arts could prepare any of them for that. It was much like the Killing Curse in that way.
"Amelia Carver?"
Amelia's head shot up and her dark train of thought was vanished. The Slytherin Prefect was calling to students as they passed, "Amelia Carver?".
After tamping down the instinctive urge to tell him that her name was Amelia Quinne – after all, what was the point of changing your last name for protection if you were just going to blurt it out anyway – she waded through the crowd to him.
"That's me!" she waved her arm. As Amelia came to stand beside the Prefect, he smiled disdainfully, seemingly unable to give a sincere smile. This is how it had been with all the Slytherins she had met.
And even one Gryffindor, she thought to herself.
"The Headmaster wants to see you." The Prefect all but snarled. He shoved a slip of folded parchment in her face and departed.
Blinking at the abrupt behavior, Amelia shook her head in wonderment. One would think that after two weeks of settling in, someone might not treat her as if she carried the plague. Alas, such a high demand was too much to ask for.
Turning her direction and heading for the statue that lead to the Headmaster's office, Amelia considered the slip of parchment in her hands. She knew what it was, even if she didn't know what it said. Headmaster Dumbledore had told her upon her arrival that he may have need to send for her, and that he would present her with his office's password when that time came. When she had asked why he didn't just tell her the password now, he had told her that he changed it frequently for his own reasons.
She was almost positive that Dumbledore wouldn't trust the password to his office with just anyone. Either the Slytherin Prefect was more trustworthy that he made himself out to be, or…
Unfolding the piece of parchment with curiosity, Amelia wasn't surprised when she found it blank. She was confused as to how to get the password, however. Amelia bit her lip and shoved the parchment back into her cloak pocket. The crowd of students was thinning greatly, signaling that the time for the next class to start was nearing. The young witch paid no attention as she clicked her way down the hall and to the gargoyle statue that Dumbledore had shown her. Turning one final corner in the maze-like castle, she slowed to stand in front of the entryway statue. She stared it in the eye, daring the enchanted stone to blink.
"I guess you'll want a password, don't you?" she asked the seemingly inanimate object. The gargoyle just stared straight ahead. It didn't even twitch.
Amelia humphed in indignation.
"I was just trying to make some conversation…"
When her feeble attempts were rewarded with more stony silence, she sighed and took out the crumpled piece of parchment for further inspection.
Smoothing it out with her hands, she turned it this way and that, wondering if the ink was enchanted. But that wouldn't make any sense, now would it? Why would Dumbledore charm the ink when she didn't know how to uncharm it?
Flipping the paper over to the other side for inspection, Amelia was surprised to find miniscule writing in the lower right corner. Squinting at the small letters, she smooth out the corner with her thumb nail.
Remember your name.
'Remember your name'? That didn't make any sense. Yet, after peering at it for a good minute, Amelia had to admit that that was, without a doubt, what the paper said.
Remember my name… huh. Well, I guess it's worth a try…
"Amelia Carver." She murmured to the parchment.
No change. Flipping it over to the other side confirmed likewise.
He couldn't mean to…
Glancing around the gall to make sure no one would hear her except for the gargoyle statue, Amelia looked back at the parchment. Amelia Carver wasn't her real name, of course. Carver was Uncle Ray's last name that she had adopted for protection. Maybe the spell wanted her true name.
Bringing the paper to her lips and whispering so that no eavesdropper could possibly hear she stated.
"Amelia Quinne."
Pulling back to look at the parchments reaction, she smiled broadly at the new writing that had appeared.
Hello, Amelia Quinne. Licorice wand.
Looking back at the gargoyle one last time, she put her hands on her hips commandingly.
"Licorice wand !"
The statue instantly leapt aside. Amelia smiled again and was about to walk through the doorway onto the enchanted staircase when something in her peripheral vision caught on fire.
Yelping out of instinct, Amelia dropped the piece of parchment as she watched it burn. Realizing that the flame wasn't hot to the touch, she knew that it had been a spell (probably triggered by the password) that was meant solely to destroy the evidence of the parchment. Amelia shrugged and stepped onto the enchanted staircase. She nervously hoped that Professor Dumbledore wouldn't think much of her late arrival. She'd been extremely embarrassed to have to explain that she couldn't figure out his riddle right away.
As the stone steps came to a stop at the door of Dumbledore's headquarters, Amelia knocked politely.
"Come in." called a muffled voice from inside.
Amelia smiled and complied. There, sitting serenely behind a beautiful, ornate desk. Taking a moment to look around her, Amelia ogled at all of the books and… pictures. She jumped when one of these pictures sneezed at her.
"B-bless you." A startled reply fell from her lips. Sometimes she forgot that wizards' pictures moved and were active.
The once-Headmaster smiled kindly at her. "Thank you, young lady. Would you happen to be in Hufflepuff?"
Amelia raised her eyebrows. "No sir. I'm a Slytherin."
The Headmaster looked very grave, "Now, that can't be right. No Slytherin has ever blessed me of their own free will. Isn't that right, Headmaster Pittock?"
A surly looking man a few paintings to the left snarled.
"Of course it is, Wimplefrock. No true Slytherin would want anything to do with a Hufflepuff."
The first Headmaster shook angrily and bit out. "I've told you for the last hundred years! It's Dimplerock! My name is Dim-ple-rock!"
This started a heated argument between the two Headmasters. Headmaster Dimplerock was beginning to force his way into Pittock's frame when Amelia's attention was drawn away by the sound of a throat clearing.
"Miss Quinne, it might be best to leave them to themselves."
Amelia started and smiled apologetically. She went to claim the indicated seat on the opposite side of Dumbledore's desk. Amelia felt like she should say something, but she didn't know what. She waited for the professor to say what he brought her here for, but his clear blue eyes only twinkled at her merrily. Someone rebellious part of her made her frown inwardly at those eyes. What did he have to be so happy about? She'd only been at the well-known wizardry school for two weeks, and already she was a main target of the lowest, meanest, snobbiest Slytherins of the school. She was already being harassed by Gryffindors of all the people, and she was struggling to keep up in almost every class save D.A.D.A and Charms.
What was there to twinkle merrily about? That was what Amelia wanted to know.
But she kept respectfully quiet, tense and waiting. Finally, the Professor spoke.
"I have asked you to come here for more than a few reasons, Miss Quinne. First of all, I know that your stay thus far at Hogwarts has not been what you wanted it to be. For this, I am sorry."
Amelia's eyes shot up, unintentionally colliding with the professor's knowing ones. Suddenly all of the rebellion was gone and Amelia felt sheepish. Immediately she began denying what they both knew was all too true.
"Professor Dumbledore, really, there's nothing to… be… sorry about. I'm just… new. There's nothing to help it." She finished lamely.
Dumbledore nodded. "This, of course, is true. But," he added, reaching under his desk for something. "But I think that perhaps, if we had put you in your true house, you would enjoy your stay here much better."
Dumbledore put what was under his desk on top of it. Amelia's brow puckered a little as she analyzed the sagging object. It was a brown and torn wizard's hat, patched and dirty in various places.
Realization dawned on her as she put together what the professor had said and the appearance of such a hat.
"Is this…?"
Dumbledore smiled. "It is indeed, Miss Quinne. This is Hogwart's very own Sorting Hat."
The sheepish feeling increased, and Amelia could even feel her ears heat up.
"Really, Professor Dumbledore, that's not necessary. I'm…" she paused, considering the lie she was about to tell. "I'm… happy…"
Dumbledore gave her a look that said that he wasn't fooled for a second. Amelia blushed outright now, choosing to stare at her knees rather than meet the kind man's gaze.
"Of course," the grandfatherly man began, "before we celebrate after we've found out who you really belong to, I do have some serious news. Amelia," he said. There was a command in his voice that made her automatically look up and give him her full attention.
"Amelia, it's about your aunt and uncle."
Amelia's eyes widened, and her heart accelerated at adrenaline began dripping into her system. Uncle Ray had warned her about this. He had wanted to send her to Hogwarts because they could teach her things that she would never learn in America. Though there had been risk, he had been resolute. The Amelia Beatrice Quinne that the Ministry knew about was a Squib and merited no attention. Amelia Beatrice Carver was a talented, if under educated, young witch who only wanted to learn at one of the world's most prestigious wizardry schools. She was the adoptive daughter of Raymond Carver, and had been born to young and niave parents whom she had never heard from. She knew none of her blood relatives, and the most she knew about them was that her 'foster-father' had told her that both her parents were 'Muggles'. That was the story they had created and that was what they were sticking to. If anyone found out that Amelia Carver seemed to have an astonishing lack of the Trace on her, they would simply suggest that America – especially California – was a long way away from Britain and that every system did have its hiccups now and then.
Could someone have tracked her anyway? Was it all for nothing? The whole reason she was in Slytherin in the first place was because Ray knew that her aunt would never suspect the daughter of her sister to be put in such a house. Everyone magical Amelia's family (except, of course, Maggie Malanoff) was reputably kind hearted and helpful when they could be. Her father, who had actually been transferred to Hogwarts in his day, had been a very successful Gryffindor. The plan had been that – even if she had been suspected of being Amelia Quinne – once her aunt and uncle saw that she was in Slytherin, they would assume they had the wrong girl.
Amelia felt like her mouth was clogged by cotton and, though she tried to swallow, her throat was dry.
"Has... has someone… found out?" she rasped out. Amelia dreaded the answer.
But Dumbledore only smiled.
"No, Amelia, no one has. But there has been another found dead in the manner that your uncle has deducted as Malanoff's dark ritual."
Almost instantly Amelia felt her tense muscles relax and her breath release. A second later she felt the guilt that another witch or wizard's death would be her relief. But this had been happening before and it was inevitable. She tried to remind herself of what Uncle Ray had so seriously pressed: she must not be found out by her aunt. No matter the cost.
So Amelia nodded shakily to Dumbledore.
"Okay. Who was it and how powerful was the person? Uncle Ray said that the more powerful the victims had been in life, the more powerful Gregory Malanoff has become."
Dumbled nodded shortly. "This is a true and wise deduction. And though the witch – May Linileth – was a witch I taught, she was average in magical skill. She became interested mostly in Muggle Studies. This, however, is not what is so pressing about the newest attack."
Amelia raised an eyebrow in question. Dumbledore sighed.
"Amelia… May Linileth was currently living in Dublin, Ireland."
The young witch nodded, wondering why he was telling her this. Then the significance of what he had said sunk in. Amelia felt the blood rush from her face in one felt swoop.
Albus Dumbledore nodded when he saw she understood.
"Until now, all the attacks have been in the Americas. Your aunt, uncle, and," he paused. "and most likely, your parents…"
Amelia bowed her head, eyes closed, and prayed that he wouldn't say it.
"… they are now in the United Kingdom."
Amelia didn't respond.
"It is likely that they know you are no longer in America."
In a second, Amelia's eyes flashed up with flinty challenge in them.
"How would they know that, Professor Dumbledore?" she hissed. "Everything was done in secrecy. The only way they could know that is if they pried it from my uncle himself. If they did that, then we would have heard about it, wouldn't we? Or am I out of the loop?"
"Amelia – "
"Has something happened to my uncle that no one has told me? Did he have his very life force sucked out of him? Or did they get to him in a more old-fashioned way?"
Dumbledore's gaze became very grave and stern. Amelia knew she may have been overreacting and that she should let him speak, but this was the last straw. This was supposed to have been a jump start to her life. This was supposed to have trained her and taught her so many things to help protect herself. But what good was protecting herself when the only person she felt safe with may have been murdered because of it?
The thought of Uncle Raymond dead – the only person she had as family – came crashing down on Amelia with horrifying weight. She suddenly got a mental image of Uncle Raymond's face, white and lifeless… with his usually intense cobalt-blue eyes, deadened and never to sparkle with smile again. She saw his death in life-like clarity, almost as if it had been a memory. Or rather, as if she was seeing the future.
Amelia's throat felt tight and she had to stop herself from calling out to her Uncle Ray. She bit her lip when she realized that the professor was staring at her, an emotion she didn't want to consider in his eyes.
It's not real. It's not real. You're just overreacting. Uncle Ray is fine. They don't want Uncle Ray, remember? They want you. Uncle Ray is fine.
But the more she tried to convince herself of this, the more she realized that the emotion in Dumbledore's eyes was pity. As if she wanted to ward away the inevitable, she began shaking her head back and forth, even as her eyes filled with tears. She wouldn't hear it. She couldn't hear it.
And yet, she did hear it.
"Amelia, you are right. There has been news of your uncle that I have not told you. Three days ago – two days before May Linileth was found – your uncle had disappeared from his home. Signs of struggle were evident, but – " He stared at her intently. "but no body was found. Do you understand what that means, Amelia?"
Amelia nodded dully. It meant that her psychopathic aunt may have kept him around, unable to fight back, torturing him for information about her. But she knew her uncle, and she knew that he would never give in. Unfortunately, Raymond had taught her about the Curciatus Curse. Amelia knew full well that too much exposure to the Unforgivable Curse was a fate worse than death.
And it was all because of her.
Amelia's insides were cold, and a tear ran down her pale cheek before she could stop it. She quickly wiped it away and held back her other tears. Uncle Raymond was the only person who had ever seen her cry, and she wanted to keep it that way.
"Amelia… what this means is that Raymond Carver is most likely alive." Dumbledore finally said.
Amelia looked at him with hopelessness.
"And what kind of life is he living, Professor Dumbledore?" she whispered. She knew that if she used her full voice right now, she would lose her control.
Dumbledore compressed his lips. "The situation of your uncle is, admittedly, a serious one. The fact, however, that you immediately assume the worst for him undermines your regard for his magical ability! Do you think that you would have lived so peacefully for as long as you have if your uncle was not a naturally skilled wizard?"
Amelia lifted her chin a little, feeling a little foolish and a little hopeful at the same time.
"If your uncle is alive, it is true that he is more than likely not living in supreme happiness and comfort. Nevertheless, he can take care of himself, and he is probably doing all he can right now to do just that with your wellbeing in mind. Do not grieve for him who is still fighting for you, Amelia."
Amelia began to nod slowly as Dumbledore had been speaking. A fighting light had restored itself to her eye. She knew he was right. How could she have assumed the worst? She knew her Uncle Raymond better than Dumbledore, and yet he had to point out to her the strength that she had always taken advantage of. Now it was her turn to do everything in her power to be strong for him.
"You're right, professor." She murmured in a clear voice. She felt her tears fading fast, though the ferocity of her emotions did not. Only now, instead of fierce grief, she felt the razor-sharp edge of determination.
Dumbledore nodded, a crooked smiled relieving the severity in his face.
"I know I am. I also know that you would have come to your senses sooner or later, and found your faith in your uncle. I simply want that time to be sooner rather than later."
Amelia looked at him with bright eyes and tried to smile. She found that her mouth could only accommodate a feeble twitch. It seemed that the rest of her body had yet to be convinced of her uncle's safety.
Seeming to understand this, Dumbledore gestured to the forgotten Sorting Hat.
"Well, as I promised, shall we see what you were really meant to be?"
Hesitating only a second, Amelia nodded. Her mouth twitched again, like a flower struggling to bloom. Professor Dumbledore stood and, with an air of ceremony, walked around his desk and placed the ragged hat on her head.
Immediately a new voice filled her head.
"Ah, a new person, I see. Much older than the usual. Yes, practically a young woman. And you've been through a good deal of stress lately, I see. Poor girl, you'll get the hang of it soon."
Without meaning too, Amelia thought: I hope I get Gryffindor, like my father.
Also without meaning to, the pompous face of a handsome, rogue-like Gryffindor came to mind. Frowning, Amelia mentally batted his picture away. Not, however, before a certain someone had seen it.
"Ah, yes, that's Sirius Black. I never forget a face, or a mind, for that matter. Very brave, but very reckless fellow. I'm not surprised that he isn't in your good books.
"Now then, what have we here… you are smart, no doubt about that. Very quick to learn things when you set your mind to it. You're also brave and fearless when you need to be, there's enough of that to see. Perhaps a little tactless at times… but at others very crafty. Hmm… a difficult choice. Where to put you, where to put you…
"Ravenclaw would let you flourish in your brightness, but that doesn't see quite right for you…
"Slytherin I can tell has already rejected you, though I think I different circumstances it would have made you very successful. This is mind, I'd better make it – "
"GRYFFINDOR!"
Amelia yelped when the hat shouted as loud as it could, as if proclaiming it to all of the Great Hall. Dumbledore chuckled.
"Oops… old habits die hard, I suppose."
Reaching over and taking the hat from Amelia's head, Dumbledore placed it back in its shelf of honor. Amelia marveled at the enchanted thing. It looked no more extraordinary than a piece of garbage, but it had given her what she had wanted more than she had known.
"Well, Miss Quinne," said Dumbledore. He presented her with something.
"I know you will not be able to wear this in public, but you are a Gryffindor at heart, after all."
Looking down, Amelia felt her lips twitch at what he was giving her. It was a Gryffindor badge and tie, to keep for her own in secret.
Taking the items, Amelia felt that she was connected in one more way to her parents. Looking up at the remarkable wizard before her, Amelia thanked the professor whole heartedly.
Dumbledore's eyes twinkled.
"Your parents and uncle would be proud."
Amelia's mouth didn't even twitch.
Instead, she beamed.
