Chapter 10: Prisoners of Azkaban
Amara, Bill, Charlie and Percy apparated to the Quidditch World Cup. The raven haired witch held on to the two younger Weasleys, arm in arm, nervously grasping onto them for dear sweet life.
Bill laughed at her. Amara's eyes looked wild and paranoid.
"'Mara, you're never going to learn with that sort of attitude," the eldest Weasley told her.
"Who says I want to learn? I don't want to learn!" argued the witch. "I have a broomstick, the Knight Bus, the Floo Network. I don't need to learn."
"Hey, I like riding a broom as much as the next guy, but you travel a lot, 'Mara," Charlie reminded her. "Why wait and waste your time, when you can pop in somewhere in a pinch?"
"Splinch?!" Amara shrieked. "Hell no! I'm not going to let myself get splinched!"
"I said 'pinch', 'Mara. You know, 'Pinch'." Charlie tried to emphasize, but pinched the bridge of his nose, knowing he his words weren't going to get through.
"Amara, so far you've side-along apparated twice. You're fine," Percy told his lover gently. "You just need to focus. You're a strong witch, a smart witch. You can do this. I believe in you."
"But I just don't understand it," Amara tried explaining her fears. "Like what's happening when I do it? I once knew a man at the inn who left a stench of sulfur whenever he popped from place to place. He told me that for a millisecond he's in some fiery demonic place. What happens to us when we go? Why do some people get splinched? Do we disintegrate into tiny pieces before we go? Explain it to me please."
"Err…" The boys didn't know how exactly the theory worked. They weren't spell masters. Were all women this neurotic? They wondered.
"It's magic," Charlie said simply just before he and his brothers picked up their pace, walking faster before the witch began her stubborn debate.
Left to make her own entertainment, Amara marveled at the setting around her: the tents, the energy, the diversity. Unfortunately, she stumbled upon the presence of one sleazy Stan Shunpike. The witch shuddered at the memory of him.
Last summer, Amara rode the Knight Bus back to the Leaky Cauldron in the sorest of moods. She had just left St. Mungo's in tears after learning her lover of two years had just got himself into a magical accident and that the effects of it were irrevocable.
The witch felt like her world just collapsed. She and her lover were engaged to be married. A diamond ring hung on the chain around her neck and beneath her clothes (the gem was just too huge and distracting to wear for a blue-collared working witch like herself). They were supposed to be husband and wife. They were supposed to spend the rest of their lives together, but the dream they once shared was all over now.
Amara visited him at the hospital. He was in a cot dressed in a paper gown, and he smiled at her and said 'hello', but his warm blue eyes burned a different stare. This wasn't the stare of adoration or ardor as it normally was. His eyes were pure and innocent. He looked as if he didn't know her, and that's what broke her.
Stan Shunpike, the bus conductor, spotted the distraught passenger. He had worked on the Knight Bus for a year now and was aware of the saucy minx of a witch ever since he first laid eyes on her: dark hair, dark eyes, and ivory skin. She had the mystique of a seductive vampire, and was hot in this fiery temptress sort of way. At first, he used to try chatting her up with bawdy jokes to try and make her laugh, but that was unsuccessful. The witch just glowered at him and threatened to sever his bollocks off if he even looked her way again. That was usual, but tonight for the first time, she looked so vulnerable.
Amara stared off into the window watching the scenery blur by the magnificent speeds. The tears had dried on her face, and little did she know, the obnoxious pimple faced bus conductor's eyes preyed upon her. Stan wanted to "comfort" her. He heard from a friend that women get rather randy when they are in distress, so desperate to feel something else other than their pain. Looking at the witch now, he hoped his friend was right.
Stan strutted over to where the witch was sitting and sat down beside her. He wrapped his arm over her shoulders and asked her what was wrong.
Amara awoke from her trance. Memories of her lover plagued her mind, and she realized where she was. Stan's gentle touch put a jolt in her system, and she was shocked to find the juvenile so close to her and squeezing her inner-thigh. When the hell did that happen? Better question, how the hell did I let this happen?
Apparently, much like the famous poem about the turtle and the bagpipe on the beach, Stan took Amara's lack of response as an invite. If she didn't like it, she could have said 'no', however the witch did have enough sense in her to scream "Aaooga" when squeezed.
Amara whipped out her wand, lashing all her frustrations out on him. "How dare you!?" she hissed, and in a moment a small fat toady replaced the zit-faced teenager. Ribbit! Ribbit! He croaked, hopping around the bus in a panic.
The angry witch drew a deep breath, collected herself and adopted her icy resolve as she stepped off the bus and arrived at her destination. It wasn't long until the Aurors came to arrest her for improper use of a transfiguration spell. It wasn't so much the spell that got her in trouble, but her reputation as a troublemaker, and at the time, under-aged at sixteen. Her wand was still tracked by the authorities and she just hexed a civil service worker on the job. It didn't paint a pretty picture for Amara as far as the ministry was concerned, Minister Fudge was glad she would finally face the consequences of her actions. She was always a thorn in his side, but she was charming, constantly meeting different people through the inn. The public actually sympathized for her.
However, Amara was still sentenced to suffer in Azkaban, even if only for a month. It was June, and apparently her cell was next to the murderer Sirius Black's sometime before his deftly made escape.
Amara was forced to wear a shapeless grey gown, and her hands were tethered with an unbreakable bind. The witch was escorted by two dementors, each flying wispily by her sides. She crinkled her nose at her guards' foul stenches. They smelt like rotting corpses, she gagged. It was all too overwhelming. The air was cold and dank; she could see her breath, a misty cloud over her mouth.
She buckled over and stared down at the floor of the narrow corridor, avoiding chance of making eye contact between her and her fellow inmates. An icy chill ran deep into her very core, sapping all the warmth inside her. Amara wanted to think of happy thoughts like the Weasleys, her flat at the Cauldron, Madame Rosemerta (her most recent boss at the time) or priceless memories, but the effort was futile. The dementors sapped it all away, giving her a painful migraine whenever the witch tried. The images in her mind would always melt into the worst memories of her life.
It wasn't such a bad life for the witch though. Sure, Amara couldn't remember anything before being orphaned at seven, but she had accepted her situation and decided not to obsess over it too much. She lived a life of hard work and had a loving family life with the Weasleys, and for that, she was blessed. The witch had no complaints really, she thought, but during her stay in Azkaban, she learned the few things that really struck her nerve.
The dementors of that cell block stayed near. Amara was so fresh and full of hope; the cloaked creatures were drawn to her like moths to a flame.
Sitting in the corner of her stonewall cell, Amara's mind replayed her personal hell. Instead of air banding with Bill when they took excursions to muggle London, she was ashamed at the time she was far too young to entice him. Instead of broom flying with Charlie, they were arguing about how he hated her when she initially joined the family. Instead of making love to Percy, she saw his reaction when he found out she was in the arms of someone else. Instead of playing games with the twins, she was getting scolded by Molly and Arthur for getting them accidentally injured. Instead of babysitting Ron and Ginny or helping Molly with the cooking and cleaning, Amara was at work getting snubbed by wealthy Purebloods. Instead of finally getting proposed to by her fiancé, she saw his empty strange eyes staring at her, that empty stare that angered her on the day that brought her here.
"Evie…psst! Evie…" Sirius whispered for the witch's attention. She was asleep in her cot, but her face was turned towards the stony wall. The wizards face was pressed against the bars; he could peer into her cell. "You're alive! I can't believe –"
"That's not my name," she grumbled, not wanting to wake.
"Evie, it's me, Sirius. Certainly you remember –"
"I'm not her, dammit!" the witch hollered, snapping her eyes open. She sat up from her cot and glanced at the barred window between their cells. Her eyes met a pathetic sight. While Amara was fit, but growing gaunter every day spent in this hell hole, the face of her neighboring cellmate was thin like a skull, his skin – a sickly pallor, and his hair was long and dirty.
"Who are you?" the prisoner asked the familiar-looking witch. Sirius seemed absolutely sure that this woman was exactly who he thought she was. He had known Evelyn Orchis in his 5th year at Hogwarts, a beautiful shy Ravenclaw that had a tendency to fraternize with those from Slytherin House. Sirius first noticed her she was hanging around Snivillus all of a sudden, and then with his younger brother Regulus. James, who was a prefect then, reported to his fellow marauder that he had caught Evelyn and Regulus meeting after-curfew several times.
Although Evelyn was naturally blue eyed and silver-haired, she had a tendency to change the colors of her eyes and hair into jet black, making her look no different from the witch staying in the cell next door. But as a member of the Order, Sirius knew better. Weeks before he wound up in Azkaban, before that fat rat Peter framed him for a crime he did not commit, before Lily and James's deaths, Evelyn had been murdered by Death Eaters. If that's true, then there is no way that this witch in front of him could possibly be Evie, unless…
Sweet pea, the nickname dawned on him. Good heavens! Could this really be…Could this really be…his little niece? She would be old enough.
"Who are you?" Sirius rasped softly. "What's your name?"
"Amara," she answered, confirming his suspicions. "Who are you?"
"Sirius Black."
"The notorious murderer?" Amara wondered aloud.
"Hardly," he chuckled dryly. "Aren't you a bit young to be playing in Azkaban?"
"I'm sixteen."
"Then you must have been very naughty," Sirius teased. "Why are you here?"
"Self-defense."
"Seriously?" He asked her.
"I'm always serious, Sirius" Amara told him, wincing at her inadvertently corny joke. "I'm a repeated offender for underage-wizardry. It was only last night I turned this horny toad into a… well… a horny toad, pretty much. What did you do?"
He beckoned her closer. She approached him slowly, fearing he might do something untoward like lick her face for example.
"I was betrayed," he told her.
"Really," Amara scathed. "Everyone else said that YOU were the traitor."
"Fuck what everyone else says!" Sirius roared gripping the bars tightly; a little bit of his spittle landed on the witch's cheek. Amara stoically wiped her face, silently noting that she's truly living in hell then looked back at the prisoner.
"Then what really happened?"
Tears prickled her eyes as Sirius described that fateful day at Godric's Hallow. His pained expression as he described his loss and Peter's betrayal earned Amara's trust very easily. Inside she felt foolish, gullible even, but something about this man felt oddly reassuring, familiar to her as if she new him all her life or at least some other lifetime ago.
Days sped by that month of June, and Amara and Sirius shared each others stories: what it was like for either of them growing up, the people who were important to their lives, secrets…
"I had my wand taken by the ministry at least 96 times," Amara confessed.
"You're kidding!" said Sirius.
"Nope. Ollivander was not happy with me."
"Was he giving you your wands?"
"Hell no! My so-called "wands" always were the sticks I claimed them to be. A little thanks to a transfiguration method called the "Greek Pull", with enough focus, the stick stretched into the shape I wanted it to be. Seeing as my wands lacked a magical core inside, they weren't really wands. I didn't get a real wand until I began living with the Weasleys."
The two prisoners of Azkaban told jokes, described the taste of butterbeer and other sweets; Amara told Sirius of the latest prank products at Jonko's shop, and it was fun even if the dementors feasted on this fresh source of mirth.
Noticing that Amara had no recollection of him or her mother, Sirius decided not to tell her the truth about Evelyn or her past. Even though Amara is missing her memories, she was under the care of the Weasleys, Order members, and so he concluded her condition was most likely made to protect her.
Eventually, Amara's day of freedom finally came. Sirius asked her what was her plans now that she's left. A part of him yearned to ask her to come back and visit him, but a larger part of him felt guilty for wanting to keep her in this prison. She told him that she was sure that she still had a job at the Three Broomsticks and that she was considering experimenting in the field of potions. Also, once she cleans herself up, she was planning to visit her absent-minded fiancé at St. Mungos.
Through the bars, Amara kissed Sirius on his cheek goodbye and softly stroked his face and beard. She felt as if he would never feel such a tender gesture for as long as he lived. As she turned around to make her final leave of the premises, the witch bumped into Minister Fudge who was visiting the prison that day for a routine inspection.
"Minister Fudge," Amara acknowledged the wizard.
"Miss Amara," Fudge returned the gesture. "Gallivanting with murderers I see."
"I was just leaving."
"I trust I won't see your return here soon."
Meanwhile, Sirius looked at the Minister and noticed the newspaper tucked under his arm as he addressed Amara. He saw on the page a picture of the Weasley family. About to tell Amara this, knowing that she would be thrilled, he noticed the rat that rested in the arms of the young Ron Weasley.
"Excuse me," called the prisoner, grabbing Amara and Fudge's attention. "May I see your newspaper, Minister?"
Amara looked over at the newspaper and saw the black and white picture of the Weasley family in Egypt. She squealed with glee and about grabbed the paper out of the minister's hand before he had given his permission. Fudge rolled his eyes, thinking that for someone who just got released from prison, she was uncharacteristically peppy. She must have not stayed long enough. No matter, Fudge thought, turning his heel and leaving to carry on with his business.
"Look Sirius!" Amara told her fellow inmate as she showed him the paper, "They're in Egypt. If I hadn't gotten arrested, I could have gone with them.
"Sirius, what's wrong?" Amara ask, noticing his down turned gaze at the paper. He was quiet. His hand reached out and tapped the photograph.
"Who's this?" he whispered.
"That's Scabbers," Amara spoke lowering her voice too, although she was confused as to why. "He is Ron's pet rat. It used to be Percy's. I'm surprised it's still alive."
"That's no ordinary rat, Amara."
"No shit. I swear that rat has more lives than a cat."
"No, not cat. Wizard," Sirius rasped.
"What are you trying to say?"
"Tell me, does Scabbers have all his toes?"
"No, he's missing one… Are you telling me that he's –"
"Peter."
"Oh god, Percy forced me to kiss that thing!" Amara's eyes widened in outrage.
"I'm getting out of here," Sirius told the witch.
"What! You can't do that. Can you do that? Why haven't you already?"
"I had no reason to before. I was framed. Peter escaped. I was a wanted man."
"And now?"
"Now I know where Peter is."
"Sirius, if you need anything, food or shelter, don't hesitate to contact me okay," Amara offered her hand through the bars.
"Thank you, Amara," said Sirius, gently kissing the back of her hand. "It's been a pleasure knowing you."
A/N: Sorry for the extremely slow updates.