Chapter Two

Amaryllis stirred the pot on the fire, brain working madly. Black …rich people …family. There was only one possibility in her mind: she must be one of the Blacks, the richest and oldest of all of the wizarding families. But why would a Black be sent to live in the country and never learn magic? It simply made no sense.

She took the oatmeal off the fire with her apron wrapped around her hand, and spooned about half of it into a large bowl. She picked up the bowl and the ladle that hung on the wall next to the fireplace, and set off for the main room of the inn, where a large family was waiting for their breakfast.

The family were nearly all red-headed and boisterous. She noticed that two of the members were brunets and quieter than the rest, and of course the two adults were fairly serene, but the others all spoke quickly and loudly.

She approached the table with the oatmeal and began to walk around it, spooning out oatmeal as she went. Most of the time she was met with a nod and a quick smile, but the dark-haired boy with glasses stopped his conversation with the red-haired girl and said, "Thanks. It looks great." She blushed and bobbed a quick curtsey before moving down to the brunette.

After she finished serving the breakfast, she went back to get the pitchers of orange juice, milk, and water and the pots of coffee and tea. Then it was back to the kitchen again to fetch cream, lemon, and sugar. After the guests were all settled, Amaryllis went back to the kitchen and stayed there, as she was supposed to. She stirred the oatmeal, off the fire now, and, for once forgetting to glance around and make sure she wasn't being watched, dipped a finger in and licked it off. It was still warm, and tasted like heaven compared to the table scraps she was normally given. As she made to slip her finger in again, her arm was caught and she was pulled around so that her back was pressed up against the wall.

It was John, Porter's son, who had grabbed her and was now uncomfortably close and leering into her face. "Naughty girl. Eating when you're not supposed to and getting the guests' food dirty. I wonder what my da will do to you when I tell?"

He was twisting her wrist as he held it, and she squirmed. "Please- please don't. Please!"

He leaned in closer. "Give us a kiss and I'll think about it."

She gaped at him. No – she didn't want to – he couldn't – She broke away, ripping her arm from his grasp, and stumbled into the main room, falling to the floor and scrambling away. The red-haired family looked up in interest.

"Is something wrong?" the mother asked, her brow furrowing, as John strode into the room.

"Oh, no, missus," he replied, grinning widely. "My girl and I were just playing around. She tripped over the table. All right?" He grabbed Amaryllis's arm and pulled her up, then put his arm around her and held her close. "Let's go back in – "

"No!" She pushed him away, and he stumbled slightly, a look of disbelief crossing his face. "I'm not your girlfriend! Leave me alone – please," she begged, "please, just let me go back to work. I'll do anything else, just please, leave me my dignity." As she stood, trembling slightly with the force of her indignation, Porter entered from the barnyard door.

"What's going on in here?" he rumbled threateningly. "You're supposed to be in the kitchen, and you –" he swung around on his son, " – you're supposed to be doing something, I'm sure of it."

"She did something, Da, you can be sure of it," said a tall, skinny girl who was descending the stairs – Anna Porter. "She's got that guilty-as-sin look on her face – probably stealing from the guests." She smiled smugly and leaned on the wall as her father turned back on Amaryllis.

"It's true, Da," John put in. "She had her finger in the oatmeal pot. I seen her."

"What?" Porter's face turned a nasty shade of red, somewhat like the color of a finger that's been hit by a hammer. "Stealing food and dirtying things? If you want a beating," he said threateningly, "why'nt you just come and ask?"

"Please, sir – I'm sorry – I was just so hungry –"

The red-haired father exchanged a look with his wife and stood up. "It's all right, no harm done."

"Don't worry, sir." Porter's voice had changed back to the oily tones he used for speaking to guests. "She's a bad one, needs a bit of encouragement sometimes. Slow, too, in the head. My niece, she's just a Squib."

Somewhere deep inside of Amaryllis, something stirred. At the bottom of her emotions, in places that had never been brought to the surface, places that had been covered by sorrow and fear for her whole life, the rage that had been suppressed began to wake.

"No," she said, beginning to tremble slightly.

"What's that?"

"I'm not your niece," she replied quietly.

Porter leant down so that his eyes were on a level with hers. "And who's been filling your head with stories, then?"

She shook her black hair back, grey eyes determined. "Mrs. Burns told me the truth. I'm a Black, and I'm a witch, and I am not going to be your servant any longer."

"Why you little …" Porter breathed. Everyone in the room seemed to freeze, as though time had stopped for everyone but Amaryllis, leaving her to breathe in gasps and ignore the tiny voice of the Amaryllis she had been for her whole life that was telling her fall to the floor and beg forgiveness and hope for the beating to be short.

Porter broke the spell by raising his hand and bringing it down again on her face so hard that she was dashed to the ground. It seemed to Amaryllis that there was a general sort of pandemonium coming from the red-haired family, but then the room swam and her consciousness floated away from her, and her eyes closed on the sight of the dark-haired boy as he stood above her, facing Porter, wand raised in determination.