That Bloody Scar

Ila woke up with a start. She shot up, breathing hard as though she had been running. She was awoken from a vivid dream. Her hands sprung to her forehead, which was burning, like someone pressed a hot poker stick, marking her with a lightening shaped burn. She stepped out of bed, not even bothering to find her glasses. The room was lit only by a faint orange mist from the lamps outside, but it was still bright enough for her to jump over the piles of books on her floor. She sidestepped her spilt ink, as to not stab her foot with a quill before she was in front of her cupboard, which was covered with posters of Shahrukh Khan and Salman Khan. There were a couple of faded posters of Amitabha Bachchan, the edges curling away from the cupboard. The only thing that wasn't covered was the mirror, which reflected the image of fourteen-year-old Ila, peering closer to see her forehead in the dark. Brushing her fringe back, which was too long to be even called a fringe, she inspected her scar.

It was still painful but looked normal enough.

The dream was so vivid, yet there were only fragments when Ila tried to recall it. There was a dark room…a group of women…Wormtail…a cold, high pitched voice…it was Voldemort. But that was impossible. The last time Ila had seen him was in her first year over three years ago. She defeated him.

Or so she thought.

Ila winced as her stomach cramped. She wrapped her arms around, hoping it would help.

But she needed to remember more. Clamping her clammy hands over her eyes, she breathed hard, trying to remember what else was going on. Voldemort and Wormtail talked with those women…they were plotting something, but…someone interrupted them…what were they talking about before?… They were planning on hurting someone…no… killing someone…they were planning on killing her…

Ila gasped as she dropped her hands, her eyes darting across the room, expecting someone to jump out and take her away. She walked over to the window, grabbing her glasses and the silent street of Privet Drive focused into view. It was still dark outside; no one else had woken up. She checked both ends of the streets multiple times before she could finally go back to bed. But even then, she laid awake, restless. The idea of Voldemort lurking in the shadows, watching her every move, Ila never knowing when he would pounce…

Hermione's voice, one of her best friends, echoed through her mind, "You know you can't think like that, Ila - panicking all the time. Nothing good will come out of it."

Ron's voice, her other best friend, also drifted through, agreeing with her, "Yeah, Ila…Mione's right. I mean, you don't want to be a blubbering mess in front of…You Know Who!"

"What should I do then?" she whispered to herself, clutching her pillow.

"If your scar hurts, you should have it checked out…or write to Dumbledore; I'm sure he'll know what to do about it…I'll see if there's anything in Common Magical Ailments and Afflictions…."

Ila rolled over so that she was staring at the ceiling above. Since this was her cousin's old room, there were even more posters of famous Bollywood actors stuck on the ceiling. They stared back at her, smiling. Almost like they pitied her.

"Piss off," she said to the poster of Salman Khan.

She doubted there would be anything useful in Common Magical Ailments and Afflictions about your scar hurting because you saw a Dark Lord plotting to kill you, with said Dark Lord is the exact person who gave your scar in the first place. Ila didn't even know where Dumbledore lived, let alone know how to phrase her problem. It's not like she could have written him a letter early in the morning saying,

'Dear Professor Dumbledore,

I hope your summer was great. Mine was alright until my scar hurt. I'm pretty sure the megalomaniac Dark Lord that was out to get me is back and wanting to kill me, but then again, when is he not?

Yours truly,

Ila Potter.'

She rolled once more, so her head was buried in her pillow.

"You know what, I'll ask Dad about it…scars probably twinge a bit now and again…don't worry yourself about it that much…but he isn't here, is he?"

Although she was grateful for Mr Weasley and the rest of his family for showing her the wizarding world, she also wasn't sure Mr Weasley knew that much about her…predicament. She doubted the adults around her knew Dark magic…

Although, there was one person.

Maybe he wasn't 'around' her, but he said she could write to him about anything. She jumped off her bed and hurried across the room to her table. She ripped a spare piece of parchment that was supposed to be for her Potions homework.

Oh well…it's not like Snape would have given a good grade anyway. With one hand dipping in a non-spilt inkpot and the other stroking her owl, Hedwig, she wrote:

'Dear Sirius,

Hope your summer was great; mine was alright until my scar hurt-'

Nope.

Ila couldn't write that. She didn't want him worrying about her from hundreds of miles away. No, she had to be subtle.

A lot more subtle.

She needed to be casual, but not too casual, so it didn't have to take so many letters to build up to the fact that her scar was hurting. Maybe she would ask him about how his summer was.

Or would that be rude? Sirius did want her to stay with him for the summer and for the rest of her time at Hogwarts but unfortunately, due to a certain slimy, greasy Professor, he was now on the run. He was currently in India on a nationwide tour. Well, it was only three. Kashmir because that was where her father was born, though he wasn't allowed to go very far. Udaipur, because her mother was born there and then Assam. She wasn't too sure about the last one, but Sirius mentioned a village known for black magic.

Who knows what he was planning?

By the time the sun was beginning to rise and thus, the Varmas, her bin was full to the brim of scrap pieces of parchment, and possibly her entire Potions essay, but it didn't matter as Ila had just finished her letter.

'Dear Sirius,

Thanks for the last letter. The bird was enormous; it could hardly go through my window.

Honestly, nothing's changed that much from last time. The Varmas are the same; boring and annoying. Although, they have been a lot less annoying to me. Partly because I let it slip about my escapee Godfather and because I over-heard that Ridhi auntie was looking into suitors for Ishani.

This caused them to fight each other, which meant they didn't pay any attention to me since they were too busy clawing at each other's throats. I could have as many jalebis as I want, and they wouldn't even notice. I hope your tour of India was fun. I loved your pictures of Kashmir; those mountains looked incredible. Along with those pictures of you doing 'street magic,' though, I think you have to be a bit more careful considering you nearly took a guy's head off!

Though from the look of it, it didn't seem like he minded.

You also have to teach me everything that you learnt in Assam. It's practically my birthright to learn about my magical heritage.

I was also hoping you could ask around about what to do if a lightning-shaped scar hurt?

It happened to me this morning. The last time it happened was when Voldemort attached himself to Quirrell, and I might have thought that Snape was the bad guy (though he still is.) But Voldemort isn't anywhere near me, I don't think anyway.

Do you think it means anything? I'm planning on asking Dumbledore too, but I think your opinion would be just as useful.

I hope the rest of your tour of India was fun, and I'm sorry I can't sneak off any more food; the Varmas nearly caught me. But I'm sure you won't be missing out on anything since you are actually in India.

Say hello to Buckbeak for me too.

And no, I won't tell Hagrid you fed him parathas for breakfast. I will not make a grown man cry.

Love, from your favourite godchild, Ila.'

This was it, Ila thought. She attached the letter to Hedwig's leg and watched the owl fly off for a long journey.

"ILA!" she heard her auntie shriek her name. "COME DOWN NOW!"

Sighing, she changed out of her pyjamas and slowly walked down the stairs. Once she reached the kitchen, the smell of chilli and cumin drifted by her. The scents were so strong; they would usually travel to Ila's room, forever staining her uniforms. No matter how many cleaning spells she asked Mrs Weasley to try, they never came out.

"Sit," her uncle, whose face was covered by the latest edition of the Daily Mail, ordered. Ridhi auntie had finished plating up and was coming to set all the plates out onto the table. She served her husband a large dosa with a bowl of sambar on the side. She then went around the table and handed her daughter aloo paratha. Ishani scowled at her mother, still annoyed by her request of looking into suitors.

"We need to talk to you," he said, putting down his newspaper. His thick moustache covered so much of his mouth. It always looked so uncomfortable to Ila. It made it worse every time he would eat, with bits of rice sticking to it.

"About what?" Ila asked. She ripped half a dosa, glancing at her auntie's reaction. Her auntie was too busy glaring at Ishani to notice.

"Today is a crucial day for your Ridhi auntie," he said, smiling over to his wife. "It is her friend's birthday today."

"Why would your friend birthday be important to you-"

"Chup!"

Ila shoved a piece of dose in her mouth to stop her from saying anything she'll regret.

"She's been so kind that she's going to have a surprise birthday party for her in our house," her uncle said sweetly as if he was falling in love with his wife all over again.

In the words of Seamus, it was making her boke.

"What has that got to do with me?" she said, bits of dosa accidentally spurting onto the table.

"It means you can't come downstairs, idiot," her cousin sneered.

"What?" Ila exclaimed.

The Varmas have done some messed up things to Ila: making her stay under the stairs until she was eleven and moved into her cousin's toy room – and that was only so she wouldn't any receive any letters from Hogwarts – placing bars on her window so that she couldn't escape but to her lock her in her room during a party so that no one would see her and she wouldn't be able to get any food? That's never happened before. Usually, the parties would be in other people's houses. The three of them would go, but on the rare occasions that they decided to have people come over, Ila was always allowed out, as long as she was sneaky about it.

"I've done it before; I'll just make sure no one sees me when I get food."

"You have broken our trust too many times before," her auntie said, scolding her. "Do you not remember blowing up Adya bhabhi? I don't want you blowing up anyone tonight!"

"She deserved-" Ila watched her uncle's full brows raise, daring her to continue. She deliberated on whether she wanted to finish her sentence before deciding to back down, knowing it wouldn't be worth it. It would be three against one like it always was. "I said I was sorry, didn't I?"

"How do you think it will look on us when people see we've taken in such an insolent child, huh?" Aadit uncle growled.

"Maybe they'll think your actually nice people," she muttered.

"What?"

"Nothing," she said quickly. She couldn't help herself.

"You will be in your room for the whole night," her uncle said. "You are not allowed to come out, no exceptions."

"What if I'm hungry?"

"No exceptions."

"What if I need to go to the toilet?"

"No exceptions."

"What'll happen if someone walks into my room to see a hungry savage girl that's wet the bed?" Ila asked, crossing her arms and sat back in her chair. "What do you think all aunties will say then?"

Aadit uncle's mouth snapped shut. Ila could physically see steam coming out of his ears from the cogs in his brain, working hard to find a reasonable reply.

"I will not tolerate you using such disgusting language," her auntie said.

"I'm just letting you know about a likely possibility," she replied innocently.

Her uncle tutted before bringing his wife and child to have a private meeting to deal with Ila.

"What do we do with her?" her uncle whispered. "It could be true. They might end up finding her – you never know with her. You really don't want to risk it tonight."

Ridhi violently shook her head. "I will not have her ruin my special night. Pinkie and Priya are coming along. They're bringing their sons too."

"Did you ask them to come?" Ishani asked.

"…No…they wanted to come themselves," Ridhi auntie said nervously. They seemed to be on somewhat civil terms with each other, now that they had another problem to deal with. It seemed that Ridhi auntie was doing her best to keep it that way. "It's been a long time since you've seen them. I bet they've grown into nice young men. They study engineering-"

"We'll think about that later," Aadit uncle said hastily, steering them back. "What do we do with her?"

"Why don't we just let her come, but she does all the work?" her cousin suggested. "Tell her she's back from that Juvenile school you sent her to or whatever you said."

"She won't be in the kitchen. She won't be able to cook any food well. I don't want her to poison anyone. They'll think it'll be my fault," her auntie whined.

"Or you can tell her that she's dead," her cousin also suggested.

"Oi!"

Just as Ishani finished speaking, the doorbell rang. Aadit uncle sprung from his chair to get it. Ila could hear laughing before it was immediately cut off by the slam of the door. Her uncle came back, displeased, as usual, holding an envelope.

"This came for you," he said but kept it in his hands. He took a letter out of the envelope and read aloud.

'Dear Mr and Mrs Varma

We have never been introduced, but I am sure you have heard a great deal from Ila about my son Ron-"

"What kind of Gora name is that?" Ishani tutted.

"Son?" her auntie exclaimed. Ila rolled her eyes, already seeing the conversation that was about to take place. She could have closed her eyes and placed her hands over her ears, and still manage to say everything her auntie was about to say in time with her. "Why are you hanging with boys for?"

"Am I not allowed to?" Ila asked, wondering if anyone else could see her auntie's hypocrisy. "Why's Ishani allowed to hang out with guys, but I'm not?"

"Because Ishani's a good child, and I can trust her," her auntie said, making Ila snort. If only her mother heard all the things, her good child has done.

"You're not allowed a boyfriend; we told you before," her uncle chimed in. Ila glared at him. He couldn't give two damns about the sexes of her friends. Without giving her time to retort, he carried on reading.

"As Ila might have told you, the final of the Quidditch World Cup takes place this Monday night, and my husband, Arthur, has just managed to get prime tickets through his connections at the Department of Magical Games and Sports. I do hope you will allow us to take Ila to the match, as this really is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity; Britain hasn't hosted the cup for thirty years, and tickets are tough to come by. We would, of course, be glad to have Ila stay for the remainder of the summer holidays and see her safely onto the train back to school. It would be best for Ila to send us your answer as quickly as possible in the normal way because the Muggle postman has never delivered to our house, and I am not sure he even knows where it is.

Hoping to see Ila soon,

Yours sincerely, Molly.

P.S. I do hope we've put enough stamps on."

She certainly did, Ila thought, eyeing the envelope, which was covered in stamps, not leaving one bit bare.

"No," her auntie said immediately. "You will not be going to this…cricket match-"

"Quidditch."

"It doesn't matter. You're not going."

"Why not?"

"Because," her uncle said, "do you really think I will be letting you go to this gora's house so that you can whore yourself around with him?"

"He's not my boyfriend," Ila exclaimed, "I'm not going to have sex with him."

Her uncle swore, and her auntie covered Ishani's ears, even though she and Ila knew that she had a lot more experience than Ila. "Don't use that language around your elders."

"Oh, so it's fine for you to call me a whore but not me?" Ila said, standing in front of her uncle.

"If you think acting disrespectful will make me even think about changing my mind, you're wrong," her uncle shouted.

"Why do you even wanna go to this cricket-"

"Quidditch."

"-anyway. Big deal, it probably happens every year," Ishani said, checking her nails.

"Fine," Ila said, looking back at the Varmas before announcing her ultimatum. "If you don't let me go to with the Weasley's-"

"You'll what?" her cousin dared. "Poke us with your stick?"

Her auntie looked warningly at her daughter, who was too naïve to understand exactly what the stick can do.

"I'll just write a letter to my Godfather," she said and watched at her auntie and uncle's face contort with fear.

"Y-you can't," he said in a low tone.

"What's so scary about a letter?" Ishani asked.

"Remember that escaped serial killed last year?" Ila asked.

"Yeah."

"Guess who's Godfather that is?" Ila said before mouthing the words, 'mine' and pointed at herself.

"No wonder you turned out the way you did," Ishani muttered.

"Aadit," her auntie said before giving him a 'what – do – we – do – look?' Her uncle sighed before looking at Ila.

"You will only go to the cricket match-"

"Quidditch."

"If you help out at the party."

"What?" her auntie exclaimed before walking over to her husband. "What do you think you're doing? She is not coming anywhere near my party? Do you understand? She is not helping!"

"It will help Ridhi, I promise. You won't have any time to talk to your friends if your too busy cooking in the kitchen, huh?"

"What happens if she poisons everyone?" her cousin asked, her mother's eyes bulging at the thought. Ila smirked but immediately dropped when her uncle's eyes landed back on her.

"I will make sure she doesn't," her uncle said venomously.

"But she'll ruin the food, Aadit," her auntie said.

"She learnt from the best, didn't she?" her uncle said, making her auntie blush. Ila wanted nothing more than to gouge her eyes out.

"Fine, I'll help, but I will go to the Quidditch match," she said before leaving the kitchen.

"Aap gadabad nahin kar sakate," her uncle called out. "If I even see that wand-"

"You'll ship me off to India," she muttered as she walked up the stairs.