"This is getting ridiculous," Amelia complained as she laid the Daily Prophet on the kitchen table.
"What's getting ridiculous?" her mother asked, walking over to look at the newspaper. On the stove, a spatula flipped eggs on its own.
"This," she exclaimed, pointing at an obituary. A picture of a dour witch shifted uncomfortably on the page. "Professor Morryxa. The problem with Defense Against the Dark Arts professors is that they seem to get themselves killed so frequently. We've had five professors in five years and I need my N.E.W.T. to become an Auror!"
"They've all died?" William exclaimed. "That's cool!" Clarissa turned to glare at her son. "I meant creepy. It's creepy," the boy said hastily.
"Why do your professors keep dying?" Zachary Zeraff asked, faintly alarmed.
"They're too good at Defense Against the Dark Arts," Amelia answered gloomily.
Her father looked confused. "How is that bad? How is being a good professor something that will get someone killed? I don't understand."
"The Death Eaters target them," Clarissa explained to her husband.
"Oh. Oh. Uh, I know we've discussed this before, but are you absolutely sure that that school is safe?"
Her mother gave a wry smile. "As I've told you before, Hogwarts is the safest place our daughter could be. As long as Albus Dumbledore is Headmaster, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named won't come anywhere near the place." Clarissa scooped the eggs onto a plate and set it on the table. "Amelia is as safe there as it is possible to be these days."
"I'll trust your opinion on that, love," Zachary replied. Clarissa smiled, leaned over and kissed her husband.
"Eew, Mum, Dad. Why do you have to do that where people can see you?" William asked, making a face.
Amelia snorted. "Grow up, Will. Just wait till you hit puberty."
"Why would I want to do that? Girls are gross. I'd rather be a kid forever," he proclaimed.
"You do that," Amelia retorted. "I'm going to be an Auror in a few years."
"Amelia dear, are you certain you want to be an Auror?" Clarissa pressed.
"Yes," Amelia replied promptly. "And Professor Flitwick says I would be good at it."
"You would be good at whatever you put your mind too, Amelia. But being an Auror – it is very dangerous, especially these days."
"Everything is dangerous these days, Mum," Amelia said rolling her eyes.
"I'm a witch and I am perfectly content working in the Muggle world," Clarissa continued.
"That's because you only got an A in Defense Against the Dark Arts and couldn't go into Healing like you wanted to. I don't know how you can stand working in the Muggle hospital, that place is miserable."
"Patients in my ward recover much faster than they would ordinarily," Clarissa told her daughter. "As a nurse at a Muggle hospital, I don't need to have an E on my Defense Against the Dark Arts N.E.W.T. No one arrives at a Muggle hospital with dangerous curses that the nurses need to worry about."
"I should hope not," Zachary remarked.
Clarissa motioned as if to say exactly my point. But what she said instead was, "And Amelia, you had an O on that O.W.L., even with all the discontinuities in the teaching. So, I do not believe you will have too much trouble with your N.E.W.T. But really, with all the professors dying, surely you can see how dangerous becoming an Auror would be. Won't you at least consider something else?"
"I have considered, and I want to be an Auror. Dad's a police officer, why can't I be an Auror?" Amelia demanded.
"Chasing burglars with guns is a far cry from chasing Death Eaters with dark magic," her mother countered vehemently.
"So? It's what I want. Frannie, Alice and I are all planning to become Aurors once we graduate. It's better than hiding in fear. At least this way we won't just be sitting around doing nothing useful, waiting for the Death Eaters to come after us anyway!"
"You are half-blood, Amelia, I highly doubt they will come after you," her mother retorted.
"Isn't that nice. But unless Aurors fight them, the Death Eaters will gain ground and expand their target audience. Seeing as I will join them when hell freezes over, and I highly doubt I'll be willing to sit silent while they target innocent people, they'll come after me eventually. I'd much rather be trained when I meet them."
Breakfast continued in subdued silence after that. The clang of the metal silverware on the china plates was enough to set Amelia's already stretched nerves on edge.
"May I be excused?" Amelia asked as politely as she could manage as soon as she finished. "I want to finish my letter to Frannie. I am still allowed to visit Italy with her and her family before September, right?"
"Of course," said her mother quickly.
Amelia left the room before they could argue about anything else. Halfway to the stairs she whirled on the figure in the hallway. "What have I said about following me, William?" she snapped, before it dawned on her the man had hair too dark and long to be her brother. She had her wand out and raised before she recognized the man.
"Interesting family," Sirius commented dryly.
"I could say the same about yours," she replied automatically. Amelia paused for moment, realizing she had never met any his family. Not counting the crazed portrait of his mother. Who wouldn't die for another eight years after the argument that had just taken place in the kitchen.
The hallway rippled around them.
"I think that will do, Harry."
People in every shape and color every shape and color were scurrying up and down the bustling street. A low, soft hooting came from behind Amelia. She turned to find herself standing in front of Eeylops Owl Emporium. Unlike the previous memories, Amelia knew perfectly well that she did not belong in the scene.
"So, this is one of Sirius' memories?" she said, more to herself than the witches and wizards passing by oblivious to her presence.
"Sirius Orion Black!" an uptight, prim, black-haired woman snapped. "Stop staring at the broomsticks! First-year students are prohibited from bringing a broom of their own and even if you were allowed, why would I buy you one, with that outrageous attitude of yours!"
Walburga was a well-dressed woman who carried herself with an air of self-importance. The eleven-year-old boy she was addressing reluctantly pulled himself away from the new Cleansweep model in the window of Quality Quidditch Supplies. A slightly younger black-haired boy followed Sirius as they continued down the street.
"I can't wait until I start Hogwarts next year," the younger boy said excitedly. Amelia decided this must by Regulus. "Another two years and I can have my own broom. Are you going to try out for Quidditch next year, Sirius?"
"Probably," Sirius said, his customary grin making an appearance. "I reckon I might like to be a Beater."
"I hope I make the team," Regulus continued, hopefully.
"If the captain is fool enough not to let you play, I'll hex him," Sirius assured his brother.
"Hurry up!" their mother yelled. "Or do you not need a wand, Sirius?"
Amelia followed the trio of Blacks into Ollivander's tiny shop. Regulus stared in amazement at the thousands of narrow boxes piled neatly to the ceiling while Walburga settled herself regally on the single spindly chair – after looking upon it in disdain first.
"Good afternoon," Mr. Ollivander said in a soft voice, appearing from the depths of his shop. "Mrs. Walburga Black, it has been a while. Aspen, nine and a quarter inches, rather rigid, wasn't it?"
"Yes," Mrs. Black answered, deigning to reply.
"And you must be young Sirius." Ollivander pulled his long tape measure from his pocket. "Which is your wand arm?"
"My right arm," Sirius replied, much politer to the wandmaker than he was to his mother.
"Hold out your arm please. Good, good." Mr. Ollivander took a few measurements with his silver-marked tape before leaving it to finish as he selected boxes from the shelves.
"That will do," he said, returning. "Now then, try this one. Blackthorn and unicorn hair, ten inches. Rather bendy."
Amelia watched Sirius give the wand a wave. Nothing happened. Ollivander snatched it out of his hand immediately.
"Right then. Try this, cedar and phoenix feather. Eight and a half inches, quite stiff."
Sirius barely lifted the wand before Ollivander grabbed it back.
"No, no, that won't do. Try this one, spruce and dragon heartstring, thirteen and three quarter inches, nice and flexible."
Ollivander snatched three more wands from Sirius before the boy produced silver sparks from "ebony and dragon heartstring, twelve and a quarter inches, whippy."
Amelia found herself clapping with Mr. Ollivander as the wandmaker cried, "Ah, excellent!"
Sirius turned to look at her. "I know you," he said. "What type of wand chose you?"
The store shifted.
"Clarissa Zeraff, it seems just yesterday you were in here. Willow and phoenix feather, ten inches, I believe?"
"Correct as always, Mr. Ollivander."
"And this would be your daughter, then. Welcome, Amelia, welcome. Which is your wand arm?" Ollivander asked, pulling out a tape measure with silver markings.
"I'm left-handed," Amelia replied, trying not to look into his unblinking silver eyes. She found it creepy that he didn't blink.
"Ah," Mr. Ollivander commented, before removing narrow boxes from the vast assortment on the shelves.
"Try aspen and dragon heartstring, nine inches, rather bendy."
Amelia gave it a wave. She jumped when the wandmaker snatched it out of her hand.
"No, no, definitely not. Here, cypress and phoenix feather, ten and a half inches, sturdy."
Again she waved the wand, and again Ollivander snatched it back.
"Right then, try beech and dragon heartstring, twelve inches, quite whippy."
Ollivander wasted no time removing the wand from her hand.
"Not quite there yet. Hmm. Try this one. Larch and unicorn hair, eleven and a half inches, slightly springy."
The wand felt warm in Amelia's hand, so she wasn't altogether startled when waving it produced a stream of blue and gold sparks. William whooped in delight at the firework effect.
"They snapped my wand," the fifth person in the small room remarked. Amelia looked over, but no one else seemed to have heard him. "When I was brought to Azkaban. I was using my father's old chestnut wand recently, but I think I dropped it when we fell."
"You dropped it?" Amelia repeated. She reached for the pocket in her sleeve, surprised to find her wand there. Suddenly she wasn't eleven anymore.
"Reggie had a chestnut as well."
"Your brother?" She turned to Sirius, but he wasn't looking at her; he was watching William pull on young Amelia's hair as their mother paid for the wand. "I've never heard you talk about your brother. Were you close?"
"When we were children." He gave a half-hearted shrug. "But he was soft enough to believe my parents and their pure-blood mania. Regulus went to Slytherin like the rest of the lot. Stupid idiot. He joined the Death Eaters. Then he was fool enough to try to back out and Voldemort had him killed."
"You didn't – talk to him?" William was a Muggle, always had been a Muggle, had married a Muggle, but Amelia had stayed reasonably close with her brother, even while away at Hogwarts.
"What was there to talk about?" Sirius said scornfully. "As I was constantly reminded by my oh-so-loving parents, Regulus was a much better son, and a much better Black. He was in Slytherin, after all. I was in Gryffindor. We didn't talk much after that. After I ran away from home, it became a moot point. James and his parents were much more like a family to me than my own ever was."
"I don't think I ever heard that story."
"You wouldn't've," said Sirius with a shrug, still watching the two Zeraff children as Clarissa herded them out of the shop. "You only really hung around us in the Order, after Hogwarts, and by then I already had my own place. Uncle Alphard left me a decent bit of gold."
"There I am."
Amelia's head snapped up. "That sounds like Dumbledore."
"Nice suit, sir."
Sirius spun around. "And that was Harry."
They could hear someone chuckle distantly as the scene grayed out again.