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Chapter 10

Hermione sat in the couch in the Griffindor Common Room. She chattered happily with Ron, Harry and Hermione sat next to her.

Suddenly, the warm end of summer wind was replaced by a chill, frigid wind that bit at her skin and clothes.

Amara shivered, as did her friends. And immediately, her dream changed shape.

Now they were immersed in black, in a black room with black walls, where they could barely see each other. All of them clasped hands instinctively. What was in here? A monster? Fluffy? A dragon?

But they were facing something much worse.

As Voldemort stood before them, their heads exploded with pain. His gleaming eyes struck out Amara, and she writhed on the floor with the pain of a million people screaming out, asking for mercy, screaming while they were killed, while still clutching her friend's hands. They too, were screaming and crying with the pain inside their heads..

Voldemort looked disdainful. "You are but weaklings," he said in his soft, hissing voice. "There is no good and bad in the world, only power…" Then there was a flash of green light at Amara's two sides, and she found herself still gripping her dead friend's hands tightly.

The pain in her head was gone, but so were her friends. She screamed and wailed with grief.

Amara looked up into pitiless, unmerciful eyes. Voldemort held out a hand, and without thinking, she took it. It was cold, like death, except Voldemort… was… unforgivably alive.

Amara woke with a start, and immediately started crying.

It was puzzling, the dream seemed so real…

Looking at her hands, she noticed that her hands had the nail marks from Hermione's and Harry's hand grasping hers so tight.

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Amara sat on the floor in the library and leaned comfortably around Draco's legs. He sat in a chair right next to her.

The library was deserted. After all, it was dinnertime. Where would one think hungry students would be? Eating dinner, of course.

"It's quite strange," Draco agreed. Amara had related the dream to him, and he had found it as puzzling as her.

"I had a dream like this one," he said, uncharacteristically quietly. "When I murdered my father."

Amara gasped.

"I'm sorry…" she started.

"He was a Death Eater, one who enjoyed killing. Do not be sorry. He got exactly what he deserved," Draco said with a slight air of sadness. He was, after all, his father.

Amara didn't say anything, just hugged Draco to her chest.

He answered by placing his sweet lips on hers.

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Amara took a deep breath. I have to do this, she thought. It is the right thing to do. And she walked through the door into her father's rooms. He was labeling some flasks of potion, but looked up when she arrived.

"Amara!" He seemed surprised, and maybe a little glad.

"Father," she said coldly. "I just wanted to tell you-"

"I'm sorry," he interrupted.

"Sorry for what?"

"Sorry that your mother… had to die the way she did. Amara, please understand, I would have gladly come and saved you but I was being held off… by Voldemort and his other Death Eaters. I am sorry… that you had to go through that. Alone."

Amara was genuinely touched. "Thank you… I miss her so much, though…" she confided to him, and bit her lip.

"I know. I do too," he looked at her with sadness in his "emotionless" eyes.

And everybody wondered why Snape was so bitter as a teacher, Amara thought. He has much to be bitter for, as do I… But something nagged at the back of her mind.

"Why did you leave, then?" she asked. "When I was four, you left, didn't even tell us where you were going. I thought you were trying to save yourself."

"No. I knew the Death Eaters were chasing me, and I thought, if I left, and you didn't know where I was going, that they'd leave you alone and go after me. I was… wrong," Snape said, his face contorting, as if the memories alone were painful. And they were.

I understand now, Amara thought. "I forgive you," she said slowly. It's going to be hard to go from hating you to actually having a father, she thought bemusedly.

Snape said nothing, but the look on his face said all. Awkwardly, he reached over and wrapped his arms around his only daughter, enveloping her with a hug.

"One more thing," Amara protested. "My choice of friends… is my own."

Her father nodded consent. "Fine. Though I do not like them, I will have to be content with that."

"Oh… and umm… uhhh… Father…" the word felt weird against her tongue. "I told Harry. About his mother. I thought he deserved to know."

"Amara! That was supposed to be a secret." He raised his eyebrows to the ceiling. "Your soft heart will be the death of you."

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Divination. Last class of the day. Sighhhhhhhhhhhhh.

Amara closed her eyes, and felt herself drifting off.

"Class is over," said Professor Trelawney in her ethereal way. "Amara? May I see you alone?"

She nodded wearily, and the rest of the class fled.

"Amara, dear," said Trelawney. "I have noticed that you are not doing so well in class… Your predicting vibrations-very weak, very weak." She paused.

And then she began to change. Her eyes rolled back into her head, and her face shook. She began to speak, in a voice that was both creepy and fascinating. It sounded as if it were many people talking at the exact same time.

"Amara, daughter of a Death Eater turned, you will face the danger that lies in the shadows.

In the month of May he will come, and you will fight them.

Gather your weapons, or you will not succeed. Either way comes with a heavy price for the deed.

The Boy Who Lived must be at your side."

She gasped, as if for air, and returned to herself. "What was I saying? Oh yes, you must work on them. I would like you to take this stack of papers and review them for the next class."

Amara just gaped at her.

"What, dear? It's just a little extra homework," she said a bit irately. Trelawney handed Amara the papers, and ushered her out of the room.

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