Important Announcement: I will not be updating until I reach at least 60 reviews, though 70 would be great...
Note: I tried to make this chapter as long as possible, but I am rather lacking in ideas, so if you have any, just PM me, (it is much appreciated!!).
Disclaimer: I do not own the song (Kelly Clarkson does) and I do not own the book (J.K. Rowling does). All I own is Amara.
This chapter is dedicated to Littlewhiskers. Thanks for giving me that little push to update.
Because of You
Chapter 11
Standing outside of Divination, Amara felt her chest turn to cold, heavy ice. She was confused, and stunned.
She walked slowly back to the Griffindor common room. Harry was sitting on the red comfy chair, an easy smile on his face, and a pile of homework in front of him. Hermione was sitting next to him.
They were laughing, and talking, and Hermione was blushing. But when they turned their happy faces up to meet Amara's, she didn't even attempt to paste a smile on her features.
Their smiles faded quickly.
I must look forbidding indeed, thought Amara.
"What's wrong?" asked Harry worriedly. He patted her arm.
With a sigh, she heaved herself down on the couch opposite their two chairs, her ponytail thumping her back.
"I was in Divination," she began to explain. Harry and Hermione exchanged looks. "And…" she struggled to elucidate what had just happened, "…Trelawney went… weird. Her voice…"
Harry nodded. "I know. Did she make a prophecy?"
Amara's eyes widened. "How do you know?"
Hermione nodded her head in agreement. "When he was in his third year, she made a prediction as well," she clarified.
"So," said Harry, "what did she say?"
Hermione tossed and turned in bed that night. What did it mean?
Amara, daughter of a Death Eater turned, you will face the danger that lies in the shadows.
Hmmm. Amara bit her lip. The danger that lies in the shadows was most definitely the death eaters; she was sure. But... it wasn't Voldemort. Voldemort was officially out in the open, so...
In the month of May he will come, and you will fight them.
Ok, well that's pretty clear, Amara thought.
Gather your weapons, or you will not succeed. Either way comes with a heavy price for the deed.
Great. Prices. Damn.
The Boy Who Lived must be at your side.
She clenched her fists and tried not to let one tear escape from her eyes.
Why does trouble follow me wherever I go? she asked herself once again.
When she awoke the next morning, she was still tired. She had rings around her eyes, and her nose was running.
I'm a wreck, she thought tiredly.
She didn't have any classes until after lunch, so she thought she might go see Draco. But how to find him?
She replaced her PJs with a knee length brown skirt and a plain black top. She wasn't in the modd for fripperies. She brushed her hair quickly, and once again put it back in a ponytail.
Amara cautiously walked over to the Slitherin dormitories and loitered in front of their door for a while (she wasn't supposed to know where it was but Draco had told her). They gave her dirty looks and sneered when she asked where Draco was.
What more could she have expected?
She gave a defeated sigh and headed back to the dormitory.
An annoyed looking McGonagall was standing in the middle of the hallway. She looked happy to see Amara.
"Are you looking for Mr. Malfoy?" McGonagall asked Amara quietly.
Amara knitted her eyebrows. "Does everyone know that I am friends with Draco?"
"Perhaps," McGonagall answered solemnly. "He is in the hospital wing. I think you should visit him."
Amara felt her stomach clench unpleasantly.
Amara sat down next to him. His eyes were shut, but he looked fine. Just as beautiful as usual, his blond hair shining.
She cautiously lifted up the blanket. There were no bandages, nothing.
"He's asleep," Madam Pomfrey. "Please don't wake him."
Amara swallowed painfully. "What happened?" she whispered.
"Well," began Madam Pomfrey.
Then she heard a murmuring noise from Draco. She bent down to hear him better. His eyes fluttered open.
"Draco?" Amara held her breath. She crossed her fingers and bit her lip. Please let him be alright.
"Who are you?" Draco asked groggily, his eyebrows tilting up with confusion. "Where am I?"
Oh, no. Oh, no. Please, no, she thought.
"What happened?" she turned to Madam Pomfrey.
She looked regretfull, even sympathetic. "He had his memory stolen," she informed Amara.
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