Azalea glanced round the courtyard, which was packed with members of her family, a few people that she vaguely recognised, and many that she didn't. Holding the skirt of her dark blue and silver dress robe so it didn't drag on the ground, she headed over to the corner, where she could see Lily's fire-red hair like a beacon.
Lily looked like an angel in her ivory dress. The man next to her was handsome, Azalea supposed, but she only had eyes for her little sister. It was kind of funny, really, that Lily had married the very boy that she had wanted nothing to do with when she was younger. But then, everyone had to grow up sometime. Azalea just hoped that Petunia would, soon. She hadn't even come to her sister's wedding, despite the fact that Lily had been present at her own.
"Congratulations, Lily. You look beautiful today."
And she did. Her eyes were gleaming with a happiness that crept into the souls of all the people around her.
"Thanks, Azalea. It's good to see you."
Azalea rolled her eyes at her youngest sister. "You do realise that we saw each other just the other day, at Petunia's wedding."
'Well, sister dear, this past week has been the only time that we have been face to face in years. You didn't even visit for my graduation, either."
Azalea refrained from speaking on that. She was going to come, but she had missed her plane and then been unable to book another ticket in time. Portkeying did not agree with her at all, nor flooing. It made it rather difficult to travel anywhere quickly. Even apparition made her queasy. Her preferred mode of transport was an only slightly enchanted bicycle.
"And, Azalea, don't think that you can just run off on us again."
Azalea, clasping her hands behind her back, twisted them slightly. She had a project lined up for the next year or so, where she wouldn't be able to be in contact with anyone. Maybe she should leave mentioning that until just before she left.
"But now, I need to introduce you to some people, Azalea. What with all your travelling… You probably don't remember their names even if you met them before. You know James, of course, as you met him a few days ago, but this is Remus- Remus Lupin. He was a friend of James' initially, but we've all gotten to know each other quite well. You'd probably like him, he likes reading almost as much as you do."
Remus Lupin, a tired-looking man, smiled at her. He seemed quite nice to Azalea. He wasn't participating in the conversation of the group, but was included by them anyway.
"And this is Sirius Black."
Azalea remembered him, even though he had only been one of the younger years when she was at Hogwarts. She supposed that setting off hundreds of timed dung bombs in the corridors did that to people. She was so glad that she hadn't been in the same house as him, if that was any indication of what his social skills were like. Perhaps he had matured.
"Marlene McKinnon, Mary Wentworth, Alice and Frank Longbottom…"
After the rush of faces that she tried hard to remember Azalea excused herself and walked away. She didn't feel that she knew any of them well enough to stay, save for Lily, and she had always found it difficult to converse with those she only had a small understanding of.
Minerva McGonagall found her ensconced in a corner, away from the crush of well-wishers.
"Miss Evans, as much as I can sympathise with your desire not to emerge, the point of a party is to socialise with others and celebrate."
Azalea smiled up at one of her favourite teachers. "Professor, I prefer to know who I am socialising with."
Her former teacher extended an arm. "Perhaps we might socialise together? I seem to be slightly above the average age of this gathering."
"Hmm, yes, that might work. You can talk about all your annoying little sprogs, and I can talk about my studies, and we can have a reciprocal conversation." She giggled, then let go of the formality in a rush. "Yes, please."
She gently took the older woman's arm, and was duly led to a quiet nook in the adjoining garden.
"Please, if you could call me Azalea. I haven't been Miss Evans for a good few years now. It feels really strange hearing it again."
'Of course. And I am Minerva. How had Australia been suiting you?"
Slipping a stray curl behind her ear, Azalea grinned. "It's wonderful. A little hot, but wonderful. The universities and schools there are more integrated into the muggle system, you know. They had a wonderful literature program at the University of Magical Sydney, and it was mainly muggle, but there were some interesting side notes relating to how magical society was affected by the texts, and how they were used. Did you know that ancient poems and songs were mostly magical in origin, and they enhanced the quality of potion brewing and spells? I first read about the theory over here, but they actually still use it in Australia, in the Aboriginal communities."
Azalea had felt quite giddily happy until she received the letter.
She had come home to her flat above the clothing store in Magical Sydney with a large grin on her face. She had applied, and been accepted for, a position working as a researcher for the university. And it wasn't just any position, but one that meant she would be part of a small team working in outback Australia alongside many of the indigenous magical peoples to study the differences and similarities between European and Indigenoustheir magics, encompassing potions and native plants for the main part. She also would be able to observe some of the more private rituals, and perhaps even take part in them.
The letter put a stop to all her excitement.
Azalea hadn't had very frequent contact with Britain, only being written to by Lily every month or so. Their parents had died in a motorcarway accident a year back, and Petunia had ceased to write after that. Azalea didn't mind overly much that Petunia wasn't writing, as she knew that she had only been waiting for an excuse to stop. But this letter wasn't from Lily.
Azalea hadn't a clue why Minerva McGonagall, Professor of Transfigurations, would write to her. Yes, she had liked the witch that had introduced her to magic. Yes, when they met they would carry on an interesting conversation. However, neither of them communicated regularly or could be called particularly close. If she had stayed in Britain, maybe they could have been friends, but Azalea hadn'didn't. So why would she be writing to her?
Dear Azalea Evans,
I am afraid it has fallen to me to write this epistle to you, dear child. I am ashamed to say that not many remember you, and thus find it difficult to connect you with Lily and James Potter.
The wizarding world in Britain has been in the midst of war, as you know. In Australia, it may not seem so immediate to you, but to us the war was very real, escalating as it did around when you left for Australia. The war against the Dark Lord is no more, I am glad to say, as of yesterday. However, with this news I also bring dark tidings.
Your sister and her husband were murdered on the day of the defeat of our enemy. Forgive me for this bluntness, as I cannot think of a way to soften the blow. Murdered by the Dark Lord himself, and they went bravely. After your sister passed, our enemy tried to use a killing curse on her son. We are unsure of what truly happened, and it is mere guesswork I am presenting you with, but He-who-must-not-be-named died also, through the reflection of his curse, leaving baby Harry with only a small scar on his forehead. Albus, who you will remember as the headmaster, hypothesises that you sister's sacrifice is what saved her son and condemned the other to his fate.
I know that this is little consolation, but please remember that Lily Potter neée Evans died as she was in life- brave, kind-hearted, and willing to sacrifice all she had for the one she cared for the most.
Her son will be taken care of by relatives, although it is yet undecided who. Harry James Potter may grow without his mother and father, but I will see to it that he does not forget.
I mourn as you mourn
My tears dwell with yours
Through deepest sorrow and endless love
We will remember her.
Yours,
Minerva McGonagall
Azalea placed the letter on the table, her legs folding until she slumped on the couch. Her eyes stared blankly at the window in front of her. Her sister was gone. Dead. Her parents were too, and her other sister hadn't written in a year, and presumably wanted no more contact even with Lily gone. A tear trickled down her face as she realised that McGonagall had used one of the traditional elegies in her letter, which were usually kept inside a family, and had fallen out of favour in the last couple of hundred years. Of course, Lily had been close to her head of house, and McGonagall did seem a traditionalist.
She had no more ties to Britain. Perhaps she might visit for a week or so one year, to meet up with cousins that she barely knew, or to visit muggle acquaintances that were friends before she moved away, first to Hogwarts then oversea. She might even visit her old teachers, and talk to McGonagall and her old head of house. But she knew that she would most likely never return permanently. It would be too hard.
