Starman

30th July 1972

Amalia didn’t even have time to reach for the door before Fleamont Potter opened it from the inside. He stopped in his tracks when he saw her standing there, hand slightly outstretched.

"Hello there, Miss Amalia." The surprise on his face quickly disappeared, replaced by a twinkling smile. He took a low, theatrical bow, the gesture exaggerated but filled with warmth.

"Why, hello, Mister Fleamont," she replied, curtsying playfully, the corners of her lips twitching with amusement.

They always addressed each other with some sort of title—him calling her 'Queen,' 'Your Highness,' 'Your Majesty,' 'Lady,' or, most commonly, 'Miss.' He claimed it was because she was far too beautiful not to be addressed as such, and the habit had soon stuck. What had started as a joke when she was small had turned into a tradition, something familiar and comforting.

Amalia had known Fleamont Potter her entire life; he was like a second father to her. It helped that he and her actual father had been best mates since they were around her age. It had been far less common back then for a wizard and a Muggle to be close friends, but her father had grown up near the Potters' estate, and the two had spent countless childhood hours playing in the woods nearby. By the time they were sixteen, Fleamont had revealed the magical world to his best friend. That was actually how Amalia’s parents had met—her mother had gone to school with Fleamont, and one summer, she and a few of his school friends had come to visit. Matthew Stirling had been utterly smitten from the moment he laid eyes on her.

"I’m guessing you’re not here to talk to me, my lady," Fleamont said, stepping aside with a knowing smile. "James and Peter have just popped down to the corner shop for some sweets, I imagine. And I was just on my way to yours, actually—helping your father with some garden work."

He tapped his nose conspiratorially, and Amalia resisted the urge to laugh. She knew full well that her mother had asked her father to clear the leaves, and she also knew there was no way he would be doing it himself when he had a perfectly good wizard for a best friend who could manage it in seconds.

"But Effie’s in the kitchen baking something marvellous, and I’m sure she’d be ecstatic to have you keep her company."

Euphemia Potter was always cooking up something mouth-watering. Fleamont had often encouraged her to open a bakery, once even declaring that he would happily give up brewing Sleekeazy’s Hair Potion to work there—so long as he got free pastries. Effie had simply reminded him that he already got free pastries before swatting him away with a tea towel as he attempted to sneak a pumpkin pasty she’d baked for the local spring fair.

As Amalia stepped into the kitchen, the scent of something sweet and buttery filled her senses, wrapping around her like a warm embrace. Effie turned away from the oven and beamed.

"Amalia! How lovely it is to see you, dear."

She always said things like that, as though they hadn’t seen each other in a year—when in reality, Amalia had been over just yesterday.

"Would you like some tea?"

Before Amalia could answer, the kettle was already whistling on the stove, the steam curling upwards like a spectre. They settled at the table, chatting idly about school and friends, the familiar sounds of the kitchen creating a soothing backdrop.

"They sound like lovely girls," Effie said warmly. "Especially that Lily—she sounds like she might be your best friend. James needs to watch out, he’s got competition."

Amalia’s stomach sank slightly at the word 'competition.' Things were good between her and James, and between her and Lily, but James had a way of driving Lily absolutely mad, and he was too stubborn to back down from a challenge. Amalia knew that when they returned to Hogwarts, there would be no shortage of arguments.

Effie noticed the slight frown that flickered across her face. "I love my son more than anything in this world, but a girl needs her female friendships. There’s nothing quite like girls being girls together. Trust me—I’ve had many relationships, both romantic and platonic, and the best ones are definitely my girlfriends."

She gave Amalia a warm smile. "I’m glad you finally have some." She reached forward, tucking a loose strand of hair behind Amalia’s ear. "Poor thing, surrounded by boys your whole life."

Just then, the timer for the biscuits went off. Effie clapped her hands together excitedly. "It’s time!"

Not long after, the boys returned, arms full of sweets from the shop. They all took their haul out to the back garden, sprawling on the grass to play cards, a plate of freshly baked biscuits between them. The air was thick with the scent of summer, warm earth and the faintest hint of something sweet drifting from the open kitchen window.

As the evening wore on, Amalia and Peter walked home together. They both had to be back for dinner, and since they lived in the same direction, they often shared the walk. The sun was dipping low in the sky, casting everything in a golden glow. The air buzzed softly with crickets, their footsteps crunching on the dirt path that served as a shortcut to Amalia’s house.

To pass the time, they threw hypothetical 'what ifs' at each other.

Peter kicked a loose pebble ahead of him. "What if you could go anywhere in the world right now? Where would you go?"

Amalia considered the question. "Maybe somewhere thrilling, like Egypt, to explore ancient tombs. Or somewhere peaceful—some little wizarding village in the mountains, where the air always smells like fresh bread."

Peter nodded. "That’d be amazing. I think I’d pick… I dunno, somewhere far away. Somewhere no one knows me. I could be whoever I wanted."

Amalia frowned slightly, nudging him with her elbow. "You know you don’t have to run off to be impressive, right?"

Peter let out a small, breathy laugh, like he didn’t quite believe her. "Yeah, but not like James or Sirius. Everyone notices them. They don’t even have to try. Me? I could disappear for a whole day, and no one would realize."

Amalia stopped walking.

"That’s not true."

Peter blinked, surprised by her seriousness.

"I’d notice."

For a second, Peter didn’t say anything. Then, he smiled—a small, crooked thing. "Yeah?"

"Obviously." She rolled her eyes and started walking again. "Who else would I make fun of when they get caught sneaking extra pudding?"

Peter laughed, falling into step beside her. "You’d be lost without me."

"Completely."

Their laughter echoed down the road as they headed home, the deeper thoughts tucked away for now—but not forgotten.