Chapter 6
Tum, tum.
Her heart sang as her lungs filled with air. She felt the magic singing in the same tunes as her heart, but not quite yet.
Amara stood on shaky legs with her magic stretched in its maximum around her. She had been curious if she could detect other magic around her. Almost like a radar, so. Here she was.
Blinded by a tie she had bought and standing in the middle of the room, she asked a house elf, Tommy, to count on the clock for fifteen minutes (Minimum time to train, but she needed to concentrate on other matters too). She felt every bit of magic around her.
Now, as she stood within the duelling room of Black Manor and breathed and felt. She felt as if she was unstoppable. Her magic was waving in the rhythm of her heart and she felt so warm and powerful that she couldn’t help but grin.
Tum, tum.
Her heart beat and her magic followed. The waves crashing against the walls and shaking the various weapons and duelling dummies there.
Amara breathed in, focused, and out.
Tum, tum.
One sharp turn of her magic as it detected a movement from a magical being from behind her, had she sidestepping just in time for the spell to be casted aimed at her, she heard her own magic beat widely around her as her heart started racing.
‘Concentrate Amara,’ focus a voice that sounded suspiciously like Mark came on her head.
Amara grinned in delight and dodged yet another spell. She didn't know what spell it was, didn’t know what it would do but she felt more alive than ever as its power rushed right next to her.
Amara dodged spells aimed at her left and right until finally one hit her back as she had been dodging another one. Her senses are still somewhat limited to two spells only.
It was hard to focus. The spells coming from the dummies hadn’t had this much power before a house elf had instructed her over how her ancestors had powered them.
Now tho, now that the magic was so powerful and so familiar that it fooled her senses and left her thinking that it meant no harm but everytime it hit her she grit her teeth and stood up.
‘Again,’ she thought stubbornly.
And, like always, her stubbornness had paid off in the end.
She had slowly built up her own morals and opinions over the Wizarding World after reading a lot of history and politics. She had to neglect her basic needs for three whole days to read every book she could find on politics and still understand.
She couldn’t waste too much time with things like these. She had much to learn, much to see, much to experiment and try until she felt truly ready.
And she was starting to think that maybe she’d never be ready.
She has also done her first successful ritual.
The one to identify if you were a Dark, Grey or Light wizard.
The Dark Wizards could cast Dark spells faster and more efficiently, they didn’t tire or give them nausea as much as light spells did. While for light wizards it was the contrary.
Now the grey wizards were usually the minority in the population, they could, essentially, use any spell they wanted without any trouble at all, they could cast a killing curse at first and then next the Patronus charm without breaking a sweat if not for the magical energy that these spells required.
She had done the ritual and potion necessary exactly three times, just in case if she had been wrong but she wasn’t. Apparently she was a very healthy — albeit pale — Grey Witch.
It didn’t cease to amuse the fact that she was apparently a head figure to a side that she didn’t even belong in, but it did give her questions, her parents were apparently light wizards. How could this happen?
Amara had quickly gotten hold of an artefact that let her have a new appearance. It apparently cast a glamour over her body and made the illusion of being someone else.
She had at first decided to go for a version exactly like her, except her scar. But decided that some areas were better to have a different one. So she made two personas.
Amara Usher, a newly turned vampire from the Countess Sangria coven (she had the particular feeling as thought this would come back to bit her in the ass in the worst way possible but she couldn’t care less) , had pale skin much like her own and green eyes, but that is where the similarities stop.
While Amara has long hair, Usher has short dyed blue with a bit of light blond hair at the top. She found that once she had short hair, the infamous Potter hair actually hit her with full force, making her hair look somehow untamable and ‘fluffy’ as some put it. She found it very eye-catching but she also wasn't the one stuck to the shadows, she wanted them to know her, and if it was from her eye-catching short blue hair, then so be it.
Usher has quite the silver tongue and a knack for violence that she decided would do her good in those circles. Usher is curious, sharp witted, sarcastic and perhaps a bit of a sadistic bitch at times. Not that any of that was new to Amara, that was one aspect of her personality, all she had to do was tame the other aspects down. Easy.
Ash Muara, looks basically like her without her scar,
Scary green eyes that most of the time are aligned with a mischief that she rarely lets out, deadly pale skin that made older people more than once ask if she needed to go to the hospital, sharp cheekbones that made some think she was a descendant of a pureblood line until they’ve seen her argue over the price of a potion with ardent fervour and a starless night type of black hair that if shined by the sun right, became a reddish one.
She also decided she quite liked the short hair but tried to get it to the middle. It didn’t look half bad but she honestly thinks she prefers it short. Less trouble in maintaining it, but it would raise, at least, one scandal in the pureblood circles when her identity was revealed (for it would happen, she had already prepared for it and made sure to keep any violent nature away from this persona, Ash was going to be the public's perfect and mischievous cunning little girl. It was technically right so it wouldn’t take too much of her energy to do so) so she decided not to.
Ash was a halfblood who spent perhaps too much time unsupervised in every alley, would probably end up in Slytherin or Gryffindor and was very stubborn, mischievous and cunning. (Perhaps they’ve described her more of a menace but weren't stubborn, mischievous and cunning the real meaning of the word?)
Both names were an anagram for each other but only one was her middle name. Perhaps that was risky, but it was better her middle name (that no one but the Goblins knew of) than her other names.
After that she had taken to visiting Diagon Alley and getting to know every district a lot of other times; she devoured every book she got her hands on and made sure to practise every spell with her new wand – as apparently they didn’t put in the trace until you’ve reached Hogwarts.
But something else has been brought to her attention.
The Dark Lord.
There were thousands of mentions of him and his title around the various alley’s she had passed, but mostly Knockturn alley.
She didn’t find any mention of his true name anywhere, not on The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts, not on Dark Lords of the World and what we know about them, not even on any book on the Black Manor.
But there were mentions of him. Oh, and how many were there.
She heard a lot over the few nights she had visited a Pub, designed for Dark Wizards to have a blast or use their magic freely without prejudice, and asked questions about the last wizarding war to a professor there. Quirrell, who knew much more than her and was always glad to share knowledge.
He wasn’t the best fount of information she had, but it was nice having more than just one, so she kept him close enough to her.
Still, go out in Knockturn alley and you’ll find maybe three or four paintings of the apparent Dark Mark. Whispers of his name, of his power, of how it was just a matter of time. Of how the moon was starting to become redder by the nights and how the blood darkened whenever his name was even uttered.
Voldemort.
The most ruthless Dark Lord that the British Community has ever seen, the most powerful Wizard ever seen, the one with the answers to immortality, You-Know-Who, He-Who-must-not-be-named.
Journals from years ago painted an image of a powerful, insane and somehow brilliant man who conquered Britain unofficially for years until his supposed death.
No one knew his true name, so it was normal for everyone to suspect everyone. The tensions were so high that people suspected even friends. Dark Families were suspected of helping Voldemort, those who stayed neutral had been intimated to choose by both sides and the Light ones that didn’t surrender or stay as neutral as possible were killed quickly.
Muggles and wizards alike were killed mercilessly, the terror and fear was evident in the air of Britain. The Statue of Secrecy had been breached much more during the First Wizarding war, but Voldemort came in very close.
'A mere statement of how sane his mind was' , She sneered at the image she had of the man.
His pureblood propaganda had been especially vicious and grown a lot during the official time of the war. Still, he preached something that Amara could actually like and agree with was that Magic was everything, and power was above all, valued.
The only ones who cared about the pureblood propaganda were the purebloods, and apparently, they were unaware of Halfbloods and even some muggleborns entering the circles.
How could she, a mere baby, defeat a man who even after eleven years gone, people still feared him enough to not even utter his name?
How come such a powerful man became so insane? Why did he go towards her? Why, out of thousands others, her?
She heard the way people spat and muttered her name as if it was a curse in Knockturn Alley, of how when her name was uttered they became violent, as if you had touched on a raw wound that no matter the time it refused to heal. As if you had touched their faith in their Lord.
Amara sighed wearily and rubbed her temples to dispel such depressing thoughts.
It has been a few weeks since she has last seen Quirrell. She suspected some other customers from the pub have decided to teach him how to keep his mouth shut. She was technically a newcomer, under the name of Amara Usher, a newly turned vampire from the Countess Sangria coven yes, but still a newcomer.
Sangria was well known for her cruelty in attacking the younger ones in hopes to get healthier blood to her vampires, the risk of accidentally turning one of these was very high, and as such, when she accidentally turned one of them, she usually let them roam free until she deems them good enough and brings them inside.
The Pub itself didn’t really have a name, it was just The Pub and if you were a frequent customer you’d know, if you weren’t, then you simply wouldn’t.
It was supposed to be the first official neutral ground in Britain many years ago, during the first wizarding war, but then an American wizard breached this deal and it broke under a conflict that apparently lasted five whole nights.
Nowadays, Dark, Light and grey wizards from around the world frequent it. It wasn’t fancy, it was a pub and everyone there knew it so some went in just because they ‘had been wanting some British food for a while’.
Nevertheless, Amara got to meet a lot of people, older and even some her own age from other countries.
Her natural talent at speaking more than one language certainly made her popular among it. She was also very popular because of her apparently ‘fluffy’ and cute and eye-catching hair. She tried her hardest not to look awkward or flinch while they tried to ruffle her hair but the first time it happened had been very…well…strange actually.
__________________
Ryan froze on the spot, as did Amara.
The pub was silent.
“Ehr–” Amara stammered.
It was the first time she didn’t have any snarky answer or sarcastic commentary.
No words were spoken in the pub until a rash
“What are you looking for?” coming from her made most of them look back into their tables.
But now they’ve all murmured and spoke quietly with themselves. Ryan spoke normally towards her but he seemed thoughtful.
Amara endured the urge to shuffle in her seat as the pub seemed to pick more and more energy from the previous minutes of talking and she couldn’t, for the life of her, understand.
Nevertheless, this episode didn’t happen again because the next time someone raised their hand against her they did it slowly and carefully.
____________________________________
Ash, on the other hand, was popular on the other alleys, such as the Physick one (That sold all types of potions to correct malnutrition and eyesight or even some weapons or various things to train your body) or the Mastership one (that held thousands of different bookshops specific for a certain Mastership to older students who wanted a mastership, she met quite a lot of cool older students there who promised that they’d teach her some tricks for the school if they’ve kept in touch, which she was actually mildly interested in doing).
She was rather popular because she tended to, well, bargain a lot of things that came in at such a high price and she spent minutes bargaining until she got her desired price. When she came inside a shop most customers grinned and went to watch the show, while the salesperson usually groaned and got ready for an argument.
She had been banned from a lot of shops but everyone around most alleys knew her now and greeted her or grinned at her as she walked. She quite liked being known as a ‘menace’ or stubborn. Maybe they didn’t like her but she didn’t care. She saw a lot of other customers trying the same but they didn’t have the same stubbornness she did so they usually got a better price, but not as good as hers, or they were quickly escorted out. Good thing that her age made her cute.
She also caught Snape once or twice in the apothecary and managed to annoy him even then. He had, of course, caught right from the start that it was her, but that she didn’t want to be recognised and had surprisingly played along even if she managed to make a few nerves on his head appear from how much rage he was feeling currently.
It was the first time the salesperson seemed to have fun in her presence as she threw questions to the professor and followed him around the shop, offering comments and offering better advice on how to take care of long hair.
“Especially one so unique as yours Sir,” she smiled calmly, “I personally wouldn’t want to seem bad looking for suitors” a snort was heard from a customer who was behind them and her lips twitched upwards.
“As if you had the age to have those.” Snape muttered
“ I was actually thinking about your poor suitors and the amounts of money you must’ve paid them but– Oh., Wait, being a professor doesn’t actually pay that much so forget it.”
A wheeze was heard from afar as she held his most terrifying glare with twitching lips and focused on her breathing so as not to laugh.
“For your information,” he spoke slowly and quietly, drawing her and most customers in as they tried to hear his response, “ I get paid more than enough for being a Potions Master.”
For a few seconds she decided if she wanted to say something along the lines of you’re not very known sir but she elected that it would be too much.
“Respectfully sir?” she waited until he looked at her tiredly “I don’t care.”
His eyes narrowed and his face twisted but she didn’t hear his reply as she burst out of the shop like the devil was trying to catch her. She did hear a lot of cussing and laughing so she grinned and held the potion she just stole carefully.
“Oi! You forgot to– Oh fuck it, they were already going to humiliate me by bargaining anyways.”
Snape stared at the man as he huffed outrageously.
“She argues with every salesperson on the price and she always gets some of the highest prices to be like, one of the cheapest ones. Its annoying to be the target of her menace and brattyness,” then he smiled “ but totally amusing when it happens to other people.”
Snape glared at the man, who yelped as a hex hit him.
It was always fun to annoy Snape, and she just knew she was going to do everything in her power to be in Slytherin, just to annoy him even more.
She has, though, paid most of the salespeople a few ice creams or cookies or some baked goods in sorry for the ruckus. She hadn’t stopped doing it and they haven’t stopped complaining, but now they smiled a bit more.
She hasn’t visited Diagon Alley much, even if it was the most visited Alley from all. She once went in there on the day of her birthday but found that she …. Couldn’t bear the indignation and bitterness in her chest.
Her name here was uttered with the utmost respect and faithfulness. It reminded her of an almost voice that Quirrell once used to describe the Dark Lord, and she shuddered.
She felt the beginnings of something bitter crawling their way into her heart, so much that she had to fight to keep her face from transforming into something ugly and abhorrent.
That was the last time she had visited Diagon Alley.
The last visit to Knockturn alley had been very good tho, Amara smirked as she got dressed for the next visit to Diagon Alley.
— — — — — —
Thenly’s well-hidden artefacts
It was an old fashioned shop (as were most things in the Wizarding world, as she came to know) that held a strong smell of something bitter and some other herbs. The inside was rather dark and held very dim lamps with fire illuminating through the dirty glass. She wrinkled her nose at it as she entered inside it. She heard from a few people who she had started to strike a conversation at a bar, the first official neutral ground in the area, that this moth-eaten thing was good at providing you with ancient artefacts.
‘Damn-well known for their high price, but most of it is good if you know how to deal with Thenly.’
While Amara wasn’t the type to trust, she had been wanting to go there and explore inside, if only just to see if there was something valuable enough to steal (because she may have the money but that didn’t mean she wanted or needed to pay), plus, she quite liked Ethan Greengrass, the Unspeakable who bore eyes just as mysterious as Mark. If not more.
Oh, the things she wanted to pry out of his mind.
Ethan seemed not the type to play with tho, his mind may be in good shape but Amara doubted he could keep up with her rather cruel nature. She liked to mess with people’s emotions and minds much more than just one or the other.
Amara had on more than one occasion tried to get him to speak about his job but he evaded her questions and eventually, if she overstepped a boundary and didn’t apologise fast enough, he’d get out of the pub fuming.
It was honestly such a good thing that the wizarding world held the rather particular belief that she looked like a feminine version of her father and that her scar was on the middle of her forehead and just a little lightning bolt rather than the atrocious thing that came from her hairline down her eye that made most people not trust her.
As the years passed she grew her hair to hide it very very well and somehow got adults to either pity her, or trust her. In both cases, after they were used, they held no more usefulness to her so she didn’t care if they suffered through an accident .
A sharp cough made her head turn fast enough for a crack to be heard and she suppressed a grimace at the sound.
Taking quick note of the stranger in high quality robes, Amara suppressed the urge to shuffle and smothered her expressions into something somewhat polite but wary.
Feeling a bit concerned over her own robes which albeit were of good quality (not of high because she didn’t honestly think she could live with herself for the sheer amount of hesitance or guilt (which left a bitter taste in her mouth but she couldn’t do much about it) she felt for getting those robes), years of growing up with nothing more than a dusty and old little uniform for wear had ingrained a thought on her mind that she’d look less than anyone on the room if she didn’t stand on her own ground and keep her head up.
So she did what was probably the only best thing to do. She politely nodded to the man and went back on her way towards the shelves but keeping an eye on him.
He had long blond hair and aristocratic features, exhaling an air of royalty that she tried to burn the image in her mind to practice later. He was roaming through the shelves too, probably waiting for the man behind the counter to show up.
Nevertheless, she found books that were certainly interesting and she took them all to the counter to pay and ask a few other questions.
“That'll be forty bucks” the old man said to her when he was finished doing the maths. His breath was, to say the least, smelling like something had entered his throat and died there.
Amara hummed noncommittally, concentrating on not insulting him and also looking through the artefacts displayed in the counter.
Thenly tsked irritably and talked amicably with the other man.
“Lucius,” he said in greeting, “whatever are you looking for today?”
“Narcisa wants an artefact for our son, so that he can use it whenever he wants and stay safe while at Hogwarts.”
Now that has piqued her interest. There were thousands of artefacts for protection in the Black vault but apparently she had hit the jackpot today.
Lucius Malfoy, Lord of the Most Noble and Ancient House of Malfoy.
And she would get to see what he picked for his son, which could give her some upper hand during a duel. She heard some teenagers muttering things over how it was finally the time for both the Heiress Potter and Heir Malfoy to be sorted to Hogwarts.
Apparently Draco Malfoy was a bit of a prat who liked to strut around and demand everything to be given at a silver plate. Typical coming from an Heir.
She hoped the boy didn’t try to bring her too much trouble.
Malfoy eyed her strangely from the corner of his eyes before he returned to talking to Thenly.
This time he raised a silent spell around them and Amara smothered her face and resisted the urge to glare.
She quickly worked into testing the thin veil of the spell, the way she learned, probing her magic here and there, sensing where it was strongest and weakest before she made the smallest tip of her magic inside the spell. A soft pop was heard by her and she was assaulted with voices. Amara internally smirked pleasantly while continuing to keep the pretence of minding her own business.
In the end, the Malfoy Patriarch had been given a rather fine ring that was supposed to raise a shield around the person's body and last around five minutes.
Minutes went by as Amara paid for her own purchases and went out.
Her magic was shifting minutely and Amara stopped frowning trying to identify what caused this sudden wariness until suddenly she felt the beginnings of a spell being cast.
First it came the shudder of a foregner magic coming in contact to the range of her own magic, then came in the confusion of why was this foreign magic doing? And then recognition hit her. Lucius' magic felt exactly like this.
She cursed silently.
She sidestepped the spell and looked towards the bastard. Malfoy, who was currently analysing her and aiming his own wand towards her, smirked nastily. Amara raised a brow but knew that it wouldn't be displayed for the man. The cloak she was wearing made sure of that.
She didn’t know what spell it was, and couldn't bring herself to look back at what it did. Keep your eyes on the enemy. She resisted the urge to tsk at the thought of not having a good enough repertoire. Perhaps she ought to research more spells too.
She thought of a certain book she had recently read with rather nasty curses and smirked quietly. Oh, yes, this ought to be good.
Lucius Malfoy swallowed down his fears and locked eyes with the cloaked figure who exalted power in waves. Her smirk was menacing to say the least, he had seen an equal expression in the Dark Lord’s face when he was getting ready for a battle.
Lucius shivered. Amara chuckled in delight.
“ Care to tell me what have I done to receive such…impolite manners coming from you, Lord Malfoy?”
She wanted to show him who had the upper hand here. Maybe she didn’t have a good enough repertoire of spells up her sleeve but she knew him, he didn't. There was the slight chance that she held more power than him and that was why she acted so easy going and confident. Maybe it was only a slight chance, but there was still a chance.
Lucius tightened his hold on his wand and pressed his lips together. The nasty smile was gone forever from his face.
“What purpose do you have for the information disclosed inside the shop, newcomer?”
So he knew she was new. Well, that was expected. Lucius ought to have some informants.
But not enough to get wind of her supposed lies or identity apperently. She has never seen him in the Pub.
“Nothing much,” how about a half truth now? “ My younger sister will start Hogwarts this year, and being allies with Malfoy could be good if the boy knows his own place.”
She saw as he straightened a bit more and narrowed his eyes, she sneered with distaste.
Amara smirked and bent her back forward, a half bow half prepared for a duel. He tensed.
Amaara knew exactly what spells she could use, she had also been researching a so-called: web of spells; greatly usd in duelling.
But she couldn’t trust it too much, she only casted it twice and it left her feeling rather tired after five or six spells being used at the same time.
She could always subjugate him with her own raw magic. The Gods–or was it Morgana now?—knew that her magic was scaringly overwhelming when she wanted it to be.
And if nothing else worked, well, she could always call for a house elf. In hindsight, maybe she should start doing exactly that. Call for a House Elf to follow her everytime she goes out in case something bad happens and throughout a password, be popped back inside Black Manor.
“Ladies and Gentleman, what is happening here?”
Ethan.
A brief glance at him said that he was exasperatedly amused so she didn’t bother lying too well.
“Nothing much Ethan,” she saw the moment interest piqued inside those eyes of Lucius; the familiar and careless use of Ethan’s name implied a ton of different things “I was simply inquiring over how Lucius' son is doing nowadays. It is his first year at Hogwarts after all, he must be terribly nervous over being so long away from Lucius and Narcissa. I was merely concerned.”
And she also saw that interest being drowned by hate and horror.
Ah, if glares could kill…
She chuckled under her breath.
“Really Amara?”
Ah, yes. Another thing she was thankful for was that the world had no idea that was her second name. They called her Hayden Potter, not Amara Potter.
Thank the gods for this little Anonymity.
“Indeed Ethan.” she replied cheeky.
Lucius glared at her with hostility and she made sure to not falter in her stance.
Lucius finally cleared his throat, nodded tightly towards Ethan and disappeared without a word.
Ethan was still staring at her with tiredness and she smiled at him. Not a beautiful smile, but he didn’t like her beautiful or cute ones either so it didn’t matter.
“ Be careful Amy. Lucius is not someone to be messed with.”
She snickered quietly and looked at him fondly
“Oh Ethan dear, don’t worry,” she smiled nastily and saw as he took an aborted step back
“If I truly felt threatened by him, I’d have taken care of him minutes ago.”
She murmured Tabby’s name and with a last glance at a unsure Ethan, she smiled pleasantly at him and departed
— — — — — — — – – – – – –
She had finally decided to go to Diagon Alley during the day and try to get to know others from her age or above, or below really, any ally she encountered would be very welcomed. She only needed to be polite, use all the etiquette Tabby had teached her.
Tabby was another house elf from the Black Family, one that actually saw the other children being taught and therefore, was able to tell her what was right and wrong or point her to a book that would. Tommy was a personal house elf designer for every heir or heiress to the house.
There were others that she had met but they weren't that inclined to talk to her.
“Centuries of traditions.” Tabby explained how House elfs–or any other non-human being really–were always looked down at by humans and how they were trained by the Last Mistress to be rather prejudiced towards Half-bloods.
She particularly found that rather insulting but elected to ignore it. Amara couldn’t just kill one of her own elves. It was impolite.
To her at least.
Amara hummed as she picked a simple and good quality robe and stopped in front of the mirror before pausing.
A finger rose and rearranged her hair to make sure her scar appeared. It was something she decided long ago.
Today, august 27th, 1991, would be the first time the Wizarding World would officially see her. They wouldn’t find a carbon copy of her father or mother, wouldn’t find a little lighting bolt in the middle of her forehead, wouldn’t see a soft spoken witch. They would see Hayden Amara Potter.
It was about time she got allies around Britain.
Amara smirked.
'Yes, this is going to be very fun'