1
Amita walked out of the dainty shop in Knockturn Alley and, with a rusted looking key, locked the front gate. She watched as the shimmering blue protective charms slowly engulfed the building and couldn’t help, but smile in reminiscence.
The first time her boss had asked her to lock the shop after work had been disastrous. With no key, and unable to cast protective charms without a wand—she was underage after all—Amita had stayed inside the shop all night to make sure no one would steal anything.
Lady Cardania, the owner of the shop, had apologized countless times for forgetting that she couldn’t do magic outside of school and to say Amita’s next pay-check was thicker would be an understatement.
The girl made her way towards the end of Diagon Alley, a suitcase—with wheels! Muggles were actually brilliant—in tow. Her boss had gifted it to her when it wouldn’t sell, and the illegal expansion charm on it was clearly sufficient for anything she was bringing to Hogwarts. She crossed the Leaky’s threshold after a quick nod towards Tom, the newly hired bartender.
As always, the muggle section of London smelled like death; a mixture of burning coal, garbage and human flesh. Amita scrunched her nose in her best attempt to hold the odour at bay without seeming too pretentious.
After throwing a quick glance to her surroundings, she rose her wand above her head and waited. When the bus wouldn’t immediately show up, the girl started tapping her foot frantically and grabbed her wrist to check the time.
10:30.
Of course, the Knight Bus would be fully booked right when she needed it.
Amita sighed and sat down on the side of the road.
She knew she shouldn’t have taken the morning shift on September 1st, but there were always a few very last minute parents coming in to buy their children’s school books. Flourish and Blotts, to create a sort of frenzy and increase the value of their apparel, always stocked less books than what was needed for the school year. Desperate parents would reach out to the reclusive shop, and, once Amita would pull out their requested tome, would cry and hug and thank Merlin and be awfully generous with their tips.
Right, she shouldn’t be too impatient about the Knight Bus. Even if she did miss the Hogwarts Express, paying a few galleons for a co-apparition to Hogsmeade wouldn’t put too much of a dent on her tips of the day.
Amita chuckled under her breath, amazed at how materialistic she’d become.
She looked one last time at her watch—10:36—and placed it within an inner compartment of her luggage. Hogwarts’ wards would make it go mad, anyways : Muggle technology and Magic are still not quite compatible.
As Amita finished clasping her suitcase shut, she heard the distinct screeching sound of the bus. A tall boy with a charming smile and curly auburn hair nodded at her and grasped the handle of the luggage.
“I’m afraid I’ll have to give you a ticket on the bus as we’re in high demand this morning,” he spoke with an apologetic tone, but one look at his brown eyes made it clear he was simply being polite.
Amita answered by nodding and stepping onboard, the doors closing shut behind her. Instinctively, she held on the nearest handrail as the vehicle bolted to its next destination.
“Smart move,” the conductor laughed before asking, “where to?”
“King’s Cross.”
“Oh, dear,” he sighed. “Another one for the Express, Ernie. Can you accelerate a bit? Wouldn’t want the children to be late.”
Amita raised a brow, but didn’t say anything. She could tell he wasn’t all that much older than her. Actually, he seemed familiar enough, might only have graduated from Hogwarts a few years ago.
He placed his palm towards her and she dropped a few sickles in. As dramatically as Amita had ever seen, he motioned her towards the bus seats with a half bow.
Don’t be disrespectful, she mentally scolded herself, he’s just doing his job.
The girl entered the sitting area of the bus, surprised at how empty it actually was. Sure, the usual beds were long gone as the sun was already up, but that wasn’t what surprised her.
Didn’t the conductor just say they were awfully busy? The place was practically deserted.
Amita sat down on the seat nearest the exit, ready to bolt for the train when they reached the station. Her chair kept gliding along the floor as Ernie avoided muggle vehicles and she reached over to a railing to try and stop her motion.
Someone seemed to take pity on her and spelled her chair glued to the floor.
She turned her head to the right as her ears picked up on a small derisive chuckle, and felt her spine lock in place. “Carrow,” she acknowledged tight lipped, “thank you.”
“But, of course,” he chuckled in that same arrogant way, “anything for my favourite blood traitor.”
Amita ignored his remark, as she always did when she caught the eye of a Sacred 28.
Aiden simply tilted his face, a cat-like pout adorning his lips. “Are you ignoring me, Rowle?” He sighed deeply, as if to convince her he felt hurt, but Amita had already seen the twitchy smirk trying to make its way on his lips.
“Wouldn’t expect to meet you on the bus, I’m afraid I’m a little surprised, that’s all.”
“Would say the same to you,” he spoke, looking at his bare wrist, “you’re awfully last minute for the Express, aren’t you? Do you even have enough sickles for a trip to Hogsmeade? Everyone knows you’re short on money these days…”
Amita, face hard, looked up at him, trying to gauge his intentions. The only thing she could see clear as day was the pools of amusement locked behind his eyes.
“Thank you for your concern,” she practically spat before turning around to watch the muggle cars speed past the bus without an ounce of fear.
Aiden Carrow simply laughed at her attempt to ignore him.
***
“Would you stop following me so closely?” Amita snapped as she speed-walked towards the train.
“But we’re both heading in the same direction, Amita dear. Of course, I’ll seem to be following you!” He replied in a singsong voice, the situation clearly amusing him.
“Ugh!” She growled in response without meaning to, and dove head first in the translucent wall.
Carrow just knew how to annoy every fibre of her being.
The Express whistled a shot, and Amita—too afraid to be left behind on the platform with no one, but a prejudiced pureblooded Slytherin—ran for the closest compartment door.
She jumped on, suitcase in hand, as the door started closing. Turning around, ready to see poor old Aiden caught on the platform, she was shocked to witness him so close to her, a step away from reaching the door.
He reached his hand out towards her, hoping to grab unto the train in time, when Amita took a step back, just out of reach.
“Don’t touch me,” she whispered more to herself than to the boy, steadily putting distance between the two of them until her back was flush against the compartment wall. Still, Aiden managed to grab hold of something—whatever it was—and climbed on the train as the doors closed shut.
“Wow,” he started, his previously amused eyes now crinkled with irritation. “You really are as selfish as everyone says you are.” He chuckled darkly and moved towards her. “Even us Slytherins seem like altruistic Hufflepuffs next to you.”
Amita couldn’t tell if she agreed with his statement or not, her mind solely focused on how close he was getting—how many steps it would take for her to be within arm-length reach.
“Step back,” she managed to hiss between stifling breaths. Her spine had turned rigid and her neck wouldn’t turn. She felt like she was losing control of her body, paralyzed by fear. She was watching Aiden extended his hand towards her shoulder when she felt a tug on her wrist; someone was yanking her to her left.
Amita’s eyes glossed over as images flickered before her eyes; a mix of screams, light and love.
Oh,
she thought numbly,
so it’s James’ son.
Her ears were full on burning now, stopping her from hearing the conversion between Carrow and the Gryffindor boy.
She only came to when James pulled her out of Carrow’s way, the latter trying to elbow her on his way out.
“Don’t show yourself in front of her again or I’ll really make your last year seem like Azkaban,” James bellowed, “you know I will.”
“Just shut up, you blood traitor,” Carrow sighed rubbing his temple, “can’t you see I’m going?”
“Then, walk faster,” James cut off, needing to have the last word.
Amita examined James’ face, the tense but definitive look in his eyes, the way his forehead wrinkled under his crooked brows, and how his lips where slightly curved down, not an ounce of his usual happy go-lucky persona to be found.
But just as shocking as his serious expression had been, when Carrow had walked far enough away from them both, James turned back to face her and his stern face melted, letting his confident and inviting personality take over.
The eyes behind his glasses crinkled under the force of his smile and Amita felt warmth come back to her body. She could move her fingers again. Swallowing difficulty, she looked up in James’ eyes.
As if the earlier events had never occurred at all, he spoke, voice trembling in hidden excitement, “Amita, you’re friends with my Lilyflower, aren’t you?”