Gold Rush »↣ 𝖏.𝖕𝖔𝖙𝖙𝖊𝖗 ✔

𝖔𝖓𝖊

                                          ╔ ——————————————— ╗

                                                   "Isn't it lovely , all alone ?"

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 THE diamond light of the sun bled through the linen curtains - lighting the crevices of the seemingly dark room. Posh furniture lined the expanse of the room , a small bed held against the wall upon which lay a figure.

Amaya Shafiq woke up after convincing her weary conscience , amber irises glancing towards the radium coated hands of the clock on her mantle - the glowing numbers indicating that it was seven in the morning. She had woken up much earlier , at the crack of dawn rather , but hadn't had the energy to pull herself out.

In an hour , she would have to reach Hogwarts. The castle where she made her best and worst memories. A place that she dreaded , yet cherished with her entire soul.

Pulling herself out , she smoothed out the duvet - before dragging herself to take a shower , brush her teeth and atleast make herself look presentable.  The apartment was as silent as the zephyr in winter months , except for the noise of running water that echoed through the walls of her humble home.

People would hardly believe that a Shafiq , who had billions worth of inheritance sitting unused at Gringotts , would choose to live in such self-effacing conditions.

But Amaya loved it. The manor was still something she was afraid of , especially with no one except portraits to talk to.

Her dainty hands found the hem of a tea green jumper , hanging in her closet - before pulling it over her wet hair. Using a simple charm , she styled her ebony hair in a formal do - before changing into a pair of brown trousers and shrugging on a warm coat that brushed against her knees. She had long discarded wizarding fashion , preferring muggle clothes over the former.

Applying some chapstick onto her parched lips , she whirled around to look for her olive satchel - slipping it over her shoulders as she mentally recounted if she had forgotten anything. Satisfied that she hadn't , Amaya walked out of her room , towards the small living room it opened up to - a kitchenette enclosed neatly in one corner.

Checking her watch , she shook her head - knowing there was no time for breakfast. Swiftly , her fingers curled around the door knob , the door swinging on it's hinges as she stepped out - locking it with an incantation.

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Not much had transformed after the war - atleast , not Diagon Alley. Things were being repaired , and slowly the marks of the First Wizarding War were fading. And yet , several things felt unfamiliar for Amaya. An air of rigidity lingered in the atmosphere , trepidation crawling in between the cracks like withering leaves through an ancient willow. Her cherry lips pursed as she noticed the unsettled looks of hatred she was receiving. Amaya swore she even noticed a man shield away his child from her , who had peeked her head in curiousity.

Bloody hell , she thought. I am not a fucking child-snatcher.

But no one would believe that statement , especially when there was an obsidian mark embedded onto her skin.

She had tried so hard , so many times to make it go away. She had tried to slice it off , to scratch it out - which ultimately resulted in failure and numerous fading scars marring her fore arm. But nothing ever worked , and now she was too tired to bother about it.

Yet , it left a nagging thought in the back of her mind. That despite her efforts of proving her worth , her abilities to the wizarding world - she would never be accepted. But it was fine. She was used to being despised , and everyone just needed someone to blame after losing so much. And the least Amaya could do was be their outlet after all she had done.

Walking into a dark alley , she apparated with a loud crack - no longer courageous enough to face the glares that burned holes into her skull. A strange sensation filled her bones , and soon enough , she found herself at the flourishing village of Hogsmeade.

As she walked through the cobblestone streets , Amaya softly smiled as the shop owners bustled about to start a new day - the sky an azure so pure it felt as though summer skies had never faded away.

She was truly thankful to Neville Longbottom. Two years prior - Alice Fortesque and Frank Longbottom had gotten married , and only last July - the pair were blessed with a lovely boy. And what a wonder he turned out to be.

She mourned the death of the couple at the hands of the Dark Lord , but she couldn't help but be relieved that the tyrant was gone. No longer would he terrorise anyone. Neville now lived with Augusta Longbottom , a scar on his forehead to prove that he had survived - and Amaya looked forward to the day he would arrive at Hogwarts.

As she walked up the winding road to the castle on the moors , she once forth took the liberty of admiring the mesmerising landscape - one that could have been a tantalising creation of Michelangelo himself , the rings of emerald pine surrounding the hills in the distance - the eerie castle a jewel of obsidian engraved upon an emperor's crown.

Not long passed before she found herself standing in front of the heavy gold doors of the Headmaster's office. He had requested her presence the day earlier , for some purpose she did not know about yet.

"Lemon drops", She muttered , before watching as the gargoyle slid away to reveal a spiral of hidden stairs. Climbing up on one of the steps , Amaya waited as the flight of stairs rotated to propel her upwards into the circular room.

Rounding shelves of books ornamented the bare walls , arching windows of stained glass filtering the light in coloured shades. Trinkets and alchemy sets littered the mahogany desk at the center , and a silver cage that held Fawkes - burning feathers the hue of dying embers of a coal fire. Several portraits of previous Headmasters hung upon the walls behind the desk , and the Sorting Hat sat upon a stool in one corner.

All of it was familiar.

Except for one thing.

A few feet away from her , next to the aged wizard dressed in a powder blue ensemble - were the comforting hazel eyes behind the old pair of round spectacles.

James Potter , the boy she hadn't laid eyes on for almost five years - stood in front of her , bewilderment , enthusiasm , guilt and happiness painted onto his features.