The night of October 31st, 1981, marks the death of Lily and James Potter, the birth of the chosen one, and a single moment that connects two polar-opposite spellcasters, bonding them for eternity.
In their journey of self-discovery, secrets will b...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
There's things I wanna say to you But I'll just let you live Like if you hold me without hurting me You'll be the first who ever did
As Amara buckled, overwhelmed by the horrific vision, a sudden flare of magic erupted from her. The lights in the room trembled, flickered, and then with a sharp, glass-shattering noise, exploded. An unsettling flash of blinding white briefly illuminated the room. The windows followed shortly after, shattering and scattering glass shards across the room.
"Pants, anyone?" Ron queried, attempting to make light of the situation as he held his robes up to shield from any flying glass.
Pansy Parkinson, usually aloof and imperious, abandoned all pretense of indifference. She rushed over to Amara, helping her up. "Amara, it's not real," she murmured, trying to comfort her friend amidst the chaos.
Harry and Hermione also made their way to Amara's side, offering silent support. The horror of the boggart and its effects on their friend had etched a grim determination on their faces.
From a distance, Draco Malfoy watched the spectacle unfold. His eyes, usually so bright with self-assuredness, now shadowed with a tinge of sadness and worry. He was torn between his affection for Amara and the unspoken social boundaries that stood between them. He willed himself to move, to go to her, but then remembered their strained relationship. A tormented look twisted his usually composed face, and he balled his hands into fists, unable to help but willing himself to be strong for her should the need arise.
Amara had never been one prone to dramatics, but the vision finally proved too much. Boggarts were known to take the form of one's worst fears, mercilessly baiting the victim. The vision of her friends and loved ones lying motionless, lifeless against her own hand was too much to bear. With a heart-wrenching sob, she fled from the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, the horrifying images flashing in her mind.
The chill of the Scottish air hit her face as she burst through the Hogwarts doors, trauma driving her feet towards the solitude of the Black Lake. The moon's reflection trembled on its distant surfaces, an overwhelmed girl underneath the canopy of the morning sky.
Behind her, Harry had given chase. The Boy-Who-Lived knew a thing or two about troubling prophecies and the burden of an unwanted destiny. His concern for Amara outweighed the caution needed for his own privacy.
As he caught up with her, he saw her knees buckle, and her slide down onto the grassy verge of the lake. The eerie glow of the sun sculpted her distressed features.
"Amara," he softly started, approaching her slowly, not unlike one would a scared animal. He sat next to her, their shoulders brushing. After a pause, he added, "You're not going to be evil, you know."
Amara didn't respond, her sobbing breaking the quiet night air.
Harry turned to face her, his clear green eyes meeting her tear-streaked face. "I know you. You're a good person. Not because you have to be, but because you choose to be. Every. Single. Day."
His voice was steady, providing a comforting contrast to the turmoil around them. His hand found hers, their fingers intertwining in a show of support. "You'll fight this prophecy, Amara. You'll stay in the light because that's who you are. And you are stronger than you give yourself credit for."
Amara's breath hitched, her chest constricting. It was as if unseen hands clung to her lungs, squeezing mercilessly, making it impossible to draw breath. Her body was there on the grass, but her mind was still trapped in the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, the images continuously tormenting her.
Harry tightened his grip around her, realizing what was happening. He'd been close to Hermione during her occasional anxiety bursts, and the signs were similar. "Amara," he began, managing to keep his voice steady despite his alarm, "you need to breathe with me, Yeah? In... and out..."
His arms wrapped around her shaking figure, one hand soothingly stroking her arm while the other kept hers locked in a firm, reassuring grip. The panic color-washed her skin and his steady presence became her only anchor to reality.
He began to breathe slowly, exaggerating the rhythm: in and out, in and out, his measured breaths offering a lifeline. A repetitive mantra echoed in his gentle voice. "In with me... and out... You're okay, Amara. You're not alone."
Her breath stuttered to follow his instructions, gasping, grappling to mirror his calm inhales and lengthy exhales. Each cycle was an uphill battle but each also brought a minuscule improvement. Bit by bit, she began to recover from the paroxysm.
When her ragged breathing eventually evened out, they sat in silence, listening to the low whisper of the lake's waters against the shore. Amara, her body still shuddering weakly, rested her head on Harry's chest. His heartbeat, steady and consistent, pounded against her cheek - a comforting embodiment of his presence.
Earlier, his actions were those of a concerned friend, but something shifted in the quiet aftermath. His hand rose to cradle her head, his fingers threading through her hair. Their shared warmth in the surrounding chill created an intimate bubble, neither willing to burst. He felt her sigh deeply against him, the remaining tension leaving her body.
"Promise me you won't abandon yourself," Harry murmured, his words a whisper against her hair. His lips brushed the top of her head - a gentle, almost tentative kiss.
"I promise," Amara responded in a bare whisper, her words holding a raw honesty.
Their faces were mere inches away from each other, close enough to feel the warmth of breath and see the emotions swirling in each other's eyes. The Black Lake stretched out behind them, its placid surface an eerie echo of the turmoil that bubbled underneath their calm exterior.
Harry's arm tightened around her, pulling her even closer. Their shared body heat was a welcome refuge against the biting cold. His fingers continued to run through her hair, every stroke a silent vow of commitment. The peace that settled between them was something delicate, a fragile bond born from shared fear, untamed magic, and understanding.
"I want to stand by you, Amara. I never want to see you alone. I don't want you to ever feel like you have to face everything on your own," he confessed, his words so quiet even the whispering wind could barely carry them. His emerald eyes held hers, a silent testament to his sincerity.
The raw vulnerability in her eyes made his heart clench. She took a shaky breath, snuggling into his side. "Yes," she agreed, her lips curving into a melancholy smile, a mirror of joy tainted by past pain. "But promise me something too, Harry."
He tipped his head, a silent encouragement for her to continue. Her eyes took a faraway look, as if remembering something painful. "Promise me that you won't let me become what I fear," she implored, her voice filled with anguish. "Promise me that if... if I start to become like him, you will stop me."
Harry's heart thumped against his chest at the desperation in her voice, "I promise, Amara," he vowed fiercely, his grip on her tightening, conveying his conviction. "I won't let that happen. You're not like Sirius Black, or any monster. You're so much more."
A gust of wind blew over the lake, causing the intertwined pair to shiver. Harry draped his cloak over both of them, enfolding Amara in a comforting shield against the cold, just as he intended to shield her against the world. They sat there, basking in each other's presence, allowing the silent promises they'd made to linger in the air.
