Amaranthine

44. Top Of The World

Everything I want the world to be
Is now comin' true especially for me
And the reason is clear,
it's because you are here
You're the nearest thing to heaven I've seen
I'm at the top of the world lookin'
down on creation

A riotous blend of magic-tipped laughter and uproarious excitement seeped into the sky as Amara, along with Aunt Delilah and Uncle Regulus, climbed the wooden stairs leading to the Minister's box. The rush of excitement under the twinkling stars had painted the atmosphere with magical hues. Yet, an uncomfortable sensation pricked Amara's stomach as the ground increasingly became a distant memory below.

"I hate heights," she grumbled, clutching the railing with white knuckles.

Grinning, Uncle Regulus patted her back encouragingly, "It's all part of the thrill, Amara," he said.

The young witch merely glared at him in response.

Delilah, an epitome of soft-heartedness, took Amara's hand. "Don't worry, dear. The enchantments will keep us safe," she assured her niece.

Soon, they found their seats, next to a smoky-eyed, stoic looking man known in the wizarding world as Lucius Malfoy and his son, the flesh and blood of Slytherin, Draco. Draco, his eyes colder than a dementor's kiss, softened imperceptibly as they landed on Amara, tracing her beautiful features.

"A real family reunion, isn't it?" Lucius's voice cut through the air, his eyes piercing into each of their faces. Delilah afforded a polite nod, while Regulus' eyes twinkled with amusement.

Cornelius Fudge emerged in the booth shortly after in a flash of mauve robes and a sheepish smile. "A splendid evening for a game, isn't it?" announced the Minister, moments before the thrilling roar of the crowd brought the pitch alive.

The Quidditch World Cup was in full swing, the 422nd of its kind. The Irish and Bulgarians, reliable opponents, took off into the sky - adrenaline and heartbeats competing with each spiked Quaffle throw.

Draco's eyes occasionally flicked back to Amara, his curiosity piqued by her adoration for the game. Her enchanting beauty, so starkly evident under the luminous arena lights, had put his heart in a bit of a flutter.

The game was unpredictable and riveting, with Beaters gambling with Bludgers, close saves from the Keepers, and Seekers with eyes fixed on the golden Snitch. It was a bewitching spectacle, with sheer skill displayed by both the Irish and Bulgarian teams.

Amara, her apprehension of heights slowly receding, found herself absorbed in the spectacle of the match. However, she felt a peculiar warmth on her cheeks and turned her head, finding Draco's gaze upon her once again. She blushed, flustered, before fixating back on the game, bearing a secret smile that carried the magic of the 422nd Quidditch World Cup night.

After the event, the gloaming twilight stretched lazily across the vista of tents. Amara, Regulus, and Delilah had just returned from a poignant gathering at the Quidditch World Cup. A melange of emotions still churning within them, they found the familiar drapery of their tent a comforting sight, albeit tinged strangely by the sliver of unease that hung in the air.

Suddenly, the tranquility was shattered. A brilliant flash shot through the sky, turning the purple dusk into momentary daylight. Each of them recoiled, shielding their eyes from the sudden burst of light.

As their eyes slowly readjusted, an ominous symbol was revealed. A leering skull, its empty sockets brimming with ill intent, lit up the firmament. From its gaping mouth slithered a serpent, its form elongating in an impossible crawl across the astral canvas.

Regulus stiffened, his eyes wide and filled with recognition. The mark... the mark of the Death Eaters. He grabbed Delilah's arm with an urgency that jolted her. "We need to leave, now!" He ordered, his voice rasping with anxiety.

"But Regulus, what about our belongings?" Delilah's voice trembled, mirroring the fear in her eyes.

"Forget them, Delilah! Our lives are more important." He insisted, pushing Amara and Delilah towards the edge of the campsite.

Heart pounding in her chest like a metronome gone awry, Amara darted backward glances at the haunting symbol faded, its eerie luminescence was a portent of the chaos to come. Her thoughts raced even faster than her pounding feet. The symbol, the spectacle... it was the mark of the Death Eaters. A chilling certainty swallowed her whole. Voldemort was back.

The next day, a subtle autumn breeze tossed Amara's brown hair as she stood on platform 9¾, glancing at the scarlet steam engine that was the Hogwarts Express. She was filled with anticipation for her fourth year at Hogwarts, though a twinge of hesitation lingered deep within her over her recent breakup with Harry.

Sighing, Amara slid open the carriage door and headed inside. As she drifted through the various cabins, her gaze fell upon three familiar faces: Harry, Hermione, and Ron. Sharp pangs of hurt and anger bubbled up as she thought of Harry. She pressed her lips into a thin line, steeled herself, and kept walking.

In their cabin, Hermione turned to Harry, her chocolate eyes serious under the weight of her disapproving gaze. "Harry, it was wrong of you to break up with Amara over who her father is," she scolded. Ron interjected, "But Hermione, her dad's Voldemort! Can't exactly blame Harry, can you?" Despite their arguments, Amara was long gone down the corridor.

Finding most of the cabins occupied, she moved on till her gaze rested on a cabin occupied by Cedric Diggory and his friends. They were laughing, their faces flushed with excitement for the upcoming year. Her heart fluttered a bit as she noticed all the seats were filled.

Cedric, who had been enthralled in a lively conversation, looked up right then and his eyes locked with Amara's. A warm smile appeared on his face, followed by a nod in silent invitation. Recognizing her predicament, he softly turned toward one of his friends, signaling him to switch places. The Hufflepuff boy stood, smiling at Amara, and moved to the other side of the cabin.

"Care to join, Amara?" Cedric's soft voice hinted at the promise of easing the discomfort of the unknown she had walked in.

"Thank you, Cedric," she muttered and slipped into the seat next to him. The tension within her seemed to melt away, replaced by the ease of Cedric's company.

"So, the World Quidditch Cup," he said, leaning back into his seat, his grey eyes sparkling. "What a match, eh? And that dark mark afterward..."

Amara nodded. "It was... unnerving. But it's also strange that someone would do that after such a fantastic match. It's as if they were trying to spoil the joy of it."

"Well, let's face it, whoever did it surely didn't want to celebrate the spirit of Quidditch," Cedric chuckled, his laughter spreading warmth around the cabin.

"The spirit of Quidditch," Amara repeated, her gaze drawing inward as she pondered the phrase. "I like that, Cedric," she said, returning her attention to him. "It's a great way to think about it."

Cedric looked into her eyes, feeling a warmth spread from his chest to his cheeks. The usually confident, well-spoken young man fell silent under her gaze, visibly moved by her words.

"Oh, I didn't mean to embarrass you," Amara said, concern lining her voice as she noticed his change in demeanor.

"No, it's not that," Cedric stammered, his voice barely louder than a whisper. "It's just... you have beautiful eyes. They're like the ocean."

Amara blinked, pleasantly surprised by the authenticity in his voice and his soft gaze held on her. Her heart fluttered, a realization settling in. "Your eyes remind me of clouds on a stormy day, but your personality is quite the opposite."

There was a comfortable silence that fell over the pair. They exchanged a long, gentle look before Cedric broke the silence.

"Would you like to go to Hogsmeade with me, Amara? Just the two of us," He asked, the words rushed, but his eyes radiated sincerity.

Amara's lips curved upward in a tender smile, her eyes locked onto his. "Sure, Cedric. I'd love to."