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CHAPTER TWO
The blaring of a train horn jolts Amira out of her unconscious state and a startled scream escapes her lips before she realizes she's no longer in immediate danger. The harsh ground and hysteric crowd has been replaced with the cushioned seats of the Hogwarts Express and excited chatter of students eager to return to Hogwarts.
As her heart rate returns to normal, Amira's fear changes into confusion, having no recollection of how she got there. The last thing she remembers is being struck by a Death Eater five days ago; any memory she attempts to recall after this incident causes her subconscious to be blinded by a bright light.
She glances around, but her surroundings give no clues about the past either. The compartment is devoid of anything besides her, not even containing her wand, belongings, or pet cat.
Her reflection in the foggy window tells the same confused story, with disheveled hair and remnants of green and white face paint mixed with dirt under her eyes. Amira finally takes notice of her outfit, realizing it's the same one she wore on the night of the World Cup, and she hopes she's bathed at least once since that day.
No one else appears to notice her worrying state, poking their heads into the compartment only long enough to see if it's empty before moving on without a second thought.
"There's someone in-" the familiar voice cuts himself off, the door sliding further open for once instead of immediately shut. "Bloody hell, Amira. You look awful."
"Amira?" Two more voices chime in, shoving Ron out of the way. The younger Weasley huffs, but nevertheless moves further along the corridor with Harry and Hermione as the twins invite themselves to sit across from the disheveled girl in question. "What happened to you?"
"I don't know," she answers honestly, not missing the doubtful looks they share.
"Where's your trunk?" George presses.
"And your pompous cat?" Fred adds.
"I don't know," she says again, too caught up in struggling to remember anything to defend her cat, Lucianna. "The last thing I'm able to remember is running from those dreadful people that ruined the World Cup."
"You don't even remember getting on the train?" Fred asks, receiving yet another shake of her head as an answer.
"Amira," George begins softly, sharing yet another look with his identical brother as though they're doctors about to break bad news to a patient. "Your last memory happened almost a week ago."
"I'm aware of that much," Amira huffs, growing irritated by their clear lack of belief. "Can we please talk about something else?"
Fred shrugs against George's better judgement, not needing to be asked twice to change a serious subject into a lighter one. He launches into a tall tale of how he warded off Death Eaters on the same night Amira can hardly remember in order to keep Ginny safe, and it doesn't take long before George joins in.
They're soon joined by yet another Gryffindor, Lee Jordan, who doesn't hesitate to take the open spot next to Amira and begin sharing his own stories of that night - all of which sound suspiciously similar to the twins'. He claims to have faught You-Know-Who's allegedly biggest supporter, Sirius Black himself, with nothing but his fists, though Fred and George appear to find the who more amusing than the how part of his tale.
The majority of the train ride passes this way, with the group taking turn sharing stories about their time apart. As the day goes on, more students join them, slowly pushing the compartment to its maximum capacity.
Amira finds herself truly able to and stop worrying about things she can't control - until two of their Ravenclaw friends join the cramped space and her fear from earlier in the morning comes crashing back down on top of her.
As she and Lee scoot closer to the window in an attempt to make room, his elbow accidentally hits her side and she cries out in pain. All conversation stops and everyone looks to Amira worriedly as she struggles to feign nonchalance.
"I'm okay," she lies, pushing herself to her feet as fast as she's able to in the small space. Suddenly feeling quite claustrophobic and desperate for air, she moves to the door before anyone can form the words to stop her. "I'll be right back."
George moves to follow her, but Fred grabs his sleeve, gesturing for him to give the girl some space for the time being. He groans, but complies nonetheless and listens in as the conversation slowly picks back up.
"Eliza!" Amira gasps as she nearly bumps into the fifth year Slytherin in her haste to get away from the compartment. "Can I ask you for a favor?"
"Of course," the younger girl complies immediately, taking in Amira's frantic state. The two hardly speak, but she's considered her a friend ever since meeting Amira in her first year. "What is it?"
"I need to borrow a set of robes."
"Oh." The unusual request certainly takes her by surprise, but Eliza is quick to recover. "It'll take a moment to dig an extra set out of my trunk, if you don't mind waiting."
"I do, actually. Could you take them to compartment 124?" Amira nearly cuts her off, finding it harder to breathe with each second that passes. "I've got to go. Thank you!"
Not giving Eliza a chance to respond, she musters a grateful smile and continues her struggling journey down the hallway. She's not entirely sure where her destination is, but she does know it's far away from prying eyes.
A certain Hufflepuff barely catches sight of her figure hurrying towards the back of the train and moves quickly to exit his own compartment, eager to check in on her after their abrupt separation five days ago. But by the time he's able to stick his head into the corridor, she's disappeared from view, having ducked into the girl's lavatory.
After ensuring the communal restroom is empty, Amira locks the door behind her and takes a moment to catch her breath, suddenly scared of what she'll find in the mirrors.
Between her confusion and the amusement her best friends provide, she's been distracted through nearly the entirety of the trip to Hogwarts. Now, with nothing but the silence and her thoughts, it's impossible not to notice the pain searing through her abdomen.
Before she can convince herself otherwise, Amira lifts up the hem of her shirt, crying out when the movement pulls against her newfound injuries. She stifles a quiet sob as someone knocks on the door, shouting for them to go away as her gaze finally lands on black and blue bruises blossoming across her stomach.
She can hardly believe she didn't notice them sooner, though they're hardly the worst of her problems. As she lifts her shirt higher, a jagged scar reveals itself; resembling that of a casted curse she's seldom seen people survive, the gruesome sight is now seared across her chest.
