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chapter three;
peace at dinner, war on quidditch
The Potters (an older couple clearly born and raised in high society) were good people—she'd realized that from the moment she met Euphemia and Fleamont in Dumbledore's office, and how they didn't even hesitate to take her into their home, even after learning part of the reason why she was in England and how her own family wouldn't be helping her—they only needed Dumbledore to assure them she was trustful.
Then it was as if they didn't even hear the part where he mentioned she was a criminal. She'd leaned away slightly when Euphemia seemed on the verge of hugging her when she heard of her exile, but the soft motherly smile on her face seemed to put Amaya at a sense of ease.
Then she'd met their son after a long, boring, drawling Order meeting—really, what did she care what their side missions were? She wasn't there to grieve people she didn't know, or pretend she was interested in their little jobs to keep people safe—she respected it, and she encouraged it, she just didn't particularly need to know about it.
She'd noticed James Potter even before he was introduced to her. How could she not? He and his friends reeked of a type of magic she hadn't been near since her father was alive—Minerva McGonagall, a transfiguration professor as she learned, too.
They were Animagi, and perhaps if her father wasn't one then she would've chalked it up to something different, but he was, and so she could easily recognize the magic. It took some reminding herself just because her father had been one, didn't mean every wizard that was an Animagus was like him.
Her eyes had met Potter's eyes a handful of times, and every time they did, she could see his curiosity swimming in them. She almost smiled each time, she wasn't exactly sure why but it amused her that he seemed to be trying to figure her out with only a look into her eyes.
Then she was introduced to him and he seemed as good as his parents. As did Remus Lupin, who'd smiled softly at her. Sirius Black, though, was the one Amaya liked best—perhaps because she identified with him, she knew of his family and what it would mean for him to be part of the Order, and perhaps it made her like him knowing the fact that both of them hadn't the best relationship with their families.
The only one of Potter's friends she didn't like was the small lad with chubby flustered cheeks and an innocent look on his face that seemed far too forced. Something about him felt off, something in his magic made her feel icky like it was trying to crawl out of him and consume the others. It was unsettling. He'd been the one asking her a lot of questions about being a pureblood too—she'd told them she technically wasn't one, seeing as her mother was a Muggle, as were many others in her family.
Then again she quickly forgot the boy, when Potter smiled at her easily, told her it didn't matter about blood with the type of nonchalance one would talk about groceries, and asked, "Ready to go home?"
Her smile had felt forced, and even as she followed the Potter family to the Floo the word home still made her feel uneasy. She didn't have a home and there was a good reason for it. Which was why as soon as they'd arrived, Amaya had turned to Fleamont and Euphemia and had tried to argue her case, telling them she'd be out of their hair as soon as got settled—knowing she would lie about it seeing as she had no money to her name after being kindly kicked out of her own country and probably disowned.
Fleamont had looked entertained as he listened and when she finished he'd turned to his wife and asked, "Why does every homeless kid we try to take in, refuse us?"
Amaya felt her cheeks slightly flame from embarrassment.
Black—who had invited himself and Lupin for dinner, sans the shifty boy who had to take care of his mother—had been the one to answer as he threw an arm around her shoulders, making Amaya stiffen slightly before she relaxed.
"Because you're too generous," he'd said, before turning to her and adding, "Believe me, Santoro, if you try and leave without a good reason they'll drag you back by the ear. I had to magically un-stretch mine—" He yelped when Euphemia slapped his arm away from Amaya's shoulder with a stern look.
"Leave the poor girl alone."
"He's pulling your leg, Santoro," Potter added, mischief dancing in his eyes, "His ears were just unnaturally long to begin with—"
"Were not!" Black glared at him. "I have perfect ears."
"And a sizable ego," murmured Lupin, making Amaya's lips twitch in amusement that only grew when Sirius smirked.
"You know what else of me is sizable—"
"Alright! That's enough," Ephemia had cut them off ignoring everyone's snickers as she turned to Amaya with a warm smile, that reminded her so much of the smile her own mother had—given it wasn't usually directed at her. "They're idiots sometimes, darling, but you indeed need a mighty good reason to leave. We won't accept you believing you're bothering us. Our house is big enough to accommodate everyone."
She had looked around the room, trying to find an escape because she couldn't possibly stay there with the Potters, who were so willing to take her in, despite the fact she hardly deserved it.
Her eyes met Potter's hazel ones. He winked her way. Not fighting the urge to roll her eyes, but being massively embarrassed by the faint blush she was sure coated her cheeks, she turned to Euphemia and Fleamont with a resigned sigh.
"Alright," she'd said with a nod.
Euphemia had beamed as if Amaya had just told her Christmas was coming. "I'll show you to your room. Ninny, our house elf, has it all set up. It's in the west wing, although I will give you a tour—the house sounds bigger than it is."
She'd told her she was used to big houses as she'd lived in one herself before she was whisked away by the older woman, who she reckoned loved the idea of having a daughter—not that Amaya was her daughter in any way, or that she deserved even the idea of being one.
The Potter manor was almost as big as her house back in Spain in the countryside of Madrid.
Back home, or well, back in her old house, they'd had land that stretched out beyond what the eye could see—as well as other properties she had no wish of returning to. Their house was beautiful, they had terraces and balconies, and they had a patio in the middle that opened to the sky where she could see the stars as she was wrapped in the warmth of summer. However, their house had felt cold—always lacking the warmth that Potter Manor so effortlessly had despite the gray clouds in the sky that seemed on the verge of crying—in August.
Potter Manor was big, but it was homely, with wooden floors and carpets, and a seemingly love for gold and scarlet—Gryffindor colors, Euphemia had told her on their tour, and Amaya simply nodded pretending she followed whatever the hell the woman was talking about. She'd caught a glimpse of their library, which smelled like old books, and she wanted to hide inside and never come out—the library in Spain was the only place she truly missed, it used to be a haven to her.
Euphemia had left her to rest in her room, telling her not to get frightened when their house elf, Ninny, popped up and informed her dinner was made—she'd been told Ninny would take her to the dining room.
Her room was better than she'd expected for a stranger in a stranger's house. It was fairly big with a large wardrobe and a set of drawers that doubled as a vanity. The bed was made, and the linen sheets made her want to crawl inside and pass out from exhaustion. Instead, she decided to unpack and shower in the bathroom in her room—which had a bathtub, shower, and a big counter with a sink.
She took her duffel bag from her jacket's pocket and enlarged it to its original size with a simple click of her fingers. She moved to put the few clothes she had in the wardrobe—being that she wasn't allowed to take many before being dragged out of her house by the Guardas to await her trial for weeks in a holding cell in the Iberian Consortium—Amaya shook her head out of those thoughts, not wanting to think about anything from the past few weeks—or really, just the past.
Taking her broomstick out of the bag (that she had magicked to be big enough on the inside to fit the broom), she put it against the wardrobe—it was the only magical object she'd been allowed to keep, but not before it had been spelled not to be able to fly anywhere near the borders to the Peninsula; wards strong enough and clever enough that Amaya couldn't work around them. Of course, she could just get a new broomstick, but if she wanted to make it back to Spain that wouldn't be the way to do it.
The moment she was underneath the shower, Amaya felt her exhaustion wash away into a desperate, horrid feeling she knew well—she let herself cry underneath the falling water, pretending her tears weren't tears and that her sobs weren't anything especially. Her tears, like her father had told her so many times, were useless and frankly unnecessary, they were weak, and Santoros weren't weak. But could she call herself a Santoro, anymore?
She turned off the water of the shower and stepped off, slipping onto a pair of jeans so old they had holes on the knees and were ripping at the seams and the same t-shirt she'd been wearing that day, of a muggle band called Led Zeppelin—one she'd found out about a year or so ago, after things had settled down in the country, and foreign pop culture had become more liberally apparent.
She was just drying her hair with magic when a pop made her look down where a cute little house elf, that looked properly happy, stood. She had her ears perked up, and bright green eyes with golden specks.
"Are you Ninny?"
"Oh, yes, Miss Maya," the house elf said followed by a squeaky laugh as she clapped her hands. Amaya smiled at the nickname. "Miss is very pretty. Miss is very strong. Ninny can feel Miss's magic."
"You're powerful too, Ninny, and very pretty yourself," Amaya said, smiling softly, and Nonny squealed again.
"Dinner is ready, Miss. Ninny made special for Miss. Ninny wants Miss to like it."
"I'm sure I will. Thank you."
Ninny talked her ear off all the way to the dining room. Amaya had met her fair share of house elves in her life, what with the amount they had in their house, but never did she meet one that talked as much as Ninny. She liked her quite a lot—she wished Ninny had been a house elf in her house, perhaps she would've been in better company, then again, she was plenty entertained with pranking her father's house elves.
When they got to the dining room, Amaya felt a rush of embarrassment as she saw everyone seated at the table already and waiting for her—if her mother saw her now she would be very displeased by her lack of manners and making her hosts wait. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize everyone was already at the table."
Fleamont waved her off with a small, understanding smile. "It's alright, Amaya, we just got here, you're just in time."
Ninny beamed up at Amaya. "Miss Maya will love the dinner. Ninny makes it special. Recipe from Ninny's family."
Amaya smiled at her, a genuine one that felt nice on her lips, as she sat down on the spot beside Lupin. "I'm sure it will be delicious, Ninny."
Dinner was in fact delicious, Ninny's family was apparently from the Peninsula because she made a mean paella. And the conversation had been nice too, it was never too quiet or awkward, though Amaya kept mostly quiet, only answering the questions they asked her (like how Spain was, and what her favorite thing about England was until now—Spain was fine; She hadn't seen anything in England aside from the Ministry, Hogwarts, and even then mostly the Headmaster's office, Longbottom Hall and the Potter's manor, and she liked the Manor most).
She noticed Potter and Black back and forth, and she was sure that if Euphemia didn't stop them they could go on for hours about trivial matters like what kind of wax was better to polish a broomstick—the funny thing was, every time Lupin piped up it was only to instigate more arguing on both sides.
"Alright, no more Quidditch talk at the table," said Euphemia sternly, as Potter shot Black, who sat by his side, a dirty look after he'd said beaters were far better than chasers. Amaya hoped those were the names of the Quidditch positions because if they weren't she wouldn't go near Black again.
"Do you play Quidditch, Amaya?" asked Fleamont gently, ignoring his wife on the no Quidditch order but making Black and Potter shut up as they turned to listen to her answer.
She just shrugged, as she sat her fork down, having finished dessert. "I could."
Three different sets of cutlery fell. Amaya, amused, looked to find Fleamont, Potter, and Black looking at her with narrowed eyes while Lupin and Euphemia shared a look that told her this was about to get good.
Potter was the one to clear his throat, from where he sat across from her. "What do you mean, you could ?"
She shrugged again, taking a sip of water. "How hard can it be?"
Three jaws slackened and Lupin's face had turned to a shit-eating grin. Euphemia looked mighty pleased as well.
Black frowned at her, manually snapping his jaw in place. "You mean you've never played?"
She nodded. "But all it takes is good flying, isn't it? It's just a flying sport."
"Just a flying..." Fleamont looked at a loss for words as he mumbled echoes of what she just said.
"Merlin, Santoro, you've never even played," said Potter, looking incredulous.
"So?"
"How would you even know if it's hard or not?" asked Sirius. "It takes technique, and years of practice, it's not just flying ."
"Isn't it?" asked Remus, trying to hide his smirk, and before Black could answer with whatever retort, Amaya nodded in agreement.
"It can't be so hard. I'm a great flyer, I can't see what else I'd need." She shrugged. "What are the positions again? There's the beater and that seems fairly easy, hit a ball with a baseball bat and aim right, and I have great aim—"
"Beater's bat—" grumbled Sirius but she kept going.
"The Keeper person, I mean how hard could keeping a ball out of some hoops be? I've played football it can't be so different in the air." She searched her mind for what else she knew about Quidditch. "There's the people who move the ball around and try to score—"
"Chasers," said James.
"Right. And then the guy after the gold thingy—"
"The Snitch—"
"And honestly, how hard can be catching a little golden ball?"
"It's fast," argued Potter.
"I'm faster."
His eyes narrowed. "How can you know? You haven't seen a snitch."
"I just do."
"So you'd gather it'd be no problem to spot a little golden ball, flying miles an hour in an uneven background?"
She held his gaze as she answered with a simple, "Yes."
"Perhaps you should prove it," suggested Remus with a sly smile.
"Perhaps she should! Good idea, Moony!" said Sirius with a clap—Amaya took a second to hang on to the strange nickname but was far too exhausted to think about it.
"Do you have a broom, Amaya?" asked Fleamont, he too invested, as he stood up.
"Fleamont Potter! We're having dinner," said Euphemia, and said man shrugged sheepishly.
"Everyone's done, darling, and Amaya has rustled our Quidditch-loving feathers—"
"We will not stand for the disrespect," agreed Potter, making his mother roll her eyes.
She turned to Amaya and patted her hand, "They won't let it go soon, darling."
Amaya shrugged. "I have a broomstick in my room."
Without another moment to spare James and Sirius shot up, telling her they'd get their brooms as well as hers and Fleamont went to a Snitch. Euphemia sighed with a roll of her eyes and sipped her wine.
"They're going to lose aren't they?" asked Lupin.
Amaya grinned and shrugged. "I don't make it a habit of losing."
"Well, let's see if we can deflate their heads a bit, shall we?" Euphemia asked with a smile before winking as she added, "And if it so happens you're losing, I heard my son's broom has an automatic brake system should anything happen to accidentally bump against its tail with force."
Lupin choked on his drink, looking at the woman with amazement, "How were you not in Slytherin, Euphemia? You're absolutely cunning."
"I'm competitive, darling. Besides I'm too headstrong to be a snake."
Whatever that meant, it made Amaya chuckle.
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