They’d driven down together,
singing along to the little car’s radio and watching the Mercian green slide
into the Wessex
countryside on an altogether more scenic route than had initially been
intended. Eventually the greens turned to the greys and browns of a city and
they became quieter, navigating the crowded streets of the capital. The two
girls dropped the car off with an old acquaintance, all curiosity and
amusement; Amelia supposed that crossing the
city was a good deal easier without the considerable volume of baggage they
were carrying, and it was already dusk by the time they arrived outside a
series of rundown buildings.

There were fewer people bustling
about now; the greengrocer’s to the left of them was shutting up shop and many
of the windows on the street were already covered. They had stood for a minute
before Mel realised that Hermione was watching
her expectantly.

“What?” she asked the girl.

“Aren’t you going to ask me where
we are?” Hermione asked, clearly looking forward to having more information
than her cousin. She was to be severely disappointed.

“Well, that sign says ‘The Leaky
Cauldron’ and that’s where you said we were headed – don’t give me that look
‘Mione, you talked about it for months in your first year.”

Hermione, still frowning at Amelia’s
superior observation skills, considered her fairer cousin:

“I take it that you can see the
pub, then?”

“Well duh.” Amelia
had had a long day’s travel and wasn’t entirely sure why they were still
standing outside a building whose interior looked warm and smelled
encouragingly of stew.

Hermione shook her head.

“You know, I don’t know how we
ever missed you before because it’s pretty damn’ obvious now. You’re not even squinting!”

The two girls smiled at one
another in a speculative sort of way before as one witch they turned to enter
one of the strangest pubs in the world.

After settling in, which, this
being the Leaky Cauldron, included a brief interlude where an astonished Amelia
discovered that her appearance was thoroughly disapproved of by the room’s
somewhat petulant mirror and Hermione laughed at her cousin’s attempts at
fighting her hair, they made their way down into the pub for their dinner.

Most of the occupants of the
wizarding hostelry had, by this point, departed for bed, so they spent their
evening chatting with Tom, the innkeeper. A
distinguished looking wizard who had apparently popped in for a nightcap gave Mel
his newspaper as the two of them retreated upstairs; Hermione had to stifle her
mirth as he gallantly bowed and kissed her cousin’s hand, sweeping out of the
pub with a flourish.

She was still blushing slightly
as she got ready for bed, a point which Hermione periodically reminded her of
from behind the Daily Prophet. Mel paused by the
mirror as she caught sight of the cover story; emblazoned across the front page
were the words ‘Black Still at Large’. She watched the man’s hollow looking
eyes for a moment before saying, somewhat perplexed:

“Wasn’t he on the news the other
day?”

“Yes,” answered Hermione from
deep within the broadsheet “It says here that Fudge, he’s the Minister for
Magic, has informed the Muggle Prime Minister about Black’s escape in the hope
that he can be caught more quickly.”

Her cousin studied the sunken
features of the screaming man on the front page.

“Cheerful sort of bloke,” she
said, before crossing the room to her bed.

There was quiet for a while as
Hermione finished reading the article and turned out the lamp, then:

“What in gods’ names did he do to
warrant such a security scare?” Mel heard her
cousin turn over in the bed next to hers.

“The Prophet said he murdered
thirteen people with a single curse and then walked quietly away with the Aurors,
laughing.”

Amelia
gave a low whistle.

“Not much of a one for subtlety
then.”

It was some time before either witch
fell asleep.

0o0o0o0

Mel
awoke to the pleasant smell of bacon and the late summer butterscotch sunshine
warm on her skin. Hermione was snoring gently several feet to her left. She
dressed quickly, knowing that it was early, and checked her defiant hair in the
mirror as she passed; luckily, the mirror appeared to be asleep.

She nodded at Tom, the barkeep,
and ordered a simpler breakfast than the man perched on the barstool beside her
– she’d turned to him once to ask him to pass the sugar and wasn’t about to
make that mistake again. She was still unable to decide which part of that
particular experience had been the most unnerving: the ochre eyes staring out
from behind the balaclava or the rather lively behaviour of the man’s (she was
fairly sure he was male) breakfast.

She was deep in relieved
conversation with Tom when a large family of
loud red-headed wizards blustered in. Their father immediately greeted Tom
as one would an old friend and he excused himself to organise accommodation.
She surveyed these newcomers with considerable interest: there were seven now,
five children happily bickering across and around their mother – Mel
was reminded of a mother hen with a brood of unruly chicks. She smiled into her
tea as the bedlam behind her began to abate; she felt that she already knew
this family.

Turning towards the stairs with
the intention of waking her cousin, she stood abruptly face to face with the
eldest of the brood, a rather stiff looking curly haired specimen of about her
height.

“Oh I’m terribly sorry miss,” he
apologised, somewhat pompously. He puffed out his chest and stepped backward as
she waved his apology away. She was almost immediately surrounded by two
identical redheads, who had materialised on either side of her and began to
mimic their brother’s manner and apologised to her furiously. Torn between
laughing and escaping, she was rescued by their mother who had hurried up
behind them, looking stern.

“Fred,
George! Leave the poor young
lady alone!”

Amelia
hid a grin as the two boys, both easily a head taller than their mother shrank
behind her. She had the distinct impression that this scene had been played out
many times before; as their mother came forward looking harassed, the two boys
ambled off to good-naturedly torture their younger brother.

“I’m really am sorry, my dear,”
the woman was saying, looking flustered.

“Oh, it’s fine, really,” smiled Amelia.
“They seem like quite the handful.”

The woman smiled and nodded
apologetically before moving off to scold two of her sons. It occurred to Amelia
that she’d never been apologised to so frequently in so short a space of time.

“Hermione!”

Both Mel
and the red-headed family turned towards the stairs as her bushy-haired cousin
hurried over to give the youngest boy and his sister warm hugs before being
enveloped in a vast hug by their mother.

“Hey Mrs
Weasley,” she said, emerging once more.
“Guys, this is my cousin Amelia.”

Amelia
gave a cheery wave.

“Mel,
this is Ron, Ginny, Fred,
George, Percy and Mr and Mrs
Weasley.”

She shook hands with them all in
turn, the twins once again mimicking Percy’s stuffy introduction; their
parents, clearly somewhere between amused and exasperated at their children’s
antics, insisted that she call them Molly and Arthur.

As Hermione ran to her room to
collect her bag and Arthur marshalled his
offspring upstairs, Amelia and Molly
sat down for a brief introductory chat.

“Hermione’s told me all about
your family,” Mel said, “You’ve been so kind to
her and Harry.”

Molly
smiled, warmly, asking: “Are Hermione’s parents not joining us this year? Arthur
and I did so enjoy meeting them last sum- oh, are you alright?”

Once she’d finished mopping up
the pumpkin juice she’d inadvertently spilled, she shook her head “Not this
time, though I’m sure they would have loved to. They spoke fondly of you both.”

She decided that she’d have to
speak to Hermione about certain issues – some pretences were easier to maintain
than others. Looking up, she realised that Molly was regarding her in a worried
fashion and decided that a partial truth might do the trick; it was a pity, she
thought, she hated lying to good people.

“My mother passed away last
summer – Hermione’s parents, my aunt and uncle, always remind me of her.”

“Oh I am sorry Amelia,
I didn’t mean to –” Amelia waved her off.

“Not your fault Molly,
just something I have to deal with.”

To her great surprise, Mel
was immediately enveloped in a tight hug, smelling of wool and baking.

“If you ever need to talk, I’m
only an owl away – or a Muggle letter, if you’d feel more comfortable.” Amelia
could only nod. Her throat was dry with resurfaced emotion and she thought that
if she tried to speak her voice would come out small and strangled.

After the two women had pulled
themselves together, Arthur came over to collect
his wife for their shopping expedition. Mel
noticed that Hermione kept glancing at her with a worried expression; she
smiled at her reassuringly.

“Got your booklist?” she asked.

“And yours!” replied her cousin,
breaking into an identical beam.

0o0o0o0

Molly
smiled at her new friend as they stood before that infamous brick wall at the
back of the pub.

“Confused dear?” Mel
had been examining the wall with a puzzled expression on her face.

“A little,” she admitted, “but I
can sort of see how it works – I assume it’s a pressure potential mechanism?”

On the Weasleys’ bewildered
expressions, and her cousin’s embarrassed smile, she continued: “I mean, you
need to apply a small amount of energy, in this case magic to…” she returned
her gaze to the wall “that brick there.”

Hermione was fully beaming now, Amelia
realised that her cousin was weirdly proud of her gifts; embarrassed, she began
to blush.

“Well, yes, actually,” said Arthur,
a little baffled “but how did you know?”

“Erm… I take it Muggles aren’t
supposed to see it?”

Hermione interrupted. “Amelia’s
always been a little, well… odd. She’ll be joining us at Hogwarts this
year.”

Arthur
moved forward and opened the wall with a flick of his wand. As Diagon Alley
melted into view, Mel gave a little gasp of
delight “Hermione! It’s even better than you said!”

She stood for a moment as the
Weasleys filed past, simply taking in the sights, sounds and smells of the
bustling wizarding market before her eyes fell upon a nearby poster of Sirius
Black. In this image he was screaming out at the world in his tortured madness,
his dark eyes filled with a burning hate. Mel shuddered a little, feeling cold
despite the warm August sunshine and edged closer to Molly, who was stood with
Ginny and Hermione, all looking up at his ghastly countenance.

A witch in bright purple robes
bumped Molly as she hurried past; as if released
from an enchantment, Molly said:

“I’ve sent the boys off, they’re
really rather useless when it comes to shopping – we’ll meet them in Flourish
and Blotts later. I imagine you ladies will be wanting to go to Gringotts.”
With that she swept off toward the imposing marble front of the wizarding bank,
the three young women struggling to keep up amongst the jostling crowd.

Once Mel
had exchanged sufficient currency for the coming months and discussed the
possibility of postal transfers with the ornery goblin behind the counter, they
headed first to the apothecary, where she attempted not to poke the contents of
the many pots and jars in the shop.

They went next to Flourish and
Blotts where, like Hermione, Amelia would have
found it all too easy never to leave if they had been alone. She furnished
herself with the books that her letter had indicated would be appropriate,
along with several that she and Hermione thought would be useful or
interesting. Having promised Hermione that she could borrow any of these when
they weren’t needed, Mel returned her attention
to Molly Weasley.
She had been shooting her suspicious looks since her slip with the wall, and as
they walked towards Madame Malkin’s
she caught her new friend actively staring at her. As Hermione and Ginny were
being fitted for their new school robes (and being tickled by Mme
Malkin’s magical tape measures) Molly
decided to broach the subject.

“Forgive me my dear, but you seem
a little old to be a student – Hermione has never mentioned another witch in
the family.”

“I told you my mother died last
year,” Amelia responded, ready for this line of
questioning. “Well, when I was going through her stuff I came across a letter
informing her that I’d been accepted to Hogwarts… she never told me about it,
simply filed it away. I assume she thought it was a wind up.”

“It happens. You hear about it
from time to time.”

Mel
nodded.

“That’s what Hermione said. Mum
must have realised her mistake when my Aunt told her about ‘Mione, but I was in
university by then, I guess she figured that there was no point bringing it up.

“I showed Hermione when she got
back for the summer and she suggested that I write to Professor
Dumbledore and find out what could be done.
He asked to meet with me and at the end of our meeting he said the best place
for me would be at Hogwarts, but not as a student. He offered me the post of
Professor of Muggle Studies – he said I was uniquely qualified to teach it,
coming to magic so late I should have more of an understanding of  many aspects of muggle culture and technology
than his other candidate. I wasn’t even aware that I was a candidate.

“So here I am,” she finished,
lamely, “completely lost and very excited.”

0o0o0o0

Once she too had been fitted for
and ordered several sets of robes, a hat and a cloak (and privately winced at
the price), they headed out to meet up with the boys at Fortescue’s, where
Molly and Arthur departed to continue shopping and round up their elusive
family members. Amelia, Hermione and Ron
decided to relax with fudge sundaes instead. Hermione had bought Amelia
a quill for good luck and Mel was getting used
to it – taking it for a test drive, as she put it; Ron
couldn’t help but snigger at that one.

Deciding that she needed to have
a wander she handed Hermione an envelope, saying:

“Your mum and dad asked me to
give this to you…” she couldn’t quite bring herself to meet Ron’s
eyes “and there’s a bit in there from me and Aunty B put some in too. Happy birthday
for next week, love,” and with that she gave her cousin a brief hug and
practically ran to Ollivander’s.

0o0o0o0

The wand shop was just as
Hermione had described it: tower upon tower of dusty boxes in a dark and
cavernous Victorian shop. After the now familiar ‘why are you buying one now’
conversation, Ollivander moved around his shop, pulling out boxes here and
there and causing great showers of dust to fountain out from the walls. After
what seemed like a dozen wands (to Ollivander’s mounting enthusiasm) she went
to pick up yet another proffered wand and it almost leapt from its velvet
cushion into her fingers. All at once she felt a glow of power, tasting pepper
in her mouth – it felt like sunshine and rain at the same time.

“That’s the one!” cried
Ollivander, gleefully, “holly and dragon, 12 inches – an interesting choice,
very interesting. Perfect for transfiguration but also good for charms and
healing work. Still, the wand chooses the wizard,” he glanced at her, “well the
witch in your case.” He continued in a similar vein for several minutes as he
packaged the wand and she handed her money to the oily little man.

Returning to the Leaky Cauldron
she wondered whether he was like this every time he sold a wand. She decided to
stow her shopping upstairs, waving to the mirror as she hurried back down to
the bar (“Good day dear?”). Here she found Arthur
Weasley engrossed in the Daily Prophet. They
spent a pleasant few minutes discussing Muggle toasters before Hermione and Ron
came back, along with another boy with messy black hair and large round
glasses. As Arthur went over to greet the boy,
Hermione hurried towards Amelia to show her what
she’d bought with her birthday money.

“You’ve bought a carpet?” she
asked, puzzled.

The mass of orange hair in her
cousin’s arms turned to look at her, balefully; “Oh good lord, it’s a cat.” Amelia
reached out to it and scratched its head. The cat purred and nuzzled her hand.

“Oh Hermione, he’s adorable.”

Hermione grinned.

“He’s called Crookshanks.”

Amelia
could hear Arthur telling Ron
that going after mass murderers wasn’t a good idea behind her and she turned,
smiling.

“Oh, Harry,
this is my cousin Amelia, she’s the new Muggle
Studies Professor.” Amelia shook his hand,
taking in his startlingly green eyes as she did. “Hermione’s told me lots about
you – I hear you’re quite the Quidditch player.”

As the boy smiled at her cousin, Molly
Weasley entered the bar, laden with shopping
and followed by the twins, Percy and Ginny who upon seeing Harry
turned scarlet and muttered “Hello” without looking up.

Amelia and Hermione looked on in
amusement as Percy (rather pompously) shook hands with Harry, closely followed
by Fred and George in an excellent parody of their brother before turning and
continuing their caricature as they greeted their scolding mother.

The two of them followed a rather
sulky Percy up the stairs to pack ready for the morning;
distantly she could hear George telling Harry
how they’d attempted to shut Percy in a pyramid over the
summer. Hermione looked mildly embarrassed.

“They’re quite… exuberant,” she
began, apologetically, but Mel grinned, fondly
recalling some of her own teenage antics.

“They’re great, all of them!”

0o0o0o0

Dinner that evening was a very
enjoyable affair. Tom the innkeeper put three
tables together in the parlour and the whole party ate their way through five
delicious courses.

“How’re we getting to King’s
Cross tomorrow, Dad?” asked Fred, as they tucked
into a sumptuous chocolate pudding.

“The Ministry’s providing a
couple of cars,” said Arthur.

Everyone looked up at him.

“Why?” said Percy
curiously.

“It’s because of you, Perce,”
said George seriously. “And there’ll be little
flags on the bonnets, with HB on them –”

“- for Humungous Bighead,” said Fred.

Everyone except Percy
and Molly snorted into their pudding.

“Why are the Ministry providing
cars, Father?” Percy asked again, in a dignified voice.

“Well, as we haven’t got one any
more,” said Arthur, and as I work there, they’re
doing me a favour…”

His voice was casual, but Amelia
noticed that Arthur’s ears were very slowly
going red, much like her own did when she was under pressure.

“Good job too,” said Molly,
briskly. “Do you realise how much luggage you’ve all got between you? A nice
sight you’d be on the Muggle Underground… You are all packed, aren’t you?”

“Ron
hasn’t put all his new things in his trunk yet,” said Percy,
in a long-suffering voice. “He’s dumped them on my bed”.

“You’d better go and pack
properly, Ron, because we won’t have much time
in the morning,” Molly called down the table. Ron
scowled at Percy as Amelia and
Hermione caught one another’s eyes and had to look away.

After dinner everyone fell very
full and sleepy. One by one they made their way upstairs to their rooms to
check their things for the next day.

Amelia
had sat down with Molly and Arthur
as their children departed to the upper regions to pack – she suspected that
Hermione and Ginny taking the opportunity to have a girly heart to heart in her
room.

They’d quickly taken her into
their confidence, telling her that Black may indeed have had a
reason for breaking out of Azkaban. Given their topic of discussion it was,
perhaps, unsurprising that the conversation dissolved into an argument.

“It just makes no sense not to
tell him,” Arthur said heatedly. “Harry’s
got a right to know. I’ve tried to tell Fudge, but he insists on treating Harry
like a child. He’s thirteen years old and –”

“Arthur,
the truth would terrify him!” said Molly
shrilly. “Do you really want to send Harry back
to school with that hanging over him? For heaven’s sake, he’s happy not
knowing!”

“I don’t want to make him
miserable, I want to put him on his guard!” retorted Arthur.
“You know what Harry and Ron
are like, wandering off by themselves – they’ve ended up in the Forbidden
Forest twice! But Harry
mustn’t do that this year! When I think what could have happened to him that
night he ran away from home! If the Knight Bus hadn’t picked him up, I’m
prepared to bet he would have been dead before the Ministry found him!”

“But he’s not dead, he’s
fine, so what’s the point –”

Despite the serious nature of the
debate it was a little like watching a tennis match, Amelia
mused. She was rather uncomfortable at being party to a couple’s row, but also
very interested in the outcome; if Harry and Ron went wandering off then
Hermione was bound to be with them.

“Molly,
they say Sirius Black’s mad, and maybe he is, but he was clever enough to escape
from Azkaban, and that’s supposed to be impossible. It’s been three weeks, and
no one’s seen hide nor hair of him, and I don’t care what Fudge keeps telling
the Daily Prophet, we’re no nearer to catching Black that inventing
self-spelling wands. The only thing we know for sure is what Black’s after –”

“But Harry
will be perfectly safe at Hogwarts.”

“We thought Azkaban was perfectly
safe. If Black can break out
of Azkaban, he can break into
Hogwarts.”

“But no one’s really sure that Black’s
after Harry –”

Arthur
brought his fist down on the table, hard; if Mel
hadn’t been hanging onto her tankard at that point it would have gone flying.

“Molly,
how many times do I have to tell you? They didn’t report it in the press
because Fudge wanted it kept quiet, but Fudge went out to Azkaban the night
Black escaped. The guards told Fudge that Black’s been talking
in his sleep for a while now. Always the same words: ‘He’s at Hogwarts… he’s at
Hogwarts.’ Black is deranged, Molly,
and he wants Harry dead. If you ask me, he
thinks murdering Harry will bring You-Know-Who
back to power. Black lost everything the night Harry
stopped You-Know-Who, and he’s had twelve years alone in Azkaban to brood on
that…”

There was a silence; Amelia
let out the breath she didn’t realise she’d been holding. What kind of world
was she going to?

“Well, Arthur,
you must do what you think is right. But you’re forgetting Albus
Dumbledore. I don’t think anything could
hurt Harry at Hogwarts while Dumbledore’s
Headmaster. I suppose he knows about all this?”

“Of course he knows. We had to
ask if he minds the Azkaban guards stationing themselves around the entrances
to the school grounds. He wasn’t happy about it, but he agreed.”

“Not happy? Why shouldn’t he be
happy, if they’re there to catch Black?”

“Dumbledore isn’t fond of the
Azkaban guards,” said Arthur, heavily. “Nor am
I, if it comes to that… but when you’re dealing with a wizard like Black, you
sometimes have to join forces with those you’d rather avoid.”

“If they save Harry
–”

“Then I’ll never say another word
against them,” said Arthur, wearily.

Molly
turned to Amelia, “You’ll be with them this
year, will you keep an eye on them?”

Amelia
nodded.

“Of course, Molly,
but I can’t help agreeing with Arthur here. If
it was Hermione, I’d tell her – perhaps not everything,” she continued,
hurriedly, seeing that Molly was rallying for a
second round. “But enough that she’d be wary. The three of them do seem to get
into the most bizarre situations.”

Molly
visibly deflated.

“I suppose so, but there’s no use
frightening him.”

Arthur
nodded. “It’s late, Molly, we’d better go up.
Goodnight Amelia.”

She’d just ordered herself a
night cap (hot chocolate) and was about to follow her new friends when Harry
came downstairs muttering something about Rat Tonic. She tried to give him an
encouraging smile, but his expression told her it was probably more like a
grimace.

As she turfed Ginny out of her
room and settled down to sleep, she glanced at the sleeping Hermione in the bed
next to hers. The world that her cousin cheerfully inhabited seemed to conceal
so much danger under all its colourful fripperies.

She fell into a fitful sleep full
of green light and rubble, and children screaming in the dark.