Deception

It was a wet and cool day outside. Spurts of rain and came and went every other hour. The sky was a dark gray and had a threatening look about it, as if it were about to release the storm of the century. Or at east, it seemed that way to Amara.

“I’m sorry!” The nine-year-old cried out, her nose starting run from the cool weather. She was disappointing Jonathan, she knew it by the look on his face and the way he stood. “I’m trying.”

“Not hard enough,” was his curt answer. He held up his wand and continued to flick it with precision. “Like this, see?”

Amara flicked her makeshift wand, which was some stick she had found lying on the ground on the ground earlier, but she turned her hand too sharply and earned a glare from Jonathan.

It was like last night all over again. She couldn’t even say the spell correctly. She had said it over and over again until her voice ran horse and her eyes welled up with angry tears. And now she was failing at the correct wand motion.

“I can’t do this!” Amara whined, become more frustrated by the moment. She didn’t like this. She hated it, actually. She hated spells, she hated wands, and she hated the disappointed look on Jonathan’s face.

“You can do this.” Jonathan said, though it hadn't been very encouraging sounding. He said it as if he was at the edge of his breaking point. His patience running dry. “Wingardium Leviosa!”

Amara watched as an orange leaf levitated in the air.

“See, not that hard.” Jonathan said through clenched teeth. “First years learn this, Amara. Trust me, it’s not a hard spell.”

Amara glowered, crossing her arms and glaring at Jonathan. She hated when he made her feel stupid. All the nights of pronunciation and all the days spent learning the right wand technique were finally getting to her.

She had show the first sign of having magic a few weeks ago, much to Jonathan’s delight. Though it came as no surprise, of course, but there was always that fear one would end up being a squib.

But with this new revelation came a new haste of her learning the spells. She never stopped learning. She never had a break. She was tired and her head hurt. She just wanted a of it to end.

“I can’t do it, Mr. Hart!” She wept, though the tears never actually came. “I just can’t do this. Mia could. But I can’t.”

“Yes, Mia would be able to learn this.” Jonathan sneered. But then he let out a tired sigh and ran his hand down his face. “But that’s because she was like your mother.”

Amara wiped her nose and let her stick fall to the muddy ground.

“When you look at me like that, it reminds me of your father. That expression; it’s like seeing him again. He got frustrated so easily.”

Amara bit her bottom lip, her face relaxing. Jonathan was always saying things like this. How she reminded him of her father. How Mia was so much like their mother.

“Mia would have done a wonderful job with this. She, like you mother, was a quick learner. She would have been suited better for this far more than you are. Mia, like your mother, attacked when someone threatened the ones she loved. She acted, when she was angry. Your father constantly stood back and waited to react. He also, like you, wanted to please others. It also lead to him being aggravated easily, which I fear is the same for you.”

Amara dropped Jonathan’s gaze and stared down at her shoes.

“Your mother is able to go by unnoticed until she so chooses to be noticed, much like Mia could. But you, Amara, are like a bull in a china shop - a Muggle saying - much like your late father. Your mothers anger can last a lifetime, in which, I don’t have to tell you, Mia was the same. While your anger dwindles down so quickly. Like your father, you can never stay angry for so long.”

She felt like she was being scolded. Which, in Jonathan’s way she was.

“So, yes, I would have liked this to be Mia instead of you. But I can’t have that, and you can’t either. Because your sister was taken from you because of Lucius Malfoy. Your family is gone because of him. But,”

Amara glanced up at this. His voice grew softer, a timid smile appeared on his face.

“If you do this, Amara, if you do this right we can ruin this man. We can send him to Azkaban. We can free your mother.” He said, his eyes boring into hers.

“I can?” Amara felt a certain hope well up in her chest. “I can save her, how?”

Jonathan grinned, though the look in his eyes was not happy, but dark. “Yes, you can. Once everyone at the Ministry sees the bastard he is, we can question him. Even if that means slipping a truth serum in his drink. Because of you, we can prove your mothers innocence. We can get her out of that wretched pace and put him in and eave him there to rot.”

Amara wasn’t sure what shocked her more. The fact that she could save her mother, or that Jonathan said a bad word.

“You can be your mothers hero,” Jonathan said, taking a step towards her. “You wont be alone any more.”

Amara scooped her stick off the ground and held it at the ready. “Let’s do this.”







Amara held tightly to Malfoy’s hand as they walked into his living room. The place was much larger than she expected. Amara had been in her fair share of large homes, but this was something entirely different.

But there was a certain emptiness about Draco’s home. A certain coldness about it as well.

“This is amazing,” Amara breathed out in awe.

A grin appeared on Narcissa’s lips as she looked at Amara with amusement. As if she found it amusing that Amara was so taken with her home. Amara didn’t need to read Mrs. Malfoy’s mind to know that Amara’s statement had been a nice stroke to the older woman’s ego.

“Draco, dear, why don’t you show our guest around?” Mrs. Malfoy suggested, raising a thin brow at her son. “Show her to her room. Your father wont be home until later.”

Amara wanted to frown, but somehow managed to keep a smile on her face. She slipped her hand into Draco’s and leaned him against him. “Show me the way.”

In a way, Amara was thankful that she wouldn’t see Lucius yet. She was a bundle of nerves at the moment. She had began to worry on the train ride from school.

Jonathan was constantly telling her that she was just like her father. Lucius was supposed to be her fathers best friend, wouldn’t he possibly see similarities?

She was always told that she had her fathers laugh. Amara constantly tried to control herself, but sometimes laughter just happened. You can’t plan on when you are going to laugh. Most of Amara’s life was spent trying not to giggle at the smallest things.

It didn’t stop there, though. She had her fathers brown eyes and brown hair. Same nose, same chin. She had her mothers tall and slender form though. But even the way Amara held herself was apparently like her father. All these little things to correct, and who knew if they even would work?

Within the hour Amara had her new room (a few bedrooms away from Draco’s) and knew every corner of the house. Though the tour was rather boring - Draco was less than thrilled to show her around - it was very helpful. For one, she knew where Lucius’ office was. His own private room of the house that Amara’s was just itching to snoop in.

“The kitchen,” Malfoy nodded to where a house elf had just vanished. He dragged her away from the door by the hand and back towards the living room. “And that’s it.”

Amara smirked. “That was the fastest tour I’ve ever been on.”

Draco shrugged, but stepped towards her. “Well, I have other things in mind for us to do.”

Amara crinkled her nose and leaned in to kiss him when they heard someone cough.

“Draco, aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend?”

Amara spun on the heel of her foot and locked eyes with the man she hated most in the world.