Azkaban

Gone

Wyllt Manor was cold.

Amarea could handle the temperature, but the pains in her chest stole her breath, running it far away. It seemed like she would never get it back. Her fingertips, bare and shaking ran across the wall as she took slow steps, one foot in front of the other. She hadn't been back in the manor for some time, possibly decades, though she couldn't get a firm grasp on the exact number. The wallpaper still felt the same, and if she closed her eyes, she could imagine her mother's warm touch, holding her hand and dragging her along to lessons as she resisted. Amarea had always hated lessons. English, math, history. Everything except science. And magical history, she supposed. Though, she only ever seemed to be interested in stories that included her father.

Her mother and father built the Wyllt Manor together, both old and new magic infused into the foundations.  She supposed that's why it hadn't shown any outer signs of age. The pair meticulously crafted each and every doorway, window, and decoration. Even the gargoyles, which were added a few years after the Muggles started to use them. Living in the large building, it was no surprise to anyone when they soon welcomed a child into their life. A baby girl, joyful and innocent in the world, grey eyes filled with wonder.

Before they knew it, there was another. Amarea.

The two girls thrived together, accompanying the other everywhere. If her older sister was in the library, that's where Amarea would be. If her older sister was in the kitchen, that's where Amarea would be. In the art room? Well, Amarea would sit outside the door; of course, after endlessly begging her sister to let her in. As they got older, they seemed to drift further and further apart, each finding their own separate niche. While her sister continued in the arts, spending more and more time in the library and various other rooms her mother had constructed, Amarea spent time with her father.

She remembered the adventures they used to go on, soaring above the clouds on a Hippogriff, playing with the Bowtruckles in the forests, talking with the mermaids by the ocean. Maybe, just maybe, if Amarea had been exceptionally good that week, the warlock would have taken his daughter through his memories, letting her experience his previous life in Camelot. No matter how many times she experienced it, she was always awestruck with the dragons and magick of it all. Kings and queens, knights and druids. She had especially taken a liking to her father's best friend, Arthur.

A door to her left creaks, and Amarea looks down at her boots, dark stone flooring underneath. She slips her glove back on before looking up, Molly coming into view. After showing Remus to the dungeons, though she hated calling it that, everyone had found their way towards empty rooms, or at least those that had been cleared of dust. The black-haired witch had filed up last after making sure Tonks had enough blankets, pillows, and anything else the witch could need to survive for eons. Not getting much sleep, Amarea had drifted in and out of consciousness in the parlor, splayed out on a reclining chair, watching the roaring fire. Sometime in the early morning, she had wandered off, now in a small office off to the side of the parlor.

"You alright, dear?"

"Just thinking."

Molly walks over closer to her, placing a tender hand on her shoulder, "If you do much more thinking, you won't be able to function at all."

Giving her a small smile, Amarea chuckles, "Making fun of my age, Molly?"

Moving her hand up and down, the redhead woman smiles warmly, "Come on, let's get you some breakfast. You've got to show me the way to the kitchen." She follows Amarea down the hallway and stairs, all the way shaking her head at Amarea.

"I'm cooking and that's final," Amarea states, determination lacing her words. "My house, my rules. Besides, you're my guests and I've got all of you into this mess. The least I could do is a ten-course meal, honestly, although I don't think we have enough food for that."