"After all this time, you still believe he's innocent?" He asked, watching her intently.
She took a drag off her cigarette, looking out at the night sky. The view from the Astronomy tower always seemed to amaze her, and yet she found herself wanting...
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Amara,
I sincerely hope you are doing well. I am writing to ask that you do me a favor. I am being pressured by the Ministry of Magic to add more variety to the course listings here at Hogwarts. As I recall, last time we spoke you mentioned you had been studying the ethics of magic. I believe this is the type of course that should be taught at Hogwarts, and no doubt one the ministry would be happy to approve. Thus, I ask if you would be willing to come back as a professor?
As you very well know, Harry is starting his second year here and I am sure he would be happy to meet you, yet again. I understand you have been keeping a close eye on him, even with your distance away, but I suppose that it might be time to come back. I shall explain more once you get here, if you choose to accept.
I shall expect your answer through return owl.
Albus Dumbledore
Amara sat looking out at the dark sky from the window of her, quite small, one bedroom apartment. The lights of the tall buildings twinkling in the distance, the small noises of people below drowned out by the much larger noises of cars and music in the distance. Under the candlelight of the lamp on her desk, she had read the letter for what seemed like the 20th time since it had arrived 2 days ago. Could she go back? Would it be wise to do so?
Moving to New York was no easy task. A whole new country, different customs, no friends. Alas, it was a hard choice to make, but one that was necessary. The farther away from Britain she was, the better. Or so it had seemed. Now she was being asked to come back, and no less by the person who so adamantly pushed her to leave in the first place. Surely, this meant she should accept the offer and go. So why was it such a hard decision to make? For the last 11 years all she had wanted to do was pack up her things and go back to the place she knew best, to London, to her home. The only thing keeping her in New York - away - was the idea of safety. Not just her own, but of the people she cared for the most. But what did Dumbledore mean by "it might be time to come back."? Had something happened? This worried her. Although she had been keeping track of the events in the wizarding world in Britain, she never truly knew what was going on.
This is a good thing, she thought, Dumbledore was asking her to come back. Of course it was safe now. There was nothing to worry about anymore.
Amara pushed the letter aside as she grabbed a piece of parchment off the corner of her cluttered desk, dipped her quill in the ink bottle next to her, and began writing her reply. Once she finished, she folded it up and put it inside a white envelope. The large, brown owl that had arrived with the letter sat on the windowsill, as it had done since its arrival. Its big, round, green eyes staring back at her, awaiting her answer. She attached the letter to its right leg, and set it off. She watched it fly, higher and higher, as to avoid being seen by the crowded streets below, until finally, it was out of her eyesight.
She got up from her desk, the candlelight was the only thing illuminating the dark living room made of dated bricks and wallpaper. The brown leather sofa in the corner of the room, barely visible. On the side, against the wall, sat a bookshelf full of ageing books. All throughout the apartment, pictures of Amara's past; friends and family waving, smiling and laughing. Next to the bookshelf sat a lone table, above it hung a large mirror with intricate markings on the frame. She walked up to it and looked down, first at the exposed skin on her hands, the various tattoos on her arms stood out upon her fair skin. The Phoenix on her forearm catching on fire slightly, the beads of the necklace hanging around her hand moving in circular motions. All down one arm, blue birds and a red butterfly flapping their wings, flowers moving as if swaying in the wind. Overall it resembled a cluttered forest with all kinds of animals and markings living in harmony on her skin. Her eyes lingered longingly on the S. on her wrist. Still looking in the mirror, her eyes trailed up from her covered skin, to her brown curly hair hanging just past her shoulders. Up, toward her strong jaw, thick lips, and high cheekbones. Until finally, her bright green orbs met in the mirror, and she smiled slightly.
