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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.
