Plot Twist [GEORGE WEASLEY]

44.

Amara could not stop metamorphing.

Her new ability had evolved into having a mind of its own. For a week, she had woken up to some aspect of her appearance changed. Yesterday it was neon yellow hair. The day before blue eyes. It was exciting to see her powers surfacing more and more.

Despite it, she did not want her dad to know.

She had the impression that he would be disappointed. Disappointed that she could not control it. Or she was not good enough. Not like him. He was a Grade A metamorphmagus. She could not live up to him.

So, she preferred it hidden. Except her abilities did not. Neither did her dreams.

One hot, breezeless July night, she had a visitor. A visitor who whispered the worst things that could happen. Hidden fears which lurked in the back of your mind, a secret agent.

In her nightmare, she was tossed into a graveyard. With three gravestones facing her. Irene Shacklebolt. Madeline Shacklebolt. Zane Shacklebolt. She opened her mouth to cry to find it stifled. A green light flashed, blinding. And it never stopped.

Amara.

It's not real.

Amara.

What if it is?

Amara!

Please don't take them away from me.

Amara, wake up!

Reality wrenched her back. A cool hand was on her brow. Her father looked down at her, expression weary. His face twisted with confusion and bewilderment. There was something wrong with her.

"Honey..." he begins. "Can you please look in the mirror and tell me if I am mad?"

Delirious from her dream, she pushed the covers off. She stumbled to the mirror in a half-dazed state. Her dad lights up his wand. The white light cast her in a ghostly glow. At first, she thinks there is nothing wrong. Then, her eyes flicker!

Are her eyes...violet?

Were they always that colour?

Her memory affirmed that, no, it never was. She watches her reflection, realizing her eyes are now yellow. Pink. Violet, blue and green. It accelerates at a rate that it blurs into a rainbow.

"Can you see it too?" her father's voice goes behind her.

She could lie. People see things when they are tired. Perhaps, it was his eyes playing tricks on him. Her room was dark. The sinister future of that scenario loomed over her. It could drive him to believe he was insane! She did not want that.

Her secret was not that sacred.

"Yeah," Amara murmured. "I can see it."

"I think you are a metamorphmagus."

"I know."

That last statement makes him gape. He takes a seat at her desk, hand on his heart. The gears are turning in his brain. Making connections. A question forms at the tip of his tongue. "How long have you known?"

"For a while now. I had a bad dream. My hair turned purple."

He nodded, eyes wide.

"I can't..." he chuckles a bit. "I thought it was a fluke when you were a kid. I didn't know...You're a bit late, honey."

Amara's stomach falls at that. "I know," she says, miserable shame gnawing.

He gets up and comes to hug her. This takes her off guard. Her predictions had not imagined this was a possibility. In relief, she sinks into the hug. "Why were you screaming?" he whispers with the tone of a concerned father.