The children hadn't considered the Malfoy family's possible revenge, but the adults—Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, who had fought those Pure-blood families before—clearly had.
So the moment they got home, they wrote a letter to Headmaster Dumbledore.
It detailed what had happened that day in Diagon Alley and asked for his help, pointing out that the Malfoy family would very likely retaliate against Amanda.
Reading the letter delivered to his home, Headmaster Dumbledore wasn't the least bit surprised by the news that Amanda had easily defeated both Lucius and Draco.
After all, Voldemort himself had been driven off by Amanda; though he'd been in an incomplete state, it still proved the girl's power.
Compared with that, what chance did the two Malfoys, waving their pitiful little sticks, possibly have against her?
Still, Arthur and Molly's concern wasn't misplaced—Lucius Malfoy would certainly try to get back at Amanda.
Yet, clever as he was, he wouldn't personally cross a Young Wizard whose future was so obviously limitless.
So his best option was to go to the Ministry of Magic and persuade Fudge to take the matter out of her hide.
Whether it was a simple warning for under-age magic use or, more shamelessly, an actual hearing on charges of deliberate assault, either would serve as revenge.
In a single instant Headmaster Dumbledore had already mapped out every path Lucius Malfoy might take.
Without the slightest hesitation he stood, clapped his pointed hat on his head, stepped to the fireplace, seized a handful of floo powder, tossed it into the flames, and strode straight into Fudge's office.
Whatever the case, Amanda was a student of Hogwarts; as headmaster, he had a duty to protect her.
That duty, of course, included shielding pupils from any unjust persecution—beyond question.
St Mungos Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries worked efficiently; after a bottle of Potion and an afternoon's rest, Lucius and Draco's dizzy, pounding heads had cleared.
The instant he felt better, Lucius used the hospital's fireplace to go straight to Fudge's office.
Fudge had just welcomed him warmly and asked him to sit when the grate flared green again.
'Oh,' Fudge muttered, frowning at the emerald flames. 'Why is everyone dropping by tonight?'
The fire roared higher, and out stepped Headmaster Dumbledore.
'Dumbledore, what brings you here?' Fudge rose quickly and came forward to shake his hand.
'A small matter to discuss, Cornelius,' the headmaster said, smiling as he clasped Fudge's hand—and at once spotted Lucius, sitting behind the Minister, face like thunder.
'Ah, how fortunate, Mr. Malfoy.' Dumbledore lifted off his hat and gave a courteous nod.
'Fortunate? I hardly think so, Dumbledore.'
Lucius glared at the headmaster. Fortunate? This very morning he and Draco had been "taught a lesson" by that Amanda, and tonight, just as he'd come to set Fudge on her, Dumbledore appeared.
Coincidence? A first-year at Hogwarts wouldn't believe it.
It had to be those blasted Weasleys who'd told Dumbledore.
Cornelius Fudge hadn't reached the post of Minister for Magic without the small knack of reading faces.
Seeing Lucius's dark, fixed stare at Dumbledore, he understood at once: something had happened, Malfoy wanted him to act, and Dumbledore meant to stop it.
At such moments Fudge always felt suffocated, caught between Dumbledore's faction and the Pure-blood families Malfoy represented.
Each time he could only muddy the waters, with no authority at all.
This time would be no different; he would simply wait for Dumbledore and Lucius to argue it out.
'Lucius, I hear you had a small disagreement with a young witch?' Dumbledore asked pleasantly, eyes twinkling.
Lucius clenched his serpent-headed cane. 'I hardly see how that concerns our great and virtuous Headmaster Dumbledore.'
'Oh, but it does,' Dumbledore beamed. 'Miss Lin is my student; you were once my student. When pupils quarrel, is it not natural for the headmaster to mediate?'
In those few words he reduced the affair to an ordinary tiff and took control of the conversation.
Lucius gripped his cane, eyes fixed on Dumbledore. 'So my son and I are simply to swallow this insult?'
'Young people are impulsive,' Dumbledore said, stroking his white beard. 'We must make allowances.'
'You made your share of mistakes at that age, Lucius.'
Dumbledore peered over his spectacles at him.
A shiver ran through Lucius: was Dumbledore reminding him of his past beside the Dark Lord?
'Besides, from what I gather, neither you nor young Mr. Malfoy came off too badly—considering the verbal advantages you took.'
Facing Dumbledore, the greatest Wizard of the century, Lucius knew better than the Ministry what he was capable of.
So he held his tongue, took his leave of Fudge, and returned home from the Ministry.
There was no point saying more; with Dumbledore's protection, he could do nothing to Amanda.
Otherwise he would have wiped The Weasley Family off the map years ago.
Watching Lucius depart, Dumbledore shook his head with a smile and set his pointed hat back in place.
'Sorry to trouble you, Cornelius. I trust the Ministry will overlook this little tiff?'
In other words, he wanted assurance that the Ministry would stay out of it.
'Of course, Dumbledore,' Fudge said, forcing a smile; with Lucius himself giving in, he wasn't about to cross Dumbledore. 'A perfectly ordinary disagreement—the Ministry won't interfere.'
'Splendid,' Dumbledore replied. 'Have a pleasant evening, Cornelius.'
With that, he stepped into the fireplace; a burst of green flames roared up and his figure vanished in an instant.
Fudge exhaled in huge relief. This night… had certainly been anything but calm.
Oblivious to the undercurrents, Amanda and the others had stayed in the villa to preview their new books ever since their shopping trip.
Even Harry and Ron had been dragooned by Hermione into adding an extra hour of prep each day on top of their holiday homework.
The two boys suffered—and secretly relished—it: suffering because who wants to study during vacation, rejoicing because they could feel their knowledge actually growing.
The thought of starting term ahead of the game—and maybe earning a few more points for Gryffindor—kept their spirits soaring.
The three Ravenclaw seniors, needless to say, were every bit as driven as Hermione, already memorizing key passages verbatim.
Most extraordinary of all was Amanda. The moment the new texts were in her hands and the "study ban" lifted, she simply never put them down.
She read on the sofa, on the stairs, at meals; she read while cooking and even while using the loo.
Merlin knows how stunned Hermione was the first time she saw Amanda stir-frying with one hand and holding a book in the other.
Merlin and heaven combined! Spattering oil nearly reached her fingers!
Hermione darted forward, snatched the spatula, gently pulled Amanda aside, and shut off the stove in one fluid sequence.
Still clutching the spatula, Hermione seized Amanda's hand and turned it over, inspecting every inch until she was sure there wasn't a single burn—only then did she breathe again.
Amanda blinked in bewilderment, not understanding why Hermione had yanked her away or why she was now scrutinizing her hand.
Her hand… there was nothing special to look at.
She lowered her gaze, stared at her right hand—now pale as polished jade—and froze.
Only then did she realize how utterly different her hand looked; it was… actually rather beautiful.
Before, her skin had been equally white, but a sickly, bloodless white, nothing like the luminous fairness she now saw.
Not to mention the burns, chilblains, and scars that had once dotted it.
Though she felt no emotions, she still possessed ordinary aesthetic sense.
So she had known her old hands were unlovely—she simply hadn't been able to care.
Once Hermione calmed, she noticed Amanda staring down at the hand she held.
Half amused and half exasperated, she tapped Amanda's forehead. "Reading while cooking? You really aren't afraid of getting scalded?"
As she spoke, her relief flipped back into irritation.
Amanda paid no heed to her own safety, and Hermione's anger was aimed chiefly at the parents whose neglect had made her this way.
"I'm used to it. Very practiced. I won't get burned," Amanda answered, expressionless.
The familiar tone, the unfamiliar subject—Hermione almost laughed from sheer frustration.
Amanda's parents deserved a Killing Curse.
She scooped the book off the counter and snapped it shut.
"Confiscated. No reading while cooking."
"Oh." Amanda nodded indifferently and resumed stir-frying.
Hermione left to return the book upstairs; only then did Amanda relax her right leg slightly.
High on the inside of her thigh was a ten-centimetre gash.
By ignoring the fact that magical transport could reach the villa, she had put Hermione and the others at risk.
Amanda had decided the oversight merited punishment—severe punishment—and had carried it out herself.
For the next several days no one noticed anything wrong with her leg.
Subconsciously, she kept her gait normal in front of the others, even when the pain sharpened.
And she slept in long trousers, so Hermione never had a chance to spot the wound.
What did nearly break the others was the speed of Amanda's studying.
At Hogwarts, even though Cho and Marietta shared a dorm with her, they were often apart.
Now, under one roof, her pace was on full display.
Three days after the books arrived she had every text memorised word for word.
When Penelope tested her, she found Amanda hadn't merely recited but fully understood the material.
For a moment the six Young Wizards felt crushed—then they reminded themselves this was Amanda.
How many Amandas appeared in all of Britain's wizarding history?
With that thought, their defeat turned to acceptance.
When departure day came, the seven of them headed to King's Cross together without bothering any parents.
But as they reached the station they were greeted by—bang! bang! "Ow!" ×2.
Harry and Ron ended in a heap; the five girls, Amanda included, hurried to haul them up and gather their scattered luggage.
"Merlin's gate… what happened?" Ron rubbed his bruised elbow and stared at the pillar that concealed Platform Nine and Three-Quarters.
Passers-by couldn't help gawking at seven children who had just slammed into a wall.
Fortunately Penelope and Hermione sprang up, smiled, and shooed the onlookers away, easing the situation.
"What's going on? I've never heard of this," Cho pressed her palm against the solid brick where the entrance should be.
"The passage is sealed?" Marietta frowned.
"What do we do? The train leaves soon," Harry said anxiously, checking the clock.
"Stay calm." Hermione and Penelope returned; Hermione waved for Harry to settle down.
"Optimal course: write to Headmaster Dumbledore. He'll handle it. Analysis shows the plan is safe, legal, and has the highest probability of success." Amanda concluded after rapid mental calculation.
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