A/N: Thanks for your review, Guest! The Fortescues don't live in Diagon Alley; some merchants might, but I don't think that would be the best place to raise a kid. Not to mention it'd be pretty expensive.

Enjoy!

Chapter Six

A Deal with the Devil

The Room of Requirement was one of the most amazing places in Hogwarts, if not magical Britain itself. Just by walking past the invisible room on the seventh floor thrice, almost anything the person in question desired would be granted. After having been pelted by dungbombs thanks to a cackling Peeves, and then immediately jinxed and hexed by a few giggling Hufflepuffs, Alex had run off to the location Professor Galing had mentioned to her a while back.

I need somewhere safe, she had thought as she paced back and forth. Somewhere relaxing.

Once she walked past it three times, part of the wall melted away, revealing a door that practically glowed with magic. It drew her in like a moth to a flame.

Alex gasped when she saw the interior of the room. It was her bedroom. The Room of Requirement had recreated her home out of thin air.

She practically collapsed into her bed, not moving for several moments. Maybe she could just lie here forever… No, wait, this haven wasn't complete without Spitfire. Her pet preferred to roam around the grounds on his lonesome, and was slowly becoming independent, hunting for his own meals and no longer using his litterbox as often. Her son was growing up.

"Ugh," she groaned aloud. Alright, that was enough of that. Alex forced herself up and out of bed, if only to get rid of the stink of dungbombs that was clinging onto her with the desperateness of an possessive child. Scourgify could only do so much.

She spent more time than necessary in the shower. When she wasn't furiously scrubbing herself clean, Alex contemplated. She really would prefer to sleep in this conjured bedroom, as opposed to her dorm, since she could slumber as deeply as she wanted here. Here, she didn't have to worry about sleeping with one eye open.

Alex frowned as she stepped out of the joint-bathroom. No, if she stayed here instead of the dorm, they'd get suspicious, and this secret safe house would no longer be so secret. In the meantime, she was here, which allowed her to do whatever she wanted. So she screamed.

There. That was off her chest for now. Unfortunately, while it allowed her to get rid of something—her frustration, her fury, her futility—it attracted something else. Well, someone.

"Everything all right, Miss Fortescue?"

Alex jumped up from the bed, stuffing her hand in the pocket of her robe and fumbling for her wand. She registered the presence before she even grazed the familiar Alder. "Oh, Sir Nicholas," she murmured, sitting down once more. Wait, what? "What are you doing here?" She shot him a bewildered look.

Sir Nicholas drifted away from the wall from which he came and floated closer to her. "Well, when one hears screaming, they are naturally concerned about its source."

Not everyone, she thought bitterly, well aware of those who would simply continue on their way unbothered. "It was just me," she confessed with a sigh. "Lamenting."

"About Halloween?" Sir Nicholas asked tentatively.

"You know?" she asked, surprised. And suspicious. "How?"

"I overheard the gripes of the ghosts—no, ghouls—who tried to attack you." Anger tore through Sir Nicholas's features, and Alex could have sworn the temperature dropped momentarily. "Honestly, attacking a student – and a first year, no less!" he grumbled. "Why, the headmaster would be furious if he knew!"

Dumbledore didn't know, which meant none of the staff knew. So far so good.

Alex twirled her wand in her hand. "Who does know?"

"The House ghosts. Let me tell you, the Friar was exceedingly shocked when we told him about your unusual state," chuckled Sir Nicholas. He elaborated when he noticed her nonplussed expression. "It was the Baron who called the ghosts' council together on the same night you were attacked, you see. He deduced your encounter with death, as well as the danger you faced, so we house ghosts collectively decided to keep the others from harming you further."

Her wand fell right out of her hand. Alex gaped openly at Sir Nicholas, her eyes the size of dinner plates. "Why?" she eventually squeaked out. "Why go so far for- for a nobody?"

Sir Nicholas almost looked affronted. "My dear," he said sternly, "you are an anomaly. Only the greats can surpass Death itself. For all we know, you could become one of the most powerful witches alive."

Alex couldn't help but make a face at that. After all, she could barely turn a little leaf into a sheet of parchment without outside help.

"I thought ghosts didn't interfere with the world of the living," she argued feebly.

"Since it is fellow ghosts we're keeping an eye on, it is technically a case within our domain," countered Sir Nicholas, a triumphant sort of air about him. It dissipated, giving way to something more grave and ominous. "Besides, we aren't too sure what you should be considered as. You're not a ghost, yet you're not a normal human. You're something different, Miss Fortescue."

Groaning, Alex picked up her fallen wand. "Don't I know it," she muttered. She brightened as an idea struck her. "Sir Nicholas, do you know where I can find Peeves?"

Sir Nicholas rolled his eyes – a sight she never thought she would see from a ghost. "Oh, I'm sure he's off mucking about somewhere in the castle. Why would you ever wish to purposely seek him out?"

She smiled. "For revenge."

"And why should I help you, ickle little firstie?" mocked Peeves.

Alex eyed the poltergeist hovering above her. Though he was unarmed, having just unloaded his recent batch of chalk powder on some unsuspecting Ravenclaw, she couldn't help but grip her wand for protection.

Though Sir Nicholas was uncertain about her intentions at first, a quick run-down of the situation eventually convinced him to help her out. He drifted through the castle in search of Peeves and, upon finding him, somehow managed to persuade him to stay put until Alex reached him. She supposed the only reason he listened was due to his curiosity, and not a sudden bout of obedience.

"You're turning down an opportunity to prank some students?" she asked, feigning surprise. "Guilty students at that."

Peeves drifted around her lazily, much like a portly, ghostly tiger. "And what do I get out of this? Besides being able to prank people."

"What do you want?"

With a burst of speed she didn't know he had in him, Peeves zoomed up to her. He was so close that she could even see through his transparent eyes. "I want to know your secret," he whispered loud enough for the whole corridor to hear.

Fortunately, the area around them was deserted. After the Ravenclaw ran away screaming—though why, she didn't know. It was just chalk dust, right?—any sane student knew better than to approach. It was a shame Alex's sanity vanished long ago.

"Secret?" she echoed coolly. "I'm a pre-pubescent; I have many secrets."

Peeves cackled, undeterred from her deflection. "Oh, we both know what we mean, now don't we, little miss zombie?"

Of course he would know. Ruddy ghosts. Alex forced herself to roll her eyes. "I'm not exactly stumbling around in search of brains." She sighed, her act slipping. "Alright, I'll tell you – but only if you make sure no one bullies me again."

"I'll do it for two weeks."

"Two months."

"One. And I want the mouldiest, foulest treacle tart you can find."

Alex tried not to smirk. "Fine. You start now."

Peeves let out a horrid giggle before flying right through her. Shivering, Alex hurried to the kitchens. She had some treacle to scavenge.

It was well worth the tuts and grumbles some of the braver elves directed her way. Whenever someone attempted to throw an unwanted spell her way, she dodged as per usual. But then Peeves retaliated, using his powers to charm several chalk dusters to attack them even as they struggled to run away. This deterred some, but not many. The jinxes and hexes grew more severe, but so did Peeves. He exchanged the dusters for water balloons, and then water balloons filled with colour dye, balloons filled with paint, and the same white substance that she had assumed was chalk dust. Judging by how furiously his victims clawed at themselves, it was itching powder – a vicious one, at that.

November shifted to December, and the attacks—from both sides—slowly but surely stopped. In exchange, though, the rumours and glances directed her way increased. But whatever. She would take those over the attacks any day.

As a bonus, Peeves seemed to leave her be after she paid him his due. The rotten, retched treacle and her not-so-secret secret satisfied him immensely, and Alex wanted to believe that it was his slight, newfound respect for her that kept him away. Or maybe he simply didn't want to be roped up in any more favours.

She felt better than she had in months. Which was why, when Cedric approached her with concern etched in his face, she was thoroughly confused.

"What?" she spluttered, snapping her head up from the textbook she was studying. That essay on the Troll Occupation of 1848 wasn't going to write itself. "What makes you think I'm not okay?"

Instead of answering, Cedric gestured to the seat beside her, silently seeking permission. Impatient, Alex waved her hand in acceptance; it wasn't like anyone else was going to sit there. Cedric was frowning the entire time.

"Alex," he said slowly, as if selecting the right words, "the Hufflepuffs…well, they've been talking."

Alex fought the humourless smile from surfacing on her lips. "What are they saying?" When Cedric began fidgeting with his black and yellow robes, Alex sighed and decided to lend him a hand. "Let me guess. Some diatribe about how I'm a snake ready to strike when you're not looking, and you should watch out and not associate with me?"

Cedric froze, his hand falling to the table with a small thud. "You know?" he asked, shocked.

Oh, Cedric. So sweet and unaware. "They're not very discrete," she admitted wryly.

"You don't care?"

And wasn't that the million-dollar question? Part of her, at first, had been hurt by the hate directed so fervently towards her. However, she also hadn't been very surprised. The very implementation of the House system inevitably resulted in a them-vs-us mindset, a trap in which developing children fell into all too easily. As if these wizards and witches needed another reason to discriminate against one another.

Alex shrugged. "Not really," she said casually, flicking lint off her robe. "I don't really care about the opinions of strangers." She knew who she was, so everyone else could kindly piss off.

"What about me?" Cedric said suddenly.

"Um, what about you, Cedric?"

"Would you care about my opinion of you?"

Alex tapped her fingers on the hardwood desk to compensate for the sudden stillness of her body. "It depends on what it is," she said, and there was a surprising lack of emotion in her voice.

She expected Cedric to react badly to her coolness, but he simply smiled. "I think you're nothing like what everyone says."

Heat rushed to her eyes, and Alex was afraid she was going to cry. She placed her head in her hands and took a deep, calming breath. This time, when Cedric's worry caught her attention, she looked up with a small smile and said, "Yeah, I'm okay."

Christmas at the Fortescues was an odd affair. Her mum had never really celebrated Christmas, since her family was rather conservative and were all about tradition. Tensions were high between Julia and her parents ever since she decided she wanted to forego the traditional—and thus outdated—route of being a stay-at-home mum and respectful housewife and work in law enforcement. Which was why, when she met and married a certain Fortescue while travelling, they had disowned her. It was a bit shocking, to say the least.

Alex was seven when she wondered why she didn't have any grandparents; Dad's parents had perished in the war, and Mum's, well… they were alive, but whether or not that was a good thing was up to debate.

Idly, Alex wondered if her only living grandparents knew she existed.

Though her mum didn't always see eye-to-eye with her parents, her disinterest towards Christmas was too deeply ingrained for her to change. She treated it with little fanfare, providing her daughter with a present as well as helping with the required decorations and nibbles.

Florean, however, absolutely adored Christmas. Alex wondered if he was just compensating for Mum's apathy and her own lacklustre reaction. For the first half of her life, Dad actually dressed as Father Christmas during the fated day. He took over most of the preparation, both in the shop and at home. At the former, he had a miniature Christmas tree set on the counter, as well as ropes of tinsel strewn around the interior. He charmed the shop to constantly smell like either nutmeg or eggnog. "Very Christmas-like," he told her with a wink. And don't even get her started on the seasonal ice cream flavours.

Home was very similar, though their tree almost brushed their ceiling, so great that it was. It wasn't an actual pine tree, thankfully, but one of those plastic ones that were charmed to look somewhat realistic. During the first few Christmases of Alex's life, her parents had used living trees, but they soon grew sick of her grumbles about how ridiculous it was to cut down something so useful and grand for such a silly reason. Who said whining didn't get you places?

A loud crash sounded from the living room. Wincing, Alex hurried down the stairs, hoping the cause of the noise was anything but what she was thinking. Luck wasn't with her, it seemed, as her suspicions were completely founded.

Dad hissed – a sound that was replicated by the little black ball of pain he was wrestling with. "Spitfire, enough! Alex!"

"I'm here, Dad," she said resignedly, hopping off the last step and rushing towards him. "Spitfire, come here," she commanded in a voice that brooked no argument.

Her reluctant cat jumped out of the Christmas tree, neatly avoiding Dad and his stern gaze, and sprinted towards her. Ever the innocent victim, Spitfire weaved in and out of Alex's legs in a plea for sympathy.

"Leave the tree alone," she said sternly. However, her love of cute things overruled her, and she bent down to pluck her cat into her arms.

"He probably just misses the castle," declared Mum, eyes never leaving the book in her lap. She had been there the entire time, dutifully ignoring her husband's futile fight with the small feline. "Compared to Hogwarts, there isn't much to explore here."

Alex frowned down at her purring pet. "Aren't cats meant to laze around all day?"

"A special cat for our special girl," chuckled Dad, seeming to have forgiven and forgotten said cat's poor behaviour.

She rolled her eyes. "Whatever you say, Dad." Alex absentmindedly stroked Spitfire as she contemplated her next choice of action. She'd been meaning to ask them for a while, had waited and plotted until both her parents were in relatively good and generous moods. "Can I ask for a favour?" she began hesitantly.

This time, Mum actually stopped reading. She placed a scarred finger on the page, keeping her place, as she gazed up. "What is it, Alex?"

Dad paused in his correction of the tinsel Spitfire had messed up. "Anything, vanilla bean."

Normal parents would have said 'sweetpea' or some other common petname, but her dad really loved to keep up the ice cream man motif. Dismissing that train of thought, as well her uncertainty, Alex said, "Can I have a friend over for Christmas?"

"Sure," replied Mum just as Dad said, "Um."

Her parents stared at each other for several moments, as if communicating through their very eyes. An envious pang shot through Alex—would she ever experience such a close bond with someone else?—before her dad turned back to her, a grimace on his usually cheerful face.

"Popsicle, the thing is, Christmas is mostly family time."

"I know," she admitted. "That's why I want my friend over. He…doesn't really have a family."

Her mum's eyes narrowed in thought. "It's the boy on Privet Drive, isn't it? The one you wanted me to look out for?"

Alex nodded. "Yeah. He's an orphan, and what family he has can hardly be considered humane."

It wasn't until Spitfire clawed at her did Alex realise her whole body had gone taut with frustration. She tried to calm her nerves as her cat leapt from her arms and sped off to who-knew-where, but it wasn't easy.

Mum frowned. "Do they hurt him?"

Alex closed her eyes briefly. "I don't know," she said softly.

Dad exhaled sharply. "Well, that decides it, then. Your friend can visit for Christmas— no, he can stay until New Years! And he can have all the ice cream he wants."

"Maybe not all of it," Mum interjected hastily.

"All of it."

A surprised laugh bubbled past Alex's lips. "Really?" she said wondrously. "Are you sure?"

"Of course," said Dad, smiling warmly. "After all, it'll still be a family event. The Fortescues plus one. A guest! We haven't had one of those in a while."

Mum smirked. "Not to mention the first boy Alex has brought over."

"Ew," she muttered, nose wrinkling. "We're eleven, mum. Eleven."

"I had crushes at that age," she replied, shrugging dismissively. "Besides, your birthday isn't too far off, young lady."

Ah, twelve-years-old. No longer a child yet not yet a teen. A glorious time of insecurities and the slow emergence of hormones. Alex couldn't wait. But…

"Mum," she said slowly, "it's ten months away." It had literally just passed.

"Not too far indeed."

"I guess," she muttered, knowing better than to argue with her mum. "But if I'm going to fancy someone, it'll only be Lucy Liu." Now if only she could get her hands on an affordable laptop and quick internet… Yeah, right. Maybe in two decades.

Her parents looked confused by the unfamiliar name, but her dad soon dismissed the topic. "Never mind crushes," he scoffed. "It's Alex's first friend! What's his name?"

"His name's Harry." Alex played with her hair half-heartedly. "He's a muggle."

Bonus

"Yer a muggle, Harry."

"I'm a what?"