"GRYFFINDOR!" A loud cheer came from the far right side of the hall as Lily Evans took off the ancient hat from her head and joined the jubilant crowd. Next to her Alex saw Severus shift glumly.

"Don't want to be in Gryffindor, then?" Alex asked quietly. He shook his head. Remus, on the other hand, had been looking more and more often to the right side of the hall. Alex swallowed.

The Sorting ceremony had not been as terrible as she had imagined—it surprised her, but most things in the Great Hall did, the floating candles, the sight of the starry sky behind the ceiling windows that Alex knew couldn't be real. At the center of the teacher's chair sat Dumbledore, with his half-moon spectacles just as Alex had seen from Hogwarts, a History. She looked around nervously, at the older students' intent gaze upon the first year sitting on the stool (Fenwick, she thought his name was). She did not fancy being in Fenwick's position right now.

"Lupin, Remus!" McGonagall called. Remus paled, and Alex patted him on the shoulder as encouragement.

"Good luck," she said, although she wasn't sure what for.

"GRYFFINDOR!" The hat cried soon after. Remus went to the far right side of the hall as well, looking relieved and grinning widely. One of the prefects stood and thumped him on the back. Alex watched as he joined Lily and Sirius.

"There goes your pal," Severus said under his breath. Alex cocked her head to one side, considering his words. Was Remus her pal?

For the rest of the sorting they stood in silence until Severus was called up to the stool. Alex thought about wishing him luck again, but thought better of it.

After some deliberation, the hat cried, "SYLTHERIN!" The table on the farthest left cheered mutedly. Alex began to feel nervous. What if the Hat decided that she wasn't suited for any of the houses? Did that ever happen? What if her housemates didn't like the fact that she was sorted into their house? She had hoped to have a fresh start—a good start—at Hogwarts, and it felt like she had no control over the next seven years of her school life at all. She glanced at Remus on the far right table and he waved at her. She tried to smile, but it came out like a grimace. Alex thought that she had seen Ben somewhere in the Ravenclaw table area, but wasn't feeling bold enough to look around. Around her students began to leave, one by one, until two other students remained. She started at the name Watson and then resumed looking down at her shoes.

"WILSON, ALEXANDRA!" Alex looked up. She thought she heard someone murmur, "Wilson? A relative of yours, Benj?" but she didn't linger to hear the response. She breathed out slowly. This was going to be fine. She sat down on the stool just as she had seen other students to and felt the weight of the heavy leather being placed on her head.

"Another Wilson, hmmm? They certainly do come around every few years, don't they?" The Hat chuckled at Alex's surprise. "Don't worry, I won't bite. So let's see…" it hmmmed for a long time. Alex waited, unsure if she could actually speak to the hat. No other student had actually spoken aloud during the Sorting.

"Well, you can ask, of course. I'm not sure if I can provide you with a satisfactory answer," the Hat said. "I think I do see talent… yes, you do have your mother's brain, thank Merlin for that, the Wilson family's growing dumber and dumber each generation, I'm certain of it…" the Hat was much blunter than Alex had thought. "Well, of course I have to be honest. Now let's see. Where shall I put you?"

The Hat chuckled, sounding unpleasantly like he was enjoying himself. "So unsure of yourself! That's to be expected, I suppose. But you're not that soft, I see, quite strong… very determined… already on a quest, Miss Wymond?" the Hat's chortling was beginning to get on her nerves. "But of course! Who else would it be? But where shall I put you? There's the strength, yes, but you're still quite clever. We would hate to waste that, wouldn't we? But there's also a sense of adventure… the capacity for devotion… Very difficult indeed." The Hat paused. "But where is your home? You don't know? But of course you do… well, then, I'll give you the same opportunity that I gave him twenty years ago. You certainly are your father's daughter. I'm confident that you'll be great there… SLYTHERIN!"

Alex opened her eyes. She didn't realize that she had closed them to begin with. The shout of the Hat rang in her year. From the farthest left she could hear people politely clapping—other three tables were silent. She shot a quick look at Remus; he seemed surprised and a little disappointed. Alex swallowed. So the only pal she had in this school wasn't very happy.

She slowly walked to the Slytherin table, aware of the pursed lip with which McGonagall had looked at her as she took the hat off of her. She couldn't give McGongall any other look than confusion. Surely, the Slytherins—they couldn't be that bad. As she approached, the prefect, a boy with pale blond hair, stood up and shook her hand formally.

"Lucius Malfoy," he said without ado. "Welcome to Slytherin."

"Thanks," Alex muttered, still a bit bewildered. Wordlessly, Severus slid to make room for her when she came closer but didn't offer any words of congratulation. Alex shifted uneasily, sending furtive glances around the table. Most students around her seemed indifferent to her presence.

The headmaster had begun to give a speech and Alex tried to appear attentive, although very few people at her table seemed to make the same effort. Inside her head the words of the Hat ran around in a dizzying circle. Another Wilson… I'll give you the same opportunity that I gave him twenty years ago. You certainly are your father's daughter… your father's daughter… your father's daughter…

Miss Wymond.

"Wilson!"

She jerked out of her reverie. The prefect that had shaken her hand was looking down at her from the far end of the table. What was his name—Malfoy? She flushed. "I beg your pardon?" she said.

"The food's getting cold," Malfoy said without particular malice. "I suggest that you eat now."

"Right," Alex said, feeling the flush growing darker. How long had she been sitting there like an idiot? She began to quickly pile the food on her plate. It wasn't so different from what she was used to, although if Alex had to admit, it was a bit richer and, quite honestly, a lot more generous.

"I can't say that I blame you," she heard a voice say from across her and Alex looked up from her plate. A girl about her age sat there, looking at her with curious eyes. Her brown hair was plaited neatly, falling straight onto her back.

"Dumbledore's speech," the girl continued. "The old man thinks he's so funny when he's actually more boring than a toad." Alex got a feeling that this comparison was supposed to be witty, but wondered if it wasn't a tad disrespectful. She smiled slightly, wondering which reaction would be the best for her.

"Rebecca Goyle," the girl said, extending her hand. Alex shook it mutedly. "This is Leila Parkinson and Kristen Zabini, who's in second year." The two girls indicated pointedly ignored their conversation.

"Alex Wil—" she began.

"I know who you are," Rebecca said. "You're the Wilson girl."

Alex paused, wondering if she had misheard. "I'm sorry?" she said.

"The Wilson girl," Rebecca repeated as though it explained everything.

"I don't understand," Alex said.

Rebecca raised her eyebrows. "So the rumors are true, then?" she asked. "You've been kept out of the loop the entire time?"

"What rumors?" Alex said, beginning to feel the irritation bubble inside her but, for the sake of dignity, swallowing it down. She got a feeling that Rebecca was testing the waters, checking her for—what, Alex didn't know, but she had no intention of letting Rebecca get the better of her.

"That Sophia Wilson ran away with a Muggle boy," Rebecca stated matter-of-factly. "She became a blood-traitor, gave up all her magic, and is now currently living with a Muggle husband and three children and raising them as Muggles." Rebecca squinted her eyes at her. "Do you have any younger siblings? Hold on—why is your surname still Wilson? Did your mum have enough sense to feel ashamed about her husband?" Next to her Alex sensed rather than saw Severus tense up.

But inside her mind was whirling. What Muggle husband? As far as she could gather, her father was a wizard—a Slytherin, the Hat said. And how on earth did this obnoxious girl even know about her mother?

"You tell me, you seem to know more about it than I do," Alex said cooly, taking a bit of her potato.

Rebecca seemed a little disappointed. "Thought I would ask," she said. "Although you obviously seem to have better sense than her. You're sorted into Slytherin, after all." With these words Rebecca turned to Leila and they began to chatter about something they had begun on the train ride.

Alex's mind went back to Remus's words during the train ride. Purebloods, he said, thought they were better than others because their blood was pure. Alex looked around. Rebecca Goyle and Leila Parkinson, the girl had said with confidence that could only come from someone who never doubted their place in the world. With automatic stability and security that could only translate as condescension to those who have never been in their places. She looked around at the faces of boys and girls with whom she was supposed to share the next seven years of her life. It seemed impossible that she would be able to find a friend among the unidentifiable mass of indifferent, superior gazes. Even Snape, whom she spent some time with (they fell into the Black Lake—that counted as a common experience, didn't it?) was steadfastedly ignoring her, making few remarks as he listened to the boys near him with a dark gaze.

Alex would have enjoyed the wide selection of dessert available when it suddenly appeared on the table if she had been in a better mood. The chocolate eclairs and small tarts filled with fruits and custard positively shined under the wide arch of the candlelight, but Alex was focusing more on what others were saying. Something about their classes. Alex didn't know enough to join in, and did not have the heart to ask Snape. Charms—she'd bought a Charms textbook, didn't she? She'd assumed that the class schedule had already been decided.

The dinner passed slowly, and Alex rubbed her eyes tiredly when the students were all dismissed. She stood up wearily and followed the self-important voice of Lucius Malfoy crying "First years! Follow me!" as the rest of the Slytherin table stood up and trudged toward the entrance. They walked through the dark corridor—several dark corridors, in fact, dimly lit by candlelight—and Alex had a feeling that the floor was slanted and that they were going under the ground, but it was difficult to tell with all the chatter around her numbing her awareness and her own fatigue wearing her down. She rubbed the place between her eyebrows, trying to remain alert.

"The password changes every other week," she heard Malfoy say. "This week's password is Parseltongue." Alex repeated it to herself: Parseltongue. Whatever that meant, that was. The door opened and Alex went in with others, feeling the stone walls brush against her elbows.

"Remember, your classes will start tomorrow. The breakfast begins at seven and Professor Slughorn will distribute your schedules at eight. Prepare yourselves accordingly. The boys' dormitory goes this way—" he pointed at a staircase on the left— "and the girls' dormitory goes the other way. The common room is being used tonight by the fifth years and above, so don't bother us. Now go away." Alex raised an eyebrow at the arbitrary authority in Malfoy's voice, but everyone seemed to go up the stairs, and Alex hurried after them. She found the room for first years easily enough: the door on the farthest right read 'FIRST YEARS.'

Rebecca Goyle and Leila Parkinson had already settled themselves in their beds and Alex went to her side of the room. Her trunk was already placed neatly at the foot of her bed and she wondered briefly who had put it there, but the question seemed trivial at the moment. Rebecca was giggling softly about something and Alex turned her body to their side of the room, not wishing for a conversation but knowing that she could not at least appear to make an effort.

"It's a shame that both brothers aren't in Slytherin," Rebecca was saying. "But I guess it doesn't really matter—Sirius is already off-limits." Alex perked slightly at this—there was only one person she knew whose name was Sirius. She doubted that it was a common name.

"Oh please. Like you stand a chance with Regulus," Leila, Alex had gathered from dinner, was much more down-to-earth than Rebecca, and much warier of the world around her than Rebecca, who seemed to possess a good amount of optimism that Alex had never found in herself. The name Regulus rang a bell; she had spent a good chunk of dinner wondering if she should apologize to the boy who was sitting a few seats away from her. She'd recognized him from Ollivander's, and after Sirius's confirmation about him not having borne the fall of dusty boxes, Alex wanted to make amends—she wanted to make a better first impression, especially if he was going to be in her house for the next seven years. But the younger brother had proved to be much less gregarious than the older one, and Alex gave up on trying to catch his attention after a few furtive glances shot in his direction. Hopefully he did not remember who she was. Unfortunately, something told her that her life at Hogwarts was going to be anything but lucky.

"I have as much chance as you have," Rebecca shot back, all traces of giddy lightheadedness gone from her voice. It seemed odd to Alex that they should be talking about an eleven-year-old boy in this way, but she was beginning to see that there were certain things that she didn't quite understand about the Slytherin house.

"Does it matter anyway? He's the second son. He's not going to worth much when Sirius becomes the heir to the family."

"He's still a Black, though. And quite easy on the eyes," Rebecca giggled again. Leila rolled her eyes and as she turned around their eyes for a split second. Alex flinched away at the dare in Leila's eyes, feeling as though she had been caught spying on something that she shouldn't have.

"I'm tired, I'm going to bed," Leila announced loudly, and without further ado closed the curtains of the four-poster bed. Rebecca followed her suit without any comment. Alex opened her mouth to say something, and then closed it again, looking at the bed spread that she was sitting on.

"Good night," she muttered, and crawled into the bed.

The next morning she woke up with a pain in her neck and hear heart beating painfully against her chest. She lay there, bewildered for a moment, trying to remember what it was that caused her such alarm. And then she remembered. It wasn't her small bed in the attic of her house that she was lying on and it was the first day of school.

It felt like she had forgotten something.

Breakfast. Schedules. Eight o'clock.

She sat up and wildly made a grab for the clock on the bedside table. It was barely six.

Alex slumped back into her bed, rubbing her eyes tiredly. She had not slept well that night.

It soon became clear that she wasn't going to go back to sleep, however, and Alex groaned before pulling herself up from the bed. The room was still dark, and it took a few minutes of trudging around and bumping into things relying on an eerie glow that came from the window—if it even could be called a window—before Alex found the toilet and got changed. Rebecca and Leila were still sleeping. Alex tried to avoid making too much noise—it would hardly get her in their good graces if she woke them up too early in the morning. Although Alex didn't really know the etiquette of the people anymore. Would it be better to wake them up so that they won't be late or leave them be in their private spaces?

Alex rummaged through her trunk and found a small roll of parchment, a new quill, and a bottle of ink. She quietly crept down the staircase leading to the common room, where to her relief she found the fireplace still burning and a few lamps left on for people's comfort. Alex found an armchair by the far corner that gave to her weight and dipped her quill in the ink bottle, feeling unsettled. She had never used a quill, and her writing, though quite acceptable with a pencil, soon proved to be illegible with a quill.

Hi Mom, she wrote.

I'm at Hogwarts! I guess you know that already. The train ride was actually alright and I met a few people along the way. They're all in different houses though. I was sorted into Slytherin—is that a bad thing? People in my house are a little aloof, but I think that they'll be alright after a while—we'll see.

I woke up too early and didn't know what else to do. I heard that the lessons start today, and I'm a bit nervous—what if I turn out to be completely hopeless? Maybe I should try to read the textbooks a little before class. I hope you got home safely.

Love,

Alex.

By the time she was done writing this short letter three of her fingers were splotched with black ink and there was an ugly smudge at the edge of the palm that looked like a particularly unpleasant bruise. She carefully rolled up the parchment, feeling the foreign resistance of the paper beneath her fingers, and put it in her pocket. She quietly crept back up to her room to stow away the writing utensils before checking the clock one last time. Almost six thirty. That should give her enough time.

Her mother had explained to her that Hogwarts kept a supply of owls for students' use in case they wanted to send mails to their homes. Alex had been practically salivating as she looked at the cages after cages of owls in a pet shop at Diagon Alley before her mother firmly pulled her aside from the more dangerous thoughts of owning a pet. They couldn't afford to keep a pet, her mother reminded her, and there would be owls at Hogwarts so that she could send her letters whenever she wanted to. Her mother had mentioned that there was an owlery of some sorts, but hadn't specified where it was located. Somewhere higher, Alex figured. She quietly closed the common room door behind her, one hand tightly holding the wand in her pocket. Although she didn't have any idea how to use it, its presence made her feel safer.

The corridors were only dimly lit by the torches on the walls, and it was not until she had managed to get herself out of the dungeons that Alex could see the castle more clearly. The sun was just beginning to rise and the light of the dawn peeked through the elongated lancelots that were interspersed among every few columns. The entire castle felt like a large church, except that Alex doubted that the wizards believed in a god—after all, god was supposed to be magical, wasn't he? But the wizards weren't gods themselves.

It did not take long for her to find the entrance hall that she came through less than twelve hours ago. She slowly began to climb up the stairs, wondering at the silence with which the stairs changed their directions, carrying her upward. She ascended slowly, taking one step at a time, feeling the coldness of the stone handrail. She could hear her own breath in her ears, the chill of the morning air that filled the castle. No one was awake.

"Who's walking around at this ungodly hour?" a cranky voice came from behind her, and Alex gasped, looking around.

Behind her was a portrait of a rather plump lady holding a flute filled with what looked like champagne. Her coiffure was arranged elegantly above her head and her dress exposed her décolletage more than Alex would have cared to see. Alex cleared her throat.

"I'm looking for the Owlery," she said. "Could you tell me the way?"

"Wrong tower," the woman replied, apparently still cranky and quite drunk. "You're looking for the one on the west side." Without elaboration the woman disappeared from the painting.

Alex bit the inside of her cheeks. West. How was that supposed to help her? She peered out the window, looking at the sunrise. The pales of the sky was beginning to turn warmer, the farthest horizon that stretched beyond the forest beckoning at the burning orb, a slow seduction. The sun was beginning to rise. Alex turned around. The West Tower should be easier to find now.

Unfortunately, it was not so easy to climb up the stairs once she found it. Alex was practically panting out of breath when she reached the final step. She leaned against the wall, catching her breath.

The acrid smell of bird dropping was what she sensed first, followed by a loud crunch beneath her shoes that turned out to be a skeleton of some animal. Alex wrinkled her nose. Perhaps it wasn't a bad idea not to have an owl.

"What are you doing here?" she heard and looked up in surprise. Across the small circular room stood a boy about her age with dark hair. On his forearm rested a small tawny owl who looked at her with its wide, tawny eyes, as though silently assessing her for his owner.

"I—" Alex started, and then, confused, asked, "what are you doing here?"

Regulus shrugged. His face wasn't exactly hostile, which Alex noted with relief, but he didn't seem particularly happy to have been disturbed, either. "I was checking on my owl." At his voice the owl turned around to face him and hooted softly. Alex had to admit that for an owl, it was remarkably well-behaved; other owls in the owlery were either sleeping, their heads ostensibly stuck underneath their wing in an exaggerated way that Alex suspected weren't actually sleeping, or flying around the owlery, hooting, their eyes never leaving the newcomer.

"I was trying to send a letter," Alex said, looking around. A grave-looking owl was watching her quietly, and when she took out her letter, settled in front of her expectantly. Alex offered the owl the roll of parchment, but the owl just stared back, drawing itself back as though offended. She heard an impatient sigh behind her.

"Give it here," Regulus said, and before Alex had a time to respond, he snatched the letter from her hand and was holding up something between his fingers in front of the owl. "Owl treat," he said, now carefully tying the letter to the owl's leg. "Flying isn't an easy job, you know."

Alex felt a familiar flush creep up her face. "I'm sorry," she said to the owl, and it pecked her on her ear before it set off into the morning sky. She felt small, small enough that even an owl could comfort her.

"Thanks," she muttered, looking at nowhere in particular. Regulus shrugged again. Then suddenly he began to look around, prowling about the space and peering behind niches where the owls were resting.

"Where is my owl—Merlin, that thing is tiny..." Alex stood there, uncomprehending, before she saw what was going on.

"Um. He's over there."

"Where?" Regulus sounded almost frantic.

"There—on the edge of the sill."

"The edge of the—" he stopped in his tracks, his eyes focusing on the feathery ball perched on the stone window sill that was high up from both of their reaches. "How did it even get up there? No. No, come here," Regulus said, but the owl only looked blankly back at him. He held out his hand, but the owl didn't respond. "You know you're too young to fly," Regulus said, but the owl didn't budge. Alex thought for a second—didn't the birds learn to fly on their own?

"What's its name?" Alex asked.

"What?" Regulus asked distractedly.

"You could try, you know. Calling it by its name." Alex felt strange, giving him an advice, but if there was something strange Regulus didn't notice it.

"It doesn't have one," Regulus said.

"I thought it was your owl."

"It is. I just haven't—" he stopped in his tracks as the owl edged closer and closer to the end of the sill, where nothingness but thin air began. "Oh, Merlin," Regulus groaned

"He'll be fine. Birds learn to fly by themselves."

"His wings were broken a month ago. It never learned to fly, alright?" Regulus snapped.

"Oh," Alex said.

"C'mon, you stupid bird," Regulus muttered. "Come down from that edge, won't you?"

"Edge," Alex said.

"What?" Regulus said, still sounding irritable.

"No. Look. Edge," she said, and the bird peered down at her again from the great windowsill, slowly waddling closer to the inside of the room.

"He likes the word, you see? Edge," she repeated, and the bird suddenly flopped down from the windowsill, like a penguin diving into icy water.

"N-" Regulus began, but stopped short. The tiny barn owl was suspended mid-air, its wings flapping—not quite gracefully, but undoubtedly—supporting its flight. It descended slowly on Alex's shoulder and looked accusatorially at Regulus. Alex reached out to pet its head and the owl jumped on to her hand, hooting.

"Well, then," Regulus said after a while. "Edge, come here." The owl flittered across the owlery to his owner's side.

They had descended from the West tower in silence when they heard the voice.

"Oi, look who it is—little Regulus and his girlfriend!" The source of the taunt was none other than Sirius Black, who was looking at them with curious eyes. "It's been less than a day, little brother. Surely there's a grace period for waiting before deciding to shame dear old Mommy."

Regulus frowned for a fraction of a second before his face smoothed. "I need to talk to you," he said to Sirius.

"And abandon your girlfriend?" It was only then that Sirius realized who it was. "Oh. Hi, Alex. I didn't recognize you. Different clothes, and all."

"It's fine," Alex muttered, feeling the awkwardness of the world 'girlfriend.' She turned toward Remus, who had been standing a little behind Sirius and James. "Hi, Remus," she said.

"Good morning," he replied, but he was looking at them a little quizzically.

"But what are you doing coming from the tower at this hour?" Sirius asked. "The Slytherin common room is in the dungeons."

"I need to talk to you," Regulus repeated.

Sirius frowned. "I wasn't aware that we had anything to talk about."

"We do and you know why."

Sirius sighed. "Fine, then," he said. "Have it your way. I don't have much to say anyway." He turned to his housemates. "Go on without me. I'll catch up with you." He and Regulus went the opposite way of the corridor, neither trying to speak to each other.

"Shall we go then?" James said. "I don't know what that was about, but Sirius did say that his brother was a bit of a stuck-up." They began to go down the stairs to the Great Hall.

"How are you?" Remus asked politely.

"I'm alright, I think. You?"

"Alright." Remus paused. "So Slytherin, huh?"

"Slytherin," Alex confirmed.

"I guess it came out as a surprise," Remus said. "Not that you can't be a Slytherin, obviously, but you didn't know much about the house beforehand, and most students who didn't know about it don't usually go there—not that you can't go, of course. I just thought that you were—" Remus stopped. "I'm babbling again," he said, smiling abashedly. "Sorry. It'll all be fine, won't it?"

Alex studied his profile from beside him, the hair falling into his eyes, the sincerity in his voice. "Of course it will," she said.