Light came first, blinding. The muscles around her eyes contracted, squirmed, blocking the unwelcome intrusion. The stiffness of the eyes. The faint tang of antiseptic emanating. Unfamiliar weight around her body, heat trapped inside. There was a tingling in her shoulders as she shifted around.

The wince came out of her before anything. Alex slowly opened her eyes, unwilling to brace the new day. Something had happened yesterday, something important, but she could not remember what…

"Miss Wilson. You're awake," a voice came. Alex pulled herself up, pushing against the bed so that her upper body could rest against the wall. She was in a bed. She squinted. Hospital bed. That would explain the antiseptic. She rubbed her eyes. They felt far too warm.

Alex let out a slow, painstaking breath. "Professor," she croaked, then cleared her throat, feeling the muscles constrict. She felt something cool press against her hand. Alex looked up.

"Drink," McGongall said. "Madam Pomfrey would agree."

The lady in question suddenly appeared, as though the mere appellation had the power to summon her. Alex watched the woman; she had never been in the Hospital Wing, and had never seen the plump, cheery-faced nurse, neatly dressed in a Healer gown despite the fact that it was weekend.

"Awake at last, are you?" she said briskly, and didn't wait for Alex to answer. "Just as well. I couldn't do much when you were asleep, but now I finally can." She pushed an unknown jar into Alex's free hand and Alex slowly let go of the cup, leaning it against the bedside table. She hadn't the energy to put it up there.

"Salve for your face, dear," she heard Madam Pomfrey say. "Smells like peppermint, too. No need to frown at it—just rub a dab, and it'll be gone before dinner." Alex now did frown—what was she even talking about?

"Madam Pomfrey, if you don't mind, I would like to get a chance to talk with Miss Wilson," McGongall's voice was firm, urgent even. She looked at the professor and found her watching her carefully. She looked away and put the jar of salve next to the glass of water. Meanwhile, Madam Pomfrey stopped fretting around Alex's bed and straightening the sheets.

"But—" she began, but McGonagall cut her off.

"You heard Mr. Black's testimony last night. This is not a matter that can simply be put off." McGongall drew up a stool next to her bed and sat down. Madam Pomfrey left without any argument.

"Miss Wilson," McGonagall said. "How much do you remember from last night?"

Alex looked back at the professor. "We were—um, you caught us near the West Tower and then we came here," Alex said. "I don't remember much after that."

"You fell asleep on one of the beds, and after Mr. Black's explanation it seemed improvident to wake you," McGonagall said. "But what do you remember from before?"

Alex looked down at her bed sheet, wringing her hands.

"Mr. Black told me what he had seen," McGongall's voice sounded gentler. "He said that three boys from sixth year accosted you."

Alex didn't answer.

"He seemed to be aware of their identities and gave me their names; I cannot confirm that without your word," McGongall went on. "I realize that this may not come easily to you now, but the boys are currently under watch of our Head Boy and Girl. The school only detain them without explanation only for so long." Alex decided that the water wouldn't be a terrible idea and slowly held the glass to her lips. Her hands were trembling.

"He—the boy. The leader. He fell from the stairs," Alex managed to say. "I doubt that he's unscratched."

"Yes, Mr. Flannigan did suffer from an injury to the head. A broken clavicle, too, I'm afraid to say. He landed on his shoulders." McGongall, however, did not sound very sorry and for that Alex felt somehow better. "The others are uninjured."

Alex wrung her hands, her fingers intertwined together. "They were drunk," she said quietly. "Was there a party yesterday?"

McGonagall sighed. "There were no official parties. But this is Hogwarts, and the students do have the proclivity to put their creativity into… unwholesome ventures."

Alex swallowed. "The boy, Flannigan, the one with the injury, he said—he said that his parents were dead." She looked up at McGongall. "Is that true?"

McGongall's face darkened. "It is," she said. "It was an unfortunate incident—one that could have been avoided."

"He said that it was done by pureblood supremacists. That's not exactly what he said, but… he thought I was part of them." A frown between her brows that she didn't know how to smooth out appeared. "That I would—I would hunt Muggles for fun. That's just—that's just—"

"Alex," McGonagall said, sitting by the side of her bed. Alex shrunk back in surprise. "The boy—he was drunk, he was upset, and you cannot take what he said seriously." Alex nodded but frowned at her hands, feeling the unsuitableness of the word boy. The boy—he was a boy, a sixth year, McGongall said, hardly a man. A boy shouldn't be doing those things, feeling those things. And yet he was, and Alex couldn't decide if she blamed him for everything that happened. He was drunk, and emboldened by the presence of his gang of friends, obviously, and his actions were unforgivable. But the logic that he presented—it eluded her, and yet the same time she understood. She understood that he was in pain. His decision to take the pain out on her was unfortunate and ill-advised and quite honestly disgusting, but the pain—who had put it there? The Slytherins?

"There were two other boys," Alex said after a long while, her voice quiet. "One of them was called Bertie. I don't know his full name. The other held me back so Flannigan could—so he could." She cleared her throat. "Regulus interrupted them, and he and Bertie struggled for a while before Flannigan punched him and threatened him with his wand."

McGonagall listened without saying anything. It felt like she wanted to say a great deal more but was holding herself back and Alex appreciated this more than she expected to. "And Mr. Black told me that Mr. Flannigan lost his balance and fell," McGonagall finally said. Alex nodded.

"Mr. Saler, on the other hand," McGonagall continued, "he was one of the boys in the Owlery the night before—he told me that you had cast some sort of charm that threw Mr. Flannigan off balance." McGonagall looked at Alex carefully. "It is not that I am trying to condemn you for whatever might have happened, but it is important to tie off loose ends in cases like this."

Alex's knuckles whitened as her fingers tightened around the ball of sheet in her hand. "I didn't have my wand," she said. "Regulus was disarmed. There was some sort of a shield—a glow of some sort. I don't know where it came from. Flannigan was the only one holding a wand."

"It is not unheard of for wizards to use magic when they feel that they are in danger," McGonagall said. "And you have shown me firsthand that you could control your magic—even without a wand."

Alex flushed at the memory of her turning a twig into a pencil in front of a cat. "I suppose it's possible. I don't know. I didn't mean to create a shield. Or throw anyone off a staircase."

McGonagall nodded, and Alex felt as though the inquisition was over. She leaned against the wall again, unaware that her back has been tense the entire time. She felt a wave of fatigue wash over her—but she must have slept through all morning. The sun shining from the nearby window was bright and very high up.

"Does anyone else know?" Alex asked quickly. When McGonagall looked back inquiringly at her, she mumbled, "about this… incident."

Alex thought she could see a trace of pity in McGonagall's eyes and she hated that pity. "The headmaster has been informed. The boys have been isolated from their housemates, so no one should be aware. Mr. Black, of course, was involved. Professor Flitwick was informed, as they were his students to begin with. We thought it wiser not to inform Professor Slughorn. He is not… as tactful when it comes to these things," or just feign ignorance, Alex thought bitterly, but bit back the comment. "And I must write to your mother."

Alex looked up. "You can't," she said immediately.

McGonagall raised her eyebrow. "Oh?" she said.

"She's been worried sick already—it'll just convince her not to let me come here," Alex said in a rush.

"Your mother has the right to be told, Miss Wilson," McGonagall's voice wasn't unkind, but it was firm. "She should know."

"But—"

"She would want to know." The tone of her voice clearly implied that she wasn't going to put up with an argument. Alex looked outside the window. The sky was clear, lovely blue. What an irony.

"And I must inform you that you and Mr. Black will be serving detention with Professor Slughorn every day for the next week," McGonagall continued. Alex looked at her incredulously.

"But Professor—"

"Miss Wilson, you and Mr. Black were outside your dormitory past curfew. The standard punishment for such behavior is detention. If last night's incident hadn't clearly demonstrated to you that the curfew exists for a reason, the detention will." McGonagall paused. "You are to report to Professor Slughorn by seven in the evening on Monday, sharp. Now rest well—Madame Pomfrey had instructed you to stay at least until late afternoon." Without further adieu McGonagll left, her robe sweeping behind her impressively.

Alex saw the small handheld mirror on her bedside table and peered at her reflection. Her eyes had felt warm because they were swollen—from crying probably. On her left cheek was an impressive red mark that suspiciously resembled a handprint, and her the skin around her cheekbone had a pale blue undertone that she had never seen before. Alex wordlessly reached for the salve that Madam Pomfrey had left with her. She was relieved to find that the Hospital Wing was empty save for the one bed at the far corner which had the curtains drawn around it. She hoped the marks would vanish before anyone else saw them.

Monday afternoon Alex and Regulus left the Great Hall a little before seven and started out for the dungeon. They had wordlessly risen together from the table, having sat side by side during dinner. He had been silently looming over her the entire day, keeping a watchful eye over her during the meals and sitting with her on the same table during Transfiguration and Potions. When Slughorn cheerfully reminded him that he had a detention that evening, he shrugged nonchalantly and thanked Slughorn for reminding him. Alex wasn't sure what to make of the newfound proximity. She did not want him to look at her differently as someone that needed protection, and it felt odd to sit next to someone intentionally. She was, however, aware of of the new looks that Rebecca and Leila gave her during class when they saw Regulus sit beside her without asking. Regulus had not said anything the entire day; in fact, she did not see him on during the weekend. Where he had disappeared off to, she didn't know.

"I'm sorry about this," Alex said. "If it hadn't been for me—"

"If it hadn't been for you I still would have been out past the curfew and would have received detention anyway," Regulus supplied. "It's fine. It's not as if I'm the only one who has to suffer."

Alex smiled thinly. "How are you feeling?" she asked. She remembered what Flannigan had done all too clearly and she had for some reason been unable to ask him throughout the day…

"Fine," Regulus said. "Madam Pomfrey did make me take several potions. They weren't exactly pleasant, but they helped." Alex nodded. They reached the door of the dungeons and Regulus opened the door, indicating that she should go in. She felt a flush creep into her cheeks.

The detention turned out to be less terrible than Alex had anticipated. They were assigned the task of scrubbing the cauldrons used by the fifth years clean while they listened to Slughorn react loudly to the essays that he was grading.

"A fifth year! He should know by now what a bezoar is used for!" Slughorn said.

"It's used to counteract most poisons, isn't it, sir?" Regulus said and Slughorn positively beamed. Alex rolled her eyes at her cauldron, where bits of something burnt and fishy stuck had stuck to the bottom. She just hoped that it wasn't anything that stained.

Slughorn chuckled. "Right again, m' boy, right again…" Slughorn went back to grading and Alex looked pointedly at Regulus, who merely grinned but didn't say anything. Alex went back to scrubbing and soon there was a pile of clean cauldrons on her side of the floor. She wiped the sweat off her brows on her sleeves.

"The Avogarcio's Law of Combination…" Slughorn tsked. "Surely, something elementary couldn't have simply flew past by…" Alex bit her lips and decided not to mention the fact that Slughorn had spent about half of the lecture on Avogarcio's Law on the sparseness of his antique china collection and his fondness for crystallized pineapples.

"It's eight thirty, professor," she instead said. Slughorn looked up from his desk.

"Is it already?" he said wondrously, looking at the clock. "Good gracious me! Look at the time. Well, excellent work as usual, Regulus. I'd say come back tomorrow and finish the cleaning, same time and place—now off you go!" They wasted little time exiting Slughorn's classroom, muttering vague resemblances of 'good night,' and 'thanks.' They started toward the Slytherin common room.

"Did you hear," Regulus asked suddenly, "that Flannigan is going to stay?" Alex stopped on her tracks and looked at Regulus. His face was unfathomable.

"I thought there was going to be a hearing," Alex said.

"There has been," Regulus said. "The Muggle-loving fool Dumbledore decided that they were too young and innocent to be punished so severely by expulsion. Thinks that they need to complete their education and do something in the society." Regulus scoffed. "Typical of him, wouldn't you say? Pretends to be judicious and fair and all, but it just gives him an excuse to shield the Muggleborns."

Alex considered. "Flannigan came up to me in the library and apologized," she said. "You saw it too, didn't you?"

Regulus looked at her incredulously. "And you believed him?" he asked.

Alex smiled wryly. "From his face? Not really. But I don't think he'll be trying something like that again."

"How can you be sure?" Regulus pressed on. "How do you know that, a few months from now, he'll be wandering around drunk again and just looking for the slightest opportunity—"

"I just know," Alex said quietly, and Regulus snorted, rather undignified.

"Shouldn't you be more upset?" he said.

"I am upset," Alex said. "I'm still trying to piece things together." Alex looked down at her hands again, which she had washed several times with soap along with the rest of her body as soon as she was out of the hospital wing. She thought that she could somehow still smell the drunken breath on her skin, on her neck, the grip of the boy on her arm, and subconsciously dusted her robes. She would need to take another shower.

Regulus's lips thinned visibly.

"I was surprised," Alex said brightly, trying to change the subject. "Professor Slughorn seemed perfectly enamored with you. Perhaps just as much as he is with crystallized pineapples."

Regulus chuckled dryly. "He likes me because I'm a Black," he said simply, as though that explained it all. Alex looked at him carefully. There was no proud uplifting of the chin or the confident strut that she had seen from him when he said that. Just plain old statement of facts.

"That's discriminatory, wouldn't you say?" Alex said. "For all he knows, you may not even want his attention."

Regulus smiled—it wasn't a warm smile—but didn't answer and Alex didn't know what else she could say.

They had almost reached the common room. Alex was now accustomed enough to the castle to tell apart the telltale signs: the air was chillier, there were less torches that lit up the walls, and there were fewer doors to be seen. Alex looked up the ceiling; she thought she could see the moss in the nooks and crannies of the stone blocks.

"Well, then," Alex said. "I suppose I'll see you—"

"I need to ask you something." Regulus's tone was low, furtive. He cast suspicious looks around their surroundings before he looked back at her again. His face was grave. Alex frowned slightly, feeling strangely nervous. A question asked with such an uncommonly grave and cautious face could not conclude well.

"Alright," she said, beginning to feel just as cautious.

"Would you like to be my friend?"

Alex stared dumbly at the boy. Just what kind of a question was that?

"I'm sorry?" she said, certain that she had misheard something.

Regulus clinched his fists, apparently irritated—but not with her, as far as she could tell. He looked around again, and he breathed in deeply before he repeated, rather politely, "I asked if you would like to be my friend."

"I'm afraid that I don't follow."

"Friend," Regulus repeated. "I do not mean a housemate, I do not mean an ally. I will not extend my hand out to you so that you can shake it. Surely you see what I mean."

By this point Alex wished that she understood whatever it was that Regulus was saying. Friend. What a strange concept. She did not have any friends back in her old school. She had always been the odd one, the quiet one that other students would rather ignore—a problem that they would rather not address. She supposed that she kept a distant relationship with her classmates—as distant as the relationship she now had with her current housemates, which seemed both lamentable and inevitable at the same time. Perhaps she had never been the befriending kind. She certainly lacked a certain je ne sais quoi that marked a Slytherin a Slytherin. Even Snape, who came from a background that was not typical of a Slytherin, had a certain air about him that immediately designated him as a member of the infamous house. An ally—the Slytherins stuck together. She had to give them that. A Slytherin rarely went against each other. She supposed that when the entire school was on guard against them, the only solution was to huddle closer and defend themselves from the external dangers that lurked in the juvenile world of Hogwarts. But friends?

"I don't think that's how you make friends," Alex stuttered.

"Then how does one make friends?" Regulus countered.

Alex considered. "I don't know," she said. "Either you are or you're not."

"Very well," Regulus said. "Am I or am I not?"

Alex looked at him, the paleness of his face against the dim torchlight, the dark, thick eyebrows, the set of his jaw that remained resolute despite the traitorous beginnings of a pink flush that was appear on his cheekbones. He was… was he nervous? But it had been a very strange proposition to begin with.

"I suppose we could be friends," Alex said. "I don't know much about it, to be honest."

Some of the tension left Regulus's shoulder. "Good," he said, and he sounded somehow much older than the boy who had asked a girl whether she would like to be friends with him. "I don't, either."

The idea of the newfound friendship still puzzled Alex when she woke up the next morning. They had departed last night in the common room after working on their homework; Regulus had diligently worked to finish his Charms essay comparing the levitating charm and the sinking charm, and Alex had meanwhile plotted the major constellations and stars for each season and found Regulus's name in her list of stars.

"You're named after a star?" she had asked. Regulus barely looked up from his Charms essay.

"Unfortunately." One word was sufficient to describe his sentiments on the matter.

"I mean—it's sort of cool, isn't it?" Alex said, trying to be positive about it.

"It's a family tradition," he grunted. "My grand uncle was named Regulus. And my great-great-great grand father. And his uncle before him. And his cousin before him."

Alex laughed. "Do you think you'll keep the family tradition?" she asked. "Name your children after a star?"

"It's not as romantic as it sounds," Regulus muttered, a strange look on his face, as though the word 'children' did not bode well with him. "'Sides, I'm the second son—I won't be obligated to do that. That's Sirius's job. Although I do appreciate his name," he grinned a little, as though the countless name puns that Alex had heard in her two month at Hogwarts made the odd naming system all the worthwhile. They fell back into a familiar silence.

"The differences in the gestures for the two spells," Regulus muttered under his breath, engrossed in his essay, and Alex studied him curiously. Regulus was pale, much paler than his brother, and his features were, as she had noted when they first met, softer, gentler, despite the impassive expression he always wore. Regulus was, from what she could gather from her observations alone, hard to irritate, reasonable to the point of being frustrating, and had the penchant for giving food to tiny owls that were quite useless in delivering mails. He concentrated on his essay with what seemed to be a fair amount of enthusiasm and fondness for the subject, which was not what Alex had seen in her classmates. They were eager to learn magic, use it like they had seen the adults do, quickly learn spells and other tricks that would make them look accomplished. Alex could understand their impatience—she had felt it sometimes, writing a ten inch essay about the dozen different uses for broomslang skin—but she also found it fascinating and novel enough that she could engage in her studies without complaint.

"Shall we go to breakfast then?" his voice in the present shook Alex out of her reverie and she looked up from her position on the couch in the common room. She had woken up early and had been reading by the lamplight Hogwarts: A History that Remus had lent her about a week ago after a Defense class. Knowing how much he was attached to it, she wanted to give it back to him as soon as possible. Alex managed to stand up and put the book into her bag.

"I just remembered," Alex said as Regulus held out the Common Room door for her. She exited and Regulus followed her. The morning air felt damp and stuffy in their noses in the dungeons.

"What?"

"I never properly apologized you for what happened at Ollivander's."

Regulus waved it carelessly away. Alex noted for the first time that these gestures he made were in fact quite graceful, however careless they were intended to be. As if the grace was ingrained in his behavior. "The mishap with the wand? It was nothing. Forget about it."

"I didn't really know what wands could do," she continued. "I'm sorry."

"Yes, I wanted to ask you about that," Regulus said casually, but she could feel how he was carefully watching her, just as he had watched her in Ollivander's shop, analyzing her every reaction and trying to come to some sort of a conclusion. Alex rubbed her elbows self-consciously.

"What?" she said.

Regulus shrugged—again, another careless gesture that seemed intentional and graceful. "You looked like you had no idea what magic was," he said.

"I didn't."

"And that you had no idea who I was. Or my mother, at any rate," he continued.

Alex exhaled loudly and rolled her eyes. "Honestly, why does every Slytherin expect everyone to know who they are? Are they just stupid, or are they so full of themselves that they can't even see that other people have their own lives?"

To her surprise Regulus laughed quite heartily at this, but quickly grew somber as they passed by several students from other houses. "The wizarding community is very small, especially in Great Britain. I suppose it being an island makes people brush by each other more often," he explained with an unexpected amount of patience and good-humor. Alex didn't know why. They reached the Great Hall and got settled across from one another and started to pile food onto their plates. Regulus, predictably enough, started by filling his glass with pumpkin juice.

"Can I ask you something, then?" Alex said.

"All right."

"Flannigan, he—" at the mention of her attacker's name Regulus sat a little stiffer but didn't say anything. "He said that a bunch of purebloods attacked his family."

Regulus said nothing and Alex figured that she should continue.

"Is that true?" she asked.

Regulus looked at her with an unnervingly still gaze that he had. "You assume that I know about every action that every pureblood does?" he asked after a while.

Alex flushed, feeling oddly guilty, as though she had unwittingly accused him. "McGongall said that you knew their names," Alex said quickly.

"I pay attention to people around here. It's nothing criminal." Regulus said cooly. Alex swallowed her eggs with some difficulty and eyed the jar of milk that stood in the periphery of her vision, Regulus's precise way of buttering his toast, the din in the Great Hall that was only bound to grow louder as more students piled in from their slumber.

"Is it true, though?" she asked after a while.

Regulus hesitated. "His parents were killed and the perpetrators were pureblood wizards, yes," he said.

Alex grabbed an apple from the nearby basket and began to turn it in her hand over and over again. "It's just that," she paused. "It's just that you're a—"

"Yes?" Regulus said, arching his eyebrow.

"I mean, you're from a pureblood family," Alex said it like it was a question.

"That much is obvious," Regulus said.

"And, I dunno, everyone thinks that Slytherins are responsible for every bad thing that happens to them—" Alex continued to fiddle with her apple. She found that she couldn't look at Regulus straight in the eye and the feeling made her feel guilty for even having brought up the subject and despite the fact that she felt like she needed to pursue the subject and put an end to a question she felt like she was walking on thin ice, a dangerous territory.

"I know the question you're going to ask," Regulus said unceremoniously. "And no, my parents weren't involved in the attack."

"Oh," she said, feeling the tension leave her body a little. She stopped fiddling with her apple.

"Do I believe that Muggleborns like Flannigan should be admitted to Hogwarts?" Regulus went on, as though he also had something that he wanted to get out of his system, as though there was something that they needed to clear up before their contractual friendship went any further—just as Alex had. "It's a difficult question, isn't it? The pureblood society—the wizarding society in general, if we're to speak more broadly—are still arguing over the question." He chuckled humorlessly. "To be honest, I believe that every magic should be appreciated in whatever form it takes. Magic is a gift. It would be a waste to ignore it because we happened to find it in less than conventional… creatures. I'm not just talking about Muggleborns. I also think the house elves, goblins, werewolves, vampires, centaurs, all of them, they should be… they're all overlooked. And they shouldn't be. Even trolls—well, maybe not them," Regulus wrinkled his nose. "They're quite smelly."

"You called Flannigan… you know what," Alex said, unwilling to say the derogatory term on a breakfast table, with the sunlight shining through the windows and students laughing and enjoying their food.

Regulus arched his eyebrow again, looking at her like a child who couldn't understand the difference between black and white. "Do you expect me to treat a cowardly scum who took advantage of a defenseless girl smaller than him for more than what he is?" he asked. Alex didn't answer.

"As I was saying, I don't think Muggleborns themselves are necessarily bad. I actually do think that they have a way of… making the wizarding society more colorful. Some of them in fact bring in a fair amount of talent. All magical creatures can contribute in some way. House elves, for example—they can apparate and disapparate from places that normal wizards can't even imagine. But the Muggleborns—I do think we need to take them with a grain of salt. They have different ideals, different way of thinking. I suppose that's inevitable, coming from a different background. But that doesn't mean that we should blindly embrace them and welcome them into the community. They can be dangerous."

"Dangerous?" Alex said skeptically. She herself felt like a Muggleborn sometimes, even though she knew that technically speaking she couldn't be a Muggleborn, because her mother was from a wizard family. But it could also be that her mother came from a wizard family that started out as Muggleborns, which would make her again a Muggleborn. It was not an easy logic to follow, the line that separated Muggleborns from purebloods. "They hardly know any magic when they start out. All they try to do is try their hardest to fit into the new community."

"And they bring in their non-Magical relatives," Regulus said. "The International Statute of Secrecy was written for a reason. It was to protect our presence against the threat from the Muggle community. A long time ago we lived amongst them, and look what happened—violence. They couldn't stand the fact that we had magic and they didn't. Simple logic. It's jealousy. The Muggleborns flagrantly violate this law left and right and expect us to feel safe. It won't work. Either completely become a part of the wizarding community or stay away—that is the best solution for both parties." By the end of this little speech Regulus's eyes were flashing. It was obvious that he had put quite a bit of thought into this. Alex scrutinized his expression, but only found sincerity. He truly believed in what he was saying, that magic is worth treasuring in all forms, that the pureblood wizard are threatened by the presence of Muggles who wish them harm.

"But think about it," Alex said. "Wizards can use magic. Muggles can't. They wouldn't stand a chance if you go into a war. How can Muggles ever pose a serious threat to the wizarding society?"

"You haven't heard the stories I heard," Regulus muttered darkly. "They used to capture little wizard children and tried to force magic out of them to see if they could get some of the magic themselves. It came close to downright torture. There are even rumors that they drank the children's blood to harness his powers. Of course adult wizards can defend themselves, if they are not caught unaware. But it has been know to happen. And this isn't the Middle Ages anymore. The Muggles—they fought a big war, didn't they? It hasn't been a long time since."

"World War II," Alex said almost automatically. "There were actually two wars."

Regulus nodded. "Yeah, that. It's obvious, isn't it? They killed millions of people just for their own gain. They even developed weapons that can destroy a small country in less than an hour. An hour, Alex," Regulus leaned in, and Alex was too thrown aback by his use of her first name to fidget away. "Any self-respecting wizard would never use his magic to do harm. Violence was never the purpose of magic."

"So what happened with Flannigan's parents was—"

"Some pureblood wizards do advocate violence, and I'm not denying that," Regulus said quickly. "I don't approve of it. I think it's uncouth and beneath what we can do. What we should do." He sighed. "I suppose in their eyes every pureblood wizard is the same and that we all should be held accountable for each other's actions."

"What about bloodtraitors?" the question flew out of her mouth before Alex even knew she had the question. Regulus looked strangely at her.

"Bloodtraitors?" he asked. "What about them?"

"Well, they're purebloods, but they "consort" with Muggleborns," Alex said. "From what you said, it should be fine, right? They're just recognizing a fellow wizard."

"The bloodtraitors are blind fools who believe that Muggleborns are safe and innocent little lambs who they should rescue." Regulus frowned distastefully. "Trust me, they love playing the role of a savior. It strokes and inflates their ego."

"Well, then," Alex said. "How do you think Muggleborns should be treated?"

"With circumspection, naturally," Regulus answered promptly. "They shouldn't be denied their right to exercise magic, of course. But giving them influence in the wizarding society without care for what that can mean to our safety is absurd. We should recognize them for what they are."

"And what's that?"

"Muggles," Regulus said simply. "They may be able to use magic, but they're still Muggles."

"You just said that they're magical, just like the pureblood wizards."

"They are," Regulus said. "But they're still Muggles as well."

Alex stared at him. His logic was both coherent and nonsensical. It was clear that he was fond of magic—loved it, cherished it, and admired it more than most things. His regard for most non-human creatures seemed to stem from his admiration for magic, however, than his admiration for life itself. Muggles, who were not magical, weren't as worthy as magical creatures, and that logic, which placed non-humans even before other humans, made Alex raise her eyebrows skeptically. As she watched Regulus carefully tear a piece of toast into two and chew slowly, she couldn't help but be struck by the amount of unconscious condescension he possessed toward who were not purebloods. His ideas were, as far as she could tell, well-intentioned, if not magnanimous from his point of view, and somehow Alex doubted, from her brief encounter with Mrs. Black, that his mother shared her son's idea that all magical creatures should have the right to exercise magic. A mongrel, she had called her. Presumably Mrs. Black also subscribed to the rumor that Sophia Wilson had run off with a Muggle boy and gave birth to three half-blood children. But it was obvious that Regulus drew a clear line between pureblood wizards and Muggles and Alex could not see the distinction as clearly. She had once been a Muggle, it seemed, and his questions earlier were perhaps asked to confirm this position. But the boy in front of her was now affectionately patting the head of his owl who had flown in from the high ceilings with a morning newspaper—Edge had in the past few months grown up quite a bit and was now capable of doing simple deliveries set on a planned route—and giving him drops of his pumpkin juice and nibbles of his toast and Alex wondered if blood status was what truly set Regulus Black apart from others.