Regulus stayed at the house for a week and a half which was, by Sophia Wilson's opinion, far too long for anyone's good. She knew the boy had enough sense and tact to see that as far as she was concerned, he was entirely unwelcome. He mostly kept to himself, she could see, and did not ask her for anything unless he absolutely needed to; she suspected that he consulted Alex on most matters. And it was not that he necessarily engaged in pointless harmful activities—quite the opposite, in fact. The boy was rather quiet, much quieter than she remembered his older brother being from Ollivander's, a bit of an introvert, which, compounded with Black breeding, made him absolutely detestable in Sophia Wilson's eyes. Alex spent her mornings hiking into the fields with the boy—Sophia Wilson had to admit that if that boy had any redeemable qualities it was that he seemed to respect her daughter enough not to do anything inappropriate—and they either spent their afternoons working on their summer homework or occasionally going into town to buy groceries or, as it happened once, to watch a movie. The evenings were even quieter, when the boy worked in the garden—apparently he was good in herbology, or so Alex said—or read one of the books he brought. Nothing dangerous, Sophia Wilson had to admit from her cursory glance at the titles, but not entirely innocuous, either. What kind of a fourteen-year-old boy wanted to read a six-hundred-page long The Origin of Spells by Chadwick Dabsworth, Sophia Wilson could only shudder to imagine. That boy even tried to help Alex with cleaning after meals—unsuccessfully, she noted with some satisfaction. A rich boy, Sophia knew, unaccustomed to any housework, could hardly be responsible.
Sophia Wilson knew that there would be a limit to Alex's naïveté. She knew that Alex disagreed with the boy on certain matters, but she was also worried that Alex valued their supposed friendship more than her own values. Alex was—she was stubborn, and steadfast, but not entirely principled. She didn't have Sophia's own upbringing, her "blood-traitor" family and a stern father who guided his children's moral principals. Alex was too accomodating, going back and forth between opinions, agreeing to some and disagreeing to others, trying to mold some things to suit her own situation and circumstance.
Something that she took after her father.
Sophia Wilson sighed.
Sometimes she wondered if she was being too inflexible, about so many things—about her choice of friends, when Sophia knew that being a Slytherin automatically qualified your possible candidates of friends to those within the house. She had refused to tell her daughter anything about the father's identity of whereabouts despite her daughter's questions after first year—Alex had stopped asking after she went back to Hogwarts for her second year, apparently aware, after a bout of questioning and tears, that her mother wasn't going to give in. Sophia Wilson wouldn't be surprised if Alex had searched the entire Hogwarts library for clues. She had initially planned, after Minerva McGonagall had barged into their lives, to tell her after she graduated—or at least when she became of age. By then Alex would have formed a separate identity from her parents, a set of principals which would guide her on her own way. She hadn't counted on the Sorting Hat to place Alex in Slytherin, and she hadn't counted on Fortune and Fate to foster a relationship between her daughter and that Black boy.
That boy again. Sophia looked out the window, where he and Alex were gathered around a small plant. A branch, actually, that the boy had taken from his own home garden. He said it was a rose and wanted to see if planting it in the ground with sufficient nutrients and water could induce it to take its roots elsewhere. A magical rose, it said, each flower's shade just a little different from any other. He said it matter-of-factly, and Alex had listened with a mildly interested look, but it was just a matter of time.
It may not turn out that way, and Sophia Wilson prayed to Merlin that it wouldn't. It was not unheard of for a girl and a boy to be friends and nothing more. But what that Black boy saw in her daughter Sophia Wilson knew enough about the Pureblood society to understand. Alex was fresh, naïve, kind, indifferent—just different enough from those he was accustomed to seeing, who saw him only as a Black child who may benefit their cause. A political mean, if nothing else, and although friendships could form in such conditions, true affection was rare. The strong unity that the Slytherin house may be true, but outside of school was a different story, and whether Salazar had planned it or not, the house was filled with the likes of him—wealthy, uncaring of the dangers and the pain of the world, and ultimately irresponsible. He was still young, fourteen, and he seemed to be one of those who develops somewhat late; he was already quite tall, his shoulders getting broader, his voice lower, but his behavior suggested that of a boy than that of a young man who saw girls as preys. Objects to chase after. But inevitably the change will come, both in himself and her daughter.
Sophia Wilson hoped not. Her daughter's distaste for boys—developed from years of bad experience in primary school—might just be enough to steer her clear from any such danger. But she of all people knew what it was like to look at someone one day whom she'd known for several years without any special regard and then to realize just how much significance he held in her life…
So their friendship could not be. Sophia doubted that his mother in any way approved of his relationship with a Wilson—there was, of course, always a possibility that Alex may turn out to be like one of them, but Walburga Black was probably too deranged to even consider the possibility. What worried Sophia the most was that the boy himself may be entertaining such notions, that he may have found an ally who was tied to him by genuine affection and whose ideas he could turn around after careful discussion over several years—such ally anyone would hope for. But Alex—Sophia hoped she had enough sense, that she would pull away if he demanded anything that wasn't natural for her. That she would be safe and happy.
Sophia Wilson looked down at a piece of parchment in her hand which had already begun to disintegrate. On it were the date and place of the next meeting. She was only fooling herself. No one was safe—this was war.
The rest of Regulus's stay went by rather quickly and he left her home without fanfare. Alex remembered with some fondness the way he had stumbled over everything the last week and a half—from his hesitant coin counting as the cashier impatiently huffed at the befuddled fourteen-year-old, who was attempting to figure out the Muggle monetary system, to his surprised and alarmed face once the movie started. It was Death on the Oriental Express and neither of them understood much of the reference, but both came out convinced that there were many ways to violence.
If only.
Alex didn't think much on it. Her mother was too pleased when he left, and Alex wished that she could counter her with physical evidence that he wasn't so bad, but she couldn't.
Regulus hadn't written at her during summer. Alex had tried not to dwell upon it, knowing that there might be a thousand reasons why he couldn't write a word—perhaps he was sick—perhaps his mother was sick—perhaps Edge and Barney fell ill—perhaps the owls were confiscated—perhaps Regulus was trapped in an Egyptian pyramid after days of hunting and was starving inside the ancient tomb. None of them seemed more probable than the one before. But she had other things to occupy her summer than to wait for her friend's letter; after all, Leila wrote every once in a while, and even Rebecca chimed in whenever she visited the Parkinson household. There was homework to be done and, other than that, she still had work to focus on (she had asked Mr. Moonson, a local shopkeeper and a bit of a recluse if she was being honest, if he needed help during the summer as he was getting older. Now she worked five days a week—basically, whenever the store was open—and could do inventory of all the products in the store in less than an hour), helping her mother with the housework, anything.
So Regulus may not have sent her a letter since he left. That could mean nothing.
Alex sometimes wondered if her mother intercepted any of his letters and hid them from her. But Alex discounted the possibility almost immediately; her mother may not approve of him, but she wouldn't go that far. Another possibility—and this she feared the most—was that Regulus saw her for who she was and decided that he wanted nothing to do with her.
A ridiculous idea, she knew; Regulus had always known who she was. But—he'd never seen her at home. In a Muggle town where everyone would rather ignore the freak of the town—her. They would rather pretend that Alex didn't exist or, if they had to acknowledge her, treat her as a banal, docile, completely harmless creature that they needed not take to long to consider. This wasn't her. Alex knew that she was more than just a nameless person. But he'd seen in her a person who simply stood there as others attacked her. A weakling. Why couldn't she stand up for herself?
It was easy for Regulus to say. A Black—Alex now understood what that meant now, it was a pardon, it was a get out the jail free card, it was a permission and a right and a bit of a restrain—a Black, not the direct heir, but a male Black, an increasingly handsome one at that, sufficiently talented and more than intelligent, Regulus was assured of his prestige wherever he went—within the Slytherin circle, that was, but Regulus rarely if not never ventured outside their circle of acquaintances. He could treat everyone with ease, meet every jest with a witty comment, combat any antagonism thrown his way because, in the end, it was his right to be treated with respect. And he expected this respect. A trait that, Alex knew, most people outside Slytherin found proud and infuriating.
So the Slytherin Prince didn't want to have to do anything with her, whose reasonable intelligence people acknowledged inside the school but whose vague parentage—Rebecca still held on to the theory that Sophia Wilson had run off with a Muggle—and untrustworthy name most Slytherins found… questionable. The Wilson name meant little to her—her cousin, Ben, had not greeted her once in the hallway since she'd enrolled, and Alex had not seen her uncle Charles since her first ride on Hogwarts Express. She didn't care to be branded as a bloodtraitor or a pureblood. Neither said anything about who she was.
Who she was, Alex could only guess. The word Darkhider still haunted her in the nights the moment before she fell asleep, when Alex felt as though she could finally grasp the truth of the matter, when everything in the world seemed possible, the moment before she lost her consciousness. But what could she do—go on a dangerous search? Even Gallert Grindelwald was unsuccessful, Bathilda Bagshot wrote. She wasn't sure how Bagshot would know about Grindelwald's activities or motives, but she presumed that a distinguished historian would know what she's talking about. And even if Bagshot was wrong, even if the Conservato did exist, she wouldn't have the first clue where to begin her search.
It was not as if she hadn't bothered to look around; she'd consulted the enormous catalogue of the Hogwarts library, hoping to find books about Darkhiders or Conservato. The results came out empty, which could mean that either no book was written about them or that they were all mentioned in passing, like in Bagshot's thick volume. She had looked on countless books on legends and myths, but to no avail. Regulus had helped sometimes, of course—
Alex frowned. Regulus again.
She wasn't blind—she could see who she was and who he was clearly enough. The friendship between the was unlikely to begin with and even Leila had made several noncommittal comments about it over the years, drawling, for instance, that Regulus and Alex had a permanent desk reserved in the Hogwarts library. The boys made out of it what they would; Avery and Rosier sniggered and thought Regulus was "up for something new," an insult that Alex chose not to acknowledge. Snape couldn't care less about their relationship except for the occasional raise of the eyebrows that showed his—what, consideration of a new idea? His friendship with the Muggleborn Lily Evans was well-known throughout the Slytherin house, which put him in even a more precarious position than Alex was in. Mulciber, along with Malfoy and most of the Slytherins, thought it was just another stage; Regulus would grow out of it soon enough and focus on what was important. Regulus and she herself had never discussed the topic—they weren't the type to discuss relationships—and Alex began to wonder if it would've been better if they had.
Alex wondered if it was the war, or if it was the Slytherin house. People didn't go around wondering when friendship was going to come to an end, did they? The Marauders—she thought disparagingly, but with some wistfulness—they wouldn't wonder when one would desert the other, or when their friendship would come to an end. Or was this insecurity hidden behind all relationships, always lurking about, ready to jump out any second at the smallest hint of weakness or chasm—an inevitable part, then, of any human relationship? Alex didn't want to believe it, but if so, she had to wonder if their friendship had reached an expiration date.
She was walking down the corridor of the Hogwarts Express thus contemplatively. She'd arrived rather late, the traffic being worse than usual near the station, and she'd just managed to jump into the train and wave back to her mother before the train departed. The trunk felt especially heavy in her hands as she dragged it, the wheels making a dull, scratchy sound against the floor. The summer had passed quickly, and, with the exception of Regulus's visit, quietly. But she was back to school—surely, things will pick up—
"Alex!" a bright voice greeted her from behind and Alex looked around. Rebecca Goyle stood, waving slightly, positively beaming. Alex tried not to show skepticism on her face. Rebecca and she got along, yes, but beaming felt a little unnatural.
"Hullo," Alex said as Rebecca approached her. "How was your summer?"
"Oh, excellent, it was lovely," Rebecca said, now leading her somewhere. Alex followed mutedly. Usually Regulus and she found an empty compartment together—in fact, she had been on a search for him—but she wasn't sure if that would happen this year as well, especially considering his odd reticence. "Mother and I spent a month in southern France—a lovely village there, you know, mostly wizards, and there was a ball—sorry that you couldn't attend, by the way—" Perhaps a more correct phrasing would be that she wasn't invited, but Alex decided not to make the correction. It was taken for granted that the Slytherins spent considerable time outside of school—at least, those who were well-connected, that was. People like her or Severus Snape were nominal Slytherins only, belonging to the house but not the community. Alex had come to accept the fact that, as far as the pureblood society was concerned, she was an outsider. It just sometimes felt strange to think of Regulus as a part of the pureblood society, when he spent most of his time in the library studying with her, but that didn't mean much…
"This is our compartment," Rebecca announced. The compartment in fact was an entire carriage—or half of a carriage—inhabited entirely by Slytherins, as far as Alex could discern. There was Marcus Flint, the fifth year Chaser, along with Rebecca and Leila's brothers, Gregory Goyle and Ethan Parkinson, Mulciber, Avery, Rosier—Regulus. No Snape, but of course he wasn't here.
The gang in question were sitting by the window, looking far jollier than Alex remembered seeing them in some time. They were playing a game of exploding snap and even Regulus had joined in, looking as much engaged as he would be observing a game of Quidditch. Rebecca watched them with her eyes twinkling and Alex began to understand why she was in such a great mood. She pursed her lips; Regulus could sit with whomever he wished—it was not as if he was obligated or forced to sit with her. Wordlessly, she put her trunk along with the rest and followed her as Rebecca sat on a seat closest to the other fourth-years. Leila looked up from the game, looking mildly interested.
"Hello, Alex," she said evenly. "You've changed a bit."
Alex frowned in incomprehension. "I'm sorry?" she said, sitting down next to her. Leila she'd grown rather fond of, despite her frequent caustic remarks; she was a clever conversationalist and a rather loyal housemate.
Leila smirked, mirth dancing in her eyes. "Nothing," she said. "How was your summer?"
Alex recounted with some revision her version of the summer and Leila listened quietly. She in turn had spent some time with her grandparents in Germany, where her paternal grandmother was from, and made much good use of her time there, making acquaintances, meeting her relatives for the first time, and such. Alex nodded, listening as carefully as she could, but her eyes made their way to Regulus's direction before she quickly reigned them back in like errant horses. He looked well, which both relieved and angered her. Regulus didn't look thin, his skin was healthy, the cuts on his face had healed completely; in fact, he gave the exact impression of someone who had spent a lovely, relaxing summer holiday. If nothing had happened to him, then, why hadn't he written back?
As if Regulus had heard her question, he turned his head toward her direction. Their gaze met for a fraction of a second. Alex expected a nod, a small smile, some sign of recognition, but none of them happened. His gaze was carefully blank as his eyes swept over the entire carriage before settling onto the game before him. Alex's brow furrowed.
"How far do you remember from what I've said?" Leila's voice drew her back and Alex looked at her, abashed.
"Sorry," she said contritely. "I was just a little distracted."
Leila raised her eyebrow, disbelieving. "Distracted. Sure."
"I was just—" Alex struggled for words, wondering exactly what was going on. What, her best friend was suddenly ignoring her?
"Trouble in the paradise?" Leila drawled in her usual knowing voice.
"What? No," Alex denied quickly, feeling the color creep up her cheeks. Ramsay's accusation that Regulus and she were involved that way appeared again in her mind and she tried to swish it away.
"You know it's not like that," Alex muttered.
"Well, someone did get into paradise," Leila murmured. "Look."
Rebecca had meanwhile sat herself quite near Regulus. A third-year girl timidly approached, looking rather hopeful, and greeted him, who answered with a smile and some words. Alex couldn't hear anything, her hearing blurred by the noise inside the carriage, but she could see that the girl was visibly flustered. Alex resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Rebecca was watching the exchange silently, her eyes shifting restlessly between Regulus and the third-year, her fingers twitching as though deprived of a specific purpose. Finally she intervened, calling Regulus's attention back to the game, giving the girl a pointed look. The girl in turn glared at Rebecca when Regulus had returned to the game. Next to her Leila snorted.
"What a farce," she said. Alex looked at her. Somehow she doubted that this dynamic wouldt stop outside of the train.
"Did you see? The princeling has been made the Quidditch captain," Leila continued. "Rebecca just fawned over it for the first five minutes, of course. It's just another example of nepotism, Malfoy's just trying to get on Black's good graces, with his new fiancée and all—" she huffed, apparently too indignant to speak further. Alex looked in surprise.
"Regulus's the new Quidditch captain?" she asked, perhaps a little too loudly. The boys turned in her direction and even Regulus looked blandly at her. Alex swallowed.
"Thought you already knew, Wilson," Rosier said, sniggering.
"Trouble in the paradise, Wilson?" Avery added. They burst into laughter. Regulus didn't say anything and Alex felt the former anger creep back in.
"Shut up, Avery," she snapped before turning back to Leila, but not before seeing a satisfied expression on Rebecca's face.
"Gits," Leila said lightly, turning her wand between her fingers. "Don't listen to them." Alex stared back at her, her eyes wild.
"Is that what everyone thinks?" she whispered. "That we're—that we're somehow involved that way—"
"Well, I don't think anyone's under the illusion that Regulus proposed to you, or anything like that," Leila said in her usual matter of fact voice and Alex felt her face heat up further. "But, you know, we sort of assumed that you've been, you know, acquainted."
"Acquainted?" The incredulity in her voice made her louder and Alex quickly lowered her voice, looking around. Thankfully, no one had turned her way this time. "What do you mean, acquainted?" The word sounded far dirtier than she knew its definition to be and Alex tried to suppress all the terrible possibilities in her mind. She did not want to go down that road.
Leila looked at her, her face uncomprehending. "I mean, you do spend a lot of time together. Alone. We all figured that one of those study sessions might involve—well—a bit of snogging." Leila looked increasingly uncomfortable under Alex's wild gaze and Alex's alarm, in turn, increased as Leila went on.
"Snogging?" Alex whispered furiously. "What—we—I mean—we aren't—we aren't—" she sputtered, lost for words. Leila finally drew backwards, as though she finally sensed that Alex was not in the best of states.
"Alright, alright, you aren't," she said placatingly. "Blimey, and there was Rosier who thought that you two were shagging—"
"What?" Alex practically yelled. This time several heads didn't turn around, but Alex was beyond caring at this point. "What do you—does Regulus know about this?" she whispered in a low voice and Leila looked around, cautious as ever.
"Probably," Leila said nonchalantly. "I mean, they're boys and they do talk about these sorts of things. More than we do, probably."
"I—" Alex looked around, frowning. "Is that what everyone's been thinking all this time?"
"Not everyone, of course," Leila said reasonably. "Rebecca for one bet that you didn't have a pound of girliness in you to make that possible. I, for once, agreed with her."
"Geez. Thanks a bunch," Alex said, sinking back into her seat, drawing her chin as close to her chest as possible.
"Why hadn't I known about all this?" she asked after a while, feeling suddenly irritated. Why was she the only one always being kept out of the loop?
Leila looked truly uncomfortable for the first time during their conversation. "Er—well, it's not something you just go around asking anyone, and, you know—" Leila decided not to say any more in words and Alex didn't need her to. Rumors like this only circulated amongst those who belonged and as far as the Slytherin house was concerned, she didn't.
"Fine," Alex muttered. "I don't care." It infuriated her that Regulus should know about it as well but chose not to mention it, but she let that part of the argument slide. Damn him for all she knew.
"We're just fourteen!" she burst out soon after, the irritation having grown only stronger. "What do fourteen-year-olds know about any of this?" Leila watched her silently, apparently declining to elaborate or explain.
"Rosier's a bloody idiot," she merely said, shaking her head. And that was the end of that.
Thus the fourth year began on a wrong note, and it seemed that things only got worse from there. Regulus had apparently found some resolve never to speak to her again, which was, in Alex's humble opinion, all fine and well. He could choose not to even look at her and instead make dull jokes with Rosier and smile at Rebecca all he wanted; she couldn't care less.
The classes themselves weren't entirely helpful in elevating her mood. Professor McGonagall, by far the strictest teacher at Hogwarts, stressed the importance of fourth year.
"In fourth year, you will begin to learn the basics that will be the foundation of your O.W.L.s and whatever magical career you may choose to pursue in the future," she said, swishing her cloak. Unlike Slughorn, however, McGonagall did look rather impressive as she stood in the front of the classroom imposingly, giving each student a hard stare. "This is no longer a child's play. So I would pay attention if I were you, Mr. Potter," she gave a pointed glare at James Potter, who had bewitched a chalk on the Transfiguration teacher's desk and had managed to write "Minny the Lion" and draw a rather small, cat-like lion with glasses on the chalkboard. Some of the Gryffindors snickered and McGonagall ignored them with a stiff back. Slytherins, on the other hand, stayed silent, knowing better than to cross Minerva McGonagall the wrong way—at least in front of her.
"On the same note," McGonagall continued, "I have decided to employ a seating chart this year. Fourth year students must have discipline. By that I mean not only paying attention in class—" a flick of her wand stopped a scroll of parchment, which Sirius Black had charmed to hover over McGonagall's head, held at the corners like a large, smiling mouth— "but also manners and getting along with everyone at school. And I mean everyone." Another pointed glare at Potter's direction, who simply looked away, his face nonchalant.
"The seating chart is hanging on the back of the classroom," McGonagall said. "Please be seated accordingly by the next lesson."
"She's a nutter, she is," Leila muttered as they began to pack up after class. "Slytherin with Gryffindor, she must have a death wish." One bright thing about this year, Alex had to admit, was that she and Leila had grown closer as Rebecca found more and more opportunities to find a spot next to her 'object of desire' (Leila's wording, not hers) and Alex found herself more and more avoided by the said person. Leila was not the most devoted student, and her grasp on the Five Laws of Brunswick could use some review, but she was an excellent commentator—a skill she'd hoped to apply as a Quidditch commentator, Alex knew, but they both doubted that McGonagall would accept a Slytherin for the role. They approached the dreaded chart, where excited twitter was already passing through the throng.
"What—" Leila, who had managed to worm through the crowd first, squinted, examining the chart. She frowned distastefully. "I have McKinnon. I suppose she's alright. You—you have—"
"Ugh," a disgruntled voice came from behind her. "I have Wilson."
"Black," Leila finished her sentence. "I'd say good luck, Alex, but your luck seems to have run out already." Apparently, Black heard this.
"Parkinson," he said sweetly. "Keep your large nose out of other people's business."
"I would be happier if I were you, Black," Leila said, just as sweetly. "Alex might actually help you pay attention in class for once. You might learn what discipline actually is." Her reference to McGonagall's words were unfortunately not lost on Black, who opened his mouth to make a retort. Alex grabbed her friend's wrist and began to pull.
"C'mon, we'd better get going," she said, and made their way out of the crowd before Black could say anything further.
"Miss Parkinson!" no one could miss her sharp tone that was more tightly wound than her hair. "If you could, please remain for a while." Alex made a move to leave the room, but Leila motioned her to stay. They went to the front where the stern professor was organizing her desk. The room quietened down as the students dispersed.
"I reviewed your application for the position as the commentator," McGonagall gave one of her typical unnerving gazes from behind her spectacles. "I was under the impression that you wished to try out for the Slytherin Quidditch Team."
"I did, Professor." Leila's face was carefully blank, and Alex felt sorry for her—she was bracing for the rejection already, not trying to show that McGonagall's question affected her.
"Why don't you try out for the team?"
"They won't accept girls, Professor." Leila's face was still blank. "I've spoken to Regulus Black, who's this year captain, but he told me that the boys would have none of it." The derision and frustration in her voice began to seep out and Alex frowned at a spot far away, trying not to seem too engaged in the conversation—after all, it was impolite to eavesdrop. But Regulus hadn't given Leila even a chance? They'd both agreed that Lucius Malfoy might be a decent flyer but, as far as judgement went, he was a giant prat who couldn't discern talent from failure. Had Regulus changed his mind since then?
"Hmm," McGonagall said. "We can't do anything about unofficial policies, of course."
"It's been around for less than thirty years," now exasperation was evident in Leila's voice. "Some of the best female players used to come from Slytherin. The boys are just being giant pain in the—" Alex nudged her hard in the ribs and Leila stopped momentarily, her nostrils flaring. Her breath was harsh.
"Sorry, Professor," Alex muttered, but McGonagall didn't seem offended. In fact, her thin lips twitched sporadically, as if she was trying to contain a smile.
"As I said, I reviewed your application, and I believe that you are the best candidate we have," McGonagall said, her voice placid. "You are aware that the first game is in less than two months?"
Leila nodded dumbly. Alex tried not to laugh out loud; the price on her face was priceless. Truly, she wanted to capture it and hang it on their dorm room wall forever as a reminder that even Leila Anthony Parkinson could be rendered speechless.
"I expect a fair and civilized commentary, Miss Parkinson." McGonagall's tone was stern, but there was no mistaking the amusement in her eyes. "Any favor given to a particular team would make you a less viable candidate for the next game. Do you understand this?" Again Leila nodded dumbly.
"That is all. Have a lovely afternoon, Miss Parkinson, Miss Wilson." Leila seemed rooted to the spot and Alex began to tug at her arm, at which Leila started, as though coming out of trance.
"I—thank you, thank you, Professor," Leila stuttered and, as if realizing her awkwardness, began to walk as fast as she could to the door to mask her embarrassment. Alex looked around and saw McGonagall actually smiling. When their eyes met, she nodded at her, a secret exchange. Alex smiled back.
Outside the corridor students were hurrying toward the Great Hall. Alex could smell the food, the rich aroma of meat and something sweet. Next to her Leila was walking but not really, her eyes unfocused, her eyes glazed.
"So," Alex said conversationally. "Still think she's a nutter?"
Leila looked back at her. A smile began to erupt on her face, at first slowly, almost indiscernibly. It soon grew wider and wider until it filled the entire cheeks and jaw. A wide, genuine smile shined at Alex and she found herself smiling with her.
"'Course," Leila said. "Best nutter there is."