Alex wasn't fond of Halloweens.

Perhaps that wasn't the best way to put it. She didn't mind them, but she would rather not be reminded of the day or what could happen on such day. The memory of her first Halloween at Hogwarts was not something that she wanted to relive. It seemed that, as the day drew closer and closer and the decorations around the castle grew more and more spectacular, the world was taunting her to remember the incident over and over again, goading her to do something about it and laughing at her inability to do so.

So it wasn't entirely unexplainable why she was grumbly and frowning as Leila dragged her from the dungeons the a few days before the holiday, muttering something about not being stupid.

"It's the first game in the season. And you have to be there to support the team." And listen to how I do, Alex could hear the silent addition.

"Just tell me how it went," Alex grumbled, wishing that she was curled up in her bed, doing some reading for Charms—they were on a particularly interesting unit on weight—or just lazing about. It wasn't as if she had anything better to do.

"Games lose half their importance when they're over," Leila replied

"Spoken like a true Quidditch commentator," Alex said dully.

"If you want, I can curse his sorry arse off the broomstick—but I want us to win." Alex frowned. Leila's sentiment and surprising amount of support made her gladder than she expected, but sometimes she did take it too far.

"There's no reason to curse anyone," she muttered as they entered the Great Hall. It was buzzing with excitement; even though most people didn't attend games when their own house wasn't playing (except for Slytherin versus Gryffindor, where the house of serpent waged a lonely battle against the combined will of the other three houses—and, of course, the final game), every house always seemed quite keen on how Slytherin was doing, or, more correctly, whether Slytherin lost or not.

The said house was sitting animatedly on their table, speculating excitedly about the match and making not-so-furtive bets across the table. The team was sitting by itself on the far left, looking a little more somber. Alex spotted Regulus almost immediately and withdrew her gaze—but not before Leila caught her looking.

"Sure about the curse?" she asked. Alex let out a hollow laugh.

Regulus was still not speaking to her—or looking at her or even greeting her. In fact, he stayed as far away as he possibly could without seeming rude; he never sat across from or next to her during meals; when their housemates moved between classes, he never walked beside her, always engaged in some conversation with one of the boys or, as it increasingly became, with Rebecca—and he pointedly ignored her during classes when chance had them working together. So Alex stuck to Leila and he was surrounded by everyone else.

"Let's not give up the possibility entirely," Alex suggested and Leila grinned crookedly.

"Certainly," she said, and they marched to their seats on the Slytherin table like comrades.

But even the keen eyes of Leila didn't keep Alex from sneaking glances at her former friend (is that what he was now?) every few minutes. Regulus seemed relatively calm despite the pressure of the first game, but Alex doubted that he wasn't aware of his situation as the new Quidditch Captain. Although no one challenged his captaincy or his competence, Alex knew that this game would be the measuring stick that other teams would hold the Slytherin team against: if the game went well, it would mean that the other teams would have to up their ante; if not, well, Regulus Black was just another unskilled, inexperienced Quidditch captain. Alex knew that he would try to prevent at all costs from making the latter impression.

Alex swallowed her pumpkin juice and stole another look at him when Leila was occupied talking to a second-year near them about the last year's records.

Regulus looked as pale as ever, his still boyish cheeks contrasting oddly with his dark, prominent brows that were scrunched in concentration. Ah. So he was nervous. He chewed mechanically, his smooth jaw moving in time to other people's chatter, and his long lashes, which she could see even from her seat, were fluttering frequently, creating an odd contrast with his hair, which stayed still in its neat elegance. His shoulders lifted slightly as he inhaled slowly through his straight, sharp nose. He extended his hand—long, thin fingers and square palm—toward his glass and Alex gazed, almost transfixed, at his neatly clipped nails and square fingertips.

Next to her, Leila poked at her cheek. Alex turned away, abashed.

"Sorry," she apologized, no knowing what she was apologizing for.

"If you want to apologize, apologize to Rebecca," Leila said. "She just came in."

Alex merely stared at the eggs and fruit in front of her, her lips thinning.

Rebecca had replaced Alex, it seemed, or perhaps it was more correct to say that Regulus had replaced Alex with Rebecca. She'd taken her previous spot next to him, sitting beside him during meals, during classes, in the library, in the corridor, in the—

Alex shook her head violently before stabbing at a piece of apple.

She didn't know why it bothered her, that Regulus should hang out with Rebecca. They were both from the same house and they'd known each other practically all their lives. And Rebecca was, Alex had to admit grudgingly, and not without a considerable amount of envy, already a beauty; her clear skin stretched across her face without a blemish, her golden tresses fell freely over her back, her round, blue eyes shined beneath a set of elegantly arched brows. Her nose was thin, straight, and unoffensive and her pink lips were wide and full. She was one of those girls who were naturally skinny and her petite figure, instead of making her appear childlike, emphasized the femininity of her body that the male population of the Slytherin house was apparently enamored with.

No, it wasn't only Regulus's sudden indifference to Alex that hurt; it was also his sudden interest in Rebecca, who was eons more attractive than she could ever hope to be and who had known Regulus for a far longer time than she had, that drove the final blow.

Alex swallowed distastefully. The reflection of her face on the glass didn't offer any consolation. She wasn't by all means ugly—in fact, Alex fancied at times that there was something noteworthy about her stern brows and intense, dark eyes—but she wasn't beautiful. She wasn't even pretty. Almost pretty, if she was being judicious. But her face seemed incapable of possessing the easy beauty that Rebecca flaunted. No, her face was too grave, too unforgiving. Even her body was ungraceful, far too tall and far too wide. Too strong.

She just wished that she never noticed Regulus that way. She'd always known that, considering the entire male population around the world, he was on the handsomer side, but it had not been a matter of great importance to her. Why that would suddenly change, Alex didn't know or understand, nor did she particularly wish to. She simply cursed again inwardly, chastising herself. This was useless emotion, self-criticism and envy and hurt and the pang in her heart that scarily resembled something that Alex was only beginning to understand—longing.

Rebecca was now talking to Regulus. Not that Alex noticed it immediately, or anything like that.

"So I should probably get going," Leila said. "McGonagall wants me early to go over a few rules. You sure you don't want to sit in the sound box with me?" Alex looked at her. Leila had asked her if she didn't want to sit with her in the commentator's box. Alex suspected that it would hurt her ears quite a bit and had declined. Looking at her mood now, however, perhaps she shouldn't have.

"Thanks," Alex said listlessly. "But I'll watch from the stands." Leila nodded and rose to leave. Alex waved her goodbye.

"Oi, Wilson," Rosier called from across the table.

"What?"

"Where's Parkinson going?"

Alex felt an unwilling grin creep up her face. Leila had avoided telling the rest of her housemates about her new hobby—"what, so they can take that way from me, too?" she'd said—and it seemed like all of them were in for a bit of a nasty surprise.

"Dunno," Alex said. "We'll probably see her at the game, though. She never misses one."

The Ravenclaws performed unexpectedly badly—a fact that Leila had not failed to mention in her magnified voice across the Quidditch field (even Professor McGonagall seemed to agree with Leila's assessment of their playing as "as dismal and pitiful as the drenched first-years before the Sorting ceremony" and that "merepeople could do better")—and Abbot, the Ravenclaw Quidditch captain, left the field visibly glowering and seething. The jubilant Slytherins gathered around the team, positively storming into the field and even lifting Regulus up their shoulders—the Black Prince has done it. Alex did not join them.

Now they were in the Common Room, and, for once, it was loud. Music blasted, amplified magically, from the wizard radio. Christina Warbeck, Alex noted humorlessly. Lovely. Butterbeer was flowing freely, and she thought she'd caught several students discreetly slipping something between hands, a flask of firewhiskey. Alex broke off a leg from a chocolate frog, nibbling on it thoughtfully. Most players had returned to the Common Room, but the captain had excused himself about doing some final organizing, the term he used for going over Altair Wymond's book. And she knew this because this was their tradition after each Quidditch game, but it seemed that the tradition was over now.

"Two hundred and seventy to forty," Marcus Flint bellowed across the Common Room. "Two hundred and seventy to forty."

"Yes, you giant oaf, we heard you the first time," Leila muttered, who was rather disheartened by the lack of response she received about her commentary. Several students had merely raised their eyebrows at her, as though they were gauging how loud a banshee would be. Alex patted her shoulder.

"It was very clever," Alex repeated for the twelfth time. "I liked it very much."

"I would find it more convincing if people actually remembered what I said," Leila said, taking a swig from her second bottle of Butterbeer.

"They're just really excited that we won, that's all," Alex said consolingly, and that much seemed to be true. People were dressed in silver and green, making the entire room look like an underwater cave.

"There he is!" Rabastan Lestrange, a burly fifth year, shouted. "Our very own Prince!"

He allowed himself to be slapped on the back and shoulders multiple times, grinning haughtily, looking self-satisfied. Alex doubted that he was actually satisfied—he never was after going over the book, finding every error and mistake that could have been avoided. But Alex supposed that two-seventy to forty wasn't something to overlook entirely. Even Leila seemed impressed.

"Nice feint, Black!" she shouted at him. He grinned back at her and mouthed something at her that was lost in the crowd. Alex ignored another stabbing pain at her heart. What nonsensical nonsense. She willed it to go away.

"Parkinson!" Rosier yelled, apparently having spotted her when she shouted. "Your commentary was horrible!"

"Sod off, Rosier!" Leila almost screamed before chugging the rest of the butterbeer. "Let's have another one," she said, leading Alex to the refreshment table.

"I don't know if that's wise—" Alex began, but Leila waved her off.

"Come on, there's nothing else to do." Her words were still coherent, but Alex noted that Leila's normally dark cheeks were now flushed red. Alex cleared her throat.

"Leila, I don't think—"

"Come one, Wilson, loosen up for once, you're no fun," Leila said, and Alex found it harder and harder to remain indulgent.

"Just look at Rebecca," Leila continued. "She's having the time of her life." Alex followed Leila's gaze to the other side of the room near the fireplace, where there was a loud cheer. Alex craned her neck to see. There was something on the armchair, her favorite armchair by the fireplace—

And there was Regulus, tangled inextricably with Rebecca. They were kissing.

There was no other way to describe it. Or, at least, not that Alex knew of. His arm was around her waist and one hand was cupping her cheek. Her fingers were knotted in his hair. Their lips met. Frequently. That was kissing, was it not?

"Yup. Senseless snogging, right there," Leila swished her arms. Her whole body turned—was she drunk? Leila chuckled next to her. "You don't suppose I can ask Regulus how Rebecca is? I'm betting that her acclaimed skills more of a fluke than actual finesse—"

"I'm going to bed," Alex said abruptly, turning away to go.

"What? After that? No, no, no. You need a butterbeer. Or something stronger. I'm telling you, Lestrange's been looking at all night—"

"No thanks," Alex said, her face blank. "I'm tired. Good night." Without listening to further argument Alex turned her heels and walked away.

Regulus Black had taken a break from the senseless snogging—long enough for their eyes to meet for a split second. His eyes were blank, unrecognizing, cold. Alex pushed the door to the bedroom and closed it behind her securely before flinging herself onto the bed, hugging her pillow and blanket tightly.

Her eyes weren't wet. They couldn't be. They were just—her eyes were irritated, that was all. Something clawed at her throat, threatening to escape any second, and she swallowed it down, not wanting it to get the better of her. But the thing was insistent and kept crawling back up, making the back of her throat itch and hurt. Her head felt heavy and prickly and her eyes felt hotter than she'd known it to be in years.

She buried her face in the blanket, muffling the first sob.

How could he?

On the day of Halloween was scheduled an excursion to Hogsmeade. Normally Alex would have looked forward to going through Honeydukes' selection of sweets, but she dreaded it now. What if she ran into them—for they were they, and not he and she—or what if she even saw them—

But, of course, Leila was having none of her silent mourning. Alex hadn't told her exactly why she was feeling down, but Leila guessed correctly enough.

"I swear, you look even more morose than Snape. And if you ask me, that's a crime by itself." Leila said briskly, dragging her out into the cold.

"I don't want to go to Hogsmeade," she muttered. Leila scoffed.

"Don't be stupid," Leila said. "It's Halloween. Just imagine what kind of sweets Honeydukes would have." And Alex had to admit that she did like sweets.

"Bring some for me, then," Alex grumbled.

"Don't be stupid," Leila replied. "You never like the sweets I pick." And Alex had to admit that the last year's Christmas present from Leila—an assortment of sweets from Honeydukes—wasn't to her taste. Who actually liked blood-flavored candies or insect flavored Bertie Beans, Alex couldn't imagine. She thought they were more for novelty than actual enjoyment.

"Would you stop telling me to stop being stupid?" Alex said irritably. "I'm just tired." Which wasn't technically true. She'd gone to bed early last night, having finished her astronomy charts early. Again, it wasn't as if she had anything better to do—

"Oh come off it," Leila said briskly as their faces met the cold October air. Alex drew her chin closer to the scarf around her neck—a gray scarf that she'd had for almost three years. "You're just pissed about what happened this morning."

Alex refused to dignify this accusation with a denial. What happened this morning didn't even warrant her attention. Or so she repeated to herself.

"Do you think—" she began.

"Do I think they've shagged? Probably not. Although Rebecca wouldn't mind."

"Would you stop with the shagging part?" Alex's voice was louder than she intended and the onlookers looked at her strangely. Alex averted her gaze to the ground and Leila smirked next to her.

"You were thinking about it, though."

"Do you think they'll have that new butter beer flavor we've heard about?" Alex posed her original question. Apparently, Leila was going to have none of it.

"Come on," Leila. "You weren't bothered by it? Even a little?"

Alex's face darkened.

Rebecca was now practically glued to Regulus's side, and this morning was no different. Her arms draped over his shoulder, she pecked his cheeks every few seconds like an anxious hen. Alex had avoided looking at their direction. Alex didn't know what was more disturbing—that Regulus even knew how to be physical with someone, or that he was willing for it to occur openly.

"Shouldn't you be sad?" Alex asked instead. "I mean, she is your friend and she's been all but neglecting you but all past two months."

Leila wrinkled her nose. "If that's what her attention looks like, she can ignore me for her life." Indeed, they were walking not very far away, her arms tightly thrown about his waist. Regulus had a lazy hand laid on her shoulder, proclaiming for the world to see that Rebecca was his. Alex lifted her eyes to the sky, and then to the earth, and then restlessly looked around. Anywhere but there.

"Let's hurry," she muttered. "I'm cold." Leila sped up her pace without argument.

Madam Rosmerta regretted to inform the pair that the new flavors hadn't come in yet. The reviews for them, she said, weren't very promising.

"It's not really surprising," Leila said loudly as they found a small cove at Three Broomsticks, large tankards of butterbeer in their hands. For some reason Leila had gotten three and Alex hoped that Leila would be at least sober enough to walk to castle unaided when they came back to the castle. "I mean, I like pumpkin juice enough, and I do like butterbeer, but—"

"As evinced two days ago," Alex muttered. Rosier had managed to tease Leila at the party until she was barely able to hold on to her seventh bottle of butterbeer. She assumed that more went on between them after he'd pried the bottle out of her hands, but Alex didn't ask and Leila didn't offer any information. In any case, Leila woke up with a horrible headache and vowed never to do it again. Alex doubted that she would keep her word. The three tankards spoke for themselves.

"Like I said, you're no fun, Wilson," Leila said, taking a large gulp of her drink. Alex sipped at hers with caution. It was hot. But the creamy foam floating on top of the beer made her feel warmer and she felt the tension of the last few days ease within her a little.

"Parkinson!" a voice came from the entrance. It managed to ring through the crowd and Alex set down her butterbeer. She had a bad feeling about this.

"There you were." Rabastan Lestrange grinned down at them, having used his massive shoulder to shove himself through the crowd.

"Lestrange. Rosier." Leila acknowledged them with a nod at their direction and Alex had a sudden urge to call Leila by her surname. "What a surprise."

Somehow Alex doubted that this was a surprise. Again, the three tankards spoke for themselves.

"Indeed," Lestrange said, seating himself between Alex and Leila unbidden. "What a pleasant surprise." Rosier sat himself on the opposite side.

"I wasn't expecting you two at all," Alex said with all honesty.

"Oh, we were just walking by, figured we'd stop by for a couple of butterbeers, why not," Lestrange said breezily. "And then we saw you by the window!" They were seated against the wall in the far corner of the shop, a busy, dense body of at least fifty Hogwarts students between themselves and the window.

"Right." Alex said.

"You don't mind, do you?" Lestrange said, smiling widely at her. Alex stared at his face, trying to look unperturbed and at ease. Inside she was anything but. His mouth was smiling—a cute smile, Alex had to admit—but she didn't know about his eyes, which weren't even crinkled at the corners. On the whole, a scary smile. If this was what she thought it was—and Alex fervently hoped that she was wrong, although she supposed that she was flattered in a weird, uncomfortable way—Alex wasn't sure if he was being honest about his intentions. If he was sincere about her.

"So what are you girls up to?" Rosier said, putting a casual arm around the back of Leila's chair, tilting his own back so that he was precariously balanced on the ancient wooden stool.

"Honeydukes, we think," Leila said casually. "Then Zonko's. Maybe we'll stop by one of the quill shops, I'm short on parchment."

"You can always borrow some of mine, you know." Rosier was positively whispering in Leila's ear, twirling a strand of her hair between his fingers. Alex watched, shocked. She figured that something must have happened after the party, but she hadn't figured how much. Rosier reached for the nearest full tankard and Leila slapped his hand away.

"That's mine, I'll have you know," she said snottily.

Rosier raised an amused eyebrow. "You already have one," he said.

"Yes, but I paid for both." She pushed the remaining tankard toward Lestrange. "For you. On me." Lestrange grinned and took a sip. Rosier rolled his eyes.

"So," Lestrange said. "Alex, isn't it? Rabastan Lestrange. Fifth year. I don't think we've been formally introduced." He offered his hand and Alex shook it numbly.

"Nice to meet you," she said, feeling shy despite herself. Rabastan nodded. They sat in awkward silence.

Apparently, Leila couldn't stand it any longer. "Rabastan's the keeper in the Quidditch team," she said. "We saw him a few days ago, didn't we?"

"I—yeah. Yeah. Congratulations—lovely job." Alex said. Her words felt odd. But what was she supposed to say in these situations? Besides, her attention hadn't been on the Keeper much anyway…

Rabastan grinned. "Thanks. Hey, tell that to Regulus, will you? He called us to practice yesterday. A day after the game. At dawn. Muttering something about poor second defense. We don't have a second defense." He shook his head. "Blimey, that kid will go far, but he's a bit mental, I tell you." Alex smiled tightly but didn't say anything. Merlin forbid that Regulus will listen to anything that she has to say now.

"You've been the Keeper for—two years, now, right?" Alex asked, hoping to steer the conversation away from that direction. Rabastan nodded.

"Since third year," he said. "Merlin, I was rubbish back then."

Alex desperately searched the back of her mind for any scrap of information that she could remember. She watched Quidditch with interest, but she didn't follow it with the same ferocity or fervor that Leila did. "But I thought you were quite good," she said. "Reg said that he—" she stopped, realizing that she was about to blurt out something that she knew she would regret. Across the table Leila raised her eyebrow. She'd been resting her head on Rosier's shoulder and it was a sight that Alex would rather not have seen.

"What?" Rabastan asked, looking a bit too interested. Alex swallowed.

"Regulus said that he heard the chasers complimenting you," she lied. What Regulus had actually said was that Lestrange had a good hand-to-eye coordination but that he lacked concentration. But compliments rarely came from Regulus without some sort of caveat and she didn't really want to relate to Rabastan something that Regulus said that she had to take responsibility for later.

"Huh," Rabastan said. "I guess they've been talking behind my back. I've never heard a compliment, you see," he grinned at her again and Alex looked away, somewhat guilty.

"Are you finished? Let's go." Leila suddenly said standing up. She had indeed drunk two tankards of butterbeer—with some help from Rosier, Alex noted grimly. Rabastan had almost finished his but Alex was still nursing her half-full tankard.

"Wait—" Alex began.

"You go ahead if you're so impatient, then," Rabastan cut in. "We'll join you later at—Honeyduke?" Alex opened her mouth to protest again that that wasn't necessary, but Leila merely said "fine" and the two were left alone. Alex looked around awkwardly, fiddling with the hem of her sleeve. Rabastan seemed slightly more at ease, but not much after Rosier had gone.

"Regulus rarely talked about you, you know," he said finally. Why was their conversation so oriented around Regulus? She thought irritably. Was their former friendship the only notable aspect about her?

"There's not much to talk about," Alex said. "Besides, he doesn't talk much."

Rabastan chuckled. "Then you should be there for one of our strategy meetings. He's almost unbearable." Alex could imagine. She'd experience him during many of his many rants as they looked at Altair Wymond's notebook together.

"Thought you were pretty close, though," he continued. "I've always seen you together in the library and Great Hall."

Alex looked up sharply at his face. There was no apparent malice on Rabastan's face, only curiosity and a bit of hesitancy that she couldn't quite place.

"We've had a bit of… of a falling out." She pulled at her sleeve harder. "I don't know. Meeting different people, I guess." Indicating at the table they were sitting around on, she smiled weakly at Rabastan, who smiled back not unkindly.

"Excellent," he said, and the relief in his tone made her frown. Why would he be relieved at all that she wasn't as close to Regulus as she used to be? Did he—

Alex visibly blanched at the notion. He didn't think that they were involved, did he?

Judging from Rabastan's expression, Alex knew he did.

She shook her head. Leila had told her as much, but she had only half-believed her. It seemed that plenty of people were serious enough about the idea.

"Let's go," Alex suggested as soon as she finished her butterbeer. "There are probably people waiting for seats, anyhow—" She stood up and pushed her chair back, beginning to push her way through the crowd.

"Alex?" a familiar voice said and Alex felt her slightly uplifted mood plummet to the ground. Actually, lower than the ground, to the center of the earth. She turned around slowly and found the smiling face of Rebecca Goyle looking at her. Alex forced on a smile. It probably looked like a grimace, she had no doubt. Behind her Rabastan stopped.

"Rabastan?" Surprise passed on Rebecca's face, followed by some sort of—understanding? "Oh," she said, a knowing look in her eyes.

Alex had no idea what that "oh" meant, but she didn't like it just the same. "Hey, Rebecca," she said.

"Hi." Rebecca turned around. "Regulus! Regulus, I'm here!" she waved frantically at the crowd before turning back to them again. "It's so crowded in here, isn't it? I suppose that it couldn't be helped, although I did ask Regulus to go to Madam Puddifoot's instead—it's more comfortable there, you know, and the seating's better—but he refused." Clearly this bothered her quite a bit. Rabastan nodded sympathetically, but when she'd turned around again, he whispered to Alex.

"Can't say I blame the bloke. Ever been?" Alex shook her head.

"Consider yourself lucky." Alex looked up at him, suddenly aware of the fact that Rabastan towered over her—a rare happening for her with most boys—and that he was very, very near.

"Well, let's just say it's about the fluffiest, flutteriest, pinkest place you'll ever see." His voice grew higher for the last several words, his hands clasped together in mock exaltation, and Alex laughed.

"Perfect for an afternoon of rendezvous with a knight in shining armor..." He made a dramatic gesture.

"I'll invite Nearly Headless Nick, then," Alex replied. He grinned.

"Exactly," he said. She didn't notice until then, but Rabastan had a slight dimple at the corner of his left mouth, making his smile lopsided…

"Lestrange," a cool voice said and Alex turned around. Regulus stood there with two bottles of butterbeer, Rebecca at his side. His face was unfathomable.

"Regulus," Rabastan sounded a tad unnaturally jolly. "My old boy. Or should I say cousin twice removed?"

"Cousin-in-law," Regulus said cooly. "But seeing as the wedding was five months ago, I'd say the point is moot, wouldn't you?"

"As you say, old boy," Rabastan said. Regulus merely gazed at him. Rabastan scratched his head and even Alex had to admit that, despite the fact that Regulus was smaller, his gaze was unnerving. Next to him Rebecca poked at Regulus's shoulder.

"We should sit down, Regulus," she said.

Regulus looked away briefly. "Right." They turned to go. "And Lestrange?"

Rabastan looked aghast. "What?"

Regulus didn't turn around. "The next practice is tomorrow at five." Rabastan's eyes widened in horror, but Regulus wasn't done.

"Don't be late again." And then he disappeared from the view completely.

Rabastan turned to face her. "Told you so," he said. "Mental." Alex didn't say anything and they left the tavern. The air had warmed up slightly but it was still chilly.

They didn't find Leila and Rosier at Honeydukes and although Alex wasn't surprised when she couldn't find them even in the blood-flavor candy section, she was a bit disappointed. But Rabastan was unexpectedly normal. She'd once heard from Rebecca that Bellatrix Black, Regulus's cousin, was betrothed to Rodolphus Lestrange and that the Lestrange were a big name when it came to anti-Muggle policies. She'd spoken approvingly, but it sounded as though some of the things the family was up to were extreme—tracking the wand activities of the Muggleborns, for instance, so that they wouldn't use their magic in front of their relatives (or so was the reason given), or even going as far as to de-populating several Muggle villages for the wizards' use only. But Rabastan didn't say anything about his family and Alex didn't feel like it was polite to ask. They'd known each other for less than a day, after all.

The Halloween dinner came more quickly than she thought it would and she found herself enjoying it more than she would. Rabastan had wordlessly sat down next to her and they spent the entire meal comparing different sauces and dishes. He mentioned in passing that the house-elves at his house were sometimes less competent than the house-elves at Hogwarts and joked that Dumbledore must have them by their throats for them to work so efficiently. That was probably the only glitch in an otherwise pleasant evening. Leila and Rosier were nowhere to be seen and, again, Alex did not want to know.

After dinner she quietly made her way through the throng and climbed the stairs deftly to the seventh floor West Tower. The owls were hooting peacefully by the dim moonlight and many of them, it seemed from the empty niches on the walls, had gone off to hunt. But the tiny barn owl was hooting dolefully in its usual spot right next to the sill, staring intently at her. Its gaze reminded her of someone she knew.

"There you are," she murmured, reaching into her pocket. Edge lifted his wings slightly, and the wind barely managed to ruffle his feathers. "Pumpkin pastry. Couldn't save much, but there always seem to be leftovers the breakfast after." Edge happily began to pick at the food on her palm, but stopped midway.

"You're not hungry?" Alex asked, and it flew up to where her head was, batting its small wings frantically before flying over to his niche. Alex drew closer, wondering why he was leading her there.

Inside the niche was another half-eaten pumpkin pastry, exactly like the one she held in her hand.