"So," Leila said casually. "I know it's been a while, but how is it going in your paradise?"
Alex observed her potion, noting its thickness by the size and duration of her the bubbles. It was perfect. Perhaps one day she'll explain to Leila that paradise isn't supposed to be used in that context, but Leila with all her curiosity in other people's affairs wasn't interested a bit in Muggles or Muggle studies and Alex figured that all attempt at explanation would be lost on her. She shrugged.
"That good, huh?" Another shrug.
"Rabastan's not bad, you know," Leila sounded reasonable—the way she always did when she was talking about someone other than herself. "Quite decent, actually." And Alex had to admit that Rabastan was decent, in his own pureblood, conservative male sort of a way. He was energetic, which was more than what she could say for boys her year in the Slytherin house, and he wasn't afraid to make a fool of himself—a bit like James Potter, now that Alex came to think of it. He wasn't studious, exactly, but very few pureblood Slytherins were. Those who did study did it less for pleasure and more to save face—or to avoid the wrath of their parents. Surely the purebloods, the wizards with the most magical blood, couldn't possibly do worse than common Muggleborns and half-bloods. Rabastan seemed to study a fair amount for a fifth year, but Alex wondered if he wasn't too easily distracted.
Lestrange is an alright Keeper, but he lacks focus.
His words rang through her ears, unbidden, and Alex shook her head. It was impossible that he would have spoken them directly to her now—Regulus Black was a few tables away, having paired off with Snape and Rebecca. The boys were working silently on their potions, but Rebecca seemed to be having a few problems.
"Remember, by this point your potions must be dark violet! You have less than twenty minutes left!" Slughorn's voice boomed throughout the room and Alex exchanged a look of distaste with Leila. Leila's potion was pale mint.
"You forgot the WEED" Alex muttered with her mouth closed.
"What?" Leila whispered loudly. Alex looked around. Slughorn had 'oho'ed at Snape's potion and was now passing through the tables on the other side of the room, where the Hufflepuffs were diligently working.
"You forgot the WEED," Alex tried to mutter with her mouth closed.
"There's no weed in this potion, what on Merlin's soggy socks are you talking about—"
"Remember, this is an assessment!" Slughorn had crept to their table unnoticed and Alex jumped in her seat.
"And that means no talking." Slughorn looked at Alex, his jovial face somehow patronizing. Too used to his treatment by now, Alex merely smiled tightly and stirred her dark violet potion. Slughorn turned around to move on to the next table.
"And Miss Parkinson, for the future reference, the wondrous extracts endangered, or WEED for short, are the four main extracts used in counteractive potions that were exploited to the point where they are in danger of extinction. Professor Sprout was kind enough to lend us her own supply of one of these four extracts, which I believe that you yourselves had to grow in Herbology class. Desperately tricky, they are. But I heard that you were quite successful with yours, Mr. Black!" The said Mr. Black was apparently too absorbed in his potion, for he didn't even look up. Judging from the smoke rising from his cauldron, however, Alex judged that he was doing alright. Slughorn waddled away without further comment, apparently letting it drop that one of his favorite students failed to receive his compliment gratefully.
"Merlin, he's an arse in class," Leila muttered as they left the dungeons for Transfiguration. Wednesday schedule had always been the hardest.
"What, he's better with the Slug Club?" Alex asked incredulously. She wasn't invited, of course, but from Regulus's reactions whenever he came back from one of his parties, Alex had always assumed the worst. Regulus would fall face-down on the couch, groaning and refusing to talk until he'd had at least one chocolate frog. She would sometimes steal a leg or all four of them…
"No, he's as obnoxious as ever," Leila said promptly, "but at least he made those gatherings so he could boast on purpose, you know? You sort of expect him to be a show-off. In class, though. That's just insufferable."
"You left without me," a teasingly petulant voice came from behind them and Alex resisted the urge to roll her eyes.
"Well then, walk faster next time," Leila shot back, but Alex could tell that she was holding back a smile.
"Couldn't," Rosier said, putting an arm around Leila's shoulder. Alex wondered, not for the first time, what it would be like to willingly have someone's arm put around you—to welcome it, in fact, as Leila was doing. She couldn't fathom it. "Old Sluggy wanted to know when I'll turn in my antidote essay."
Alex frowned. "That was due two weeks ago," she said.
Rosier shrugged. "Do I care? It's not as if I'll need potions in my life to survive."
Alex saw Leila bite her lip but not say anything. Rosier wasn't entirely wrong—most elite Pureblood children, unless they had some specific ambition, could probably live off their families' gold for the rest of their lives and then some, as long as they weren't too reckless with gambling or some other form of addiction. And Rosier apparently chose to ignore the fact that the Muggleborn Lily Evans was besting him left and right at Potions. Alex knew that Leila had no specific ambition outside Quidditch—she'd seen her hiding Quidditch magazines from Rebecca, who thought they were 'too violent ad manly'—but Leila at least made the effort to go to class and study. It seemed that it grated on her nerves that Rosier didn't.
"What's next?" Leila said next loudly, even though it was already three months into school and they had already memorized the entire schedule.
"Transfiguration with Gryffindors," Alex said promptly. She was looking forward to this class—they were working on the inherent properties of objects and how to change the outward shape while remaining true to the nature. Sounded simple enough, Alex knew, but it was one of the fundamental ideas that were the basis for a lot more complicated magic, such as becoming animagus. Apparently, the idea was that, while changing the outward appearance—that was, from a humanoid appearance to something more animalistic—the inherent nature, that is, the animalistic side of the spellcaster remained the same. She was looking forward to the class and her thoughts were otherwise occupied as she walked blindly next to a rather engrossed couple.
"So today," McGonagall said after a complicated thirty-minute lecture. "We will be turning a cushion into a pillow. It is a simple application, and you will be assigned a two feet essay on other possible applications by next Tuesday." With those words she sat down on her desk. The students hastily arranged the cushions in front of them and Alex tried to think of the exact difference between a cushion and a pillow.
Next to her Black merely sat back in his chair, his arms crossed behind his head. Alex tried not to let her annoyance show; yes, Black wasn't too bad in Transfiguration—usually accomplished a spell within the first dozen minutes or so—but couldn't he be less obnoxious about it? He spent the remainder of the class either charming small objects to fly around the room and thunk on Slytherins' head or, worse, watching Alex until she was too uncomfortable to even practice. He hardly needed to know that she had trouble with spells sometimes.
Unfortunately, Black showed no such consideration for her sensibilities today, either. And this time, he seemed even intent on talking to her, which both baffled and alarmed her. Attention from Marauders rarely signaled something good, especially when you were a Slytherin. One needed simply think of Theodor Nott, a fifth year Beater, who suffered from painful rashes for a week after he made fun of James Potter's Quidditch skills.
"So, Wilson," his mouth curled in an unpleasant way when he said her name, as though he disliked the sound of it. Alex ignored him and looked at her golden cushion. It was fluffy, a quality which a pillow would also possess. "I've got a question for you."
Alex wondered which would bring about a worse outcome: answering him or ignoring him. Neither sounded promising.
"What's up with you and my dear little brother?" Black's question wasn't exactly loud, but it wasn't exactly discreet, either. "I thought you two were joined at the hip."
"How is that any business of yours?"Alex blurted out before she could even think and regretted it almost instantly. Black, however, seemed pleased at the opening.
"Dunno, my business as an older brother?" Black sounded nonchalant and Alex glared at him. She supposed that it would be pointless to tell him that Regulus the younger brother suffered more than Black could possibly understand because of his errant older brother.
"I didn't realize that you two were actually related, Black," she said instead disdainfully.
Black's eyes flashed and Alex tried not to show alarm on her face. "Trying to say something, Wilson?" he said lowly. Alex decided that the best course of action was silence and shrugged. Black seemed to stew on that for a few minutes and then suddenly smiled. It wasn't a good, oh-look-there's-a-puppy smile. Alex frowned at her cushion. Get rid of the frills…
"I must say, my dear little brother's looking quite well, don't you think?" Black said loudly and Alex tried to ignore him, focusing on the magenta patterns that intricately crossed over the fabric. Less decoration, more softness. Next to her Black suddenly began to talk about his childhood—was that a change of tactic? She gritted her teeth and tried to block out Black's endless drone but even after five minutes it seemed that he didn't seem to have the concept of 'stopping' in his vocabulary.
"Did you know, when we were six our family once went on a vacation to Egypt—an educational experience, that sort of a thing—and he got lost in a pyramid. Dear old Mummy told him not to wander around, of course, but he saw a pretty flower and couldn't resist. Cried his eyes out until someone came to get him…"
"Black, do make a better use of your time." Alex snapped. She didn't want to think about Regulus, not now, and not with Black smirking in front of her, looking far too much like his younger brother for his own good…
Black cast a bored, lethargic look at the cushion. "I already know the spell."
Alex was aware of the fact that she sounded quite petty at this point. "Practice, then."
"Your spell's not working because you're focusing too much on what it should look like," Black drawled, still sounding very bored. "Imagine that every cushion has its own essence. It can change its form, but it cannot deviate drastically from its essence. The range in which it can change form depends on the fineness of the spellcaster, of course, but you're just starting out with the spell. Give yourself some room."
"I really don't need advice from you."
Black muttered something about girls and their being obstinate and clueless and Alex swallowed a growl rumbling from her chest.
Then, he smirked.
Alex hated to admit that she noticed his smirk, but her gaze nonetheless followed where he was looking at. Regulus was partnered with a Gryffindor—Mary McDonald, Alex remembered her name—and he appeared to be quite immersed in practicing.
"Poor little bugger," Black said. He was almost gloating and Alex exhaled slowly, pointedly.
"What, Black?"
Black looked back at her innocently, his eyes wide and naive. She wasn't fooled. "I thought you wanted to practice," he said. "I'll leave you alone, shan't I?"
"Just say what it is, Black," she said.
"And get you out of your misery?" Black replied, grinning a little too widely to be called friendly. "I could never."
This time Alex failed to silence the growl and Black laughed out loud. She whipped her head at him. He looked back at her, his eyebrows raised in a challenge—with or without malice, she couldn't tell—and Alex bit the inside of her cheek before looking down at her cushion again and adjusting its place on the desk. She cursed inwardly. Cursed herself for being so irritated about Black's little banter and cursed the fact that even Black noticed that Regulus was ignoring her. Not that she cared. She cursed herself for being affected so easily and cursed herself that, despite all the annoyance she felt toward Black, she couldn't help but notice, in the brief time span when she glared at him, she noticed the arch of his dark eyebrows, his long eyelashes, the shape of his eyes and the upturn of his lips. Curse the Blacks and their looks.
All these feelings were heightened when she felt rather than saw Black drew closer to where she was sitting. She immediately shuffled to the end of her bench, but Black just drew himself closer and it was either ridiculously clinging to the end of the bench or just enduring the sound of his breathing as he bent over her shoulder. She chose the latter—she refused to back down.
"You know," he said quietly in her ear—far too close for her comfort. She gripped her wand tightly and went over the list of spells that she'd memorized, just in case, just in case something happened... "You can just ask him what's wrong."
"Sod off," she said. Black only laughed.
"One thing about our dear little Reggie," he said. "He's a really bad liar."
"Don't call him that."
"That what?"
"That," Alex repeated, aware of the fact that he was getting the better of her. She shut her lips tightly and tried to ignore the fact that Black was close enough to her for her to feel the warmth coming from his body. She considered shoving him away, but that felt like she was acknowledging the fact that he had gotten to her somehow.
"Just ask him," Black taunted. "He'll tell you. Oh, I bet he's just dying to tell you… his dirty little secret to his best friend," he was mocking her, she knew it.
Alex shook her head. "Sod off," she said, and went back to her cushion.
Black feigned being hurt and put an arm around her shoulder. Alex stiffened. "But me? What have I done?" His face came closer and closer to her ear and Alex opened her mouth to prepare for an incantation. "I'm telling you," he breathed, "you'll like what he has to say—"
CRASH.
Alex jumped from her seat and looked around. Black seemed to finally have noticed where he was—a classroom, for Merlin's sake—for the first time since he entered. Alex found the source of the noise: the glass jar full of water that usually sat on McGonagall's desk was now inches away from where Black had been sitting previously, completely in shatters. The horrible sound echoed alongside the walls and echoed through the room. Everyone looked up from their cushions, staring at the source of the sound. McGonagall whipped her head around the classroom, until her eyes settle onto her table. Alex swallowed as McGonagall flicked her wand, but all she did was to repair the jar, which promptly came back to her own desk.
"Mr. Black," her voice was dangerously calm. "Could you explain why decided to haul my jar against a bench?" Alex looked confusedly at Black—hadn't he been harassing her all the time?—but the answer came from the other side of the room, in a much more composed and cooler voice.
"I'm sorry, Professor," Regulus's voice was the epitome of politeness. "I must have misdirected my wand. I beg your pardon."
McGonagall's eyebrows only rose higher. "Really, I do not remember vandalism being part of my class curriculum. Mr. Black, if you had been so bored with the class and decided to practice Charms instead, perhaps you could demonstrate the turning of a cushion into pillow." Wordlessly, Regulus drew his wand from his pocket. He tapped the cushion and muttered the incantation. The cushion became smaller and smaller until in front of him sat a bright red pincushion with several needles stuck in it. Students sniggered.
"Mr. Black," McGonagall looked at him from behind her spectacles. "Ten points from Slytherin. Please use your time more wisely in my class." With those words she stalked off to the other side of the room and Alex frowned. She thought she'd seen Regulus perform the spell perfectly only five minutes ago. Next to her she heard Black grin again.
"Poor little bugger," he was saying, stretching in his seat with his hands behind his head. "I don't say this often, but I pity him a little right now." Alex decided to ignore him and Black stayed relatively quiet for the entire class. When it ended she only too gladly kicked from her seat and stood up hastily.
"Not so fast, Wilson," she head Black say from behind her. Alex ignored this and continued to walk. Unfortunately, Black had other ideas and grasped her wrist. Alex spun around.
"Let. Me. Go." She said.
"No," Black continued. "I have something I want to ask you."
"I don't care," Alex said. She shook her wrist but the hand stayed where it was. Its grip only grew tighter and Alex gritted her teeth.
"Do you honestly fancy Lestrange?"
Alex looked up at his face incredulously, but for some reason there was nothing but seriousness on Black's face. Alex frowned.
"What business is it of yours if—"
"Sirius," a quiet voice came. "That's enough. Let her go." Regulus was standing behind her and Alex looked around. He was, however, looking at his brother, who looked back at him amusedly.
"I'm doing you a favor, little brother," Black's smile was too taunting to be called sincere. "Seeing as you're too much of a coward to do it yourself."
Regulus's eyes flashed. "Keep your nose out of people's business," he bit out. "It's none of your concern—"
"Really, I thought you had better taste than—"
"Truly, you're not the one to talk of taste—"
"I can't stand the sight of it, trust me, you two look absolutely—"
"And you imagine that you look any better with any of your—"
"So you do admit that you look absolutely ghastly," Black looked, for some reason, triumphant. Alex looked at them, their words going back and forth like a fierce ping pong match. She couldn't figure out exactly what they were talking about, but they way they talked didn't escape her—the unfinished sentences, reply shot after reply that seemed to build on one another, as though both of them knew exactly what they were talking about and were only putting them into words for the sake of communication. Some sort of mutual understanding that Alex didn't see often.
But apparently neither of them were happy about this mutual understanding.
"Oh!" Rebecca's high-pitched tone sounded unnaturally higher when she approached the trio locked in some silent battle. "Hi, Regulus. I hope I'm not disturbing anything." There was uneasiness in her eyes that Alex hadn't seen before, her eyes flickering every second to Alex, the older brother, and the younger brother.
"Goyle," Black's voice wasn't entirely unpleasant, but it wasn't welcoming, either. "Speak of the devil. We were just—"
"Go on without me," Regulus quickly interrupted him. He gave Rebecca a look that wasn't entirely reassuring. "I'll see you at the Great Hall." Alex tried to ignore how much this promise hurt her. But she had no reason to be hurt—no reason at all. Rebecca left after pecking Regulus on the cheek. Next to Alex Black snorted.
"I should go," Alex muttered, suddenly feeling awkward. This wasn't her fight—she wasn't a part of this circle. Black gave her an odd look but merely nodded at her. Alex didn't see what expression Regulus was wearing. She turned her head to the wall and walked away in quick strides, wanting to get as far away from the scene as possible.
Black's implications were completely nonsensical to her. That was probably his intended effect anyhow. He implied that Regulus was hiding something from her—but that was hardly a surprise. Why else would she account for the fact that he suddenly stopped talking to her? She supposed that she should find some consolation in the fact that it wasn't her—that she wasn't the problem—but Black's words, spoken with very little good intent, did little to assuage her uneasiness.
Do you honestly fancy Lestrange?
Alex gritted her teeth. She already knew the answer to the question, damn it, but it wasn't Black's place to poke his large nose around.
Another stab of pain in her heart. This one did not linger for long, and for that Alex was glad. She didn't need to curse the cause of the pain unduly. She made her way to the great hall unthinkingly, brushing past several students in the process. She thought she received several dirty looks, but she didn't care.
It had been almost three weeks since Rabastan had "accidentally" ran into them at Hogsmeade. Alex wasn't an expert on this matter, but she'd been told by both Leila and Rebecca (who seemed far too happy about the newfound development in Alex's love life) that three weeks were more than enough to designate a pair as "in a relationship." Alex was still doubtful; yes, they often met outside of class, but it was usually to eat meals or go to the library—activities that Alex used to be able to do with Leila any time she wanted until Rosier came into the picture. And yes, Rabastan was nicer to her than other boys were. But Alex wasn't sure. Her stomach didn't do painful flips whenever they saw each other, and her heart didn't squeeze in agonizing pleasure whenever she thought of him. And she might have remained blind to these shortcomings had it not been for the fact that she did suffer from the same symptoms when someone else was concerned.
Alex shook her head. What a needless conjecture.
It wasn't fair to Rabastan that she didn't feel the same way about him when he was interested in her, but Alex had no idea how to bring up the subject. Sometimes it almost felt like he had no interest in her beyond being friends; he certainly had not tried to get physical with her other than some ill-fated attempts at hand-holding that left both of them looking away on either side of the walls and, in Rabastan's case, even whistling awkwardly. It was weird for her to even imagine Rabastan putting an arm around her the way Rosier did with Leila. Perhaps this thing they had, whatever it was, would pass away or disappear slowly over time. Alex certainly hoped so.
So it was not without some guilt and surprise that she encountered him a few evenings later, when she was coming back from the library after finishing her Charms essay.
"Hullo," he said, skipping next to her, his gangly legs looking almost spidery despite his bulky shoulder. "Long time no see." Alex didn't know what to say to this, so she merely smiled. This seemed to encourage him somewhat.
"Any plans this evening?" he asked.
"Not really," Alex answered. "Why?"
Rabastan shrugged. "There was just a meeting that I was wondering if you were interested in." The answer sounded particularly long-winded for him and Alex waited, wondering. "Well, two, in fact," he amended.
"And they would be?"
"One is this evening," Rabastan said quickly. "In five minutes, actually. We'll be late if we don't hurry."
"Rabastan, what is this about?" Alex frowned. There was something on his face that she didn't like—something anticipatory.
Rabastan apparently sensed her unease. "Nothing bad," he assured her. "It's just between Slytherins."
"Right," Alex began to climb down the stairs. Rabastan followed. "And why would I want to go?"
Rabastan shrugged. "Mutual interest?" he said. Alex wasn't sure exactly whose interest she was sharing.
"Come to this one meeting," Rabastan said. "Then decide what you want to do, yeah?"
Alex considered. It seemed unlikely that Rabastan was leading her to some satanic ritual or something similar, and if it was just between the Slytherins, it couldn't be harmful—the Slytherins stuck together, whether they liked it or not. "Alright," she said. "Where are we going, exactly?"
"The passage between the common room and the great hall," Rabastan's step had gained the little skip again. "You know there's a bit of space there where people can gather..." They'd reached the dungeons. "Tousjour pur," Rabastan said. The door slid open.
"So is there anything I should know about this meeting—" Alex began to ask as they climbed through the portrait leading to the secret passageway, but Rabastan made a shushing motion.
The passageway was as dark as ever, and the small light coming from the tip of their wands did little to brighten their visions. Alex squinted in the dark, her steps growing smaller and smaller as she felt the either side of the walls with her hand, feeling the cold and wet stones beneath her fingertips. Something crunched beneath her soles and Alex swallowed. She knew this passageway existed and had used it a couple of times, but it was usually with a group of other people who were squished together enough to give the illusion of warmth and comfort. It was not in any case a corridor that one wanted to go through every morning to get breakfast. She was horribly aware of Rabastan's presence next to her, his profile dimly lit by both of their wands, the sound of his breathing and the lack of comfort his body seemed to provide. She gripped her wand more tightly. Soon, a flickering of a small flame appeared in the distance.
"Who's there?" a dark voice rang through the corridor. Rabastan stopped.
"Lestrange," he answered, looking directly at the flame.
"And?"
"Wilson," his voice didn't sound so confident anymore. Alex could hear the murmur, even from the distance. It died down quickly, however.
"Proceed," a different voice said, much smoother. In fact, Alex could almost place the voice…
Around the magical flame was gathered about twenty or so boys, all of them Slytherin, all of them quite familiar to her, even if just by face. There was Avery, Rosier, Mulciber and Snape, followed by Nott and a couple of other older Quidditch players, some sixth and seventh years and… Regulus.
He was sitting by the flame and that was why Alex couldn't spot him immediately—most of them were standing. Some were leaning against the wall, some squatting down. But Regulus looked quite comfortable where he was, staring at the fire, sitting cross-legged on a little cushion with a quill in his hand. On his lap was a long piece of parchment. Her heart did another flip-flop but she wasn't sure if it was due to nervousness or excitement. He didn't look at her, but there was a tight line to his lips that suggested dissatisfaction.
"You're late," a seventh-year said. Yaxley, Alex thought his name was.
"Ah—yeah," Rabastan looked almost sheepish. "Sorry, got held up at something."
"She wasn't invited, either," someone else. Dolohov, a sixth year.
"I invited her," Rabastan said defensively. "You know the rules—anyone who might have something to contribute is welcome. And I think she does." Again there was a bout of murmur.
"But she's a girl," someone finally said. Alex raised her eyebrow; she wondered how Leila would feel about her boyfriend saying the exact thing that she herself hated to hear the most.
"Didn't stop Bellatrix now, did it?" Rabastan muttered darkly. A chorus of something like laughter rang through the group. Regulus remained impassive. Alex tried to stay still, resisting the sudden urge to fidget and go back the way she came. She didn't know what this was, but she was beginning to get a sense of its purpose. And she didn't like it. A surge of panic crept up her throat and she swallowed purposefully. Her hand, which had been holding her illuminating wand, tightened its grip.
"Should we begin, or remain standing like statues?" Snape's drawl caught her by surprise. "I would like to get going."
No one said anything for a while.
"Well then," Regulus's voice was strange to her ears—how odd, that she should find it unfamiliar when she'd known him for the last three years— "We'll commence. I, Regulus Arcturus Black, acting on the behalf of our scribe who is missing today, officially announce the beginning of the November meeting, year 1974." He flicked his wand at the flame and the pale silver flame turned dark green, casting an eerie, underwater glow on its onlookers. "This meeting shall revolve around the current issue of Muggles and their presence in wizarding education. I believe that Nott has the specifics?" At these words all eyes went to Theodor Nott, fifth year Beater, who looked slightly thrown aback by the sudden call.
"Ah—yeah," he said, unfolding a crumpled piece of newspaper in his hand. Alex peered at it from a distance—it was a cutout from Daily Prophet. "So," Nott said, clearing his throat. "The Ministry of Magic announced a week ago that the Department of Education will severely cut the budget for Muggle Studies. The money will go to the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, where more and more people are needed every day to make up for the accidents that happen around Britain. Muggle-related accidents." Nott didn't look particularly comfortable under the attention but went on. "Such incidences of accidents have been increasing dramatically in recent years..."
Alex listened halfheartedly. Her mother had begun to subscribe to Daily Prophet after Regulus left during the summer holiday. One morning she'd come down from her bedroom and found her mother pouring over an article, her lips pursed. 'Anonymous Donation Funds Committee on Magical Maintenance and Regulation,' it read, but it was on page twelve and the space allotted to the article was quite small.
"Daily Prophet's still going," her mother said, "possibly because they're thriving on people who're buying newspaper in fear and panic. But they won't last long, either. And look—even the Ministry's unstable." At Alex's uncomprehending look her mother sighed.
"It's always this way," she said. "Someone gets a brilliant idea in their head and starts a movement. Now, if the followers are unimportant—small, insignificant, or even outcasted—than it wouldn't really matter. But if they're the people who's been around for who knows how long and have all the old money, then getting into the Ministry shouldn't be too hard."
Alex frowned. "What, are you saying that they—the Death Eaters—will infiltrate the Ministry?" She hadn't even had her breakfast yet.
Her mother looked back at her grimly. "I'm not saying they will infiltrate the Ministry. I'm saying that they already have." Alex didn't know what to say, so she just proceeded to pour herself a glass of orange juice…
"It is clear that the Muggleborns are inept in controlling their magic." Nott's voice brought Alex out of her reverie and she looked up. Rabastan had found a niche in the wall where he was leaning comfortably. She resisted the urge run back to the Common Room. Why hadn't she seen this before?
This was a Death Eater meeting.
Or, more precisely, this was a meeting for wannabe Death Eaters, or, at the very least, strong sympathizers to Lord Voldemort. Alex looked around with fresh eyes. Rabastan, whose brother was married to Bellatrix Lestrange. It was no secret that they had their violent… tendencies. Had not Leila told her only few weeks ago that the Lestrange were critical in passing the new regulation on wand usage among Muggleborns? Nott, who'd boasted on several occasions his father's involvement in "recent affairs" concerning fire and destruction. Lucius Malfoy wasn't here, but Alex could bet all the money in her pocket—which wasn't much—that he probably hosted these meetings some time in his Hogwarts career. Alex looked around, trying to suppress her panic.
And there was Regulus, calmly sitting on the floor, barely looking up from his parchment. Already it seemed that he had written more than a foot, his neat handwriting filling in the blank space tightly, the entire page looking like a densely black fabric. He didn't say anything—he barely reacted to most things that Nott said, as though he was stating something obvious and rehearsed. Something already familiar to him. Goosebumps rose on her flesh. He didn't have any ambitions to join You-Know-Who's ranks, did he?
Alex wanted to say no, that Regulus Black was, if a little arrogant, a judicious and fair person. He may not like it, but he accepted Quidditch defeats with grace when it was apparent that the other team had won fair and square. He was studious—anyone could see that—and he was calm, and reasonable, and kind to magical creatures… the list went on and on. But Alex tried to find one instance where Regulus had defended Muggleborns and she could find none. In fact, her head kept going back to the years before, when they'd first started to talk to each other. There was that one particular night, when he said things, things difficult to comprehend…
I don't think Muggleborns themselves are necessarily bad… But we should recognize them for what they are. Muggles.
Alex didn't think she'd responded to him in a way that Sophia Wilson would have approved. To be honest, she still wasn't sure how she was supposed to react whenever a Slytherin made a passing comment about 'a Mudblood.' She wasn't going to go out of her way to defend them, she knew, but she couldn't join in—knew that she shouldn't. Her mother would not be proud of her, but Alex didn't know what else she could do. Forsake her house, her friends, and openly oppose their ideas about Muggles that Alex hardly understood? Such action would be suicidal in the Slytherin house. Sirius Black, she knew, liked to flaunt his disregard for the pureblood ideals, but he had the safety net of a different house, a different set of people who respected and agreed to his ideas. She did not. She didn't even know what she believed except for that there were a lot of people dying—more and more so—and that Death Eaters, not the Muggles, were responsible for these attacks. Did the Muggleborns fight back? Of course. Did that lead to casualties? Naturally—but the Muggleborns weren't organized, they couldn't fight back effectively, and consequently their success was limited against a highly organized, planned group of "maniacs," as Sophia Wilson said, who were influential and rich.
The reality hit home for the first time. Death Eaters weren't just people from faraway places—they were the people she was sharing the Common Room with, the people she ate dinners with every day, the people she went over essays with, watch Quidditch games with—her friends, for a lack of a better word. They were going to grow up, graduate Hogwarts and join the attacks that were growing more and more frequent. Her knuckles went white.
And her mother—
"The fools argue that Muggles should learn to control their magic," Dolohov. "Our dear old headmaster, for instance. But such is a waste of our time and resources and, in the end, the Mudbloods only bring our own society into peril." A murmur of approval. "They are ungrateful bastards who don't understand their place in the society."
"They used to be few in number," Yaxley continued the argument. "But the number has been increasing. Just look at Hogwarts—a hundred years ago, it would be rare if we saw more than one Muggleborn per year. Now it goes over five every year. They're breeding and spreading like rats."
Of course, there was the fact that the detection of magic amongst Muggle society was significantly improved in the last couple of decades with several inventions that Alex didn't quite understand but understood to be important. The Muggleborns used to go unnoticed, Alex had read somewhere, unless they displayed extraordinary signs of magic—which was rare, even amongst purebloods. But Alex knew that she couldn't say this outright. In fact, judging from Snape's warning glance, she had better keep her face straighter.
"Any suggestions?" Regulus's voice was almost toneless, disaffected. Alex wanted desperately to know his feelings behind the tone but it was impossible.
"Containment," Rabastan said immediately. "Better to keep them in a separate quarter."
"How?" Rosier said. "You'll have to find them one by one beforehand and bring them together, which would take more resources than they're worth. Much better to keep them separate."
"Separate would mean weaker," Rabastan agreed, "but it would be much harder to control them that way." And who was he, Alex thought, that he thought he had the right to decide where they should be put? As though the Muggles were someone to be put somewhere? She didn't want to listen anymore, but it felt like she had no choice otherwise than to stay. Rabastan, who had brought her here, was no longer dependable, and Alex stood stiffly in her spot, willing the cold air to touch her.
"There's no need to worry about separate or not if they just don't exist," Mulciber's quiet voice broke through a battle of glares that occurred between Rabastan and Rosier. Dolohov's eyebrows rose.
"Exactly," he said. Selwyn, a seventh year, nodded slowly.
"It makes much more sense," he said slowly. "They're a threat either way. We need to strike the source—kill the snake instead of cutting off its head." The irony of the metaphor wasn't lost on her.
And you know who killed them? You did. Every single one of you. You think you're so high and mighty, with your Pureblood status. Oh, look, another Mudblood that we get to kill.
The words flew to her mind, unbidden, as sharp as a lightening, spiking its way through her. A memory that she'd wanted to keep hidden in the back of her mind, a mere recollection of the event that she'd almost convinced herself she'd forgotten. Who was she kidding? The voice of Flannigan was a salt to a reopened wound. He graduated last year and Alex had seen his gaunt, self-satisfied sort of a face at the last Banquet. They never crossed paths again after that incident at the owlery, and he made little gesture to acknowledge that it happened. Alex assumed that he wanted to put it behind him as well.
And in the last three years she'd never tried to talk to him, ask him anything as to what made him do what he did. Because she couldn't stand the thought of him, the remembrance of his hand on her body far too vivid. But she could remember things now...
His family was killed, he said. The pureblood maniacs, the Slytherins, they were responsible.
Alex didn't feel guilty. She hadn't done anything directly. But—something unfamiliar began to seep from her heart, making her feel a little lightheaded. She breathed in the cool, humid air. Her breath created thin fog in front of her face, momentarily blurring her vision.
Pity. Flannigan, whoever he might have been, hadn't done anything to deserve his loss at his age.
Her stomach felt heavy and Alex suddenly wished that she hadn't eaten so much, so leisurely, during dinner.
"The Dark Lord..."
Avery's hushed, reverent whisper of his name forced her to pay attention.
"He will eradicate these unnecessary beings," Avery's voice sounded like himself. "He will bring peace and order to the wizarding society where we wizards will no longer have to worry about the filthy Mudbloods..." At that Alex shut her ears, instead choosing to count the pebbles on the ground.
"That would be all," Regulus's quiet voice marked the end of the meeting. "The next meeting will be held on the second Friday of December at the usual time." All nodded and began to make room toward the Common Room. Alex followed the group silently. She could see Rosier making a joke at Avery, who snickered before slapping him on the shoulder. The seventh years were huddled closer together, whispering softly. More than once Alex heard the words 'the Dark Mark' pass through their lips. She merely looked at her wand held tightly in her hands. Her fingers must have felt like strangling vines to the old magical stick.
"So?" Rabastan's voice was like sledgehammer against her ears and Alex flinched involuntarily. Fortunately, he didn't seem to notice in the dark. "What did you think?"
"Hmm," Alex said, trying to sound noncommittal.
"Hmm?" Rabasan repeated mockingly. "Is that all you have to say?"
"What, were you expecting some sort of impressed, awe-stricken response?" Alex said. It was said jokingly enough, but from Rabastan's face, she realized that she might not have been far off the mark. She regretted her words and looked away.
"They're watching you, you know," he said at last conversationally. They'd lagged behind a little, the others' lights a dim flicker in the distance like stars on a cloudy night. Alex frowned.
"Who are?"
"The people we were with," he answered. Alex noted that he avoided using the real name—Death Eaters. "And a few more. They're watching you, seeing what you can do."
Alex tried to shrug. "So?" she asked carelessly.
"So," Rabastan said. "You might want to start thinking about it. You know. Joining." Alex stopped on her tracks, trying to conceal the incredulity she was feeling from Rabastan, who was looking down seriously at her.
"Even he's heard about you," Rabastan went on.
"He?" Alex repeated dumbly, but she could guess who he might be…
Predictably, Rabastan made a gargled sort of a noise. "Don't make me say it," he hissed. "Someone might hear."
"Right." Alex tried not to sound sardonic. They spent the last—what, an hour? Two hours?—talking about best ways to get Muggleborns out of their lives, and now he was worried about someone listening in.
"What I'm trying to say," Rabastan said. "Is that you might want to watch yourself. Who you consort yourself with and stuff. 'Cause there are people watching you."
Alex wondered if having a member of the Phoenix as a mother would count as something criminal in Death Eater's circle. Probably yes. She decided to take a gamble.
"And if I'm not interested?" she asked. Rabastan stopped on his tracks and looked down at her. And perhaps it was the godforsaken damned place, small and dark and cold, or perhaps it was the lighting that came from their wands, but his eyes were darker than Alex could recall them being. His mouth set in a firm line.
"Well then," he said. "That would be a problem, wouldn't it? Seeing as you've already been to one of your meetings." Without further comment he began to stalk toward the exit and Alex hurried to follow.
"So these meetings—they happen often?" Alex asked, jogging to catch up.
"Every month." The answer was curt. Alex nodded.
"And you join by in—"
"Invitation only, yeah." Rabastan hadn't looked at her.
"Why did you invite me, then?" Alex asked, hoping that her curiosity would seem encouraging instead of prying.
"I told you, they're watching you." Rabastan's voice was low. "Maybe Slughorn's too dimwitted to notice you, but every other professor knows that you're one of the most promising students in your year. We need all the talent we have."
"But I'm not, you know," Alex gestured. "Pureblood."
"We can't do anything about mixed," Rabastan said decisively, but Alex didn't fail to notice the derisive snort that accompanied the word. "Not the children's fault, anyway. So you might not be able to marry a pureblood—doesn't mean that you still can't serve."
Alex decided not to ask what the Dark Lord's plans for the half-bloods were after their plans to eradicate Muggleborns succeeded. She also didn't mention that Rabastan, a pureblood, was doing the dangerous deed of consorting with a non-pureblood. Or was it that Rabastan never had any serious intentions toward her from the beginning?
"Besides, it will be a shame to spill magical blood when you can be put to a far more productive use, don't you think?" With that question and a half-grin, Rabastan stepped into the Common Room. Alex mutedly followed, silently considering.
"There you are," Leila said when Alex stepped into their dormitory. "Where have you been?"
Alex decided that playing vague was the best option she had. It did seem like the boys were trying to keep their meetings a secret. "Library," she said. It would have closed about fifteen minutes ago, so it wasn't a bad cover. Leila rolled her eyes.
"Evan said the same thing," she said. "Like I believe him. He just had something else." She turned another page of her Quidditch magazine.
"And that's alright with you?" Alex asked hesitantly. Leila didn't even bother to look up from her magazine.
"It's not like we're serious," Leila said. "'Sides, it's not like we're going to get married, or anything."
Again Alex hesitated—for a different reason. "Leila," she said carefully, sitting at the foot of Leila's bed. "Exactly what does Rabastan want with me?"
Leila finally looked up, looking shrewdly at Alex from behind her spectacles. She must have been enjoying the solitude, Alex thought, if she was wearing glasses. Rebecca couldn't stand them.
"Probably the same thing Regulus Black wants with Rebecca," Leila said. Alex wasn't sure if she was injured by this comment or relieved, and, if injured, why she was injured. She'd figured that Regulus wasn't entirely serious about Rebecca—he wasn't the type to snog girls he was serious about in the Common Room—but Leila's implication was like a confirmation that she didn't need. And she'd been fairly certain that Rabastan had no immediate plans of betrothal to her—a mixed blood, he'd said—but the idea that he only wanted to be physical with her made her want to throw up. To make it worse, he seemed to have some idea that she'll one day join the ranks of Death Eaters.
"He hasn't, you know," Alex swallowed with some difficulty, "tried anything yet."
Leila looked mildly surprised by her words. She considered. "Maybe he's just testing the waters," she said. Alex raised her eyebrows at the bedding in distaste.
"Why did you say that he was alright?" Alex said, sounding almost petulant.
"You seemed so reserved about the idea," Leila said, shrugging. "I mean, you have to admit that by no means is Rabastan a bad candidate for a snogging session—"
"I don't want him like that," Alex protested. Leila just stared at her.
"Something happened," she concluded. "Are you going to tell me?"
Alex looked at her warily. Leila was by no means a fanatic, but she was a pureblood who liked her position in the society. Leila, Alex knew, wasn't going to try to revolutionize the order of the pureblood society or do something outrageous like—marrying a halfblood, Alex thought with bitter humor. Could she trust her?
"He said," Alex began with difficulty, "something about, you know, well—about You-Know-Who. And working for him in the future. I wasn't sure if you knew about these things—"
"Shh!" Leila made a shushing motion and Alex closed her mouth at once. "You don't talk about those things unless you're ready to pay for it." Her face was grim.
"I mean, is your family involved in any way—"
"Not so far, no," Leila's eyes were roving busily around the room. "Not that my parents think he's wrong, or anything. Loves the whole new order idea, actually. But they've been trying to stay away from it most of the times. Yeah, I know, Slytherin self-preservation, and all that," she said when Alex opened her mouth to speak. "And I'll tell you what my mother told me—it's not a bad idea to stay away from the scene of the crime. Especially if other people think you've done it."
"So you're not going to—"
"No." Leila's face was resolute. "No as far as I can help it."
Alex leaned against the bed post dubiously. Leila sighed.
"Listen, if Rabastan mentioned anything—and I mean anything—about it, you'd better be careful about what you get yourself into. Blimey, they must be pretty desperate if they're turning to girls now." Leila shook her head disbelievingly.
"What do they need me for?" Alex said, trying to ignore a sense of panic beginning to creep up from her stomach. It knotted painfully. "I mean, I'm not a pureblood, I don't have money—"
"But you've got brains," Leila said. "Something direly lacking amongst our inbreeding relatives. It's not a good sign, though, if you were spotted already."
"Do you reckon—that they're looking at the entire castle for candidates?" Suddenly she looked around, as though the walls could hear what she was saying and report back the results. "I mean, aren't we too young?"
"They probably do try to recruit from all houses. I bet it helps to have people with different connections. You never know what might be useful." Leila considered. "Besides, it's not as if they're going to put old geezers at the front line." At the mention of the front line, Alex clutched her stomach, her nervousness becoming acutely painful, like thousand knives stabbing at it. Front line. She didn't even know how to duel—she probably couldn't hex a person in front of her to save her life.
"Let's not discuss this anymore," she managed to croak out. Leila seemed to catch on.
"Right," she said. "And what we talked about remains between us, yeah?" Alex nodded. Leila went back to her magazine and Alex sat down on her own bed, gaze unfocused.
She didn't know what to do, how to react. She desperately wanted someone to talk to, someone to tell all the new information and how scary the world suddenly became, but there was no one. Her mother would probably tell her that she'd warned her daughter from the beginning about the Black boy and finding friends outside the Slytherin house. It was too late for that now, though, wasn't it? Besides, she wasn't sure how she would tell her mother—a member of the Order—that she knew the names of future Death Eaters.
Dear Mum, Alex imagined writing.
Things are going well at school. We're learning about three laws of Transfiguration, which is exciting beyond belief. By the way, I went to a meeting the other day, and guess what? They want me to be a Death Eater…
Suffice to say, it would not go well.
She could think of another person that she could turn to, someone who wouldn't judge her if she was a little weak or indecisive or even scared about finding out that all these things were real, but it seemed like she'd lost that person from her childhood life forever. He was probably still locking lips with one of her roommates, who have yet to return from her daily Common Room escapades. Alex closed her eyes, feeling the tiredness and fear wash over her.
She would not sleep well that night.