A/N: Thank you to all those who got back to me (and to gr8rockstarrox: congratulations! You are the 100th reviewer!)-it was lovely to hear from you! Anyway, the penultimate chapter of Book I...

Sometimes it felt like he was falling down an endless dark hole.

Freefalling would be pleasant, he mused, but it was more of a knock-all-the-air-out-your-lungs kind of a fall, in which he had absolutely no control over the speed of falling, nor how he was going to land, nor what he would find once he landed. Most likely, his fall would result in a pile of bones and bloody mess. He would deserve that. He really would.

Alex didn't smile anymore, and he didn't know what he could do about it.

It was easier during the summer, when he didn't actually have to face her every day. His parents were pleased that their son had taken the habit of spending more and more time with the peers his age. He did it mostly for drinking (alcohol was excellent distraction, Regulus found to his disgust, and drinking by oneself was a surprisingly unpleasant experience) and, for some reason, his body seemed intent on adding to his self-hatred by making more and more mistakes despite his brain shouting at the top of its lungs—Rebecca Goyle, for instance. Somewhere in his more lucid part of his brain he'd found the resolve to push her off of him when she came for a snog, but somehow maintaining the ambiguous relationship with her fed the burning sensation of his self-loathing, fueling him. Some other stupid things involving a few antiques in his house. Kreacher scolded him for minutes the next morning, telling him that he should uphold the standards of the Black household. His cheeky reply that Black household standards included incest and domestic abuse didn't fly very well.

And Sirius was supposed to be the rebellious one.

Regulus shut his eyes and tried to concentrate on breathing, tuning out all other noises around him. He couldn't. The chortling around him from other Slytherin sixth-years were too distracting. It felt like his head was trying to split open.

The headache had grown worse since the beginning of the semester. It was "benign" during the summer, and, as the Black family had a history of migraines (due to many factors, Regulus had no doubt, that included inbreeding and paranoia about their relatives trying to steal from them), Regulus dismissed the symptoms as consequences of lack of rest and drinking. But six weeks into the school year, they were just below screaming painful—and it seemed as though he was surviving on coffee and pain relief potions.

Alex knew something was wrong, of course. They couldn't spend a lot of time together, with his Quidditch practices and the "corridor meetings" that grew more and more frequent as the semester went on and he was expected to fill the leadership position left vacant by the seventh-years who graduated. But every stolen moment they snatched from life and obligations she looked at him worriedly, caressing his cheeks, laying comforting kisses on his forehead, as if he was the one who was being wronged. Even though she knew that he was a Death Eater and—his mother was in the Order. Imprisoned in his house, in fact, although she didn't know this exactly. Nor that he went on missions during the summer to old English villages, causing mayhem—even though he didn't have it in him to kill. So he caused houses and bridges to collapse, never mind the screams coming from the inside…

A sharp pain vibrated through his skull and Regulus clenched his fists, swallowing a whimper. There were still so many things that Alex didn't know, so many things that he didn't tell her because he couldn't bear to lose her, but what could he do? If he told her the truth about everything, he feared that she would never agree to be with him—she loved her mother too much, would never side with him on this matter. He would lose her, the only source of warmth and comfort he had in his life.

She was currently going over the notes from the last lectures a few rows in front of him, while Parkinson sat next to her, doodling in her Quidditch magazine. She looked a little pale, Regulus noted with concern, and she seemed a little thinner—the profile of her in the sunlight betrayed the stress that she was under. The stress that he put her under.

The class began to quiet down and Regulus glumly "looked up" from his textbook, pretending to pay attention to the new DADA professor who just walked in.

Petrovsky was an odd character, even by the previous DADA professor standards. He couldn't have been significantly older than Slughorn (who could barely manage to walk, let alone run), but Petrovsky moved as though he was not a day over thirty. Something about the hawklike gaze of his sharp, blue eyes told his students that, like MacGonagall, he didn't have the patience for nonsense, but Regulus couldn't tell if he, like MacGonagall, possessed hidden affection and attention for his students—rather, judging by the cool gaze coming toward his direction, Regulus judged that Petrovsky felt no warmth toward the youngest Black heir.

But this dislike from Petrovsky might have meant nothing, had it not been for the fact that Regulus had caught him looking at Alex on multiple occasions, staring intently, as if trying to discover something about her that he could use.

Alex, as usual, appeared oblivious to the attention (she had some silly idea that no one really took notice of her because she wasn't worth the attention) and was engrossed in writing down Petrovksy's lecture on non-verbal spells. Regulus looked back at his own jumbled set of notes and set his quill to his parchment. Perhaps it was better that Alex had no idea…

"Good, Miss Evans," Petrovsky complimented the Gryffindor prefect. "Ten points."

The other half of the class was supposed to be spent in practicing nonverbal spells, which Regulus might have enjoyed, had he not been suffering from the constant headache. His partner, Snape, was less than impressed.

"I'm waiting, Black," he drawled. Regulus scowled.

"We're both waiting, Snape," he drawled back. On the opposite side of the room something crashed. Everyone's gaze gravitated toward the direction of the noise.

"Sorry!" Alex's voice came. "I misdirected my wand." Several students sniggered.

"Let's see it again, Miss Wilson," Petrovsky said. Alex smiled sheepishly.

"I don't know if I can manage it again," she said, but she redirected her wand at Parkinson and, with a look of concentration, waved her wand. Parkinson raised her eyebrows laconically and then—began to miraculously tap-dance (from many balls Regulus knew for a fact that Parkinson was one partner to avoid if the dancer wished to keep his feet intact).

"Very good," Petrovsky said, nodding approvingly. Ah yes, another thing odd about Petrovsky—not only did he pay an inordinate amount of attention to Alex, she seemed to be the only object of his… fondness, as well. Creepy. "Twenty points to Slytherin." Alex smiled shyly and Parkinson rolled her eyes at her friend's teacher-pleasing mode. Regulus grit his teeth. He was supposed to be there with her, not Parkinson or anyone else.

"Get back to practice," Petrovsky barked at the entire class. Regulus turned back to Snape, going over the message he'd received from Malfoy just that morning. His next mission was in less than two days...

"It was nothing, really," Alex said a few days after. After the patrols, Regulus convinced her that the seventh floor might have missed them during the last few weeks—after all, what was the purpose of the Room of Requirements if there weren't any requirements? She was curled up next to him by the fireside, both lounging on the pile of cushions on the floor. The orange glow from the fire made her skin glow like ripening fruit. She smiled at him—tiredly, he could see. But he didn't say anything about it, knowing that he was the cause behind her tiredness.

"No one else could do it in the first try," Regulus murmured, kissing her mouth before she could answer. Alex snuggled into the crook between his neck and his shoulder, sighing. They sat in dead silence for a while, listening to each other's breaths.

"Hey, Reg?" Alex said.

"Hmm?"

"Can I see it?"

Regulus stiffened, but decided to play dumb. "See what?" Alex didn't answer for a while.

"The mark," she pronounced finally, sounding powerless. Regulus turned to look at her, but ser face was buried in his shoulder.

"You didn't ask that before," he commented.

"I didn't ask anything," Alex muttered. "I don't really believe it now, to be honest."

Regulus didn't know how to tell her that he didn't quite believe the mark, either, until he heard the screams of Muggles behind his ears as he ran away from Death Eaters burning a Muggle village to the ground and he felt bile going up his esophagus against his will. So he extended his left arm and pulled back the sleeve of his robe, revealing a dark tattoo. Even though the dark snake had remained dormant for the past few days. Regulus could only too vividly imagine the reptile slithering out of the skull's mouth. Tentative, Alex reached out and traced the outline of the tattoo with her fingers. Regulus swallowed.

"Can you feel anything?" Alex asked, still not looking directly at him. Regulus shook his head.

"It's medically a giant scar, I think," he said. "Yeah, you can feel the—you can feel it when you're being summoned, and I can tell if pressure's being put onto it, but other than that, not really." Alex nodded, looking thoughtfully at the scar.

"Thoughts?" Regulus asked, trying to keep his voice light. Alex slowly curled up into a ball.

"It's uglier than I thought."

Regulus laughed it away feebly. "It's not about being pretty."

"I don't like it." Her eyes met his stubbornly for the first time.

Regulus didn't know whether he was angry or relieved. "Alex," he said.

"I wish you'd told me before it happened," she continued petulantly.

"I couldn't. The identity of the Death Eaters is supposed to be kept secret."

Alex glared at him. "Like everyone in our house doesn't already know."

Regulus had to cede that she had a point. "I didn't think you'd like it."

"Well, I don't," she declared. "But—that doesn't mean I like the thought of you having gone through that alone." Regulus' arm tightened around her automatically at her words.

"I don't deserve you," he murmured into her hair. Alex didn't say anything, just kissing the crook of his neck again. He returned the gesture by soundly kissing her lips until both were gasping for breath on the floor. The heat of the fire felt especially close to his skin, and Regulus realized that his robe had come off—he couldn't remember when. His forehead was slick with seat, and the weight of his torso strained his arms that tried to support it. Alex was panting beneath him, her arms snaked around his neck. Their eyes met, and something in her face fell.

"Reg," she said. "Is there a way out of this for both of us?" Regulus wanted to look away from her face, but he couldn't.

"I don't know." And that might be the only honest sentence he'd uttered in the past three months.

Few weeks later came the trip to Hogsmeade.

He hadn't planned on going—he'd even faked having too many assignments to the Slytherins, pretending to be swamped with work and that "he'd not used his time wisely." Excuse using sloppiness would've worked better for Avery or Rosier, Regulus supposed, but he couldn't think of a way to get out of an outing with the Slytherins whom he couldn't stand. And if Alex came back from her meeting with Parkinson's fiancé early, then they might even have a chance to spend some time together before the public dinner. But that morning he woke from a searing pain on his left wrist and he woke up, hissing, before he even gained consciousness of his wakefulness. He looked around. Everyone else had gone—he'd slept in. Odd. Didn't happen often.

Slipping on his robe uneasily, he headed toward the common room, where Lestrange was already waiting for him (he was branded last summer as well).

"Lestrange," Regulus acknowledged stiffly. Just because they were on the same side didn't mean that he particularly liked him, especially considering his interest in Alex during fourth-year. Lestrange, on the other hand, seemed to have forgotten the whole debacle since then.

"Regulus," Lestrange said easily.

"Message?" he whispered, even though the common room was empty except for the first and second years. Lestrange unrolled a piece of parchment that he'd been given for his missions in order to prevent detection from Hogwarts security—the ink would appear on parchment whenever a scribe from the other side wrote on the twin parchment. Regulus wasn't sure whose idea it was to entrust it to Lestrange, but so it was.

"There's going to be a session in Hogsmeade," Lestrange said, sounding a bit bored. "Training for the new recruits. Show them how it's done old-style."

Regulus tried not to let his distaste for the "session" show—he knew how his brother would call it. Terrorizing. "Stay out of the way?" he asked instead.

Lestrange chuckled. "If you're that tired. I figured I'd join it myself. Stretch out my legs a bit. Who knows." The glint in Lestrange's eyes grew brighter. "It might even be fun."

"Might stay in the castle," Regulus said. "Doesn't sound that important, anyhow."

Lestrange shrugged. "Suit yourself," he said. "But there's the second message." He looked at Regulus expectantly, as if he expected Regulus to know it. Regulus merely raised his eyebrows.

"Yes?" he drawled in his pureblood tone.

"A prisoner escaped from Grimmauld Place, if you'd believe it," Lestrange said. "The Dark Lord is, of course, highly displeased. Anyway, we're to take care of it."

Regulus felt his insides freeze. "Who?"

"Dunno," Lestrange said. "Got a description, though. Female. Mid-thirties, brown hair, tall."

"That's not very helpful," Regulus managed to croak. His mouth felt like sandpaper.

"Maybe," said Lestrange. "Think it's supposed to be vague, actually. Anyway, the new recruits are supposed to look for her as well."

Regulus frowned. "I thought they were coming here," he said.

"Yeah," Lestrange said.

"So they just guessed that the—the prisoner would be in Hogsmeade?"

Lestrange shrugged. "Apparently, they have a hunch that she'd be heading for Hogsmeade. No idea why. Maybe she's trying to contact Dumbledore, or something. Won't be the first time."

Regulus nodded. "Yes," he said, his mind racing a million miles even though he felt glued to his seat. "Certainly not the first time."

There was one female prisoner under the Grimmauld place—Sophia Wilson. Mid-thirties. Brown hair. Tall. She'd somehow outsmarted the wards around his house and escaped. Without a wand, presumably. Headed toward Hogsmeade.

Regulus felt the headache return with vicious fervor. They hadn't arranged a session for the new recruits. They'd arranged a hunt for the escaped prisoner. And if some of the Death Eaters decided to have fun in the process—well, that was fine for them, as well. He checked his watch. It was already almost noon. So many of the students would already be there…

Alex.

"Still staying in the castle?" Lestrange asked as Regulus abruptly rose from his seat.

"No," he said. "Prefect duties. I forgot."

Lestrange frowned. "Prefect duties?"

Regulus felt his face empty itself. "Better go there and make sure that pureblood children don't get caught in the crossfire," he toned monotonously, wondering what exactly it was that he planned to do once he got to Hogsmeade.

He didn't know.

"Don't," Leila hissed. Alex raised her eyebrows.

"What?" she asked leisurely.

"Don't laugh," Leila said, her ears turning red. "I know you were about to."

"Would never dream of it," Alex replied, glancing behind her toward the bar. "Why would I? He's getting us drinks."

Leila's scowl grew deeper. "I knew that this was a bad idea," she muttered. Alex couldn't help it—she laughed.

"No, I think it was nice of him to come and visit you on Hogsmeade weekend," she said. "He actually wants to spend time with you, doesn't he?" The words she uttered instantly sobered her up as Alex remembered a certain boy who didn't spend much time with her. Leila fortunately didn't seem to notice her change in mood.

"Bloody perfect, that's what he is," Leila swore. "And—you know what he did?"

"What, did he get you a present, or something?" Alex asked, mockingly bored. Leila, for once, didn't catch her sarcasm.

"No!" Leila burst out. "One present might've been, I don't know, proper. Instead he got me three. Three. What's wrong with him?"

"Oh yeah, it's a big problem, your boyfriend getting you presents…"

"He's not my boyfriend," Leila hissed, drawing her face close to Alex's just in case anyone heard. "He's my fiancé. Big difference."

"He seems to like you," Alex said.

Leila growled. "Wonder why," she muttered grumpily.

"You like him too." It wasn't a question.

Leila sighed, deflating. "Yeah," she said. "Yeah, I do. It's just—I've never been in this kind of relationship before, y'know? I mean, with Rosier—it's just weird. Him—getting me presents, and coming all the way from Germany to see me, and stuff…"

"Not to mention he's older and can legally get you proper alcohol," Fred's torso appeared between them. "But butterbeer for you two."

Leila frowned. "How much did you hear?" she asked. Fred laughed and kissed her hat-clad hair.

"Enough to know that I should get you more presents," he said. "So what are doing after this? I've never seen an English village."

"Leila's heading toward one place only," Alex said. "The Quidditch shop."

"Well, we can't miss Honeydukes, or Alex will be sorely disappointed," Leila grumbled, but there was a small smile on her face as she sipped from her butterbeer. Alex shook her head and turned away slightly as Fred said something to Leila in German that she didn't understand.

Although Leila had invited Alex to be a buffer of sorts between her and Fred, it seemed as though Alex was only getting in the way of them growing closer together. Leila seemed overly apprehensive about the outcome of their relationship, not used to interacting with someone so… nice, as she put it. Fred, on the other hand, seemed to wait for Leila with good-natured patience, for which Alex had to commend him—even though his accent was sometimes hard to understand. She downed her butterbeer in a single swig and stood up unsteadily.

"I have to get going," she announced. "The post office closes a bit earlier on weekends, I think. Have fun, though." Not waiting for a response, she left the tavern, wondering what she'd have to do for the rest of the day.

"Wilson!" came a barking voice. Alex turned around, trying to school the small amount of alcohol in the system.

"Professor Petrovsky," she said, grinning a little. Petrovsky was hands down the best defense teacher she's had so far, and even Leila, despite her general dislike toward the subject, admitted that he had a sort of panache when it came to the subject. But she didn't think that she knew much about him. "Good afternoon—"

"You'll have to come with me," Petrovsky interrupted, and Alex noticed his shifting gaze for the first time. Eyes roving, constantly on the lookout for something… or someone. "The headmaster requests your presence."

"The headmaster?" Alex repeated, perplexed. "Why does he need me?"

But as Petrovsky opened his mouth to answer, a loud bang came from the central part of the village, followed by screams of multiple students. Alex froze.

"What's that?" she whispered.

"Death Eaters!" the screams finally reached her ears. Her eyes scanned for the source of the scream—Kimberly Tannen, the part-time clerk and Quill Shop, came running toward the direction. "Death Eaters! Run! RUN FOR YOUR LIVES!" Another bang shook their senses, closer this time, and more and more people began to panic and run toward the higher parts of the village into the forest.

"Sorry, Professor," Alex said, her voice faraway. "Need to make sure that all students have properly evacuated."

"Alex! Alex!" another familiar voice greeted her and Alex swiveled around to see James Potter running at her direction. "Did you hear—" whatever he was about to say was overtaken by a teeth-shaking boom. Alex nodded. Black and Remus soon caught up to them.

"We have to do something," James said, utterly serious for once. "Peter began to lead younger Gryffindors into Shrieking Shack, I hope no one faints from fright—"

"That's not our biggest concern right now," Remus said. "We have to get a word to Dumbledore."

"He already knows," Petrovsky said grimly. All heads turned toward him.

"Oh, hello, Professor," Remus said, ever the polite one. Sirius, on the other hand, was a bit rasher.

"What do you mean, he already knows?" he demanded. Petrovsky sighed.

"He received intelligence that an Order member held hostage escaped from her prison a few hours ago," he said. "Apparently, the Death Eaters had reasons to think that she was headed here."

"So he knows?" James yelled, frowning. "Why isn't he doing anything?"

"He can't," Petrovsky said curtly. Remus' eyes widened.

"He'd be giving himself away as being on the Orde—going against Voldemort, I mean," he said. "He's the Headmaster, he can't really take an actively open position on it when there are still students within the castle who are—y'know. Potential Death Eaters."

"Bloody politics," Sirius swore. Alex shook her head.

"No time for that now," she said. "We still have to get the students to safety."

"Ran into Lily and a couple others on our way here," Remus said. "They've taken care of the upper village."

"So our problem's the lower half," Alex said. "Do we have an estimate of how many Death Eaters are here?"

"A few dozen," James muttered. "Bloody hell, you'd think they'd know how to be discreet about these things…"

"This isn't just recapturing a hostage, this is a bloody hunt," Sirius said. "Alright, we have to fight back."

"Take down an entire army of Death Eaters? Are you mad?" Alex said. Sirius glared at her.

"Do you have a better idea?"

"Our priority is to get them as far away from the students as possible," Petrovsky said. "Lupin, into the post office and send an owl to the Headmaster. Join Potter and Black once you're done. Potter, you're distracting half of them toward Hog's Head. The barkeeper should be able to help you."

"Aberforth?" James said, puzzled.

"Black, you're going with him. Wilson—you're with me." Without waiting for a response, Petrovsky began to march toward the source of the blasts and Alex jogged after him.

"Is this a good idea? Letting them go head-on against the Death Eaters…"

"They've been waiting for something like this for a while," Petrovsky said. "Never mind that they're students. I doubt that half of the Death Eaters are even over twenty." Alex's mind went toward Regulus for the first time and was glad that he was staying inside the castle that day—or had he been lying about his mission?

"What are we doing, Professor?" she asked, trying to brush away her suspicions. Petrovsky sighed.

"We're looking for the hostage," he said. "The Death Eaters aren't going to rest until they find her."

"Um," Alex said. "Do we know what she looks like, Professor?" Petrovsky stopped in his tracks, smelling the air. This reminded her of someone, but Alex couldn't remember whom.

"Yes, we do," he said. "She's your mother."

Regulus hated wearing the mask.

First of all, it made things ridiculously difficult to breath. His own breath was trapped within the mask, clogging his nose with its humid warmth. Second, hindered his sight—he couldn't see the corners of his eyes, which wasn't very helpful when dueling. Lastly—and the most importantly—it felt cowardly to hide behind a mask.

But he supposed that, in a village full of Hogwarts students, it might not be the worst idea to hide his identity.

Malfoy was walking next to him, flicking his wand every now and then at different storefronts.

"Is that really necessary?" Regulus mouthed. Malfoy looked straight ahead.

"It's not about necessity, Regulus," he answered before making one of the chimneys burst in flames. Regulus didn't know how to reply to this so he closed his mouth.

Hogsmeade felt different from behind the mask. It was a happy place for a lot of the students, a chance to go shopping and buy supplies, presents. This was—this felt wrong.

"We have a signal!" One of the recruits yelled excitedly. They'd managed to procure something of Sophia Wilson's and put a tracking charm on it to find the owner. So the charm had worked, then…

"Quiet," a new voice said from behind them. Regulus frowned, trying to remember where he'd heard it. Some time ago, but not that long ago…

"You'll attract attention," the voice continued. Malfoy scoffed.

"In case you haven't noticed, Warner," he said derisively, "we don't care about that right now." Regulus' back stiffened. Warner. Alex's—Alex's dad. This was—

"I beg your pardon, Mr. Malfoy," there was irony in Warner's voice, no doubt. "Should I remind you of the incident in Shropshire?"

Instead of answering, Malfoy turned toward the recruits. "How far?" he asked authoritatively. The recruits were practically jumping in eagerness.

"Less than five hundred feet," one of them replied.

"Spread out," Malfoy ordered. "We need her found."

"What do you know about my mother?" Alex demanded despite the chilling sensation that froze her heart for a second, when Petrovsky mentioned her mother. Her eyes narrowed. "Who are you?"

"It's not important right now," Petrovsky muttered, smelling the air again. "She must be using a different wand," he muttered, sounding frustrated.

"I barely know who you are, and you're leading me somewhere while Death Eaters are running rampant," Alex snapped. "So tell me who you are and what you're doing." Petrovsky looked up from his search and stared straight into her face.

"I've been in this fight far longer than you or your mother have," he said quietly. "And I'm trying to help you, unlike that little Black boy. So you'll follow me."

Feeling chastised, Alex bit the inside of her mouth. "Are you in the Order?" she asked.

"No," Petrovsky answered. "But I know your mother."

"How—"

"Listen," Petrovsky whispered. Alex swallowed and stood still. They were in an almost empty street save the rustling leaves that made her feel as though someone else was just around the corner. She looked around.

"There's no one," Alex muttered.

"Come out," Petrovsky said loudly. "There's no one else. Just Alex."

Alex was about to point out that the alley was empty when one of the barrels—perhaps this was where Three Broomsticks kept their stores of wine—began to wriggle in its place until it was about to topple over. The rotund container began to elongate until it reached human height, but that wasn't all. The round belly began to grow smaller, smaller, and smaller, until—

"Alex?" it was, without a doubt, the voice of her mother. But the woman standing in front of her looked nothing like the woman Alex saw ten months ago. She was impossibly thin and pale, and her hair was matted together, as though she hadn't showered in the past ten months. Her clothes were grimy with dirt and something else, and there were cuts and bruises all over her face and neck. Alex couldn't begin to imagine what'd happened to her.

"She'd been taken hostage," Petrovsky answered the silent question in her head. "She's severely malnourished and—"

"Mum!" Alex burst into tears and ran toward her, feeling like she was nine-year-old again, running to her mother whenever mean girls at school bullied her and no one was on her side. Sophia Wilson felt impossibly boney and small in her arms. "Mum—"

"Alex," her mother sounded tearful as well. "Alex, thank Merlin you're okay—"

"We have to get going," Petrovsky said directly. "We don't have much time. He's here." At this Sophia Wilson straightened and looked at Petrovsky curiously.

"Ilya?" she asked. "What are you doing here? And what do you mean, he's—" something dawned on her and the blood drained from her already bloodless face. "Why?" she whispered.

"He's the best tracker they've got, probably," Petrovsky said, sounding tired. "My fault, really."

"It's not," Sophia Wilson said automatically, looking absent for a second. Then her attention went back to her daughter. "You have to hide," she said.

"I'm not leaving you," Alex said stubbornly.

"Her best chance is with me" Petrovsky agreed. "You know that. And they're here for you."

"Then we don't have much time," Sophia said. "Alex—Alex? Look at me. Listen closely, because you're going to have to remember this." Something in her mother's face scared Alex—more than the screams about the Death Eaters, more than the prospect of being hurt, more than anything.

"Mum," she said nervously. "What's going on?"

"I'm living on borrowed time," she said. "You can trust Ilya—"

"Professor Petrovsky?" Alex asked, confused. How did her mother even know—

"They're coming," Petrovsky muttered. Sophia Wilson grasped her daughter's hand urgently.

"He's always been there for you," she said. "Remember Mr. Munson?" Alex looked at Petrovsky in disbelief. He shrugged.

"Long story—"

"And your father," Sophia Wilson said. "I was wrong to tell you nothing about him, Alex, and you have to know, you have to know, Alex, that he's a good man—"

"Wilson!" Someone yelled from the end of the alleyway and Alex reflexively turned around to find cloaked figures approaching them. Alex looked back. It was a dead end.

"We can still make a run for it," Petrovsky murmured, slowly walking towards them while keeping the Death Eaters in sight.

"No," Sophia said. "Then I put all of you in danger. Make sure to give this to Dumbledore." She placed a small vial in Petrovsky's hand. He scrutinized her face.

"You're not meaning to—"

"I have to," Sophia Wilson said. "Besides, the wand I got isn't good enough for apparition, if they haven't placed the anti-apparition jinx over the entire village already."

"Mum?" Alex asked. "What are you talking about?"

"I'm sorry, Alex," Sophia Wilson said, kissing her forehead. "Remember that I'm so proud of you, and that I love you very, very much—"

"Sophia Wilson, drop your wand and surrender," the figure in front yelled again. Sophia raised the wand in her hand slightly.

"Why don't you show yourself?" she said. "I hate those who can't fight fair."

Several Death Eaters beind him made a move to cast a curse. The figure in the front raised his hand, stopping them. Slowly, he took off his mask and lowered his hood.

Alex stared.

"What—" she began to say, but Petrovsky clasped his hand on her mouth, effectively silencing her. She struggled against his grip, but his arms were stronger, keeping her in place. Alex looked in horror as her father smiled faintly. It was ghostly.

"Drop your wand, or this will be your last day," he said, his voice impossibly soft. Something in her mother changed, too, as if an understanding crossed between them. She smiled and, without a warning, raised her wand, crying:

"Expulso!" An unimaginably strong force flew from the tip of her wand toward the Death Eaters, but before it reached any of them, a purple jet shoot from Altair Wymond's wand straight into Sophia Wilson's heart. A second later he was knocked off his feet with the rest of the Death Eaters.

"NO!" Alex screamed, and this time Petrovsky didn't hold her back as she sprinted toward her mother's fallen figure.

"Mum? Mum!" Alex shouted, tears clouding her vision. "Mum—"

"Shh," Sophia Wilson said, coughing. "It's okay, Alex."

"You—" Alex struggled to say exactly what it was that she wanted to say. Her mother's breaths grew fainter. "I'm sorry," she managed at last, sobbing. "I'm so sorry. I love you. Please don't—"

"My time has come," Sophia said, stroking her daughter's hair. "I'm glad I got to see you one last time." Petrovsky approached them slowly and her gaze grew sharper.

"Ilya," she looked earnestly at Petrovsky. "You'll protect her, won't you?"

Petrovsky's his mouth set in a grim line, and his hands were shaking. "Yes," he said quietly.

"Mum, we can still—"

"No, we can't." The firmness in her voice surprised Alex, who looked at her in incomprehension.

"Remember that I'll always be with you," Sophia Wilson whispered. The light of life left her eyes.

"No, no, no—" Alex repeated like a broken record, but Petrovsky was stronger.

"We have to go, Alex," he said. Alex stood up to look for the person responsible.

"Where are they?" she demanded. Petrovsky shook his head.

"They're gone," he said. "My guess is that they sensed reinforcements coming."

"Alex?" James' confused voice came from the place where Death Eaters stood moments ago. "What happened? We tried to redirect some of them toward Hog's Head, but there wasn't anyone—" he stopped in his tracks when he realized that Alex was crouched over someone lying on the ground. "Who's that? What happened—"

"Mr. Potter," Petrovsky said. "Please make sure that the premises are closed. And get Mr. Black and Mr. Lupin to spread the news that it's safe to come out." He paused, regarding Alex pityingly.

"And could you send an owl to MacGonagall?" Alex added shakily. "Tell her that Sophia Wilson is dead."