Alexandra Sophia Wilson's first time to the Wilson Manor was on the day of her mother's funeral.
Having been on edge unfortunately meant that Alex could remember every step of the proceedings that had lead up to the funeral. Arrival of MacGonagall, followed by arrival of Ministry officials who had to identify the body, followed by contacting the living relatives, followed by arrival of her grandparents and uncle, followed by a tearful outburst from the grandparents, followed by meeting with a family advocate who wished to assess the material possessions of Sophia Wilson, followed by meeting with grandparents for funeral arrangements, followed by more meeting with Slughorn for leave of absence for a few days—extenuating circumstances, Alex said, and he expressed his sorrow at the loss of his former student who was "genuinely brilliant."
Funny how people remembered others once they were dead.
The service was brief, and attended only by a few "family friends" that Alex had never met and her mother's school friends whom Alex had also never met. She now sat awkwardly in the reception area—apart from the Potter's' house, Alex had never seen a house that had a reception area—in a black dress that her grandmother had bought for her; it was possibly the most expensive thing that she'd ever worn. Various wizards kept coming toward her as if to pay their respects, but left soon after when they saw the expression on her face. Alex wanted to punch through the ancient, well-plastered walls in the manor, through the portraits of the various ancestors of the Wilson family, even through the set of china kept in the cabinet in the dining room, even though Clara Wilson, her grandmother, had been kind to her when her grandfather or uncle weren't.
"I'm so sorry, Alexandra," another person came up to her and Alex tried to fill the hollow surface of her face with a bracing smile.
"Thank you, Ms…"
"Campbell," the middle-aged woman said. "At such a young age, what a shame… Sophia showed such promise, you know."
"I'm sorry, but you know her from—"
"Oh, from Transfiguration Today, my dear, she was a colleague…" Alex nodded patiently and tried to listen, but it felt as though the area inside her skull was absolute vacuum, incapable of carrying any noise or information. Soon Ms. Campbell felt that she'd paid her respects enough to excuse her from further conscientious duties and left. Clara Wilson soon tottered toward her, a teacup in hand.
"Tea, Alex?" she said. "You haven't eaten all day."
Alex accepted the cup with thanks but didn't drink the tea. Clara Wilson sat down next to her, regarding the slowly emptying room with tiredness.
"I know it must be difficult to be here after all these years," she said, "but I'm nevertheless glad that you are here, dear."
Alex smiled wanly. "I didn't realize that Mum knew so many people in the wizarding world," she said. "I mean, I knew she had a life before—before she had me, that is, but—" Alex shrugged, giving up trying to articulate the inarticulable thoughts. Clara chuckled softly.
"Sophia got along with people surprisingly well for someone so… stubborn," she recalled fondly. "Charles we figured was more a people person, you know, with all his ingratiating." With a sad but playful wink her grandmother rose again to tend to some guests that were saying their last goodbyes. Alex watched the sun slowly set through the long windows with an increasing headache.
The next person to sit next to her was, to her surprise, Professor MacGonagall.
"Miss Wilson," she said stiffly, dabbing her nose with a handkerchief. It seemed that MacGonagall had been crying a little, but Alex wasn't sure if she was supposed to be comforting her. "My condolences. Sophia was—"
"It's alright, Professor," Alex said. "You don't need to—"
"No," MacGonagall said. "It was I who persuaded her to send you to Hogwarts and then, later, for her to join the Order. If it hadn't been for me—"
For the first time in her life Alex interrupted Professor MacGonagall. "If it hadn't been for you Mum still would've done all those things," she said. "She wouldn't have done anything that she didn't want to do."
MacGonagall smiled faintly. "Perhaps," she sighed. "But Alex, do you know what you're going to do next? Will you return to Hogwarts?" But before Alex could answer, Augustus Wilson's thin, tall figure appeared in front of them, blocking the rays of an evening sun.
"Alexandra," he said. "It's bad manners to sit in the corner and keep the guests waiting." Alex bit down yet another tart retort—she'd been keeping several down in the last few days, knowing that her mother wouldn't like her getting into a row with her grandfather. But her grandfather really didn't see herself clearly sometimes.
"Really, Augustus," MacGonagall said coolly. "I don't think they are here for Alex."
"Regardless, this is the Wilson household and here she should act like a Wilson—"
"And is abandoning your daughter and taking her back when she's dead what a Wilson does?" Alex said, standing up. "Or is it just your way?"
"Sit down, Alexandra," Augustus said through gritted teeth. "I won't tolerate this kind of disrespect in my house." Alex was tempted to say something—take out her anger out on a very justifiable target—but the presence of one of her professors held her back.
"That's enough, Augustus," MacGonagall, to Alex's surprise, came to her defense. "Considering your neglect of Sophia, you really don't have the right to tell Alex to do anything."
"And you're our guest, Minerva," Augustus said coolly. "Have enough sense not to overstay your welcome." Without another word he turned around and walked away. Alex closed her eyes momentarily from the pain of the headache, rubbing her forehead gently. Beside her MacGonagall harrumphed.
"Your grandfather was always the man of his ways," she said. Alex smiled thinly.
"He's a pureblood patriarch," she muttered, "without the blood purity craze." MacGonagall smiled thinly as well.
"You should've heard him during the eulogies," Alex continued. "Going on about how Mum was the paragon of virtue in her fight against the evils of Voldemort… who even told him about her Order activities?"
"I believe Professor Dumbledore wrote him a brief letter explaining the circumstances of her death, the details which you yourself provided" MacGonagall said. Alex nodded, looking away.
She didn't tell anyone that it was Altair Wymond who killed her mother. During her statement to Dumbledore, she described vaguely how a jet of purple light came from one of the Death Eaters, which was true enough. She didn't know how to say that her mother was killed by her father—were they even married at any point in their lives? Alex hoped not. She shuddered even to think about it. A Death Eater father. And her mother knew, the entire time, and never told her… Regret and guilt tore at her heart, gnawing it as a hungry dog does to a bone.
Her last words that her father was a good man puzzled her, but she didn't wish to think about it, consider the possibility that her father was, indeed, a good man. Too many emotions swam inside her, but there was only one that she could bear—anger at her father, that he killed her mother, that he deceived her all those years of complete silence and absence, pretending to be a nice person who cared about her—and to kill the woman who had his child. Who did that?
"Professor Petrovsky." MacGonagall's surprised voice made Alex look up from her teacup. Petrovsky was indeed standing in front of her, looking rather out of place in his old, worn cloak. He held a bouquet of yellow flowers that Alex didn't recognize.
"Professor MacGonagall," Petrovsky said in his way of greeting. "Alex. I thought I'd pay my respects, seeing as—I was there with your mother." Alex nodded numbly. MacGonagall clasped her hand on her shoulder.
"Take your time," MacGonagall said, "but sixth year is academically trying. Inform Professor Slughorn when you'll be back, and we'll decide how we'll proceed onwards." Alex nodded.
"Thank you, Professor," she said, trying to smile. MacGonagall sniffled stiffly before disappearing into the hallway. Petrovsky stood in front her, looking slightly uncomfortable.
"Thank you for coming, Professor," Alex said quietly. Petrovsky sighed.
"I should've come sooner," he replied, sitting awkwardly by her side. "But I didn't think that your grandparents would've approved of my presence here."
Alex frowned. "Why's that?"
Petrovsky regarded her carefully. "How much do you know about your father?" he eventually asked. Alex's shoulders sank in deflation, but her guard went up.
"Are you a relative of his?"
"No," Petrovsky shook his head vigorously, as if that was an unthinkable prospect. "No, but—I knew your father and his parents. I was his tutor, of sorts."
"A tutor," Alex repeated cautiously. Petrovsky sighed.
"Did your mother tell you nothing about him?"
"Nothing," Alex confirmed. "But I did do some digging around, and—" Alex looked down at the gold chain around her neck, which she couldn't take off, no matter how much she tried. "I think I'm right about a few things."
"How much did you find out?" Petrovsky said. Alex hesitated. Just who exactly Petrovsky was, she didn't know. Her mother's implicit trust in him made her want to trust him, one of her favourite professors at Hogwarts, but did she know anything about him, really? And her mother, who was killed by one person she must've trusted beyond everyone else—enough to leave her family—could she really rely on her judgement?
"I learned that the family's not from England," Alex said. "My grandparents came over from… central or eastern Europe, the location was a bit vague. They come from an old… club, I suppose."
"A club," Petrovsky repeated incredulously.
"I found a book from the fifteenth century," Alex said, rubbing her eyes tiredly. "One of my ancestors, I think, called Polaris Wymond, claimed that she belonged to a secret society called Conservato, which is related to the legend of the Four Points… but surely she was just claiming heritage of something to sound important," Alex added the last sentence, watching Petrovsky's reaction. To her disappointment, he remained immobile, watching her talk. "Why?"
"It's not a legend," Petrovsky said quietly. Alex blinked.
"I beg your pardon?"
"It's not a legend." Petrovsky shot furtive glances at the leaving guests before turning back to her. "It's true. The history of the four clans. Conservato. The Darkhiders—surely you must've come across the name during your research."
"I did."
"The Wymonds was—is one of the oldest families in the Conservato," Petrovsky said. "The line survives with you, the female heir. The position as the head of the family always passed from a female to a female."
Alex frowned. "I beg your pardon?" she repeated.
"The Wymonds," Petrovsky repeated. "Your father's name. You, as well. Your grandmother was Polaris Wymond… the fifth, I think."
"How do you know all this?" Alex said. Petrovsky sighed.
"I told you, I was Al's tutor," he said patiently. Alex stared at him.
"Who are you?" Alex whispered. "Are you—Mum said you were Mr. Munson, which is silly, because I know what he looks like—"
"And you know that wizards can change their appearance," Petrovsky said.
"For fifteen years?"
Petrovsky shrugged. "I was always handy with potions, and Polyjuice Potion isn't very difficult to brew, especially if you've done it for fifteen years. Let's say that there's an old man in the neighborhood town who had a twin for fifteen years without knowing."
"So I just worked for you that summer before fifth year—"
"Your Mum thought it would be a good idea," Petrovsky, or Mr. Munson, the local drug store owner, whoever it was, said calmly. "She was going away for Order missions more and more often, and she wanted me to keep an eye on you."
Alex stared at the face that should've been familiar. "So you just happened to live in the same small town that I lived in—"
"Happened? No." A strange glint came to Petrovsky's eyes. "No. It was never a coincidence." A silence settled between them.
"Who are you?" Alex repeated. Petrovsky sighed again.
"It is a very, very long story," he said. "And tonight's not the best night to tell it."
"You knew my father."
"When your grandparents came to England, I accompanied them. I was supposed to look after their well-being. And when Altair was born, his education. His parents died when he was still in school—" he paused, looking worriedly at Alex. "So I was his guardian for a while. And—well, when he joined the Death Eaters and disappeared, I decided that I'd keep an eye on your mother. And later, you." Petrovsky looked at her expectantly, as if she would be instantly convinced by this summary. Alex tried not to let her helplessness show.
"I see," she said unhelpfully. Petrovsky sighed. Alex was beginning to get a sense that Petrovsky sighed often.
"I also come from a long line of Darkhiders," Petrovsky murmured quietly. "It's been a long time since I've been at Elsinore, but—again, that is a story for another time. What matters is—well, your mother knew of who I was, and she didn't want you to be involved in any of—the Wymond family business. Which was understandable, considering—all the things that Altair did." Again he looked at her expectantly.
"You want to teach me to become a Darkhider?" Alex said slowly. Petrovsky shook his head.
"No, no, Darkhider is just a title given to initiates who finished the final test," Petrovsky said. "But—in a word, yes."
"To bring me closer to my father," Alex said.
"No," Petrovsky said resolutely.
"Then—"
"When your mother didn't come back during the summer, I asked Dumbledore if there was a way I could stay near Hogwarts. He offered me the position to teach Defense. But the education at Hogwarts is—insufficient. To survive." Alex regarded him skeptically.
"You don't have to come with me," Petrovsky said. "And if you want to continue to go to Hogwarts, that would be fine as well. But if you want another kind of education, away from everyone for a while… I just want you to know that you have this option." Alex nodded mutely.
"Let me know what you think," Petrovsky said, rising to go. Alex stood up with him, strangely wishing that he wouldn't go and leave her alone in this grand, shining, cold mansion.
"Where will you be?" Alex asked.
"Hogwarts, for now," Petrovsky said. "I still have a job, it seems." Alex nodded again.
"Is Petrovsky your real name?" Alex asked. Petrovsky smiled for the first time. Alex tried to hide her surprise—he looked so… young. But he'd known her grandparents.
"Petrose. Ilya Danillovich Petrose. I suppose you might call me Petrose. That's what Wymond women usually called us, anyway. When we're not at Hogwarts, that is."
"Alright," Alex said awkwardly. Petrose turned to go.
"Um, Petrose?" Petrose looked inquisitively at her.
"Thank you," Alex said shyly. Petrose buried his head in his chest, as if the compliment embarrassed him.
"I'll see you soon, Wilson," he said brusquely and left without another word. Alex watched him go, wondering.
"Who was that, Alex?" Clara came, breaking Alex from her reverie. Alex turned.
"He's one of my professors at Hogwarts," Alex said. "He knew… my mum, I think."
Clara nodded. "It was nice of him to come. And leave these flowers!" She picked up the flowers that Petrose had left on the bench besides Alex without her noticing. Alex smoothed out the small petals whose color reminded her of her golden shield.
"Yes," she said. "I think he is a nice man."
Alex decided to leave the Wilson Manor two days after the funeral. Augustus Wilson, despite her quietness, seemed determined to dislike everything that she did to the point that Clara Wilson herself was left to wonder what was happening in her husband's mind ("he's not this stubborn usually," she confided in Alex as consolation, leaving a chocolate bar on her desk), and, moreover Alex grew restless not doing anything. Those who came to visit her told her to take her time to grieve, but all Alex could do by herself was nothing but to restlessly pace, wishing for something that would take her mind off taking her time to grieve. Leila's letters containing assignments from different classes were a nice distraction, but they were difficult to do without attending her classes.
"Write us often," Clara Wilson said. "I've read every one of your letters to your grandfather, you know. Even though he doesn't let it show."
"I will," Alex said.
"And you know you're welcome to join us for Christmas, don't you? Just give us the word—"
"I think she gets the point, Mother," Charles Wilson, Alex's uncle that she'd seen more than five years ago, abruptly ended the conversation. "Good luck, Alexandra," he said stiffly. "I've told Ben what'd happened, and he'd more than gladly help you if you need help with any of the assignments—that is, he has to study for the N.E.W.T.s, but—"
"Nonsense, Charles," Clara Wilson scolded him. "Alex is a very smart student—she got nine O.W.L.s!"
"Nine, huh?" Charles Wilson said, squinting at her. "I see."
"Charles always felt like he had to compete with Sophie," Clara Wilson whispered to her when no one else was looking. "Don't let him pit Ben against you, although my bet's on you, my dear." Alex couldn't help but grin at this.
"Thanks, Grandma," she said, hugging the old woman briefly. "I'll write soon." Augustus Wilson was not present for the farewell. Alex grabbed a handful of floo powder, and, seconds later, was looking out from MacGonagall's fireplace.
"Welcome, Miss Wilson," MacGonagall said from her desk. "I believe that most of the castle is currently at dinner."
"Yes, Professor," Alex said, trying not to brush off ash onto the carpet.
The way down toward the dungeons was—exactly the same. The same bright light came from the Great Hall, and students were chatting, laughing, giggling in the exact same way Alex remembered. But nothing felt like how it used to be.
Leila was lying on her stomach, going through a broom catalogue. She looked up when Alex entered the room, looking surprised.
"You're back!" she yelled. "So early?"
Alex tried to smile. "I thought it might be better," she said. Leila nodded hesitantly.
"How are you feeling?" she asked. Alex sank to her bed, looking around the room that'd been her home for the past five years. It'd been less than a week, but she felt as though she'd been away a lifetime.
"I don't know," Alex replied. "I think I'm supposed to cry more, or something like that. Everyone's telling me to take time to grieve, but—I don't even know what I feel." Leila sighed.
"Look, I know that this is horrible timing," she said. "But Slughorn asked me to temporarily step in as the sixth-year Prefect while you were away, and I was scheduled to patrol tonight. I can still do it," she added hastily when she saw Alex's face, "but Regulus is the other prefect on duty, and—I thought maybe you'd like to talk to him."
Alex turned the lapis lunae pendant that Regulus gave to her in fourth year in her hands, feeling its cool, smooth surface. She'd purposefully avoided thinking about Regulus in the past week, knowing that whatever answer she had about him—he was a question now, a problem in her life that she needed to solve—would not be pleasant. Alex feared that she already knew the answer, but just didn't want to admit it—but was it out of habit, or fear? Or was it guilt?
"Yeah," Alex said dully. "I guess I should talk to him, huh?"
"Alex, about your Mum—" Leila paused, carefully looking at her face. "There's just a rumor, y'know that… that she was killed by Death Eaters."
Alex's silence was enough of an answer. Leila whistled lowly.
"And Regulus Black is—"
"Yeah," Alex confirmed, not wanting to hear the full question. "He joined last summer."
"Bloody hell." Alex laughed, but it was full of irony.
"Sounds about right."
"Alex, I don't know everything about you two, but—" Leila sighed again. "If there's one thing I learned in the past sixteen years about the opposite sex, it's this: boys who don't treat you well don't deserve you."
Alex smiled humorlessly. "You don't think runaway older brother and psychologically unstable parents plus tradition and fortune won't bend that rule a little?"
"All the reasons why you should keep to the rule," Leila said resolutely. "If you start making excuses for them—when's that going to stop?" Alex rubbed her face in fatigue.
"I'll think about it," she muttered, standing up. "I have prefect duties, it seems."
Regulus was already waiting for her by the entrance to the dungeons.
"Alex," he said, looking surprised. "I didn't know you'd be back so soon." He seemed to want to say more but decid against it. Alex shrugged.
"Let's get this over with," she muttered, taking out the map of the castle again.
It was one of the busier nights, but somehow, for Alex, the easiest patrol she'd done. As the students were about to protest—about the contrabands, about being out after hours—they took one look at Alex's face and even the people who didn't know what happened to her mother saw something in her expression that shut them up. For once, Alex couldn't bring herself to care enough about how other people saw her position. Even Regulus stayed a little behind, looking… cautious. This irritated her.
"Out with it, then," she snapped, her patience wearing thin by the time they reached the sixth floor. "What is it?"
Regulus shuffled his feet and stared at the ground. "I'm sorry for your loss," he murmured.
"Are you?" Alex muttered into air. Regulus looked up, his face angry.
"How could you say that?" he asked. "Of course I'm sorry that you lost your mother. You're in pain."
"You didn't like her to start with," Alex said. Her words sounded so foreign to her, as if she wasn't even speaking—and why was she trying to pick a fight with Reg anyway? Didn't she just want to have a conversation with him? See if—what did she want to see, anyway?
If he would be on her side. On everything.
"That's not even relevant," Regulus snapped. Alex leaned against the wall, suddenly very, very tired.
"Tell me something," she said. "Were you there? At Hogsmeade? Did I see you?"
Regulus' whole body grew stony but he didn't say anything.
"Tell me," Alex repeated, her voice weak.
"Yes," Regulus barely croaked.
"Yes, what?" Alex said. "That you were there? As a—behind the mask? Or that I saw you?"
"Yes to all," Regulus said with some more force.
"So you just—you just stood there and watched—"
"We didn't know what Warner was going to do," Regulus said, knotting his fingers in his hair in frustration. "That bloody, shifty—"
"Warner?" Alex repeated. "He's my father. Do you know him?" Regulus' face fell and he looked helplessly back at her in all his pale dread.
"You knew about my father the entire time?" Alex whispered. Regulus shook his head.
"Yes. No. Yes. No." He was looking desperately into her face for any signs of softness. "I met him last winter—"
"Last winter?"
"I recognized him from one of the photographs you showed me of him, and I was told that his name was Warner, and he was the Recruiter for the Dark Lord—" Regulus looked around. "Can we take this somewhere else?"
Alex's eyes blazed dangerously. "Talk. Now," she growled. Regulus sighed.
"I didn't know how to bring it up without talking too much about serving the Dark Lord," he mumbled. "And then I found out that my parents had been cooperating with him longer than I knew—" Again he looked desperately at Alex. For once, she didn't feel being merciful.
"What?"
"Father built prison cells underneath the house," Regulus whispered quietly. "Your mum was held there."
For a moment Alex couldn't hear anything, felt like she couldn't see anything. Only her breathing helped her retain her awareness; the painful expansion of her chest told her that she was still alive.
"For how long?" she managed. Regulus wasn't looking at her anymore.
"Long enough," he muttered.
"So you knew who my father was and where my mother was, while I knew neither," Alex spit sarcastically. Regulus bit his lips and looked away.
"SAY SOMETHING!" Alex yelled. "Why don't you bloody try to make an excuse, or apologize, or—"
"Apologize for what, exactly?" Regulus' eyes glinted harshly in the dimmed castle. "That I kept family business within the family?"
"Then exactly what do I mean to you?" Alex wavered. Regulus, on the other hand, seemed to grow steelier.
"You're the only piece of the puzzle that doesn't fit anywhere," he said lowly. Alex swallowed back emerging hot tears and took a shuddering breath.
"It's clear that I wasted my time," she said, trying to hide the hurt that threatened to rupture into her voice. "I thought—yeah, I thought that you knew how precious my mother was to me. My only family. I thought you wanted to be with me and plan our lives together." This seemed to rattle Regulus, who began to pace in the corridor
"Stop jumping to conclusions about—we can still plan a life together, can't we?" Regulus said, a strange light shining from his eyes. For the first time in her life, Alex didn't trust the expression in his face anymore. "You can be with me—"
"But you won't be with me, not for your own life," Alex said, coolly. "Because there's no way that you'd choose anything else than being a Death Eater for me. Even when it means—"
"Don't—"
"Even when it means that my Mum will die, and she was kept right under your house for the entire summer, no, the great Regulus Black will still do what he has to do for his family, and I will just have to do what you need me to do for you—"
"Will you stop making me out to be the bad person here—"
"Oh, I'm sorry, maybe I wasn't making myself clear," Alex shouted. "I'm saying that you're an absolutely horrible, the most disgusting person that I've ever had the misfortune of meeting." Regulus froze in his spot.
"We've had five years together, Alex," he said quietly. "Do they mean nothing to you?"
"Exactly, Regulus," Alex shot back. "Did the past five years mean nothing to you?" Slowly, Regulus straightened.
"I thought you cared for me," he said stiffly. Alex looked away.
"I do," she said. "Do you?"
Regulus didn't say anything. Alex looked at his face, the face that she'd seen thousand times before, always with wistfulness, affection, gladness—but his handsome face seemed cold now, and impossibly distant.
"I don't think this is going to work," Alex finally said. Regulus nodded in the same stiff, formal manner.
"If that's what you want." No, Alex wanted to scream at him. That's not what I want. I want you to hold on to me and tell me that we can try to make this work. But judging from how his eyes had closed her off from him, she knew that nothing like that was going to happen.
"Fine," she said spitefully instead, even though—she was the first one to say it, wasn't she? She clumsily took off the necklace he'd given her, holding it out to him. He stared at it numbly, as though he did not expect that particular turn of events.
"You can keep it," he said.
"I don't want it."
"I don't need it."
"It's family heirloom," Alex bit out. "I'm never going to need it." He was searching her face and then, without an argument, he took the necklace, shoulders slumping.
"I'll see you around," he muttered, and, without waiting for an answer, he turned away and went toward the direction that they were supposed to go patrolling. Alex stared after him, uncomprehending for a moment. Did they just—break up?
She started toward the dungeons, mindlessly taking in the scenes around the castle. That was the staircase that she and Regulus took when they needed to rush to Charms. That was the suit of armor that they once hid behind as they tried to prank his brother in their second year—how awfully that'd gone. That was the classroom that Regulus once pulled her into during the early stage of their "relationship," where every glance still felt new and hopeful. That was the window from which she sometimes watched him practice Quidditch, and that was the main corridor, and that was—the entire castle, filled with nothing but memories of the things that they shared, and it seemed that her life at Hogwarts was made up of nothing but moments she shared with him, even thought that couldn't be true. Her lungs felt heavy, and it grew increasingly difficult to breath, like every breath she took could barely keep her floating. Her feet led her, but she wasn't sure exactly where she was going until she knocked on the door.
Petrose opened the door, looking a little surprised and worried.
"Alex," he said. "Is there something wrong?"
Alex panted—had she been running? "Tell me about my family," she said. "Tell me everything."
A/N: Thanks to all those who reviewed/followed/favourited! I always enjoy hearing from you :")