The rock beneath her fingers felt unforgiving and far too smooth for security, but Alex gripped the minuscule bump, planting her fingertips in the tiny holes that she couldn't find—more often her fingers would dig some sort of a hold into the surface. A sting of pain that she had become far too accustomed to greeted her hands, but Alex slowly pulled herself up, feeling her shoulder muscles tense to support her weight. Her hair was already matted with sweat and grime, sticking too obstinately to her face that she couldn't even bother blowing it away. It had been long past since she cared about her clothing, as long as it served to protect her from the worst natural elements. She put her left feet on a new supporting niche, testing its steadiness. It gave to her weight and Alex closed her eyes briefly as she heard the pebbles roll off the cliff, creating some cheerful medley inviting her to join them on their descent. Her grip tightened. Almost there.
The past several months were spent in various locations around—well, Alex assumed that they were still in Europe, although she wouldn't be surprised if they had crossed the Ural Mountains into Asia—running and hiking mostly, although occasionally—and more frequently—they came across obstacles where Alex had no choice but to face head-on, whether a cliff or a tribe of banshees or whatever the nature fancied, while Petrose observed from Merlin knew where, having already arrived at the next stop before her. She breathed in deeply. At least the air was clear and fresh to invigorate her. There was not much to rely on; even the sun and the moon seemed bent on tricking her. It had been long since she had lost a track of time.
"Took you long enough," she heard Petros comment when her fingers finally grasped something flat and sturdy. Alex glared into the stony surface in front of her but chose not to answer back, instead using up her energy to pull herself up. Her upper body now supported on the flat top, she slumped to the ground and let her legs dangle midair.
"I do believe that I'm getting stronger," she gasped into the ground.
"You're better than when you first started," Petrose conceded. "But you were dismal back then." Sometimes Alex wondered if the spirit of McGonagall was shared between a few select individuals who delighted in tormenting their students.
"What lies ahead?" Alex grunted, now pulling up her legs.
Petros checked his compass. "Northward," he concluded. "There's a cave behind a waterfall. The valley leading up to the location is especially beautiful, or so I seem to remember."
"Which we'll have to climb," Alex muttered.
"No," Petrose answered lightly, sounding almost amused. "Which you'll have to climb."
Stifling a groan, Alex stood up, her legs shakily managing to support her.
"Grasshopper," Petrose said, and Alex gritted her teeth. She'll be damned.
Their first stop, to Alex's surprise, was her home in Devon. Alex stepped off the Knight Bus, dragging her Hogwarts suitcase behind her, feeling hollow. She had not breathed in the autumn night air of her home for the past five years, and it seemed as though she'd forgotten. Petrose stepped off the bus behind her, carrying a duffel bag of his possessions—it seemed that there were few things that he kept in his possession.
"We need to pack," Petrose said.
"What are we packing for, exactly?" Petrose looked thoughtfully at his notebook.
"All sorts of weather," he said. "Don't pack too heavy, though, we won't be using magic to carry it. Come to the store when you're done." Alex nodded, setting off toward the direction of her house without understanding what was exactly happening. Just a few hours ago she'd given notified Slughorn her intention to take an indefinite break from Hogwarts, packed everything in her room, walked with Petrose all the way to Hogsmeade in order to take the Knight Bus, not knowing what it was that Petrose promised or had in mind for her. He'd said very little during the ride or before.
Her house looked unkempt. Overdue mail was stuffed into the mailbox (but it seemed that Petrose had in fact took the mail out periodically until summer), and cans and bottles thrown onto the porch had collected with dirt and browning tree leaves in the corners. Alex took out the key that she hadn't used in almost a year and opened the door, feeling the dusty air gush through the hallway.
The house looked exactly the way that she'd left it.
Christmas decorations were still on the stairwell, the ones that her Mum and she'd put up angrily—they'd been fighting. About Regulus. Who, apparently, didn't care about her at all. The reality of what'd happened in the past few days began to sink and Alex sunk to the ground and curled up into a ball, feeling like a five-year-old waiting for her mother to come home. She remembered the days before she knew about magic and wizards, when the biggest worry she had was being bullied by her schoolmates for being "odd" and they would have dinner every day together at the table, her wondering if there will be chocolate cake for desert. It felt like yesterday, and she would never have that moment again.
Someone sat beside her and offered her a handful of tissues. Alex looked up, her vision blurry. She'd been crying.
"It's been over an hour," Petrose said. "I thought something happened."
Alex wiped her nose with the end of her sleeve. "I'm sorry. I lost track of time." Her voice was thick. Petrose sighed and took something out of his pocket.
"Chocolate?" Alex couldn't help but laugh a little.
"I'm not a kid," she said. Petrose grinned.
"I thought you liked them two years ago," he said, peeling the wrapper off and handing her a broken piece. Alex remembered how that summer Petrose had slipped in a few Mars bars into her bag for her trip to Hogwarts.
"Why did you own a drug store, anyway?" Alex asked. "It's not—well, it's not what you trained to do, is it?"
Petrose shrugged. "Everyone in town comes to the drug store," he replied. "It's the best way to keep an eye on people."
Alex shrunk into the wall. "Oh." She tried to discreetly wipe the tears from her eyes.
"You didn't tell me where we were going," she eventually said. "It's hard to pack when you don't know."
"We're taking the wanderweg," he said as if that explained everything.
"I'm sorry?"
"Wanderweg, it's—a route that every initiate takes as part of their final exam in order to be branded as a Darkhider. Usually an initiate starts at the school entrance and ends up somewhere in Central Asia—it's a little different for everyone depending on the season and what everyone is like. Some have gone as far as Vladivostok."
"So you just—go for a hike?"
"Well, you are expected to survive on minimal assistance," Petrose said drily. "Some wizards still do it and write—what are they, travelogues? Encounters with zombies, vampires." He rolled his eyes. "It's not that glamorous, but it is practical experience on Defense and basic survival skills. Not everyone ends up finishing it."
"I don't really think I'm ready to take the final exam to be a Darkhider."
"Well, it won't be a proper examination. We're not going to follow every rule about the initiation. We'll just take the same route and make some stops along the way."
Alex blew her nose violently into the tissues. "Pack for everything," she said, standing up unsteadily. "This might take a bit."
"It's getting late," he said. "I thought we might set off tonight, but maybe tomorrow morning will be better. I'll come by at dawn." Alex looked around the house. Spending the night here seemed like a horrible idea.
"Could I stay with you?" she blurted out. Petrose' face looked unfathomable in the moonlight.
"If it's not too much trouble, that is." She added quickly. Petrose nodded.
Petrose' house above the convenience store had a collection of magical weaponry that would've put most residents of her town running out the front door. Petrose kept her from approaching any of them too closely, saying that she wasn't ready. Instead, he'd passed her a wooden stick, which Alex currently held in her hands.
The shock rattled her arm but she tightened the grip instead, knowing that letting go would mean worse in the long run. Observe, anticipate, and react, she told herself the mantra that Petrose had drilled into her. Unfortunately, the theory did not always interpret well into practice.
It was foggy in the valley, and the chill of the morning, compounded with hunger, made her legs wobble. Enchanted dolls were dancing around her—or so she presumed, except that she could not see anything that was not three feet or closer to her—armed with swords, and, from what Alex could gather, a boomerang?
A flash of light followed a spell that Alex couldn't tell—but it hardly mattered if she could discern what is was or not. She swung the stick, holding it like a shield, and deflected it.
"STOP REACTING AND START ANTICIPATING!" Petrose yelled. Alex paused and breathed in slowly. She was too tense to actually observe anything. She breathed in again, paying attention to the flow of air around her. A sound behind her, followed by something in front of her. Her sides were empty, or so it seemed. But the buzzing grew louder, and it sounded like she was surrounded at all sides. Alex swore. She reached in to the vest and drew out a dagger discreetly, feeling its worn handle give weight to her hand. Alex closed her eyes. The buzz grew faint and loud, at one side and the other the next, and Alex felt her lips compress thinly. Carefully, she took an aim and threw.
The buzzing stopped. Alex breathed out a sigh of relief. Then, she felt something whizz next her ear.
Apparently, the boomerang was still intact.
Knowing that it would come back, Alex listened to the sound of the weapon, grimacing as it drew closer and closer. To locate the attacker she would need to follow the weapon, and it wouldn't be easy. She jumped, and when the boomerang whooshed past her, she ran after its direction. Finally, she stumbled against something.
"Wha—"
An inanimate doll made of haystack lay on the ground tangled with her feet and Alex kicked it aside, only to feel the hay tighten around her ankles.
"Drop your weapon," she heard Petrose's voice behind her. A sharp tip pressed against her neck and Alex knew it was his own stick.
Alex slashed wildly at the doll beneath her, sending bits and pieces of the material at Petrose's direction. He waved his free hand in front of his face to shield his vision from the attack. Their eyes met.
They raised their weapons at the same time. Alex charged more quickly, but Petrose was stronger. He brought it upon her own, and Alex felt the shock shake her arm. With their weapons locked, Petrose took one foot and kicked at her stomach. Alex drew back, and, as Petrose's stick momentarily slipped as she drew backward, Alex slashed at his shoulder. It made a hit.
"Look at that," Alex said, a little dazed. "An actual hit."
"Yes," Petrose said, nodding. "Still a lot to do."
Petrose explained to her that Muggle action movies and wizard dueling had some things in common—both required reflex skills, which came from reacting to opponent's movements. She remembered hearing something similar from somewhere else—perhaps it was an article on dueling on the Daily Prophet—but wanted to argue that fighting like a Muggle was much more taxing on the body. Her palms were covered with blisters and calluses from hours of training with a wooden stick and daggers (to improve her dismal aim, Petrose said). Actual spells, Petrose didn't teach her much, but evenings were spent going over theoretical spell and potionwork by herself (Petrose somehow managed to fit all her textbooks into the bulky knapsack on her back) so that she was still learning things other than fighting. Mornings and afternoons were spent hiking the wanderweg. And foraging for food, as well, for sometimes they went on for weeks without encountering a Muggle village.
Breakfast was oatmeal mixed with something… far earthier.
"How long has it been—five, six months?" Alex asked.
Petrose remained silent for a while, stirring the pot.
"It's just past Easter," Petrose said. "A little more than five months."
"Five months," Alex wondered. "Where are we, by the way?"
"Somewhere near Georgia," Petrose said. "The boundaries are always changing, so who knows?"
"That's pretty impressive, isn't it?" Alex said, good-humoredly smiling at him. Petrose shook his head amusedly.
"Considering that my own nephew completed my exam in four months—that means going all the way and coming back—I'd say you have a long way to go," he replied. Alex rolled her eyes.
"You mentioned your nephew once," she said. "Wasn't he with you for a summer?"
"Yes," Petrose said, and his tone made it clear that that was all he had to say on the matter. Alex leaned against the tree trunk, unsure, for the thousandth time, just exactly how much she knew about Petrose, even though he seemed to have known her for her entire life.
So it was already spring…
Leila Parkinson's train ride ruined any joy she'd felt during Easter break.
Fred had come to visit, and they decided to spend some time together in one of the family's country cottages, which elicited some raised eyebrows from the parents, but Leila argued that she'd studied hard all semester (what she studied, she didn't bother to mention) and that she could use a serious break. So they spent a week in Kent, seven glorious, gentle days…
As she slowly made the way to the Slytherin carriage, wondering if she could justify sitting in an empty compartment instead (the Slytherins tended to notice these things), someone burst forth from the bathroom and rammed into her.
"Watch it," she snapped, only to see that the bitch who knocked into her was Rebecca Goyle with a stupid beam on her face. Her hair was messed up and her robes were barely put on. Leila raised her eyebrow as Rebecca wiped the corner of her lips where the lipstick smudged.
"Hi," Rebecca giggled, looking back at the bathroom door.
Leila didn't know what she felt for her former friend anymore. Sometimes she imagined that she could almost tolerate being in the same room with her. Rebecca didn't have any life ambitions other than to look pretty and meet a handsome, rich husband. That was a sad kind of a life, even by Leila's standards. And Rebecca certainly didn't know any better. But on the other hand, she was malicious, put people down for no good reasons, and, most importantly, had no consideration for other people's feelings, shagging Rosier even though she knew Leila had feelings for him, being completely senseless of everything other than herself.
"That way," Leila said archly, pointing at the Slytherin compartment.
Something in Leila's tone caught Rebecca's ear. "Hey," she said, narrowing her eyes. "You don't have the right to judge me. Just because you're engaged and straight and narrow now, doesn't mean everyone doesn't remember how you were last year—"
"Never mind," Leila snapped. "Do whatever you want." Rebecca wobbled as the train turned around a curve and, seeming rather inebriated, fumbled her way toward the compartment. Sighing, Leila decided to follow her when the bathroom door opened for the second time.
"Parkinson," Black muttered, straightening his robes. Leila scrutinized his face. He looked as pale as ever, and his cheekbones had been getting prominent as he sprouted a foot over last year (to the delight of the Slytherin girls—and some of the Ravenclaws, it seemed). His hair was immaculately brushed back, a style that he'd adopted sometime after—after Alex left. With his dark hair and pale skin, he looked like the Muggle character Dracula, the very opposite of his brother Sirius—who let his slightly long hair blow wildly in the wind, energetic, bouncy. As Black made a move to pass him by, Leila caught a smell of cologne and something else.
"Oi," she said. "Prefects are not allowed possession of banned substances." Black raised one elegant eyebrow.
"I beg your pardon?"
"Don't give me that crap," Leila snapped. "I know the smell of Zonko's special products as well as you do. Though, if I'm being honest, it smells stronger than Zonko's stuff." Leila's eyes widened. "Blimey, do you have an actual dealer, or something?"
"Piss off," Black said irritably, trying to move past her again. Leila grabbed his left arm and he hissed—in pain or in warning, Leila couldn't tell.
"Don't stick your large nose into other people's business, Parkinson," Black growled.
"Normally, I would be more than happy to watch your—barely contained debauchery. But we both know that this isn't about you wanting to have a pint or a shag—"
"No?" Black's eyes gleamed dangerously. "How would you know that?"
Now Leila's frustration was getting the better of her. "Because, Merlin help me, I thought that, compared to rest of the blokes in our year, that yeah, maybe you were half-decent."
"Jealous, Parkinson?" Black drawled. "You know that I would consider you, if you want."
"Shut up," Leila said forcefully. "Stop trying to be something you're not. It's not working."
"Desperate suits you, Parkinson," Black taunted.
"Bloody hell," Leila muttered. "Don't you know that, for some deranged reason, Alex loved you? This—" Leila waved her arm frantically in front of her—"wasn't the person she fell in love with. Is this what you are when she's gone? Shagging random girls every night?"
The gleam in Black's eye began to burn. "You don't know what you're talking about," he said lowly. "So shut your mouth, Parkinson, before I shut it for you."
"Fine," Leila said, holding up her hands in surrender. "Fine. Have it your way. But I'd be careful about where I pop my pills, if I were you. You have a reputation to uphold."
"Don't remind me," Black muttered, leaning against the wall in apparent nausea. Served him right.
"Parkinson?" Black said at the last minute. Leila turned back, annoyed.
"What?"
For a long while Leila thought Black wasn't going to say anything. "Have you heard anything from her?" His face was void of all emotion.
"No," she lied, feeling the envelope in the inner lining of her robes. "No, she hasn't written anything."
Lying on her back, Alex looked at the full moon and concentrated. A flicker of gold shimmered in front of her before disappearing feebly. Her hands sank to the ground, frustrated.
"You've been at that for a while now," Petrose remarked from somewhere in the darkness.
"Yeah," Alex said. "Dunno why. Hasn't worked so far, anyway."
"It's worked for you before?"
"You know what it is?"
Alex could hear Petrose shifting in his place. "It's a famous thing."
"Famous?"
"The Wymond family has been there as long as written records themselves. Some say that the reason why the first head of the family rose to prominence was due to a special ability… a golden shield. Capable of protecting anything and anyone."
"So everyone in my family had it, then?"
"No—not everyone."
"My grandmother?"
"Yes, she could produce it," he said quietly.
"I don't suppose she left a manual on how to use it," Alex said, rolling in her place to get more comfortable. "It came to me once before, but that was—purely self-defense, I think."
"She didn't say anything," Petrose answered, and Alex thought that was all he was going to say. She was almost asleep from tiredness when she heard him say something faintly like:
"But it was incandescent."
Spans of land stretched before them, gently rolling hills teasing their feet before subsiding into a flat terrain. Alex looked around, feeling refreshed for the first time in a while. The sun was set low in the sky, gently warming her skin. The wind blew slowly through her hair. When they arrived at the campsite it was evening, but the scenery was still beautiful.
"What would be the most basic defenses?" Petrose said, circling around the campsite.
"It's in the open field, so staying out of sight is impossible. Creating a fortress near the river—or, if possible, in the middle of it—would be the best. Controlling the waterway would be crucial."
"And when there aren't any rivers?"
Alex considered. "The hills," she decided. "The enemy would try to gain a vantage point by encamping on one of the hills. Either build on the highest hill there is, or-"
"Or?" Petrose said, raising his eyebrow. "What would be the or?"
"Build under that highest hill," Alex said. "Beneath the ground. They would never know what's coming."
"Underground fortresses have existed before," Petrose said. "They are usually effective, especially when the enemy does not know the exact location of the fortress. The tricky thing about them is that once surrounded, it is almost impossible to escape."
"What about underground tunnels that lead to other places?"
"Not bad, but not always cost effective, either," Petrose said.
"Then I suggest to everyone that we find a different location."
Petrose chuckled. "The highest hill will do for now," he said. "Tonight, we'll stay here."
Quickly, efficiently, the only way it is possible when it is out of habit, Alex set up a makeshift campsite with a fireplace and two blankets that would serve as beds. She took the cauldron to run to the nearest stream; when she came back, the sun had already set and Petrose had lit the fire. She set down the cauldron full of water, feeling her arms give way.
"Petrose?" Alex said after a cup of tea. Not much could be had, even with the items they had secured from the nearby village. Petrose grunted in response.
"The stars," Alex said. "It seems that it is already autumn."
It was a while before she received any recognition that Petrose heard her speculation. "So it seems," he answered. She hesitated, wondering what would be the best way to broach the subject.
"Today I woke up for the first time not thinking about my Mum or—or Black. It was odd, because most of the time I've been thinking about how everything was my fault, and that Mum might still be alive if it hadn't been for me, but—I had a feeling that Mum would be happy about it. That I didn't think about it instantly." Petrose didn't say anything, so she continued uncertainly.
"I know that I still have a lot to learn, but there's a war going on in England." The statement sounded ridiculous in the peaceful meadow with the heaven etched onto the sky, and Alex paused. "I've been away for—almost ten months? I can't stay outside of it forever."
Petrose still didn't say anything, and they stayed in silence for so long that Alex felt her resolve slipping from her grasp; it had been a long day, and she was tired.
"You wish to fight in the war?" Petrose asked suddenly. Alex paused.
"Yes," she said. "I wasn't sure, but—I am now. My mother gave up her life trying to create a better place, and I can't think of another way to honor her."
"By staying away," Petrose said. "Your mother wouldn't have objected to that."
"She stayed away because of me, because she wanted to keep me safe, so that I could grow up in peace." Alex stared glumly at the fire. "I don't think that's a possibility anymore, but maybe it still is for those who aren't born yet."
Petrose sighed. "It's a noble cause," he said. "But noble causes are also often meaningless. Your mother had you, specifically. She wanted to protect you. Don't throw away your life for some ungraspable thing just because you can't escape the cycle of violence."
Alex started. How did he know?
"I can't let it go," she whispered. "People responsible for her death. I just can't let them go."
"Revenge can't absolve you from guilt," Petrose said softly. "It'll only consume you faster."
"Either way I'm doomed, aren't I?" Alex laughed humorlessly. Petrose looked thoughtfully at her.
"Do you know why your grandfather fled to England?"
"Fled?"
"I told you that the legend of the Conservato was real. I haven't been completely forthcoming—it is real, still is. Its last headquarter was in Poland, where the Darkhiders had resided since the 12th century.
"In the deep forest," Petrose continued. "There lies a secret fortress, which every Darkhider can find. When Grindelwald attacked the ancient school, we evacuated the entire castle, beginning with the youngest and a few masters. It was nothing new—we have been under attack before, have lost our families before. But—Grindelwald was relentless. He saw us as the greatest threat to his power, and was determined to exterminate the entire community." Petrose chuckled dryly. "An ambitious plan, even for Grindelwald. But that does not mean we did not suffer casualties. Hundreds of Darkhiders, mostly elders trying to protect the young, were injured or killed. Captured and tortured for secrets. Safely our future was stored in the secret fortress…
"I was nineteen at the time.
"I was in the final year of my schooling—top of my class. Hardly an adult, but…" Here came the humorless chuckle. "I knew what I could do, what I was capable of. A Petrose, a young male at that, destined to continue the great legacy the family name entailed. When Grindelwald came, I was ready to fight. I told my teachers so—that I wanted to protect the castle with the rest of them. Instead, they told me to go to England with a family. A family that every Darkhider knew of, looked up to—the Wymonds.
The Wymonds first came to prominence when Scorpio was confronted with a decision thousands of years ago—to take a side in a battle that they did not wish to continue. The faction was divided; some wanted to fight with the Libra, others with Gemini. The head of the Wymond family at the time—we don't know much of her except that her name was Zorza—saw this division as the biggest danger to their collective safety and built a secret castle where the members of the Scorpio could safely live until both sides saw the foolishness of the endeavor and stopped fighting. Its name was Elsinore.
In secrecy, the Scorpio tried to build a safe community in which every member could live in peace. But as I have already said, there were those who wanted to join the war effort. This faction was led by a Petrose—we know him as Lech. He attempted to revolt against Zorza's authority. Well, I'll say one thing—the Petrose have a certain… proclivity for making impossible bets and direly suffering the consequences. In any case, they lost. Lech was ready to meet his death by execution, but Zorza needed all the support she could get, and Lech was one of the best soldiers in the world. She made him the commander-in-chief instead, and, in exchange for saving his life, he was to promise her unconditional loyalty. Thus began a unique relationship between the Wymond and Petrose families.
We both know how the war between the Libra and Gemini went. They were ready to fight each other to death. Zorza was too old by this time to do anything about this, so she conferred her leadership to her daughter Danica, who, with Lech—he had been quite young when he first led the rebellion, and was then a middle-aged soldier—cast a Confundus charm upon the battlefield."
"What?" Alex said, disbelieving.
"The Wymonds have a special power—a power that led to their ascension in the first place, I suppose. We don't know where it comes from; I once heard Polaris—your grandmother, now—say that it is just another specialized form of magic. Probably, but it's a form that is passed down through generations, which does not often happen with magical powers. You know what it is." Here Petrose opened his eyes and stared straight ahead into the night sky.
"My shield," Alex said, almost reluctantly. Petrose nodded and closed his eyes again.
"A shield so impermeable, that it can contain both physical space and magical spells—so strong, that even the sharpest knife can't cut through it. Wymond's golden shield. You can imagine the value the Darkhiders see in it. A band of members from Scorpio secretly snuck to the battlefield at night when everyone was sleeping, and cast a massive Confundus charm contained by the shield on everyone there. The next morning all of them woke up and went their own merry ways—or so the story goes. That is why there are witches and wizards across the world.
When Grindelwald attacked, the head of the Wymond house was a young woman—your grandmother. She had recently married an older soldier whom her parents had favored when they were still alive. She wanted to stay in Elsinore and fight alongside her family and friends, but the masters rejected the idea. The Wymond line had to continue. But instead of going with others to the secret fortress, Polaris decided to contact one man in Europe who seemed intent on standing against Grindelwald—Albus Dumbledore.
You know him better than I do, and although I'm not certain as to his abilities as a soldier, he managed to keep the young couple safe. I accompanied them on their travel from Elsinore to England, because I was the youngest in the Petrose line, because I was obligated to serve the newest Wymond heir, and because, I think, deep down, the masters knew that I wasn't ready and couldn't afford to lose me. Soon after, Polaris had her first and only child—Altair Wymond. I looked after his training until he went to Hogwarts.
I suppose I should tell you that the Wymond line is primarily matriarchal. I'm not sure how it started, but I think they've just had more daughters than sons and there was the example of Zorza giving the command to her daughter. There were certainly male heirs to the line. Altair Wymond, for example. But it didn't happen often. The Petrose family, on the other hand, is patriarchal. From Lech to my father, who was the only son between my parents. I was expected to become the next head should my father die."
"But you didn't," Alex blurted out, instantly regretting it.
Petrose raised his eyebrows. "Why would you think you that?"
"You wouldn't be here if you were."
"You're the direct heir of the Wymond line," Petrose said, scoffing. "The head of the Petrose family would never hesitate to serve as your instructor. But no, I'm not. The space has been empty for some years. I have a sister, quite younger than myself. She had a son. My nephew will fill in the position once he becomes ready."
"You don't want to lead the family?" Alex asked.
Petrose paused. "I would not be accepted in any case," he said after a while.
"Why not? You're the legitimate heir, aren't you?" To this Petrose didn't answer.
"The boy," He said suddenly. "I haven't seen him in a while, but from what I can tell, he's quite intelligent. Which is a relief. Intelligence is not a trait that is often observed in the Petrose family." Petrose chuckled. "No, strategy is best left to the Wymonds—the Petrose are stronger, better fighters, better supporters. He should be twenty now, I think. I hope you meet him someday."
"Petrose," Alex said. "What happened to my grandparents? After they came here, I mean. The war against Grindelwald ended, but they didn't go back?"
Petrose again remained silent for a long while. "They died. They've been dead for some time," he said simply.
"But why?"
Petrose again seemed reluctant to talk. "An outsider provoked the family. Your grandfather wished to duel him—such was the custom. Still is, in the wizarding society, but among Darkhiders a duel is rarer, mostly because almost everyone knows how to fight so well that fighting for the sake of fighting loses its significance after a while. The duel was scheduled to happen. Your grandmother didn't wish for the duel to happen. She tried to stop them, but was—killed in the process. Your grandfather died soon after. I suppose, after his wife died, there was little point." Petrose immediately stopped, and Alex watched him, his face no longer serene, but still unfathomable under the night sky.
"Altair never got over the incident. Which isn't surprising, of course, he was barely fourteen, but..." Petrose rubbed his eyes. "I wonder.
"What I wanted to say was this: in the history of the Darkhiders and Conservato, there was more than enough occasion for us to go out and avenge the loss of our loved ones. But we didn't. We kept on hiding and survived. And maybe that is not the best policy for every single occasion, and certainly there were people every time who said that we ought to fight for the ones we love. But we must let go of those who can't come back—from the dead must continue the living. That is the cycle of life."
"I want nothing more than to live in peace," Alex said hoaresly. "But I have no one to share that peace with. It seems as though I have nothing to live for now—and I shouldn't say that, because you have been so kind to me. Even if I went back to Hogwarts now, and took my N.E.W.T.s, and got a regular job wanting an ordinary life—yeah, I would like that, more than anything, but I don't think that's possible for me anymore." Petrose sighed.
"Maybe that is the curse of all soldiers," he muttered, looking glumly at the stars. "At some point, they lose the sense of reality."
Alex smiled wryly. "I'm far too clumsy to be called a Darkhider, don't you think?" Petrose, on the other hand, didn't seem amused by this.
"You're not the best soldier," he said sternly. "But being a member of the Conservato isn't about receiving the Darkhider mark, or being a soldier—which was a necessary evil to begin with. No, being a Darkhider means to protect and defend what is best in our society. The young and their innocence and potential. The old and their wisdom. Everyone in between, who become the drive of the community. And it means being able to see the value in all the lives you encounter."
"But you've been teaching me how to fight, and climb cliffs, and—"
"I've also had you keep up with the standard curriculum at Hogwarts, because all the knowledge is useful." Petrose smiled sadly at her. "We live in dangerous times, and you need to know how to remain strong. I also—selfishly wanted you to see the world of the Conservato. The ancient route. We may never gain entrance to Elsinore, but this is something that you could do."
"Oh," Alex said.
"If you want to join the war effort—"
"You don't approve."
"I know your grandmother would be proud of you. And I will stand by you, as I stood by her decisions."
"You don't have to," Alex said softly. "You've already done more than enough for me."
"If you don't remember: you still have a long way to go." Alex laughed.
"Right," she said. She grew somber.
"Onward, then," she said. "Back to England it is."