Needless to say, the Slytherins dismally lost their first Quidditch match.

It wasn't for the lack of trying, especially on the captain's part. Because the fields were usually booked from eight to nine in the morning on weekdays as well as most evenings, the Slytherin team had to hold their practice earlier at dawn, from six to eight, or later in the evenings, when they could barely see each other—which led to decrease in team coordination. Half of the members were less than fourteen years old, which meant less experienced in flying and Quidditch strategy, if not general discipline. But in the end, the team was simply underprepared, a fact which the new commentator did not fail to point out gleefully from the podium.

"And Dingby again displays his unusual skill of not listening to other Chasers! But really, can you blame him?" O'Malley's snark had read a certain point, it seemed, and McGongall took the microphone away from him.

"Git," Leila spat out in the girl's changing room. Connie nodded tiredly before slumping onto a bench. Even Alex, who was the least invested in the outcome of the game, was feeling rather down.

"It couldn't be helped," Alex said. "I know we were hoping for the best, but really, we had ten days to get ready, and half of us never even properly played a Quidditch game."

"Whose side are you even on?" Leila said irritably. Alex sighed.

"On the team's side. You know that." And that ended the conversation.

After changing disheartened Regulus had called for a team meeting. No one seemed particularly happy to be there after a failed game, but Regulus sounded almost upbeat.

"Alright," he said. "Now we know how the team operates—"

"Come on, Regulus," little Nott, the other Beater, said, cranky. "We sucked." Nods of agreement passed the room. But Regulus just blinked.

"This is our first game," he said. "It's like any new broomstick. You don't know your broom after the first ride or even your tenth ride. It takes weeks, even months, before you know how to use it properly. And for it to listen to you. We had ten days. Considering that, I'd say that our results are pretty good."

Nott looked dubiously at Regulus.

"The things we did well," Regulus continued, opening a notebook that was painfully familiar to Alex. The notebook that he found their first year… "The defense was decent. Not one of us got hit, which is always good. Wilson, nice shot on Potter. Got to admit that I enjoyed seeming his large head fall to the ground." Livingston, the sixth-year Chaser who'd previously been on the team before getting selected again, chuckled and made an uncomfortably long eye-contact with Alex. She looked away.

"Selwyn, also good job balancing the three hoops. I know it's not easy especially when your broom's been stubborn—and I'd suggest getting it checked the next Hogsmeade visit, we have one coming up in a few weeks." Connie nodded solemnly.

"Now," Regulus continued, "look at the page, if you will." He tapped his wand on the notebook, and the game came alive from the page front of their eyes; six hoops shot up on either side of the notebook, and fourteen small brooms began to zoom in the air, with names attached to each broom. Everyone looked at it in wonder.

"Wow," Leila said, awe-struck. "You made this?" Regulus grunted ambiguously and Alex felt pain in her palm—her hand had curled itself up into a fist without her noticing.

About forty minutes and a dozen corrections later, everyone was released and Alex locked up the broom securely in the broom closet (Leila was very conscientious about the safety of her babys) before setting off toward the Dark Forest.

It was a stupid thing to do, she knew, but when she came back to Hogwarts after a year away, she realized something horrible that had not occurred to her before: she'd been running away.

Which should have been obvious, of course. But walking down the same corridor that she'd known for five years, falling back into the routine of classes, meals, and studying, everything came back—feeling of uncertainty about her place at Hogwarts and the wizarding society at large, frustration about her status as a Slytherin, lack of friendly faces and professors who kept their distance, having no one to talk to but her mother and Regulus—but one was dead and she wasn't sure what she was even supposed to call the other one anymore. Reg was out of the question, Black too petty. Regulus felt too public, because whatever relationship it was that they had—all Alex could say to describe their relationship was "messy and insincere"—it was meant to be kept in the private sphere of her thoughts. She sometimes hated every syllable of his name with her guts and wanted to crash her entire body into a stone wall whenever she thought about it. Other times it just felt very tedious and she simply wanted to forget everything.

So being back in the similar place, she realized that everything she felt there was tainted now with death, betrayal, and—dare she be dramatic—sadness. It didn't give her joy, going to her classes and learning new things. Owls arriving every morning. Sight of tapestries and enchanted figures whispering behind people's back about the students' latest misadventures. She desperately wanted to get out of the place, and she realized, finally, that that was why she left—followed Petrose, without knowing anything about him other than that he was her Defense teacher for a few months and that her mother knew him. Without even having consciously felt the hatred for the place, she instinctively knew that she had to leave.

And being back felt horrible.

It was as if her mind and heart had been frozen—cryogenically preserved by the sheer intensity of physical obstacles that Petrose presented her every morning. Climbing rocks, hiking endlessly, and trying to survive on meagre sustenance every day—all put the complications of her life in the back of her mind, messily tossed to be dealt with at a later date. She mourned her mother's death, but she didn't evaluate what her mother meant to her—the good times they had together, but also the bad things, how she felt like her mother didn't even want to understand her isolation and her subsequent relationship with Regulus (the fact that she was more or less right about that bastard was not the issue here), how her mother, like her own parents, was impossibly stubborn about her beliefs—first keeping Alex completely in the dark and raising her like a Muggle, and then joining the Order and leaving her daughter to fend for herself during the summer. And everything that she'd taken for granted, as the natural course of action, was pushed up against her face, forcing her to confront the problem that Alex didn't even think of as a problem before, that it had always been a very lonely trial.

And then to see that—that person who used to be her best friend, someone she thought she loved (could she love someone that she didn't know? Alex didn't know) walking around every day, cool as you please, completely calm and collected, bossing everyone around like the Black he was meant to be—in some ways it was vindicating, to see Regulus as that unemotional part of the bigger machine called Pureblood society. She could almost forget how much he buckled under the weight of everyone's watchful gaze, the expectations from his absent parents, and his own wishes for himself to do something meaningful in the world. She could almost forget how unhappy he was in his role, and she reminded herself every time she felt a resistance in her heart that he chose this life, that he chose his unhappiness over her. But the habit of caring refused to completely go away, and she pitied him, understood him a bit too well sometimes—and she hated this weakness of hers. So she told herself, again and again, that he didn't deserve her sympathy. Lied to her about her mother. Chose the thing that made him miserable over her. Was untrustworthy. Selfish. The list went on and on.

She sped up her pace of jogging. It felt good, being out in the forest. The evening was beginning to set and the air was cooling down fast. Leaves rustled loudly in the November wind, filling the entire forest with sound other than her own breathing and an occasional blinking from some creature. A year ago she would've been terrified the sight, at the dark, the unknown creatures (perhaps magical), the possibility of getting lost, but none of those things bothered her now. She knew how to take care of herself—at least, in the shaded woods where there wasn't anyone else.

Alex had started jogging since coming back to Hogwarts, partly to stay in shape (Petrose had mentioned somewhat consolingly that most Darkhiders tended to exercise at least two hours a day, either in training or by themselves, and that she couldn't expect herself to reach their level anytime soon), and also to get away—and this was as far as she could come without actually running away. And it was good for her, helped her stay alert for any dangers approaching her, provided her with a mental exercise as well as a physical one—not that she was particularly in need of more mental focus.

Slughorn had (certainly with thoughtful intentions, Alex thought wryly) asked each professor whose class she was taking to assign her a tutor so that she could catch up to everyone else her year. She could almost breeze through Defense of Dark Arts in practice; however, Kennedy-Mason, the new Defense professor who was very young and very pregnant, told her with pursed lips that she was behind on her readings and told her to start reading. McGonagall, who observed her wand work for a few classes, simply nodded and told her that Alex should be fine provided that she understood the theory. Flitwick was somewhat worried and tentatively introduced Remus Lupin to her by the end of the first week as if they wouldn't know each other as seventh-years, but Remus was nice about the whole thing and told her that he usually spent his evenings studying at the library, and that she could find him there any time (the Marauders, it seemed, had quieted down during her absence). Slughorn vaguely praised Snape for his potion skills before asking if he'd be interested in helping out "another student in need," but it seemed that Snape didn't get the message and Alex figured that she had enough time to figure out the subject by herself. Herbology and Ancient Runes were fine (Petrose, in addition to knowing what plants were useful for what injuries and how to navigate his path using astrological coordinates, somehow also read a decent bit of Ancient Runes). Unfortunately, that left her with Arithmancy, and the only person who was detailed, if not paranoid, and superstitious enough to be good at the subject was, unfortunately—

"Mr. Black, if you could just stay for a moment," Professor Tannen said a few days after the Quidditch game. Alex tried to hide her chagrin at the professor's choice, but—too late. That guy (by that point that was the only term she found tolerable) turned around and silently made his way back to the professor's desk.

"Yes, Professor?" he asked, quiet, polite, impossibly smooth. By god, Alex hated him.

"Miss Wilson needs a tutor," Tannen stated outright. And, judging from her quiz scores, Alex couldn't even begrudge him of his candid tone. "Her basic understanding's fine, it's just she needs a quick run-through of the materials covered in the past few months. I understand that you're busy from prefect duties. And Quiditch."

"On the other hand," that guy replied, "Alex is also a prefect. And on the Quidditch team. I'd be happy to help." She hated how her name sounded in his voice.

"Excellent," Tannen said, nodding in approval. "If you need any materials, I'd be happy to supply them, of course. I'm sure you two can figure out the schedule for the tutoring?" He looked expectantly at both of them.

Never, Alex wanted to say. But figured that was a bad way to end a conversation with a professor. "Of course," she said instead, smiling at Tannen. "Thank you, professor."

The tone changed once they stepped outside of the classroom.

"I don't need a tutor," she lied, looking straight and hard at his face. That guy looked back at her, perhaps a little less forcefully.

"Alright," he said. "But you should know that all members need to keep up their grades at Acceptable to continue to play on the Quidditch team. School rules."

"Fine," she said.

"Are you getting at least an Accepta—"

"I said it's fine."

"I can find you someone else. Sterne in Hufflepuff's pretty good, and she's decent at explaining—"

"It's. Fine." Alex bit down her molars, trying to keep her gaze fixed on his face. She didn't want to back down. That guy looked away, looking tired.

"Make sure to keep up your grades, then," he muttered, before leaving her in the corridor.

Prefect rounds were only a little bit more uncomfortable. They went over the bare essentials and updates—the new rules, patrol plans—but usually they kept silent the entire time, which gave them the advantage of surprise when it came to catching unsuspecting students and couples who fancied a midnight rendezvous. Alex couldn't figure out why anyone would even want to meet up with their romantic interest in the middle of an almost-winter night (it was freezing), but she supposed that people in love tended to do stupid things. The knowledge didn't make it any less awkward for them when they had to jot down the couple's names before sending them off back to their houses. Alex almost wished that the Marauders, or anyone like them, would cause more havoc during the night—then she and that guy would have plenty of things to do without feeling as though they were excavating their past to discover how utterly stupid they'd been.

"Can't you just let us go?" One sixth-year Ravenclaw—Daniel Jowett, Alex wrote down a few seconds ago—asked pleadingly. Next to him was a fourth-year Hufflepuff by the name of Elena Rondby. Alex remembered her—two years ago, when she and that guy split up during one of these sessions to follow two different groups of students. She managed to get herself into a fight with half a dozen Slytherins and Henryk Lee. That guy managed to get himself bitten by a giant spider. She and Elena stayed in a friendly relationship throughout her fifth-year, but Alex didn't recognize the fourteen-year-old in front of her now. Taller. Leaner. Lips swollen from snogging. By god.

"Please, Alex," Elena begged, remembering that she'd known Alex as well. Alex looked away—easy enough to do in the semi-dark broom closet. That guy tapped his boots impatiently.

"It's nothing big," Alex said tiredly. "Out past curfew. That's one detention, two if Flitwick's feeling sleepy. I'd take it and go back to your dorm. No one else will know."

"Please," Jowett scoffed. "Like we don't know what you two did way back when—Ben told us all about—"

"Ben?" Alex said, her voice lowering at the mention of her cousin's name. The golden boy who was proudly carrying on the Wilson family name, she was sure.

"And what did Ben say, Jowett?"

Elena must have sensed something coming from her face, because she stopped whimpering. "Dan," she whispered, "let's go. It's not a big deal."

"C'mon, this is stupid," Jowett snapped. "Slytherins break rules all the time, but they just love to punish people for doing something much less serious."

"Really," Regulus drawled. "Because the last time we met, I let you off with a warning—when you were with that Gryffindor—what's her name? Jameson? And that was, what—three weeks ago?"

"Stop it," Jowett whispered furiously, his eyes furtively glancing at Elena. But the damage was done. Elena, who clearly had no idea about the other girl, looked at Jowett with eyes as big as saucers.

"Dan," she said. "What's he talking about?"

"Nothing," Jowett replied emphatically. "Nothing. He's lying—"

"That settles it," Alex said testily, having listened enough. She didn't know much about Jowett, but she didn't need to at this point, especially if this stuck-up dimwit was in the habit of listening to her cousin. "Jowett, twenty points off Ravenclaw for breaking school rules and being out past curfew. Elena, we will report you to Professor Sprout, but otherwise you can just go. Okay?" And before either of them could get into an argument Alex shooed both of them out of the closet. They went their respective ways, Elena running up toward the Ravenclaw tower while Jowett glowered at that guy while slowly descending downstairs. That guy leaned against the wall and rubbed his face.

"Merlin, I'm tired," he said. Alex didn't respond, efficiently finishing off the report on her clipboard for Sprout and and Flitwick. That guy looked at her.

"Nice one," he said, but she still didn't say anything.

"Alex, how long are you planning to ignore me?"

"I beg your pardon?" she asked politely, looking up from her clipboard. That guy looked incredulously back at her.

"How long are you going to ignore me?"

"I'm not ignoring you," she said. "I just have nothing to say to you."

"We patrol together. And practice together. And we're in all the same classes. That's more than half of our days spent in the same room. And you have nothing to say to me?"

"What's there to say?" Alex looked at him straight in the face for the first time that night. "Hm? Is there anything to say? At all?"

"Anything," Regulus said desperately, taking a step toward her. The look on his face made her nauseated and broke her heart at the same time. "Say anything."

"Like I said, I have nothing to say to you—"

"The hell you don't," he said, turning angry. "You disappear without a word—a single word—for an entire year at the same time as that Defense professor, and you don't even know some of the rumors that went on—"

"I heard enough of them, and it's none of anyone's business—"

"Do you even know how worried I've been? Not knowing where you were, or what you were doing, or if you were safe—"

"Worried?" Alex's voice had risen to a hysterical level, and even Jowett, if he listened for it, might have heard her voice. He wasn't wrong about his accusations—they did abuse their position as prefects. "Worried? You were worried about me? After all this time—"

"Of course I was worried—"

"Worried—were you worried about me when you lied to me about where my mum was—"

"Technically, I just didn't say anything, and I couldn't—"

"And you were worried about me when you pulled me aside for all those snogging sessions on the seventh floor—"

"You never refused—"

"You never asked me how I felt!" she yelled. "You never asked me how I was doing, and I had no one to talk to—"

"I'm sure you found everything we did completely disgusting—"

"I did," Alex stated, and Regulus stared blankly at her for a few seconds, as if he didn't comprehend the words coming out of her mouth. "I did find us disgusting. I still do. And that's why I have nothing to say."

Regulus' face changed color several times in the dim corridor. His face looked almost ghostly for a second—deathly pale, his high cheekbones, already heightened by his weight loss (or growth spurt, Alex couldn't tell), cast an eerie shadow down the sides of his face, and his eyes appeared almost sunken. His lips thinned—and then a violent onrush of blood made red profuse across his entire face to the tips of his years. His eyes fluttered—in agitation or anger—and then suddenly his face was drained of all color.

"Fine," he muttered, before turning toward the direction of their patrol and setting off without another word.

When she got back from the patrols, Alex was surprised to find Leila still awake.

"Writing a letter to Fred," Leila explained. "He worries when I don't respond within several days." Alex raised her eyebrow but didn't say anything. It was still strange to see Leila accommodating another person—responding to letters regularly, holding back from saying too nasty things regarding other boys, even wearing her hair down (in the past she had worn her hair up in a ponytail on the grounds of practicality and "not listening to what the boys want") because "Fred liked it." Leila's fiancé, as far as Alex could remember, did not strike her as a domineering type; so Leila just wanted to accommodate what her boyfriend liked. Strange—sweet, yes, but also strange. And so different from the conversations she had that night, that Alex slumped on her bed and closed her eyes.

"Rough night?" came the question. Alex sighed.

"Yup." A few weeks ago, when Leila had gotten upset and asked her about what she'd been up to the past week, Alex gave a run-down version of some things that could come up again: that Petrose had been a family friend for a very long time (the fact that she didn't know who he really was until she was sixteen didn't seem worth mentioning), and that she didn't mention this because she didn't want other students to think that he would play favorites (which Leila maintained he did anyway), and that, after her mother's death, she needed some time off to get away and sort out her life and he'd generously offered to look over her education during that time as an unofficial guardian. All of those things were true, and Alex thought that she would feel better about telling Leila the half-truths instead of none at all—but the words sounded empty to her ears. She didn't know how to explain anything that'd happened.

In response to Leila's questions regarding her and that guy's relationship, Alex could be more explicit in more cryptic terms, with mixed results. She told her that her mother had been involved in her family's political campaigns (i.e. anti-Purebloods) and that she'd gone missing because of her activities (i.e. the Death Eaters). That guy, it being barely a secret that he was amongst their ranks, had known precise information about her mother's whereabouts, but kept it to himself. At this point even Leila seemed horrified and asked Alex to stop, and she was spared from describing her father's role in all this.

A Death Eater. How was that even possible? He'd seemed so… normal. And Petrose clammed up whenever she brought up the subject. Which was hardly helpful.

"What happened?" Leila asked.

"Spat with that one."

"Mm. Don't we all know what that means."

"He said, why won't you talk to me? As if I had anything I could even say to that…"

"Maybe you need a badge that says "I'm ignoring R.A.B." All capital letters. Sell that to all the poor girls he's dumped. Might make a small fortune."

Alex shook her head. "Maybe," she said.

"By the way, some of your mail got mixed in mine when I grabbed it this morning. They're on your bedside table."

Alex rolled to her side. "Thanks," she said, grabbing the envelopes. She'd taken care of most legal details during her mother's funeral—inheritance, financial accounts, statement of independence, etc., but when she briefly stopped by Devon before coming back to Hogwarts, she found her mailbox—and the chimney—stuffed with letters from solicitors regarding her mother's various tea set, albums, and even a coin collection (she didn't know her mother ever collected coins, a fact which she promptly wrote back to the sender). Alex presumed that these were some such letters as well and flipped through several envelopes before finding a familiar handwriting.

A smile spread faintly over her face as she read over the contents of the package.

Alex—

Good to hear that you've gotten back to school life, and that you were able to pick up where you left off on your studies and continue, but I always knew that you could do it, naturally. Sorry to hear that the team lost, but better luck next time.

Things have been quiet here as you might expect. You might be surprised to hear that the Crawford girl—whose hair you turned pink in primary—is pregnant. Came into the shop in maternity dress and every pregnancy gear possible. The father was not in the picture at that time, but perhaps she met a decent young man. But I doubt it.

Speaking of pregnancy, Professor Dumbledore has informed me that your current professor will be taking a leave of absence this winter and spring due to her baby, and asked me to fill the position in the interim. I told him that I would get back to him, but I wanted you to hear from you about what you thought.

Other than that, hope you have a good term. There's a room above the shop if you want to come by for Christmas.

I. D. Petrose

"There's a girl from my town who's pregnant," Alex wondered aloud.

"And that's interesting how?"

"She's our age." Alex saw Leila pause in her writing.

"Blimey. Pregnant." Leila shook her head and went back to writing.

"You think you'll have them someday?" Alex asked, genuinely curious. Leila was in a committed relationship, and Pureblood families tended to marry young…

"Them what?"

Alex rolled her eyes. "Babies."

"I dunno."

"Are you even allowed to say that?"

"Fred said it's fine," Leila replied promptly. "Not quite the case with his mother, but she'll come around. Or go away. Permanently."

"Huh," Alex said, gathering back Petrose' letter. A Mars bar fell from the packing and Alex smiled. He remembered.

"Speaking of babies what activities leading up to them," Leila said, casually enough. "Have you noticed Livingston?"

"The sixth-year Chaser?" Alex frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Only that the entire team knows how he stares at you when you're doing push-ups with poor Nott."

"Merlin, Leila," Alex groaned. "That's just—"

"A fact." Leila interceded quickly. "Noticed by all. Even your ex."

Your ex. That made her relationship with that guy sound almost normal and commonplace. And Alex supposed that it was, in some ways. Just a teenage mistake, not unlike Nancy Crawford's case… "That's not relevant," Alex said automatically. "And he's too young anyway," she added for some reason.

"He's a sixth-year. He's like a year younger than us. Not to mention that he's filled out quite well the past summer."

"I don't know him at all."

"That's called spending more time together, Alex. Or haven't you heard of that simple thing before?" Leila asked slowly, enunciating as if talking to a baby. Alex rolled her eyes.

"I don't want to be in a relationship."

"Who said anything about a relationship?" Leila asked, wrinkling her nose distastefully. "As far as I can tell, Livingston's not going to settle down until he's thirty-five. Doesn't mean you can't have a bit of fun with him, though."

"Fun?" Now Alex wrinkled her nose distastefully.

"Well, yeah. Have you seen how grim you look these days?"

"Thanks, Leila."

"Not to mention—" then Leila abruptly stopped, looking faintly remorseful.

"What?"

"It's not like, you know, he's been a celibate monk while you were gone."

The tips of Alex's fingers, which had been handling another letter regarding her mother's possessions, turned white as she automatically tightened her grip. "That's none of my business," she said monotonously.

"Just suggesting," Leila said. "Might take the edge off, you know? Besides, I need to live vicariously through my friends. My life has become an absolute boredom of letters and flowers."

"Sounds absolutely horrible," Alex said, looking at the last letter. The envelope was made of thick, creamy paper that Alex could smell old money off of, and there was something emblazoned in gold—an owl? A family crest, perhaps.

"It's just," Leila went on. "I thought maybe you wanted to get back together with him—why else would you even try out for the Quidditch team? And then it was like, you never want to see his face again, and I get that, but if you're just on the team to prove that you're doing, you know, fine, or whatever, then maybe you should take that to the next level and show just how fine you're doing, you know? And actually get over him so that he doesn't bother you anymore even if he's right in front of you. Does that make sense?" A small pause, and then, "why did you try out in the first place again?"

"Leila?"

"Yeah?"

"You reckon I can get an invitation to the Pureblood society's Christmas party?"

A/N: Thanks to all those who read/reviewed/followed! Y'all make my day:) (and I'm still looking for help)