A/N Thanks to all those who read/reviewed/followed (despite my breaking my resolve to update more regularly). But things seem to be picking up more in the past week or so, and I hope the updates get easier for me:) anyway, enjoy another chapter!

"Christmas party?" Leila echoed. "Why on Merlin's wet pants would you want to go to that thing for?"

Alex shrugged, trying to sound nonchalant. "Why not?" she asked.

"Because," Leila answered emphatically. "That place is going to be full of—you-know-who followers, and you're not exactly the prime example of blood purity."

Alex briefly wondered if the fact that his father's side of the family—the Wymonds—have been recorded since the beginning of the wizarding history might help with the blood purity cause. Undoubtedly the family mixed with people of wherever they were through time—as with the Wilsons—and she wasn't a certifiable "Pureblood," but still.

"If you want to stay with someone," Leila continued, "you can stay with me, I'm going to Fred's family in Germany, it'll be fun for all of us! And I can introduce you to a bunch of his friends—"

"Thanks," Alex smiled wryly, "but I'm fine." And the gears in her head were turning. It seemed that Leila had forsaken the British pureblood society—she remembered how Leila's part of the Parkinson family, at least, tended to appear neutral when it came to politics—which meant that she would need to find another way in. Alex looked again at the letter in her hand distastefully. It bore the Wilson family crest (Alex wasn't aware that they had one), and below the shiny letterhead was a formal invitation to the annual Christmas dinner at the Wilson house. It seemed that the matter was a big affair (the invitation requested formal attire), and Alex didn't know if she should be disappointed at not having been invited until this year, or outraged at the formality of the invitation (what, they couldn't just send her a word?). She knew that her mother wouldn't like her severing all ties with her grandparents, but could she even call these people, who knew nothing of her, family?

But that left her with the option of having no family and that wasn't the best prospect either.

Alex sighed. She had a few ideas for the winter and none of them were particularly appealing to her.

"I just realized something," Leila said.

"What?"

"Isn't it your birthday today?" Alex checked the clock—it was past midnight. And then she checked the calendar—November seventeenth.

"Yup," she said, unceremoniously gathering all the letters together except the one from Petrose.

"Happy birthday—"

"Thanks."

"You're eighteen now! And we didn't get to celebrate your last one—did you do something fun then?"

Alex looked at the old pocket watch on her table. Apparently it had been her grandmother's, who'd died before she was born, and Petrose had kept it for safe-keeping until her seventeenth birthday, when he handed it down to her with a gruff "happy birthday." That'd been the extent of celebration—commemorating the dead.

"Not really," Alex answered. "Good night."

"But—"

"I'm tired, and it's still school week." And she turned off the lamp without waiting for a response.

She didn't really have a chance to carry through with her plan until the next Quidditch practice, which was a few days later. Everyone had gathered to the Quiditch pitch by six, bed-haired and bleary-eyed. They could barely see each other. By the end of the practice, no one's mood had particularly improved.

"G'day," Clarendon, a quiet fifth-year, muttered sullenly before leaving first. Alex watched the others carefully, but everyone seemed too tired to notice each other or talk to them after practice. She shuffled her feet beneath her, feeling more than a little awkward. She'd never had to do this before, and having spent the past year in presence of one single person didn't do much to improve her interpersonal skills.

"Hey, Livingston," she said, trying to sound casual; unfortunately, her high-pitched voice seemed to have a mind of its own.

"Wilson," Livingston grunted.

"Nice job today." At this Livingston looked incredulously at her—Alex supposed that she wasn't the one for giving encouragement to male players on the team.

"With the passes," she added. It didn't seem to have helped much.

"Thanks," he said slowly.

"Sure." Then, another awkward pause, followed by her even more awkward question, "do you want to have breakfast together?"

Livingston's back suddenly straightened, and his hand went automatically to his hair, messing it up in a manner eerily resembling James Potter. "Alright," he said, and they began to walk to the Great Hall together. On her way Alex saw Leila give her an odd look, but Alex shrugged.

They had to go to separate classes after breakfast because he was a year below her, but they had lunch together again. Livingston was surprisingly sympathetic about Alex's plan to take her N.E.W.T.s after a year off ("isn't that too much work?") and kept asking her questions about what she'd been up to and her family life, which Alex tried to dodge at every single turn by asking him about his family ("oh yeah, old family, we've been in Scotland since the fifteenth century or something like that, not really that interesting"). She didn't know much about the male population of Hogwarts, but figured—from what Leila and Rebecca said, anyway—that they liked to talk about themselves, and that she was doing a good enough job avoiding having to say something like "oh yeah, Dad's a Death Eater, Mom's from the Wilson family—y'know, the bloodtraitors?" But as they slowly made their way out of the Great Hall, Livingston scratched his head awkwardly.

"Look, Wilson," he said, leaning uncomfortably against the entrance frame. "You seem really nice, and all, but I don't get a sense that you're—" and then he struggled for words. Alex looked at him quizzically.

"I don't think you're that keen on me," Livingston announced in a rush. Alex began to feel heat spreading from her neck to her cheeks. Had she been discovered?

"Um," was her intelligible reply.

"And the thing is—I like you quite a bit. I noticed you when you were in fifth year, but back then you were with Regulus Black—"

"Livingston—"

"And let's face it, not many people can compete with Regulus Black—"

"It's not like that anymore," she said impatiently. "I swear."

The impatience seemed to encourage him. "Then you left, and I figured, you know, it was never going to happen. And now—I still like you. Not sure if you do, though." Alex could see that it was costing Livingston to admit his observations—that it wounded him that she was less interested in him than he was in her. Alex felt a pang of something that she tried to ignore. That wasn't the point right now…

"Well, why don't we—take things slowly, see where this goes…" she rubbed her eyes tiredly. "Get to know each other for a bit, yeah?"

Livingston brightened at her suggestion, and grinned before he left for his afternoon Charms class.

"Merlin," Alex muttered, feeling more tired than she felt that morning. She made her way to the library where Leila had already made a mess on their usual table.

"So," Leila began casually. "Wanna tell me what you're up to with Livingston?"

"You said that he wasn't looking for a relationship," Alex grumbled in annoyance.

"And I stand by my case."

"Then explain to me, dear Miss Parkinson, why that boy would tell me how he "liked me" since his fourth year and that he's worried about him liking me more than I like him?"

Leila raised an incredulous eyebrow. "I don't believe it," she said.

"If only that were true."

"I know," she said, sudden edification coming over her. "He was pretending to be a sweet boy because he could tell that you were hopeless at recognizing the usual ways of seduction."

"Seduction?" Alex repeated sarcastically. "Leila, he could barely explain to me when he started playing Quidditch."

"That boy's good," Leila said, rubbing her hands together. "Y'know, when he was seven or something, our parents had a tea party together? He tricked a bunch of house-elves into serving me and my sister coffee instead of tea."

"That sounds more harmless than diabolical," Alex said.

"But goes to show a plotting side," Leila argued. "I'm telling you, he's playing you. Rather well, might I add. Why are you suddenly interested in him anyways?"

Alex shrugged. "Can't I take interest in other people?"

"You can," Leila said slowly. "But you don't. Merlin, I thought that the only way you would ever propagate was if someone knocked you out before—never mind," she quickly ended, seeing Alex's face hardening by the millisecond.

"He seems like a perfectly nice person to me," Alex said. If not a little unassuming, she added in her head.

Leila made a face. "Maybe," she said. The two studied in silence for a bit, Leila crawling her way out of a Charms essay, Alex reviewing sixth-year Potions materials.

"Wait," Leila suddenly said. Alex raised her eyebrow.

"You're not trying to—you wouldn't, right?"

"What wouldn't I do, Leila?"

Leila's face changed from incredulous to almost—was that pity in her eyes? "You're not trying to make, y'know, him jealous or anything, right?"

Alex looked stonily back at her. "No."

"Alex, it's okay—"

"He's not worth that much effort," Alex spat out. Leila flinched, surprised at her vicious tone.

"Merlin," she said. "That must've been one heck of a letter."

When Leila asked her to explain what had happened with them a year ago, Alex thought it would be better to give a run-down, altered version of the story than nothing at all. So she told Leila that her mother had always been opposed to her relationship with that guy (very true), that he was always frustrated by her mother's disapproval (true), and that he sent her mother a letter behind her back, detailing what his opinions regarding her upbringing was (he didn't do it, but Alex was pretty sure what that letter would've said). Unfortunately, her mother passed away, and then that guy was completely unapologetic about his actions and refused to acknowledge that he did anything wrong (jury was still debating this one) and she couldn't stand the sight of anyone at the castle (again, true). When Petrovsky realized what was going on, he offered her a place to stay for a bit because he was a family friend (partially true), and she took the chance. The only part of the story that really seemed to stump Leila was the part that Petrovsky was a family friend ("you didn't say anything!"), but that was a detail that she could gloss over.

"Yup," Alex said. "He's not worth a Knut."

"Well," Leila said. "Considering the size of the Black family fortune and today's economy, I'd say that he's worth quite a bit more." Then, looking at Alex's face, she added, "but he's not worth a Knut to me."

Alex cracked her neck. Thank Merlin that Leila forgot her initial question—Alex didn't know what colorful story she would've said to it, if pressed for an answer.

That evening Alex was up for doing rounds with none other than the Head Boy James Potter, whom she hadn't spoken to since the summer before sixth year. But Alex knew that there was a bit of time before the rounds began at nine, and that the meeting that she'd went to so long ago (but it had only been three years!) began, if her memory served correct, promptly at eight. She began packing her bag at seven fifty, having spent most of the afternoon studying in the library.

"You leaving?" Leila asked in surprise. Usually Leila was the first to beg Alex if they could leave together to have a late dinner.

"Yeah."

"What about—"

"Not hungry." Before Leila could say anything else, Alex left the library and began walking briskly to the dungeons. Before long she stood in front of an apparent crack between the castle wall and one of the many wooden doors at Hogwarts that opened to nowhere, breathing unsteadily.

"Toujours pur," Alex croaked quietly. The door swung open. Alex looked at it disbelievingly—wouldn't it be better security measure to change the password at least once to something a little less obvious? But the lack of security concern was working in her favour, so she stepped into the dim passageway without any more complaint.

The passageway was even darker, dim, dank. Just as she remembered. As she approached with wand in hand, a dim light at the end began to grow brighter and bigger.

"Who's there?" an alarmed voice said.

"Wilson," Alex said drily, swallowing her nervousness.

"Wilson?" a second voice—Avery—said incredulously. "As in, Alexandra Wilson?"

"It's certainly not Benjamin Wilson," a third voice—a sixth year, Alex thought distantly, said. Some students jeered. Alex resisted the urge to roll her eyes.

"What are you doing here?" Rosier's face appeared in front of her wand and Alex went over the answers that she'd prepared in her head.

"Joining the party," she drawled. "What else?"

"Alex?" a confused female voice came, and Alex frowned to mask her surprise. Since when did these teenage boys include girls in their meetings? Connie Selwyn appeared, looking as surprised as she was feeling. "I didn't know that you were a part of this—" at Rosier's shushing hand she fell quiet and Alex resisted the urge to curse him.

"Since when?" a distrusting voice—Nott, the older one who started the fight with the Gryffindors—said. Alex sighed.

"Since fourth year."

"You haven't attended since December, 1974" that guy finally said, looking up from his scribbles. So he was the scribe now, was he?

"I was invited," she said haughtily. "If you wanted to disinvite me, you should've changed the meeting location, or time, or even just the password to the door." A general wave of unease went through the gathered students.

"We weren't thinking—"

"Exactly," Alex bit out sarcastically. "You weren't thinking. Is this the best thing the followers of the Dark Lord can do?"

"What do you want, Wilson?"

Alex shrugged, sitting down by the nearest stone casually. "Just to sit in. Listen. There's nothing wrong with that, is there?"

"You're not—"

"I'm smart," Alex repeated the words that Rabastan Lestrange said to her so many years ago. "And more importantly, I'm useful. Or does anyone else here have connections outside the people in this room? I didn't think so," she said, smirking satisfied at the crowd. Smirking felt odd on her face.

That guy was looking at her face with hard eyes. "Fine," he said. "We're already late. We'll deal with this later." At the decision from the Prince, all—except Snape, who looked sullen and unhappy as usual—turned to him.

The topic of the meeting was "comparative history of Muggle involvement in magical affairs," by the end of which Alex almost believed that the Muggles had been out to get the wizards from beginning of time, inventing their sciences solely to successfully capture a wizard in order to drain him of his magic. She could also almost believe that her classmates who, for all intents and purposes, were fully functioning, both physically and intellectually (though some of them tended to be quite dim-witted at times), believed this argument. She looked at that guy whom, despite her anger, resentment, and disappointment, she held to be above others in intellectual curiosity and judgement. His face was fixed to his parchment, and she couldn't see what reactions he had to the things that were being said—but she couldn't believe that he, like the others, believed everything willy-nilly.

"That's all for today," that guy announced. Everyone gathered to leave, but a few approached where she was sitting, their wands drawn out.

"I'll take it from here," that guy said quietly, laying his hand on Rosier and Avery. They looked uncertainly back at him.

"No offense, Regulus, but—"

"What, Rosier?"

Rosier hesitated. "You don't have the best—what I mean to say is, well—do you really think that you should be questioning her?"

That guy raised an icy eyebrow. "Meaning, Rosier?" Then they entered into what could only be described as a stare-off contest. Alex tried not to roll her eyes, reminding herself that the situation, although filled with competitive teenage testosterone, was actually more serious—this will get reported unless it went smoothly, and reported meant unwanted attention, and unwanted attention meant—

"Fine," Rosier finally conceded. "But you will let her go if it's too much, right?"

"Good night, Rosier." With that dismissal the pair of seventh-years slinked off to the Common Room. Alex stood up slowly.

"What are you thinking?" That guy hissed as soon as Rosier and Avery were out of the earshot.

"Figured that I'd attend the Wednesday meeting," Alex answered casually. "Am I not allowed to do that?"

"You don't care for these meetings."

"Says you."

"Because you said so," That guy began pacing. "I mean, Livingston's one thing, but this?"

"That's a different matter entirely," Alex said coldly.

That guy scoffed. "Yeah, right."

"I'm interested in the Cause," Alex said, trying to sound heated and indignant. "Whether you think I am or not is not the question."

"You're up to something," that guy said. "You wouldn't just come here for no reason, not after—"

"After what exactly?" Alex glared at him, daring him to say what had happened that would make her so opposed to the Pureblood cause. That guy looked away, knowing that he was cornered.

"Stop this," he said quietly. "And stay out of this whole mess. You don't belong here."

"On the contrary," Alex retorted, "you brought me here."

"Me?" That guy shouted. "Don't you realize that the outcome would have been exactly the same whether or not we knew each other?"

"Just because that's the case doesn't mean they should've been the same," Alex yelled. "You had the power to make things different. You didn't."

"Why does everything have to fall on me?"

His plea—the desperation in his voice, the despondency in his face—that he was being unjustly handed the responsibility that he couldn't handle cracked Alex's heart. Unfortunately for that guy, what erupted wasn't sympathy but disdain and anger.

"Oh, poor Regulus Black, why is the whole world conspiring against him." Alex sneered. "I don't know. Maybe because you keep making the decisions which can't but make you extremely unhappy, and you blame your unhappiness on your circumstance instead of your own actions."

"What part of my family or—what haven't I done that I couldn't possibly do, huh? I'm seventeen!"

"And already a Death Eater! Don't you think—"

"Don't go shouting that stuff out loud—"

"You think you can be grown up enough to assume the responsibility of killing hundreds of innocent people, but still be a child about everything else? It's called having a sense of reality, Regulus. You could've done lots of things, you could've sought help from someone else—"

"From other Purebloods, I'm sure those vultures would be glad to help—"

"Dumbledore, or some other trustable person—"

"You think Dumbledore is more reliable than—"

"You could've, heaven knows, let her escape—"

"That would've brought harm on my parents—"

"Then make it look like someone else did it!" Alex yelled. "Or maybe there was an accident, and the cat left the door open. Blimey, just how stupid do you have to be? It's called planning and asking for help!"

Looking at his pale, terrified face, however, Alex realized that there was no point to continuing this conversation.

"I have Prefect rounds," Alex said stiffly, and walked away without sparing another glance at him. She couldn't bear to see his stupid face.

Potter was oddly perceptive that night.

"You're in a foul mood," he observed.

"Thanks, Potter."

"No problem." They walked in silence for a bit, occasionally starting at any movements that happened at the corner of their eyes.

Potter cleared his throat uncomfortably.

"What is it, Potter?"

"Well I wanted to ask you about something," he said carefully, "but I don't know if you're in the mood for it."

Alex sighed. "I don't know if I'll ever be in the mood for anything. What is it?"

"Well, d'you remember how your mum used to be involved in the Arrangement of the Bird?"

Alex looked at him oddly. "Come again?"

Potter looked furtively around for eavesdroppers. "Y'know. The Order."

Alex suppressed a sigh. This was not a subject that she wanted to discuss tonight, but Potter also seemed really keen on the subject.

"I'm not officially allowed to say anything about it," Alex answered dully.

"Oh," Potter looked disappointed. "Can you really say nothing?"

"What do you want to know?"

"For instance, how you'd join, or…"

"I think you usually join because someone in the... Arrangement knows you, and they think you're up for it, and you want the same thing as they do."

"So recommendation only?"

"I guess," Alex shrugged. "I mean, you can just go up to one of the members and ask to join."

"Oh," Potter paused. "You know one?"

Alex looked back at him ironically. "I don't know. Why don't you ask your Head of House?"

Potter looked gob smacked. "Of course," he said, actually hitting himself on his forehead. "You know, Padfoot had some suspicion, but he didn't want to look like a complete loon in front of McGonagall."

"I didn't know Black was capable of feeling shame."

"I don't think he can," Potter answered honestly. "But he is capable of feeling pain when McGonagall smacks him with a book." Alex snorted.

"So you want to join, eh?"

"Don't you?" Potter's eyes burned. "Fight Voldemort, get rid of the blood-purity maniacs once and for all… Merlin, that sounds like a good cause, don't you think?"

"Those maniacs are people too, you know."

Potter shrugged. "I'm sure some of them are capable of reform," he said. "Like Sirius. But others are a lost cause, if you ask me. They've caused too much harm already. They deserve to be locked up." Alex didn't answer, and that seemed to alarm Potter.

"Don't you agree?"

"… I think these people that you call maniacs… don't care about blood purity as much as—losing status. And—that's a very natural—very common fear to have."

Potter sighed. "We can philosophize about it all we want," he said. "Bring in human nature, the essence of humanity, whether our choices are entirely due to our situation or free will. Reality is, people are dying for no other reason than someone else's gain. And sometimes not even that—just enjoyment. Pure sadistic pleasure."

"You're right," Alex conceded. She didn't think she would go anywhere with her vague line of thinking—and then suddenly a memory came back to her. A cold November night, much like this one. Fifth year.

You're not very idealistic, are you?

Henryk Lee had saved her—her and that guy and Slytherin second-years—and that's what he said at the end of the night, looking at her with the inscrutable look that he had. She couldn't tell if he were disappointed or simply making an observation, and that made her uneasy.

"Is it bad," she wondered aloud, "not to have any ideals about what people should be like?"

Potter looked at her oddly. "In this world—probably, yeah. How else are you going to tell your friends from your enemies?"

My enemies are my friends are my enemies, Alex's brain whirled. But she supposed that Potter wouldn't be very interested in this kind of rhetoric. "You're probably right," she said.

"So do you think you'll join—you-know-what?" Potter whispered, cautious again. Alex sighed.

"If they allow me, maybe… Why, do you?"

"Definitely," Potter said. "That's what I want—be an Auror and be part of the—the Arrangement."

"You don't think that's wrong?" Alex said, wrinkling her nose. "As an Auror, you'll be a ministry official. The… initiative is a purely private enterprise. They might have different interests."

"But that's the problem," Potter said stubbornly. "The Ministry should be concerned about protecting the weak—in this case, the Muggles and the Muggleborns who are much more frequently targeted than everyone else. So far they've been played by the hands of the rich Purebloods who only want their own interests to be represented."

"The Ministry isn't for the "weak,"" Alex said slowly. "It's for everyone."

Potter waved his hand impatiently. "We still need equal representation," he said. "And the state of affairs right now is that the Purebloods are overwhelmingly overrepresented."

Alex sensed that Potter was beginning to grow upset with her lack of enthusiasm and decided to change the subject. "So Auror, huh?" she asked. She'd considered the career in fifth year, but Henryk's opinion was that she wouldn't always respond well to bureaucratic directions, and she was personally turned off by the idea of working at the same place her entire life.

"Yeah," Potter said.

"I heard it's pretty difficult to get an interview these days."

"Well, my dad knows someone in the Auror office, and he let me and Sirius sort of shadow him this summer, y'know… Sirius realized that he couldn't deal with the office environment, but I think I'll like it."

Alex supposed that this was a bad place to mention the irony of old family connections working for Potter's advantage.

"Cool."

They patrolled in silence for a bit more, but it seemed that Potter was beginning to get antsy with something that he wanted to say. And soon enough, he said:

"If you don't have any ideals, why would you want to join the Order?"

"Vengeance," Alex said. Livingston jumped from his seat and several of his friends sniggered.

"What?" he asked bemused. And then: "Hi," with a shy smile. Alex smiled back automatically.

"For twenty points," Alex said, pointing at the scrabble tiles. "Two down from Malmouth."

"Nice," Livingston said appreciatively, laying out the word on the board. Alex watched him play with his friends a bit—it was already December, and she'd gotten used to hanging around his friends, most of whom were sixth-year Slytherin boys. They knew her mostly through that guy, and Alex tended to keep quiet about their relationship, so most of them found her boring. Fine by her—less questions to answer.

"Sorry for keeping you waiting," Livingston said apologetically. "Travers tends to get a bit anxious around exam time, I think it's nice to have some time to relax with everyone else—don't you think?" His dark brown eyes were shining with the excitement of the game (Alex could never understand how people could enjoy board games), and his cheeks were rosy from sitting in front of the fireplace. Alex felt a familiar pang of what she identified as her conscience, but she ignored it, as she did every single time she came across a detrimental thought.

"It's not a problem," she said. "I enjoy watching you play." Livingston smiled again and Alex numbed her conscience for her own sake.

"Still—winter break's coming soon, I'd like to spend more time before not seeing you for an entire month," he said, frankness apparent in every word. Alex's fingers clutched the armrest a bit too tightly, but Alex smiled again—uncomfortably, she was sure, but the awkwardness was probably not a bad thing here.

"We might see each other," she said. "What are you doing this winter?"

"Oh, just some family dinners… there's a big party that everyone has to go to, it's always such a big affair but pretty dull, nothing ever happens." Then his face brightened. "Hey, do you want to go with me?"