"Hello, Alex," her father said. "Long time, no see."

Alex looked at the man in front of her, speechless. In a way he was just a human—arms, legs, torso, all those things. Just a man. But he was also supposed to be her father, who came to see her at Hogsmeade and bought her spinach pizza.

At the moment, however, he was her mother's murderer, and terror seized her. The anger that she harbored for over a year, frustration at mystery, incomprehension, and sheer hatred all intermingled in one heavy mass that pressed upon her chest.

"You," she managed to say, shuddering to take a breath. Beside her that guy stirred uneasily.

"Do excuse us, Mr. Black," Altair said cooly. "This doesn't concern you."

"The conversation is taking place within this party," Regulus drawled, eerily composed. "This party, all held in honor of… you know whom. Everything that happens here concerns me."

"This is family business." The icy stare from Altair's eyes could freeze any volcanic activity. Regulus stood his ground.

"Family," he tasted the word on his tongue. "You mean, of course, our society… we are all a family by blood."

"Don't meddle in what you do not understand," Altair hissed. Alex flinched. Her father noticed.

"Mr. Black," Altair tried again in barely suppressed anger. "Your presence is requested. Now. I suggest you leave or let your family's accountant suffer the consequences." This seemed to strike a chord with Regulus who, after glaring at Altair, left with one fleeting glance at Alex. She refused to meet his eyes and stonily stared at the fox head at her right.

"That's taken care of," her father muttered, closing the door after him. "That idiotic boy, only so much can be excused by age. But I suppose he has been under considerable pressure."

"What do you want?"

Altair cocked his head to his side and regarded Alex. Her hands clenched automatically as their eyes met. Dark eyes on dark eyes. The same ones.

"I was going to ask you the same question," Altair eventually said. "You coming all the way here. Even using that Livingston boy. A thoroughly uninteresting young man, I must add. Not the worst choice, I admit, as a tool, but still, Alex, you could do better."

"That's none of your concern."

"It is my concern," Altair said. "My daughter is going out of her way to put herself in danger and coming across stupid boys in the process."

"Danger? You're worried about me being in danger? After—after what happened with my mom, you're worried about putting me in danger?" The disbelief cracked her last words as Alex felt the sting of tears threatening the corners of her eyes again. Her expression seemed to affect Altair Wymond, who looked away briefly.

"That," he said at last, "is between your mother and myself."

"Then it is my concern," Alex replied sarcastically.

"No, it isn't." Altair's face was stony and this lack of acknowledgement cracked the wall around her heart—the wall that she was sure Altair Wymond would never even come close to. And she hated how weak she felt… "Your mother would agree."

"You don't—"

"I knew her." He paused. "I knew her extremely well."

Alex bit the inside of her cheek. "Tell me why."

"Why what?"

"Why you chose—to join them, and why you suddenly reappeared, and why—" why you left us, her heart screamed, but she swallowed those words hard. "Why did she have to die that way?" Too late. Her voice shook as the nascent sob crawled up her throat.

Altair looked away. "I believed in their cause," he said eventually. "Your mother didn't. I told you, I know—I knew her well. When she found out that I'd joined the ranks, she left without another word that night. I didn't know where she was. Or that she had a child." He gave her a meaningful look but Alex's mind was going the other way.

"You didn't know about me."

"She didn't tell me."

"She wanted to protect me."

"Or spite me," Altair muttered.

"I can't say I missed you much," Alex snapped. "I never knew you to begin with."

"That's not my fault," her father said. "When I found out about you, you were already in Hogwarts, and things would've been too dangerous for you if you knew me."

"Dangerous how?"

"They would've wanted to recruit you." And the look on her father's face made it very clear who they were.

"You're a part of them."

"Parenthood isn't logical. What you want for yourself is not what you want for your child. With time, if all of this ever comes to an end, you'll understand."

"Don't patronize me as if I were a child."

"I know you're not a child." Something flickered on Altair's face that made Alex hesitate, but he schooled his face quickly again.

"I wasn't sure how you were doing, or who your friends were, or what you'd been told," Altair continued. "And when I heard that Petrose was living close by, keeping an eye on you all the time, I just couldn't stand by and let him get to you."

"Petrose?" Alex frowned. "What about him?"

Altair's eyes glittered darkly. "What about him?" He repeated. "What do you mean, what about him?"

"What's wrong with him?"

"Didn't he tell you?" At Alex's ace, Altair laughed humorlessly. "He didn't tell you, of course he didn't. He has a way of always playing the victim, if only you knew… He hasn't gotten too close to you, has he?"

"He's the closest thing to family I have," Alex answered cooly. Altair's face twisted in anger. "He's looked after me the past year."

"I don't know what he told you, and quite frankly I don't want to know," Altair seethed. "His bent truths and lies have hurt enough people. All I can tell you is the truth and it's that he tore my parents apart before they could see their grandchild being born. Much before, far too soon. He broke the family—our family apart, Alex, do you understand, he broke us apart—"

"I don't know what he did," Alex broke in coldly. "But I fail to see how what he did when you were a teenager affected what you did when you were older. When you had your own family."

"You sound just like him," Altair spat in frustration. Alex felt the anger flare up inside her.

"Do I? And if that's the case, is it that bad?" She finally gathered the strength to stand up. "He was there to bring flowers to my mother's funeral. He looked after me since I was a child and my mom moved to the remotest part of England to get away from you and your world. He taught me everything I know about being a Darkhider, and he's the one who made me Christmas dinner. So you don't get to tell me after all these years that he's the bad guy and you're the good guy in disguise. Don't give me excuses like you didn't know about me or that Petrose messed things up for you. You couldn't make it work with my mom. You killed her." Alex felt the lump rise in her throat again. "You killed her," she repeated, her voice faltering.

"I don't deny it," Altair responded with an unfathomable face. Alex swallowed,

"You're not sorry."

"I killed my wife," he said. "The person I vowed to protect through thick and thin. I am not so heartless."

"That's not an apology."

"Would an apology make it better?" A bitter smile twisted Altair's entire face. "Petrose apologized, too, you know. He apologized over and over again, crying over my mother's grave. He said it was all his fault. And you know what I felt? Disgust. Disgust at his very existence. No amount of apology will make you forgive me."

"Maybe not," Alex said. "But the fact you never apologized means I never could. Nor that I would even want to."

Altair didn't answer.

"Stay away from him," he said eventually. "Petrose. The entire family's brought on nothing but chaos in our clan. Stay away from the nonsense he calls Darkhider, the grand "tradition" that he thinks we should keep alive. You're not beholden to anyone, especially not this secret society that he thinks is everything… Stay away from the war, away from Livingston and all these boys who aren't worth your time. Maybe go abroad. Be safe. Healthy. Happy, if fortune allows." He sighed. "Sophia would agree."

"You don't get to say her name," Alex shuddered.

"No, I don't." Altair conceded.

"She told me to trust him."

"Your mother didn't know the full story, either. Or tell me, did he ever tell you how your grandparents died? Ever?"

"He told me Charles wanted to get into a duel with someone, and that Polaris tried to stop it from happening. That's how she died, and he died soon after." Altair snorted.

"Did he tell you why the duel was supposed to happen?" He asked.

"No."

"Of course he didn't. Why don't you ask him? See what he tells you. If he tells you. If you can ever look at him the same way afterwards."

"I don't know why you are so spiteful," Alex said. "But I know he was there for me when you weren't."

"You're not some dog, Alex," her father said impatiently. "You're not obliged to stay with someone just because they feed you."

Alex raised her eyebrows. "I beg your pardon?"

"It came out the wrong way, but you know what I mean—"

"No, no, I don't," Alex snapped. "All I know is that with her dying breath my mom told me to trust you, that you were a good man, and all I can see is a child who can't even admit that he did something wrong and instead blames everyone else."

Altair's eyes flashed dangerously. "I'd be more careful about what you say, Alex, or—"

"Or what? You'll kill me, too?"

The last sentence seemed to hit Altair harder than all the rest. He retreated into the darkness, hiding his entire face.

"I should go now," he murmured.

"You're running away."

"I'm sorry, Alex," he said, and what Alex didn't know at the time was that these were the last words she would hear from him until his final moments, when they crossed paths again. "I'm truly sorry for everything. Had things been different, I—we would've been very happy together, the three of us."

"You don't—" Alex started towards him, but Altair Wymond was already gone, leaving a trail of dust and cloaks behind him. Alex stared, utterly spent.

"Charles, don't hog the muffins," Claire Wilson said promptly as Charles Wilson reached out for the second plate of muffins, yet again. "They're for everyone, you know. And Alex is looking awfully thin."

"The young girls these days, Mother. They like to be thin." Charles' face, already beset with frown lines from the moment he'd seen Alex enter the house, grew even darker.

"Nonsense," Claire said. "In my day girls were healthy. A little plump rosiness never hurt anyone. Have some more muffin, dear." Claire took the plate of muffins and passed them on to Alex. She accepted it mutely.

"Don't you agree, Augustus?" Claire continued loudly.

Augustus Wilson grunted in response.

"At least, I seem to remember your partiality for Cecilia Rhodes from Hufflepuff when we were at school. She had the roundest face you'd ever seen, everyone thought she was a darling."

"Cecilia Rhodes, the one who's on the committee for natural relief? I saw her two weeks ago, mother. She did not look anything like you describe." Jennifer Wilson, the beloved mother of Ben, sat primly by her husband's side and chewed on a piece of apple.

"It's called age, Jenny," Claire said good-naturedly. "Happens to us all."

Alex had never been to one of her family New Year breakfasts—as far as she knew, her mother had not been invited since she was born—and the dining room was as imposing as she remembered from her mother's funeral. The high ceiling glistened with gilded gold and the cabinets shined with varnish. The windows were pristine and clear, and all the silverware and porcelain would've been respectable even in any Slytherin standard. A house elf entered silently and set another plate of eggs by Alex's side and Alex thanked her quietly. The elf beamed before being shooed away by Ben. Alex directed her glare at her plate.

If these breakfasts were always as awkward as it was now, Alex couldn't say she missed out on much.

"So, Ben," Claire continued her efforts at conversation. "How's your beau? I was very happy to see her at the Christmas party. And such a shame that you couldn't join us, Alex."

"Sorry," Alex muttered for the thousandth time.

"She's doing very well. I told you before, grandma, that she's working at St. Mungo's? Well, she thinks that the head nurse wants to promote her to assistant, and she's really excited." Ben's face lighted up at the talk of his girlfriend and Alex tried not to roll her eyes. If she remembered with any accuracy, Sarah Timbley had been as practical and boring as a plain licorice wand from Honeyduke's. All expectation, no bite.

"That's excellent news," her grandfather spoke for the first time. "It's always a pleasure to have someone in medicine in the family. They're always so informed, you know, and very dependable." Like a dictionary, Alex thought, but she bit her tongue.

"And how's work, Ben?" Augustus asked.

"Oh, father, didn't you see his most recent article on the Daily Prophet?" Charles said, sounding cheerful for the first time. "We were all very proud."

"Fine writing," Augustus acknowledged.

"Do you have any plans for after your graduation, Alex?" Jennifer asked—out of innocuous reasons or with sly intentions, Alex couldn't tell.

"Yes, I'm going to apply for the apprentice position with Gringotts' acquisition department," she replied.

"Acquisition department? Isn't that—for curse-breakers?" Jennifer's eyebrows rose in skepticism.

"Yes," Alex said. "That's what I want to do."

"It's a rather dangerous job, Alex," Claire said with pursed lips. "Are you sure that's what you want to do in—in such uncertain times?"

"I think so," Alex said. "Besides, most of the training is abroad, which I think would actually be safer."

"I don't think you need to worry about her safety, grandma. Especially seeing the company she keeps." Ben said loudly.

"What do you mean?" Augustus' bushy eyebrows looked sternly at Ben, ever refusing to look at Alex. Alex took a deep breath and exhaled silently. Here we go again.

"She's involved with the heart of the cause—you know, that youngest Black. The cousin of Malfoy and Lestrange? At least the last time I checked, he and Alex were snogging in the transfiguration section of the library." By the end of the sentence Ben didn't even try to hide his malice. Alex thought about retorting that she wondered how Ben managed to be a reporter with such bias, but refrained.

"Is this true?" Jennifer asked.

"No," Alex said. "Regulus Black and I are not involved."

"That's not what I heard," Ben insisted.

"I've been away for a year," Alex snapped. So much for refraining. "And Ben graduated more than a year ago. We're no longer involved."

"So you were involved," Charles said.

"That's hardly of any importance right now," Claire said placatingly. No one's face grew any softer.

"The kind she associates herself with," Ben said. "Okay, so maybe Black is out of the picture. How about that Lee?"

"Who's Lee?" Augustus said.

"This exchange student from Bulgaria," Ben said. "Home-schooled, he said. Like anyone believed him. Fishy as hell, if you asked me, wouldn't even say where in Bulgaria he was from, or any other personal detail. He and Alex would huddle in a corner of the Great Hall during study hours and throw hexes at each other."

"He was teaching me dueling," Alex said. "And if I remember correctly, Ben, you had no problems with him until he hit that Bludger right at your shoulder and you fell off your broom."

"I dislocated my shoulder," Ben retorted.

"Which Madame Pomfrey fixed within five minutes. It's Quidditch, Ben."

"Quidditch!" Their grandmother yelled in last resort. "Minerva tells me that you've joined the house team, Alex. How's that going?"

"Grandma, how could you ever invite her?" Ben said. Alex swallowed a lump in her throat. And she left Petrose alone on New Year's Day for this. Stupid of her.

She hadn't gathered enough energy to ask Petrose what Altair Wymond could've possibly meant by his role in her grandparents' death. He offered her a piece of chocolate cake when she returned from the Malfoy Manor utterly spent, and forced her to have tea with vodka before she went to sleep so that she'd have dreamless slumber. He was—Alex didn't even know who he was, but he'd been in her life, consciously or not, from her childhood. He protected her when no one else could. Did it even matter, then, what he did in his past? If he'd even done anything?

"She's family, Benjamin," Augustus spoke out to everyone's surprise. "And the Wilson family sticks together."

"That's not what happened with Sophia," Charles muttered.

"And we regret that," Claire said firmly. "We should've done better. All of us." There was a pregnant pause when everyone looked down at their plates. Alex didn't know what her grandfather was doing. To come to her defense after an hour of stern disapproval? Or was that for his own sake?

"Now," Claire said in a false cheery tone. "More clotted cream, anyone?"

"I'm really sorry, Alex," Claire Wilson said as she saw Alex off to the door. "You should know, Charles always felt resentful that Sophia was the favorite. At least, for Augustus anyway. She was always the cleverer one, and he had big dreams for her—well, you know what happened afterwards. Truly, you should know, Charles' behavior was directed at your mother, not you."

"I think it was," Alex said.

"Fine, it was," Claire conceded. "He was being stupid. I'm sorry you had to go through that. You should know, though, your grandfather and I, we're both very proud of you." At Alex's incredulous look, Claire insisted, "we really are. I know Augustus may look grim and stormy, but that's—well, you may look more like—you don't have much of Sophia's looks, but—you have the same expression, and I think—he feels very bereft every time he sees you." Claire sighed. "Guilt is a powerful emotion. He never got to say goodbye to her… nor did I."

Alex squirmed uncomfortably in her shoes.

"If you want," she said awkwardly, "I can—you can invite me to meals, or things, and—if I have time, it's a very odd schedule I have right now, I'll try to make it."

Claire beamed. "That would be lovely," she said, hugging Alex tightly. Alex gingerly hugged her back.

"Thanks for seeing me off," Alex said, and without prolonging the goodbye, disapparated.

"Good breakfast?" Petrose asked as Alex opened the door. She threw herself on the armchair in the living room and rubbed her temple.

"Delightful," she muttered. "An utter delight."

"I must say, I saw only snippets of the high society when your grandmother invited people over. I don't know much about them, but I doubt that the Wilsons approved of your clothes." Alex looked down at her jeans and a sweater and shrugged.

"I figured they'd prefer me in Muggle clothing to whatever robe I could find." She watched Petrose as he briskly moved about in the kitchen, putting the water on boil, taking the tea from the container. Her father's words floated through her mind again, and she shook it away, unwilling to concede…

"My nephew got in touch again," Petrose said, shaking her out of her reverie. Alex looked back at him wearily.

"He's awfully friendly, isn't he?"

"He doesn't have many people to talk to," Petrose said, sighing. "He asks me to send you his regards."

"Oh," Alex said. "I mean, I don't know him, but—please send him my regards. I guess."

"I will." Petrose rummaged through the cupboard to see what cups he could find.

"Isn't he at—Elsinore? The place where everyone is?"

"He is."

"Why doesn't he have people to talk to, if he's there?"

Petrose looked at her with an odd look that she couldn't make out. "He was sort of exiled."

"Exiled?"

"Shunned, you might say," Petrose sighed again. "The Conservato is an old, old society. Which means it has many expectations, implicit and never stated, but nevertheless understood by everyone… that's the good and the bad thing about old societies, I suppose. I'm sure the Wilsons will agree." He looked at her meaningfully and Alex sat up taller, considering.

"Why was he shunned?"

Was it her imagination, or did Petrose barely manage to catch himself before dropping his cup? "Because he defected without saying anything," he said quietly.

"Why?"

He looked at her with the odd look again. "To find himself."

"Oh," Alex said. "He couldn't do that there?"

"He's a Petrose," Petrose muttered. "No matter how much others might deny it. He knew too. We don't mean much without our other half."

"Do you mean—you don't mean the Wymonds, do you?" Alex hesitantly leaned forward as Petrose came with a tray of tea.

"Why are you asking all these questions?"

Alex looked away. "I don't know. I guess—I went to the manor so that I could talk to him, and try to understand—and he wasn't very helpful. I went today to the other side of my parents to understand, I suppose, and that didn't help, either. I feel like I'm missing something. Something that no one's telling me, or maybe no one even knows what it is, just—it's a missing link, Petrose."

Petrose looked at her with his penetrating gaze again. "You never said what happened on Christmas."

"It's not important."

"It's on your mind."

"He said—he said you had a part. In how my grandparents died." Alex fiddled with her fingers. "I don't—did you?"

"It was my job to protect the family, and I failed," Petrose said quietly. "Of course I had a part."

"I'm—Petrose, it doesn't matter anymore."

Petrose looked at her with a sad smile. "It does to me."

"The other half, you said—you said that our families have been connected for thousands of years."

"They have been," Petrose said.

"How?"

Petrose sighed. "Nobody knows. It's just the way it was. The way it's always been as long as anyone can remember. That's what my nephew once said, that he felt like even though he grew up with everyone else in Conservato, and he got along very well with everyone, he always felt like everyone expected him to do something else and look for his—other half. It's an antiquated idea. But habits change hard, I suppose."

Alex frowned. "Did he come looking for me? Is that—is that why he defected?"

"No," Petrose said quickly. "He didn't know about you. No one in the Conservato has been keeping up with the going-ons in England since the death of your grandmother. He wanted to talk to me, I think. The only other Petrose remaining. He wanted to come to terms with his name. Not unlike you." Petrose smiled thinly. "Now drink. The tea's getting cold."

Alex accepted the tea, unable to shake her father's words and that even though Petrose didn't seem to be lying, he also had not said anything about her grandparents' deaths.

A/N Hi friends, I'm back after a year-long hiatus! A lothas happened in the past months, and I wasn't sure if I ever would have come back to the story, but here we are:) I'll be back real soon!