Bladewolf101: Ahaha, took a while, but yeah we've reached a point. Hermione is a bit tricky. I want to go more into her perspective in the next book, but yeah, we won't be waiting until the seventh book or something for them to get together lool.

BraianShinji: Aahah, I'm sorry. Hopefully, this quick update is worth it. Thanks so much, I appreciate it!

CenturionEon: Thank you! Exactly, and Alex is sometimes an unreliable narrator so it's kind of hard to gauge what Hermione really thinks but hoping for her POV to be explored next chapter. Yes, Amelie's humanity is not looking too good at this point.

Robtar: Thanks so much! :)

Alexander found himself consumed by one singular worry: exams. While the world outside basked in the beauty of spring, he remained tethered to his books.

Everyone else seemed to share the same views. Still, he felt a pang of envy for those who could still appreciate the simple pleasures of life. How he longed to join them, to feel the warmth of the sun on his skin and the soft grass beneath his feet. Hermione, typically, was frazzled beyond belief.

He saw her sit hunched over her exam timetable, the edges of the paper crinkled from being folded and unfolded countless times. Her fingers drummed impatiently on the table as she scanned through the dates and subjects, her brow furrowed in concentration.

"Hermione?" Ron said cautiously as if approaching a sleeping lion. "Er — are you sure you've copied down these times right?"

"What?" snapped Hermione, picking up the schedule and examining it. "Yes, of course I have."

Alexander sighed as he rested his foot on an armchair, his Runes book clutched in his hands. "Ron, leave her alone, will you?" he said without glancing up. "She'll manage like she always does, okay?"

His and Hermione's eyes met for a brief moment, and in that fleeting connection, Alexander felt a rush of emotions he couldn't quite decipher. It was as if the weight of unspoken words hung heavy in the air. He quickly averted his gaze, feeling the heat rise to his cheeks. Awkwardness settled over him like a heavy cloak. He wanted to smack his head against a metal pole or get hit by a bludger. Both seemed more favourable to him than this.

Ron backed away slightly, sensing Hermione's tension. "Right, sorry," he muttered, retreating towards Harry and asking him if he wanted to play a chess game.

As Ron retreated to play chess, Alexander felt a twinge of anxiety gnawing at the edges of his mind. He stole a swift glance at Hermione over the corners of his book; her brow was furrowed in what he assumed was frustration. He wetted his lips, aware this was the first time they were alone together without distraction. He hesitated for a split second. Did the clenched quill in her hands mean that she was angry at him or was it just her being stressed about exams? He couldn't really tell. He took a deep breath, feeling as if he was about to confront a Basilisk head-on with no sword or wand.

"Uh. Hey, Hermione," he said, his voice coming out a bit more strained than he intended.

Hermione looked up; she regarded him with a mixture of curiosity and wariness. "Yes, Alexander?" she replied, her tone neutral.

Alexander hesitated, his mind racing as he tried to gauge her mood. She didn't snap at him like she'd done to Ron, so that was a win at least, right? "I, uh, just wanted to check in," he said, his words stumbling over each other in his haste. "You know, after the other night. . . we — er — haven't really had a chance to talk about it so I figured. . ."

Hermione's eyebrows shot up in surprise, and for a moment, Alexander thought he saw a flash of irritation flicker across her features. "The other night?" she echoed, her voice tinged with scepticism.

Alexander's heart sank as he realised his mistake. "Uh, yeah," he muttered, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment. Why was it so difficult to speak to her lately? It was Hermione for God's sake? He'd always been comfortable with her but now it felt like trying to navigate a dense forest without a map. "I mean, you know, when we. . . uh. . ."

He trailed off, unable to bring himself to articulate the memory that still lingered in the back of his mind. Each word he wanted to say felt like a tangled thicket, blocking his path and leaving him stumbling over his thoughts. And Hermione, with her unwavering gaze and expectant demeanour, seemed like a towering oak, rooted firmly in place while he floundered in her shadow.

Hermione's expression softened slightly, and Alexander couldn't help but feel a surge of hope.

"Oh, that," she said with a small smile. Her expression was unreadable. "Don't worry about it, Alexander. Water under the bridge."

Relief washed over Alexander in a wave, and he couldn't suppress the grin that spread across his face. Hermione, however, didn't match it. "Oh, thank Merlin," he exclaimed, his shoulders sagging with relief. "So we're, like, good then?"

"We're fine," she nodded with pursed lips, her gaze turned once more to her timetable.

"Okay. . ."

He went on staring at her, unable to help himself from opening his mouth once again. Hermione must've sensed his burning gaze before she threw him a dull, irritated look.

"Was there something else?" she asked shortly.

Alexander cleared his throat, his cheeks burning with embarrassment. "Look, I, uh, I just wanted to say. . . I'm sorry," he stammered, the words tumbling out in a rush. "For bringing up that night. I didn't mean to make things weird between us. It was a stupid mistake, and I was. . ." He trailed off, unable to find the right words.

Hermione regarded him with a raised eyebrow. "It's okay, Alexander," she said, reaching out to pat his hand reassuringly. His skin tingled under her touch and somehow made him feel even worse. "I understand. We all make mistakes, especially under the influence of firewhiskey." She smiled.

Alexander's shoulders sagged, but a nagging feeling of unease lingered in the pit of his stomach. "But I still feel terrible about it," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "I never meant to. . . to. . ."

"To kiss me?" Hermione finished for him, a small smile playing at the corners of her lips.

Alexander nodded sheepishly, his cheeks flushing an even deeper shade of pink. "Yeah, that," he mumbled, unable to meet her gaze.

Hermione tilted her head. She was quiet for a second or two. Then she spoke. "It's alright," she reassured him breezily. "Really. We all make mistakes. Let's just put it behind us and focus on exams, alright?"

Alexander felt a profound sense of relief flood over him once more, and he nodded gratefully. "Alright," he agreed, a weight lifting from his shoulders. "Wait. Wh—Where are you going?" he asked her in alarm as she rose from her seat.

"To the library," she said distractedly. "I need to get to get some studying done."

He nodded mindlessly and watched her disappear through the portrait hole.

Alexander couldn't put it out of his mind. Despite his best efforts, the memory of that night kept flashing through his mind at the most inconvenient times. During class, meals, and even while he was trying to study, the image of Hermione's soft lips and the scent of vanilla haunted him like a persistent, bittersweet ghost. It was driving him crazy.

What bothered him even more was the way it shifted something inside him — something he couldn't deny. It wasn't just his chest that tightened; it was a feeling that reached deeper, making him flush with embarrassment and confusion. Every time the thought encroached in, he wanted to swallow the lump in his throat and disappear, feeling like a creep for even having such thoughts about his friend.

This wasn't normal.

He had to get a hold of himself. There was nothing better than exams to distract him, he reasoned, and he threw himself into his studies with a determination that bordered on obsession. Much to his relief, it worked — for the most part. He could sit next to Hermione in the common room, their shoulders brushing as they pored over their books, without his heart racing out of control. He managed to focus on the intricate details of Ancient Runes and the complexities of Transfiguration, letting the pressure take precedence over everything else.

Yet, the tingly feeling arose whenever Hermione was near. It was as if his body had a mind of its own, responding to her presence despite his best efforts to maintain control. Each time their hands accidentally touched while reaching for a quill or a book, his heart would skip a beat. He didn't dare mention it, of course, choosing instead to bury this feeling as if it was no more than a pesky fly he could bat away.

But it was during the quiet moments, when he allowed himself to relax, that the memories would crawl back in like they've been biding their time.

He would be in the shower, letting the hot water wash over him, and suddenly the image of Hermione's smile and wide, doe-eyes would flash before his vision into his head. This time it was just his feelings that stirred but a full, bodily reaction towards his lower area that made him flush as red as a blazing bonfire, feeling disgusted with himself. It was a natural reaction, of course, it was.

Still. . . this had never happened before. Not like this. He shook his head, trying to clear the thought and stay under the water longer as if it could cleanse his mind as well as his body. He reached out and turned the faucet towards the cold symbol, gritting his teeth as icy water cascaded down his back. Despite the shock, it had the desired effect.

He was annoyed with himself, frustrated by his inability to move past it. It wasn't just a mistake made under the influence of firewhiskey — it was a mistake that had left a lasting mark on him.

He had to keep reminding himself that Hermione had brushed it off, that she didn't seem to think it was a big deal. And it wasn't. It shouldn't be. Not at all. She was just Hermione. And he was Alexander. They were friends. They'd always be friends, or well, he hoped so at least.

∞ ϟ 9¾

When the week of exams arrived, Alexander had a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. Nia came over to wish him luck and told him that he shouldn't stress too much over it — it wasn't his OWLs just yet. Alexander appreciated it all the same even if he gave a fake smile.

Transfiguration was first, where he turned his teapot into a turtle. By the time he came out his wrist was aching. Care of Magical Creatures was in the afternoon. Alexander felt rather bored as Hagrid was too worried about Buckbeak to focus on them properly. All they had to do was look after their flobberworm and make sure it was alive to pass. Alexander crossed his arms and checked his watch, willing the time to go faster as he listened to the chatter around him.

The next exam was way more daunting. Potions were always a challenge, especially when Snape chose for them to brew a particularly confusing concoction. As Alexander meticulously measured and mixed ingredients, Snape's piercing gaze hovered over him. Every time the Professor walked past, his narrowed eyes bore into Alexander's very soul, making him tense up despite his attempts to ignore it.

Despite the pressure, Alexander managed to produce a potion that looked semi-decent, and it was good enough for Snape to begrudgingly give him a pass.

Ancient Runes, while intriguing, also filled Alexander with nervousness. He had always found the subject fascinating, and he desperately wanted a good grade. Yet, as he translated the simple runes, doubts began to creep in. Did he get them all right? Were there nuances he missed? The anxiety chewed at him as the runes grew more complex, leaving him unsure of his performance by the end of the exam. He didn't get the chance to discuss this with Hermione as by the time he turned around to speak to her she was gone.

Defence Against the Dark Arts offered a unique and intriguing challenge with Lupin's obstacle course. Alexander breezed through most of the obstacles, his confidence bolstered by his natural aptitude for the subject. However, some moments gave him pause.

When attacked by a Red Cap, he fumbled for his wand, his reflexes not as sharp as he'd hoped. And then there was the boggart in the trunk, a manifestation of his deepest fears. As it transformed into his grandfather, cruel and arrogant like never before, Alexander was paralysed by shock. Should he shout? Cry? He stood frozen until Lupin's voice broke through the silence, snapping him back to reality. He cleared his head, and with a shaky breath, Alexander banished the boggart, though the encounter left him unsettled.

A few minutes later he heard a piercing scream come from Hermione. His eyes darted around, searching for her amidst the chaos. When he finally spotted her, his heart sank. She was standing as still as a statue as she emerged from the trunk, her face twisted, tears streaming down her cheeks.

Without a second thought, Alexander rushed to her side, his worries momentarily forgotten. His gaze ran over her frantically. She wasn't hurt, right? She didn't look it — physically that is.

"Hermione!" said Lupin, startled. "What's the matter?"

"P—P—Professor McGonagall!" Hermione gasped, pointing into the trunk. "Sh—she said I'd failed everything!"

Alexander blinked. He opened his mouth and then closed it. He had the faintest inclination to laugh but quickly squashed it down, knowing it wouldn't go down too well. "It's just the boggart, Hermione, it's playing tricks on your mind," he said gently as Hermione gave huge, hiccuping gasps.

Hermione's eyes were wide with panic as she looked at him. He met her gaze, willing her to believe him, to trust that everything would be alright. He placed a hand on her shoulder to ground her to his touch. It took a little while to calm Hermione down. Slowly, her trembling began to subside, her panicked breathing steadying as she clung to his and Lupin's words of reassurance.

He quickly realised that his hand was still touching her. Hastily, he withdrew his hand from her shoulder and avoided eye contact, shuffling back a few steps.

When they made their way back up to the castle, they were met at the top of the steps by Cornelius Fudge who was sweating slightly in his pinstriped cloak, standing there staring out at the grounds. Alexander fought the urge to scowl at him outright.

"Hello there, Harry! Ah, and Alexander, how did your exams go? I trust everything went smoothly?" said Fudge warmly.

Alexander's response was curt, his voice lacking the usual warmth. "Fine, Minister," he replied, his gaze flickering away from Fudge's expectant eyes.

Fudge didn't seem to notice the change in Alexander's demeanour, dismissing it with a wave of his hand. "Excellent, excellent," he said, his attention momentarily diverted as he scanned the grounds. "It's such a pity Antoine couldn't make it I'm afraid. He's in the US now, actually, discussing something with the President of Magical Congress. He should be back in a couple of days."

Alexander's brow furrowed slightly at the mention of his grandfather, but he quickly masked his reaction with a noncommittal nod. "I wouldn't know," he said stiffly. "I haven't been in touch."

Fudge nodded understandingly. "Of course, of course," he replied, his tone light. "It's not something to discuss with students." Fudge sighed loudly. "I'm here on an unpleasant mission if you must know. The Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures required a witness to the execution of a mad hippogriff. As I needed to visit Hogwarts to check on the Black situation, I was asked to step in."

"Does that mean the appeal's already happened?" Ron interrupted, stepping forward.

"No, no, it's scheduled for this afternoon," said Fudge, looking curiously at Ron.

Alexander squared his shoulders, meeting Fudge's gaze head-on. His voice was steady. "Minister, with all due respect, the decision to execute Buckbeak is unjust."

Fudge's eyebrows shot up in surprise at Alexander's directness. He smiled indulgently. "Now, now, Alexander, I understand your concern, but these matters are not up for debate. The law must be upheld. I am merely here to ensure protocol is carried out." He shifted his focus, spotting the executioner waiting nearby. "Ah, there's Walden. I must go speak with him about some matters. Good day to you all. Till the next time."

Before he could argue anymore, Fudge walked away, and Alexander watched the Minister's retreating figure with a mixture of disdain and curiosity. Did Fudge know the type of man his grandfather was? The crimes he'd committed or that he supported Voldemort? Or did he just not care? Just as he didn't care about Buckbeak was being killed without a fair trial.

"Alexander! You can't go around saying things like that, not to the Minister," hissed Hermione. "And doesn't your grandfather work for the Ministry, for Fudge? What if you cost him his job?"

Alexander snorted. "Please. Grandfather could set Fudge's house on fire, and the Minister would probably still invite him over for tea," Alexander remarked dryly. "And likely send him a fruit basket as a token of appreciation." That much he was certain of. Fudge relied too much on Grandfather to disperse him just like that. It made him wonder just how much power and influence his grandfather had.

While the others prepared for their final exams, Alexander had already completed his and was overjoyed to finally relax. He was likely the first in Gryffindor to do so. Harry and Ron still had Divination, and Hermione had Muggle Studies left to take. He joined a group of fourth years in the common room, their conversation quickly evolving into a game of Exploding Snap. He'd forgotten the last time he'd been able to simply relax like this without any worries — well, any he wasn't actively thinking about that is.

Alexander was basking in the joy of his victory when the portrait door swung open, and he noticed Ron and Hermione enter the common room, looking weary. Excusing himself from the game, he joined his friends in their usual corner.

"How'd the exams go?" Alex asked, settling down beside them.

Ron groaned, "Horrible," he muttered, shaking his head. "I made up a bunch of rubbish for Trelawney. Told her I saw myself becoming the Minister of Magic and growing a third eye. I even told her I saw the Crumple-Horned Snorkack. But she wasn't buying it."

Hermione frowned. "Those don't exist, Ronald," she pointed out, and Ron threw her a scowl.

Alexander chuckled, trying to lighten the mood. "You should've told her you saw multiple Grims prowling the grounds. She'd have given you top marks for sure."

Ron grimaced. "Yeah, next time I'll just predict my death in gruesome ways. That'll make her day I'm sure."

Their conversation was interrupted by a tapping on the window. Ron got up to let in a tawny owl that promptly delivered a letter. As he read it, his face drained of colour.

Alexander watched his sudden pallor change. "What is it?" he asked curiously.

"It's from Hagrid," Ron said, his voice shaky and stretched out the hand clutching the letter towards Alexander. "Look."

Alexander furrowed his brows and then took the parchment, his heart sinking as his gaze ran over the inked words. "No," he breathed out. "They. . . they can't!" This had to be a mistake, right? This couldn't just be it. The news hit them like a bludger to the chest. Buckbeak was scheduled for execution.

Hermione's eyes brimmed with tears as she read the letter over his shoulder, her voice trembling as she spoke. "This can't be happening," she whispered, her hands shaking with disbelief. Alexander offered her his left hand and she grasped it crushingly to her chest as her bottom lip trembled.

Ron's face turned ashen, his fists clenched in anger. "It's not fair," he muttered through gritted teeth.

"I know. . ."

"How can they just—"

"I said I know Ron."

Before any of them could reply Harry walked in, appearing frantic and panicked. Alexander felt his curiosity rise but Harry paused and blinked at the looks on their faces. He asked what was wrong, and Ron told him. Harry's face dropped before shifting into determination.

"We've got to go," said Harry at once. "He can't just sit there on his own, waiting for the executioner!"

"Sunset, though," said Ron, who was staring out the window in a glazed sort of way. "We'd never be allowed. . . 'specially you, Harry."

"I don't think this is a good idea," muttered Alexander warily.

"What else are we going to do then? We can't just leave Hagrid. He's probably devastated right now." Harry sank his head into his hands, thinking. "If we only had the Invisibility Cloak."

"Where is it?" said Hermione.

Harry told her about leaving it in the passageway under the one-eyed witch. "Listen, if Snape sees me anywhere near there again, I'm in serious trouble," he finished.

"That's true," said Hermione thoughtfully, getting to her feet. There was a glint in her eye that caused Alexander to raise an eyebrow. "That's if he sees you… How do you open the witch's hump again?"

"You — you tap it and say Dissendium," said Harry. "But—"

Hermione didn't wait for the rest of his sentence; she strode across the room, pushed open the Fat Lady's portrait and vanished from sight.

As she disappeared, the astonishment settled over Alexander like a heavy fog. He exchanged matching bewildered looks with the other two. She'd been such an enigma to him lately, one he couldn't decipher. As the minutes stretched on, Alexander found himself unable to focus on anything else but Hermione's absence. He fidgeted in his seat. What was she planning? And why did her actions leave him feeling both impressed and restless at the same time?

Before he could dwell on it further, the portrait hole swung open once more, and Hermione reappeared with the Invisibility Cloak draped over her arm. She wore a steeled expression, her eyes sparkling with a fierceness that made Alexander's heart skip a beat. He stared at her.

"I've got it," she announced triumphantly, holding up the cloak for them to see.

"You. . ." Alexander began, his words stuck in its mouth. He cleared his throat. "You're brilliant, you know that?"

Hermione grinned, looking very much pleased. "Yes, very much so."

∞ ϟ 9¾

When they reached Hagrid's cabin that evening, hidden underneath the cloak, the sun was already sinking behind the Forbidden Forest, gilding the top branches of the trees. The door of the familiar hut opened, and Hagrid's helpless expression stood staring at them. There was a heavy sensation in Alexander's chest as he stared at the man as if someone was pressing their boot against his ribs. Hermione offered to make tea.

"Yeh shouldn' be here," Hagrid said, his voice choked with emotion. "But I can' say I ain't glad ter see yeh."

Alexander felt a surge of anger. It was so unfair. "There has to be something we can do," he said, his voice shaking with frustration. "We can release Buckbeak or something, let him escape."

Hagrid quickly shook his head. "No, yeh can'. Interferin' with Ministry justice is a serious crime. Yeh could end up in Azkaban."

Hagrid swallowed. His eyes were darting all over the cabin as though looking for some shred of hope or comfort. "Dumbledore's gonna come down while it — while it happens. Wrote me this mornin'. Said he wants ter — ter be with me."

Hermione, who had been rummaging in Hagrid's cupboard for a milk jug, let out a small, quickly stifled sob. She tried to halt her tears as she straightened up with the jug in her hands, but her shaking shoulders gave her away. Alexander, noticing her distress, quickly moved to her side. He placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder, his touch gentle and grounding.

Hermione glanced at him, her eyes brimming with a glossy sheen. She squeezed his hand quickly before placing the jug on the table with trembling hands. Alexander stood close, ready to offer more support if she needed it. Then, as she went to pour some into the jug, she let out a shriek. Alexander was startled, spinning his head around to see the cause.

"Ron! I — I don't believe it — it's Scabbers!"

Ron gaped at her. "What are you talking about?"

Hermione carried the milk jug over to the table and turned it upside down. With a frantic squeak, and much scrambling to get back inside, Scabbers came sliding out onto the table.

"Scabbers!" said Ron blankly. "Scabbers, what are you doing here?"

Alexander laughed in disbelief. "It's been alive this whole time?" he muttered.

Hagrid suddenly stood up, his eyes fixed on the window. His ruddy face had changed the colour of parchment. "They're comin'…"

Alexander's eyes widened as he glanced out of the window. His pulse quickened, and he knew they only had a matter of seconds. He didn't give them a chance to speak as he hauled Harry and Ron to their feet from the sofa. Hagrid shoved them out of the back door and urged them to go. Slowly, in a kind of horrified trance when they reached the other side, the front door closed with a sharp snap like a coffin being shut.

Hermione's eyes were still glassy, and Alexander felt a pang of sympathy for her. He reached out and pulled her aside. "We did what we could," he said softly, careful enough to make sure Dumbledore or Fudge couldn't hear them as he leaned in close towards her.

Hermione nodded, but her expression remained troubled. "I just wish it were enough," she whispered shakily.

Her lip trembled as she peered up to stare at Alexander, her eyes so wide and deer-like as they filled with a plea. His heart quaked. He wanted to say something, anything, to comfort her, but words seemed inadequate. Instead, he swallowed hard, his emotions threatening to spill over, as he finally bridged the distance between them, gently cupping her face in his hands and rubbing reassuring circles into her skin with his thumbs.

"Alex, please, let's hurry," Hermione mumbled, shutting her eyes. "I can't stand it, I can't bear it anymore."

"Okay," he said gently. "We'll go."

They started up the sloping lawn toward the castle. The sun was swiftly sinking, turning the sky into a clear, purple-tinged grey. To the west, a ruby-red glow lingered.

Ron stopped dead. "It's Scabbers — he won't — stay put—" Ron was bent over, trying to keep Scabbers in his pocket, but the rat was going insane, trying to sink his teeth into Ron's hand.

Alexander's annoyance filtered into his words. His head was throbbing and all he wanted was to slide under his warm covers. "Hurry up, will you?" he snapped. "We're going to get caught. Control your rat, Ron!"

"I'm trying—" strained Ron through gritted teeth as Scabbers squealed and thrashed about as if it was being burnt alive.

"Try harder then!"

"I can't hold him — Scabbers, shut up, everyone'll hear us."

Alexander's hearing sharpened, and he stared across the distance, the tiny hairs on the back of his neck rising. A chorus of indistinct male voices filled the air, then fell silent. Suddenly, the unmistakable sound of an axe swishing and thudding broke the stillness.

Hermione swayed on the spot. Alexander was quick to grab her before she fell to the ground, his arms wrapping around her instinctively. She clung to him like a lifeboat in a stormy sea, her fingers gripping his white collared shirt in tight fists as if it were her only anchor. He pulled her close, feeling her sobs shaking her frame as she buried her face into his shoulder.

"Shh," he whispered, though his voice was unsteady. "It's going to be okay. We need to stay quiet."

Hermione nodded against him, her tears soaking into his shirt. Alexander held her tighter, his heart pounding with anger. How could this be happening? How could they let it happen? He felt weak and out of control, a sensation he despised.

"We can't stay here," Harry muttered, glancing nervously over his shoulder. "If they find us…"

"Scabbers — no!" yelled Ron harshly, catching their attention.

The rat had slipped between Ron's clutching fingers, hit the ground, and scampered away. Ron then pelted away into the darkness. Harry called after him with a panicked tone and moved to follow after him.

"Ron!" Alexander called. "Come back!" His heart raced as he watched Ron dash after Scabbers and scoop him back into his hands. Hermione let out a distressed gasp, clutching tighter to Alexander's arm, her eyes wide with panic.

Suddenly, there was a rustling nearby. Out of nowhere, Crookshanks darted past them, his eyes gleaming with a predatory glint. Scabbers squealed in terror, bolting even faster as the cat gave chase, his small body a blur against the darkening ground. Merde, not now, thought Alexander angrily. He cursed Ron for not keeping a tighter hold on his rat.

"Crookshanks, no!" Hermione cried, but her plea was in vain.

Just as Alexander turned to follow Ron, a massive, black dog appeared from the underbrush, its eyes glowing with an eerie intensity. With a ferocious snarl, it leapt forward, its powerful form colliding with Alexander and sending him sprawling to the ground with a thud. Alexander groaned, his head spinning as he tried to scramble to his feet. The dog's growl was low and menacing, reverberating through his chest, and for a moment, it seemed like the beast might go for him. Time seemed to stop, his very blood stopped coursing through his veins, and his breathing slowed down. But then—

Then, it veered towards Ron, who was struggling to hold onto Scabbers, his fingers white-knuckled and desperate.

Ignoring the pain in his side, Alexander scrambled up and sprinted after Harry who'd yelled for Ron, Hermione following on his heels. The dog had caught up to Ron, snapping at his heels, causing him to trip and fall. In the chaos, Scabbers wriggled free and scurried towards the looming silhouette of the Whomping Willow, its ancient branches twitching menacingly. Alexander fought the urge to groan. Not this fucking tree again. Their bad luck would never run out.

Ron thrashed about, hoping to escape, but the dog had a firm grip on his clothing, dragging him towards the tree. The Willow's branches lashed out, ready to strike anyone who came too close, their movements swift and deadly. Harry lunged forward but then he was struck by the roots, falling back onto the ground, groaning with pain.

"Harry!" Alexander yelled, fear and determination fueling his steps. He couldn't stop to see if Harry was okay. He couldn't let his friend be dragged away. He lunged forward, falling onto his muddy ground, staining his trousers, as he grabbed Ron's arm, and pulled with all his might, his muscles straining with the effort.

"Alex! Harry!" shouted Ron fearfully.

"Let him go you dumb dog!" Alexander snarled furiously at the dog, kicking out with his free leg. The dog growled and released its grip, only to grab Ron's ankle instead, yanking him towards the gnarled base of the tree, its roots twisting like serpents in the fading light. Panic and determination were clawing at his chest with sharp talons. He gritted his teeth and strained his muscles, tugging harder.

But then he heard Hermione shriek with pain and he was distracted for a split second, turning his head back. That was all it took.

Suddenly, a massive branch swung out with lightning speed, striking him squarely in the chest. The impact sent him flying, and he hit the ground hard, the breath knocked out of him. His chest throbbed with intense pain, each heartbeat echoing through his ribcage like a drum. He blinked rapidly, knowing his chest was littered with bruises. Stars danced in his eyesight, and for a moment, he lay there, gasping for air, blinking through the pain.

"Alex!" Harry shouted, his voice desperate as he fought to get back to his feet but he was knocked over once more and his glasses flew in the air.

Hermione's cries mixed with Ron's pained yells. Alexander struggled to focus, his vision blurry. He saw Ron's foot bend at an unnatural angle with a sickening crack, and then Ron's scream pierced the evening air.

"No!" Alexander croaked, forcing himself to his feet despite the burning pain in his chest. He saw the dog dragging Ron into the hollow at the base of the tree, its dark profile disappearing into the shadows. All he could envision were his friends lying dead, their bodies contorted in unnatural angles. With a final burst of speed, he leapt into the dark cavity just as the tree's branches swung towards him again. Hermione's cry echoed in his ear.

Swish.

He missed it just by a hair's inch.

He landed hard on the dirt floor, the shock jarring his bones, but he didn't let the pain slow him down. The hollow was dark and oppressive, the air heavy with the scent of damp earth. He could hear Ron's pained whimpers ahead, mingled with the growls of the dog. He was not going to let his friend die by some murderous, feral dog. Not if he had a say in it. He could faintly hear Harry and Hermione but barely knew how long it would take them to escape the tree's clutches. He'd barely dodged it himself and only got lucky at the right time. It was up to him now.

He scrambled to his knees, blinking away the white spots from his vision until he got a clearer view of where he was. He pulled out his wand and cast some light. He seemed to be in some very low tunnel beneath the tree where the passage never appeared to end. Swallowing the large lump in his throat and inhaling sharply to settle his nerves — which felt like they were on fire — Alexander crawled through the tunnel, his wand raised out in front of him to show the clear path. Ron's distant moans of pain echoed and he followed the noise.

The tunnel was never-ending. He felt like he was crawling to an eternal pathway to hell. He'd never experienced claustrophobia before but it was very much feeling like he was going to develop it. There was an ache in his knees.

Finally, after what felt like decades, he reached the end of the tunnel and found himself in a wider space.

Alexander wrinkled his nose. Despite the dire situation, he couldn't feel the disgust and judgment that crept into his senses as he laid eyes on his surroundings. The room was a chaotic and grimy mess. Wallpaper hung in ragged strips from the walls, and dark stains marred the floor in irregular patches. Every piece of furniture lay in ruin as if violently shattered. The windows were covered with wooden boards, blocking out any light. Even Jonas's cramped room appeared better than this.

There came a sudden noise above him. He looked up through the cracks in the ceiling. Ron. His feet padded up the crumbling staircase; he ignored the creaking and groaning of the old wood beneath his feet. He bounded across the room, his wand held tightly in his hand, his every sense on high alert. He spotted Ron lying on the floor at the far end of the room, clutching his leg, his face twisted in agony.

"Ron!" he breathed and went over to kneel next to him. "Are you okay?"

"Alex, no. . ." groaned Ron, reaching out to grip his shirt with a pained gaze.

A movement in the corner caused Alexander's gaze to shift. The dog's eyes gleamed with an unsettling intelligence as it stared at him, strings of saliva hanging from its canines. The dog's growl resonated through the room, low and menacing. Alexander raised his wand, his jaw clenching.

Before he could act, the dog's form began to shimmer and blur. Alexander froze, his eyes widening in shock and horror as the dog's shape contorted and stretched, limbs elongating, fur retracting into skin. The transformation was both mesmerising and terrifying, and in a matter of seconds, the dog was gone. In its place stood a man with long, matted hair and sunken eyes that gleamed with a wild intensity.

Ron whimpered, his body trembling with fear and pain. Alexander's mind reeled. An Animagus. This. . . this was a fucking trap. He very felt like a fly caught in a spider's web.

"What the fuck do you want?" Alexander demanded, his voice quivering slightly despite his efforts to sound confident.

Sirius Black's lips curled into a sinister smile, revealing yellowed teeth. "What do I want?" he echoed, his voice low and gravelly. "I want what I came for. And it seems I've found it."

February 9th, 1980

It's been months since I last picked up this quill. Time seems to slip through my fingers like grains of sand, leaving nothing but an empty void in its wake. So much has changed, yet the pain remains a constant companion, a relentless reminder of what has been lost.

Yaz is gone.

I still can't wrap my mind around it. She was vibrant, full of life, and now she's just. . . gone. Her life snuffed out like a burning candle. They took her from us, from me, just like they took Fenwick. I can still see it, the image burned into my mind like a curse. His body was torn apart by their merciless spells, scattered in that deserted park like discarded pieces of a puzzle. It's sickening, the brutality of it all.

But I refused to let them go unpunished. I struck back, fueled by rage and desperation. I found one of them, a pale-faced Death Eater, and I unleashed my fury upon him like never before. I watched as his body was torn apart. Bits of flesh and limbs flew everywhere, some sticking onto my skin or on the pavement, mingling with the blood that painted the scene crimson. At that moment, amidst the carnage, I felt fucking alive. It was a fleeting rush of adrenaline, a taste of vengeance that I craved with every fibre of my being.

It was freaking glorious.

All the ambushes, all the murders they've done, I have made sure were avenged. And yet. . .

Dumbledore, with his lofty ideals and noble aspirations, sees me as a misguided soul, lost in a sea of violence. Completely and utter bullshit. I've never been so awake in my life, so aware of my path. The members of the Phoenix whisper behind closed doors, questioning my methods, doubting my intentions. But they fail to understand. In war, there is no room for hesitation, no time for idle contemplation. This isn't some fucking quaint shitty tea party where we can sip our doubts away. Where we can shut our eyes and wait for the bad things to go away. This is a battle for survival, a struggle against darkness.

They call me a black stain; they also speak of redemption, of finding a better way. But I know the truth. There can be no redemption for those who kill without remorse, who prey upon the innocent with cold indifference. Violence and fear are the only languages they understand, the only currencies that hold any value in their twisted world. And so, I must speak their language, wield their weapons against them, if we are to have any hope of shaking their foundations, of making a dent in their armour. Dumbledore is an idealistic fool, powerful, yes, but a fool all the same.

Because he needs to understand. For it is not the words we speak or the ideals we hold dear that will save us. It is the actions we take, the deeds we commit, that shape us.

They must have felt the sting of my actions, the real damage I've inflicted upon them. That's why they went after Yaz. She was going to lead a small group to investigate a street where a muggle family was rumoured to have been killed. But they were waiting. They struck without warning, without mercy. Yaz didn't even have time to react before they took her from us.

The news of her murder came to us like a cruel punch to the gut, delivered a week later when we realized she hadn't been in contact. It's rancid, the callous disregard for her life. And what's even more twisted is the knowledge that her death came at the hands of my father. According to his orders, she was to be erased, to 'leave no trace of the filth' behind. I still feel the bile rise in my throat every time I think about it. I vomited my whole breakfast when I read that, meagre though it was.

Yaz was a beacon of courage, a shining example of everything good and pure in this world. And they took her from us simply because she was muggleborn. It's an injustice that cuts me to the core, that fills me with a rage unlike anything I've ever known. My hand shakes as I write this; he will pay for this. I swear it on my being. I will make him regret the day he ever dared to raise his hand against her, against us.

I want to destroy him, to tear down everything he's built, to watch as his empire crumbles to dust beneath my feet. I've never wanted anything so desperately before. He may as well be dead to me already.

Woo, updated again, who'd have thought?

Hope you guys enjoyed this chapter. I like to call this the calm before the storm. I'm afraid it's going to be rough for Alexander. On a more general note, I just wanted to remark on how interesting it was when I was writing this that Amelie embodies impulsiveness, activity, and a dynamic nature, always in motion and driven by her instincts. In contrast, Antoine is anchored in logic and eloquence, befitting his role as a diplomat, where words and reason are his primary tools.

Anyway, we have two chapters after this left until the end of this book - finally reached there in the end even though it took me forever.

See you guys next time!