CenturionEon: Thank you! Yes, I'm glad you appreciate that I'm not rushing it. It stays true to Alex's character as he's not one for confrontation, especially his grandfather - someone he's admired and looked up to his whole life - and he's more likely to bottle his secrets up to himself. This is problematic in itself and a major flaw of his. Amelie's journal will the catalyst of the relationship between the two. It will allow Alexander to discover who he is as a person and the beliefs that shape him. Helen and Alexander will certainly be the first love - for him at least - coming of age kind of relationship. Helen is popular, pretty, bubbly and part of the wizarding community, which is something that appeals to him.

Bladewolf101: Hi, and thank you for your review. You're correct - Amelie definitely kept it a secret from her father. As for the father, well. . . πŸ‘€πŸ‘€

When he rounded the corner, the three stood opposite the Magical Menagerie, just as Alexander had left them.

Helen's kiss still lingered in his mind as his cheek burned. He had a terrible urge to rest his hand against the spot, but thankfully resisted. It seemed as if everyone was staring at him with knowing looks. To maintain a neutral expression, he schooled his features as his friends turned their attention to him.

Hermione reacted first, before he could get close. There came a loud squeal, causing a few heads to turn in their direction as she lunged forward. Alexander had just a split second to notice her wide, shining smile until he caught her in his arms and an uncontrollable, bushy mass of hair engulfed his face. A breathless 'uff' escaped his mouth as he stepped back from the force of her passionate hug.

"Woah," he grinned into her hair, holding her closer to him as she buried her face in his shoulder. "Steady on, Hermione."

"Sorry, I missed you," Hermione said as she leaned back, warmly smiling at him, running her soulful brown eyes over his face as though searching for something, and hugging him once again.

It was enough to soothe the worry that gripped his chest earlier, and he felt his muscles relax at her touch. As he breathed in her fragrant vanilla and lavender scent, he smiled radiantly.

Loud purring noise and what felt like sharp claws against his chest broke his attention. He leaned back and squished between the two of them was an orange cat clamped in Hermione's arms.

"What is that?" he stared. "Is it yours?"

The cat's ginger fur was thick and fluffy, and its face looked grumpy. The cat purred in Hermione's arms as it peered up at Alexander with a curious look, paws still resting on his chest.

"Yes, he's gorgeous, isn't he?" gushed Hermione, glowing. "His name's Crookshanks."

"Hiya, Alex. Good to see you, mate," came Ron's voice as he approached, with Harry in tow. He shook his head at Hermione. "You'd think they haven't seen Alex for years, Hermione. You didn't hug us like that earlier."

"Don't be silly, Ronald," retorted Hermione calmly, though Alexander noticed a light pink dusting on her cheeks.

"Hello, Ron, Harry," greeted Alexander.

"When did you get back?" asked Harry.

"Yesterday," Alexander replied slowly, waiting to see if Harry was going to reveal anything, but he kept silent.

"She brought that monster. Can you believe it?" The cat caught Ron's attention as he threw it a disgusted look, his lips curling. "It tried to scalp me twice."

Alexander smiled in amusement at Ron's wary face.

"Oh, honestly," huffed Hermione, "Crookshanks did no such thing. Did you, my little handsome boy?" The cat preened at her attention.

Alexander snorted and reached out to scratch under Crookshanks, who meowed in response. "Well, I just hope he's not like Mrs Norris." Crookshanks meowed as if in indignation, but then purred as Alexander cooed and stroked him gently. "But you aren't, are you?"

"Ooo, I like he likes you," beamed Hermione.

"What can I say - I'm the cat whisperer," shrugged Alexander.

Harry laughed at Ron's disgruntled face. "I think it's Scabbers he doesn't like very much, Ron." He watched as Crookshanks leaned into Alexander's touch.

"Bloody cat," mumbled Ron, then snapped angrily for Crookshanks to stay away from Scabbers, patting at the lump in his chest pocket soothingly.

Alexander caught Harry's eye, and they both knew a round of bickering was going to occur. It seemed like everything was back to normal.

"What do you want me to do, Ron?" retorted Hermione, rolling her eyes. "It's a cat's instinct to attack rats. Crookshanks can't help it."

"She's right on that point," agreed Alexander, then held his hands up as Ron glared at him. "What? You know she is, though."

Hermione smiled as she rested her chin on the top of Crookshanks' head. "You see? Stop worrying, Crookshanks will sleep in my dormitory and Scabbers in yours. What's the problem? Poor Crookshanks, that witch said he'd been in there for ages; no one wanted him."

"Wonder why," grumbled Ron sarcastically.

Alexander quickly changed the topic before Hermione could respond and it turn into a full-blown argument. He addressed Harry.

"Why didn't you write to me, Harry?" Alexander crossed his arms, his gaze boring into Harry. "I had to find out from someone else that you got into trouble. There was no Dobby to stop you this year, so why? I could have helped you. You know I would."

Harry's green eyes settled on the ground. "I didn't want to trouble you or cut your holiday short," he muttered softly. "No, really, it's alright. It wasn't too much of a bother."

"I don't care," snapped Alexander. "You should have let me know, at least. Or one of us." Ron and Hermione nodded. Harry appeared as if he didn't agree. "Where are you staying, anyway?"

"The Leaky Cauldron. I like it here – it's better than staying at the Dursleys, believe me."

Alexander sighed. "That's not the point, Harry." He hated how stubborn his friend could be. "So, happened? Are they expelling you?"

"No, I don't think so." Harry shook his head. "The Minister told me I ain't and said to not wonder."

"Fudge?" Ron frowned.

"Yeah, why?"

"Nothing, it's just weird, that's all," answered Ron. "That he met you personally and took time out of his day. Dad says he's usually very busy."

Alexander explained. "Usually, a worker in the department would manage the issue, not the Minister for Magic. Are you sure it was Fudge you met?"

"Positive." Harry nodded. "I'm not expelled, if that's what you're worried about."

Alexander deflated and some of his worries abated. "Oh, good. . ." A tone of curiosity seeped through his voice. "So, did you actually blow up your aunt?"

"I didn't mean to," sighed Harry, while Ron and Alexander laughed. "I just – lost control."

"It's not funny," scowled Hermione, her voice sharp. "It's a very serious matter." Alexander swallowed back his mirth as she threw him a disapproving glance.

"Um, Alex," began Harry with a questioning gaze at Alexander, "I wanted to ask – how do you know Helen Fawley, by the way?"

Ron turned, nodding. "Yeah, she's, like, one of the most popular girls in school."

"Oh, er –" Alexander hadn't been expecting that. His gaze travelled to the side, but he noticed Hermione didn't appear to be listening. Her focus was on stroking Crookshanks behind the ears. "She, um – she's just a friend."

"You're friends with Helen Fawley. Mate. . ." Ron stared at him, his mouth dropped. "Do you know how lucky you are?"

"I didn't realise you knew of her," said Alexander, raising an eyebrow. Mostly, Harry and Ron were in their world.

"Are you mad?" exclaimed Ron. "She's well fit. So many guys in school fancy her."

Alexander shifted on his feet. "Right, well. . ." Sure, he knew that.

Hermione stared up and caught his eye. "Shall we make our way to the Leaky Cauldron, then?" she asked briskly. Alexander sighed inwardly in relief.

"Yeah, alright. Come on," motioned Ron. "I'll tell you lot all about Egypt."

"And don't forget about the curses, too," grinned Alexander as he lit up with interest. "Don't miss out on a single detail."

They set off toward the Leaky Cauldron and found Mr Weasley sitting in the bar, reading the Daily Prophet. Alexander noticed a photograph of a sunken-faced man with long, matted hair on the front page and grimaced. In bold printing read: 'Black Still At Large.'

"Harry! And Alexander too!" he said, smiling as he looked up. "Nice to see you, boys. How are you?"

"Fine, thanks," answered Harry as they all joined Mr Weasley, who put down his paper.

"Hello, Mr Weasley. I'm okay," said Alexander politely.

"They still haven't caught him, then?" Ron asked.

"No," replied Mr Weasley, looking extremely grave. "They've pulled us all off our regular jobs at the Ministry to find him, but no luck so far."

Alexander recognised reading the name Black in his mother's journal. Not that many people were called Black in the Wizarding World, so it must have been the man his mother was referring to.

"Wait, who is that Black guy?" he asked, pointing to the newspaper.

It was Harry who answered, surprising Alexander, as Harry was usually the last to know something. "It's Sirius Black – he's a murderer who's escaped from Azkaban."

"Lovely," sighed Alexander, grabbing a seat at the table. More bad news. There was never a dull year in the Wizarding World.

A thought niggled at the back of his mind. He recalled Madam Hooch mentioning this Sirius Black guy as someone who knew his mother. Though she said it was a bad idea to contact him and Alexander had no willingness to go after a murderer for information. Yet, hadn't Black known a Potter as well? That had to be Harry's dad.

Alexander's gaze travelled to the side discreetly to peer at Harry's face. Should he mention it? Perhaps not. The journal was very private to him and something of his mother's that he wanted to keep for himself.

"We're all working very hard to catch him," informed Mr Weasley, who on closer inspection looked very strained. "You grandfather included, Alexander, I promise you. It hasn't been very easy."

Alexander shrugged, his gaze shifting to the floor. "I wouldn't know, Mr Weasley. My grandfather's a very private person and doesn't share much about his work." Or himself even, he thought bitterly. Pandora's box must have been easier to open up than his grandfather.

"Yes, I except so," mused Mr Weasley, folding up his newspaper. "But not to worry. It's the Azkaban guards who'll get him back. You mark my words."

At that moment, Mrs Weasley entered the bar, laden with shopping bags and followed by the twins, the newly elected Head Boy, Percy, and Ginny, who waved at Alexander with a friendly smile. He nodded back.

"Hello, dears. I suppose you've heard our exciting news?" Mrs Weasley pointed to the object on Percy. "Second Head Boy in the family!" She swelled with pride.

"Congratulations, Percy, on your badge." Alexander motioned to the brand-new silver badge on Percy's chest. It was good to be polite no matter how ridiculous he found the older boy.

Percy puffed out his chest and curled his lips proudly. He shook Alexander's hand firmly. "Thank you, Alexander. It's an honour. Did you know your grandfather, Antoine Laurent, was also Head Boy? It's written in his history."

Alexander stared. He heard Ron groan in the background. "No, I didn't know that."

"Yes, well, he was. I hope you don't mind, but I aspire to be like him. And I don't want to trouble you, but will you put in a good word for me?"

"Er, well – " Alexander coughed, stifling his laughter as the twins made faces behind Percy's back. Thankfully, they saved him from answering.

"Is he bothering you, Alexi-boy?" interrupted Fred, pushing Percy out of the way.

"Forge, I think he's going to faint from boredom," said George, mock-frowning as he rested a hand against Alexander's forehead.

Mrs Weasley frowned suddenly. "I notice you two haven't made you two prefects."

"What do we want to be prefects for?" countered George, looking revolted at the very idea. "It'd take all the fun out of life."

Ginny giggled.

"You want to set a better example for your sister!" snapped Mrs Weasley.

"Ginny's got other brothers to set her an example, Mother," said Percy loftily. "I'm going up to change. And think about what I mentioned, Alexander." He disappeared and George heaved a sigh.

"We tried to shut him in a pyramid," he told them. "But Mum spotted us."

"Are you staying, Alexander?" Hermione asked, sitting on a chair with Crookshanks on her lap.

Alexander checked his watch. "I'd love to, but I've got to get back. My grandfather's expecting me."

"Oh. . ." Her shoulders slumped in what looked like a disappointment.

He had a sudden urge to reassure her. "But I'll see you on the train, anyway, or Hogwarts if not."

"Are you sure you're okay to go home by yourself, dear?" remarked Mrs Weasley worriedly. "Someone might take advantage of a young boy by himself."

Fred laughed, as if the idea was ludicrous. "That won't happen, Mum. Relax a little."

Mrs Weasley pursed her lips in displease. "I think you'll find, Frederick, that Sirius Black is still out there in case you've forgotten. And has murdered people."

"Don't worry, Mrs Weasley. I'll be fine. I'll go in a car, anyway."

"Well, alright then." Mrs Weasley bit her lip, but she still looked hesitant.

Hermione rose and placed Crookshanks down before hugging him for the last time. Alexander heard catcalls coming from the twins and the sharp scolding they received from Mrs Weasley.

∞ ϟ 9¾

It was after dinner.

Alexander already packed his trunk, ready for tomorrow's journey. He hoped he made it on the train this year, especially as he'd be sitting with Helen and Nia. He couldn't miss out on seeing Helen, and he pushed a fist into his mouth to stop himself from fully grinning.

"Alexander!" It was Grandfather's voice. "Can you come down here for a minute? I need to speak with you." It wasn't a question.

Alexander's smile faded, and his chest tightened in anticipation. He descended downstairs to Grandfather's study, where he usually shut himself in.

Alexander entered with wary steps. Grandfather sat behind his large mahogany desk in a leather chair. He gazed up from writing something and nodded to the seat opposite.

"Come closer, Alexander, and shut the door if you please."

The desk was shiny and spotless, with a stack of parchments stacked neatly in one pile. A bookshelf encircled the entire room and, in the corner, almost hidden, lay a marble bowl.

He tried not to show it, but Grandfather's study caused a feeling of unsettlement in the pit of his stomach. He took a seat facing his grandfather, who finished writing and leaned back in his chair while interlocking his fingers.

"I take it your last night is today before you go off for Hogwarts?" began Grandfather, his expression hard to read.

Alexander nodded. "It is."

"I see. Well, I brought you here to talk of an upmost important matter. And I don't want you to share it with anyone else. Am I understood?"

"Yes. . ." Despite his curiosity, he didn't interrupt. Alexander could do nothing but agree. Grandfather's eyes swam with not exactly apprehension, but something close to it.

Grandfather rested his hands on his lower abdomen and said, "The first thing to be aware of is that things will be different this year at Hogwarts, as you will come to find out."

"Different how?" asked Alexander, raising an inquisitive eyebrow.

"Strictly speaking, Hogwarts will be guarded by the Dementors of Azkaban. Listen to me carefully, I do not want you to worry, they are only there for protection."

Alexander's eyes widened. He had brief knowledge of what Dementors were and how they operated, but it was disturbing to think that they'll be at Hogwarts. He still didn't get the full gist of it. Why?

"Protection against what?" he prodded, gripping the chair arms and leaning forward.

"Against Sirius Black. They are there to catch him. I must ask, do you know of him?" said Grandfather.

Alexander replied that he'd only recently heard about him. Grandfather explained briskly and clearly, like the whole thing didn't affect him.

"He – he killed thirteen muggles?" exclaimed Alexander in a tone of horrified shock.

"Yes," nodded Grandfather, "that is why these Dementors will be posted at your school. He is a very dangerous man."

Alexander frowned a tad. Riddle had barely made a mention of Black in the chamber last year. He mentioned Grandfather as his right-hand man, but nothing about Black.

Grandfather painted Black to be a deranged psychopath, loyal to Voldemort. But his mother . . . her written memory depicted a teasing, mischievous man. Alexander wondered who was right or where it all went wrong. Perhaps Black was simply hiding his true identity?

Is that what Grandfather was doing: putting on a façade? Alexander didn't know, and he was getting pretty fed up with not knowing.

Grandfather's voice lowered in a grave, serious manner. He spoke slowly and his eyes seemed far away. "Whatever you do, do not approach a Dementor. They are dark, foul creatures who feed on human happiness. They will not be welcoming to you and will make you relieve your worst memory."

Alexander shuddered at these words. His worst memory? Probably being in the Chamber with Quirrell, who tied him up; he could barely breathe and felt helpless as he thought of his friend being murdered before his very eyes. Yeah, he wasn't looking forward to relieving that.

"I hope I never encounter one then," he declared in a faint whisper, feeling his face pale.

Grandfather nodded approvingly. His expression was of subtle relief. "Good – see that you avoid them at all costs."

"I will, Grandfather."

Alexander suspected it wasn't over. Grandfather sat up straighter in his chair and rested his palm on the desk. A crease was visible on his brow until he addressed Alexander again.

"Another significant matter I have to tell you must never leave this room. Not your friends or anyone you come across, as this is a piece of sensitive information not known to the public. Am I understood, Alexander? Nod if you understand."

Alexander, with wide eyes and possibly holding his breath, nodded. Grandfather never divulged or trusted him in the past to tell him something important. He didn't know if he liked the implications of this. One thing was certain, however, he felt intrigued and cautious.

"Good. Now, there is a reason Sirius Black has escaped from Azkaban and that is to go after your friend Harry Potter."

Alexander sharply inhaled and his fists clenched on the arms of the chair. "Why?" he demanded. "What does he want with Harry?"

"You already know that when the Potter boy was a baby, he defeated the Dark Lord, yes? Well, it turns out that Black wants revenge for this."

Alexander frowned. That can't have been it. There was more to this, he was sure of it. Harry's dad and Sirius Black knew each other. That must have something to do with why Black was coming after him.

"There's something else too." Grandfather hesitated for a split second. "Black is – well, to put it plainly – he is Harry Potter's godfather and the reason for their death."

Alexander froze, his mouth parted. It kept getting worse. A wave of sympathy and anger in favour of Harry rose within him. This was a sick, twisted joke. Harry's own godfather wanted him dead!

"Listen to me, Alexander," warned Grandfather with a serious expression. "I expressly forbid you to mention this to your friend. Do you hear me?"

Alexander stared in disbelief. "You cannot be serious!" he snapped. "How can I keep something like this from him? He deserves to know! You know he does, Grandfather!"

Grandfather's expression turned frosty. "He is Potter's godfather and also the reason for his parents' death. If you tell the Potter boy, then you and I both know that he will go looking for Black." Alexander glared at a corner on the desk, refusing to answer. "Above all, Potter is still a thirteen-year-old boy and Black is a dangerous criminal. He will get himself killed. And if you tell him, Alexander, you might well be damning your friend to death."

Grandfather's blunt and booming voice caused ice pieces to pierce Alexander's heart. He was stuck at an impasse. His fists curled at his side and he bit his tongue.

"Then why tell me all this? If I can't tell my friend, why did you tell me?" he asked angrily, refusing to look up.

A sigh came from Grandfather, but Alexander still didn't look up despite the former's voice softening.

"Do you want to protect your friend, Alexander?"

"Yes. . ."

"Then that is why I told you. I thought it was better for you to know so you can help me. Help us." Alexander met Grandfather's stony expression. "Fudge recommended it. We know how close you are to Harry Potter. Truthfully, I didn't want you anywhere near this, but I can see the benefits."

"See what?" questioned Alexander in a stiff voice.

"You can help the Ministry bring justice. If you want the Potter boy safe, you will do this. We want you to monitor him from wandering too far from the castle – just keep an eye on him, essentially." Grandfather fixed a pointed stare. "This means no more adventures or late-night wanderings. I am serious, Alexander. You will be our eyes and ears."

Alexander scowled. "So, I'm basically just your glorified babysitter. You want me to spy for you?"

"You'll be keeping your friend safe," corrected Grandfather. "This is what you want?"

Alexander sighed. He hated being put in this position, but his desire to keep his friends safe and protect them was stronger. He couldn't help his reluctance, however. "I do."

Grandfather smiled for the first time. "Good. Then I trust we agree. You'll help us, yes?"

Alexander swallowed harshly. "I will." His face was harsh as he spat out, "But I'm not doing this for you or Fudge or the Ministry. I'm doing it to keep Harry safe."

A glint of shame flashed in Grandfather's eyes. "Yes, I understand." He schooled his features back to neutral. "Right, well, the last thing to say is that I will take you to the Platform tomorrow."

Alexander gave a curt nod and stood up to leave. "Is that all?"

"For the time being, yes."

"Then we're done here."

Alexander, anger curling hot and unstoppable in his gut, like a blazing inferno that wanted to burn him from the inside out, slammed the study door behind him with a loud thud.

12th October 1976

You know, sometimes I wish I could quit smoking. Don't get me wrong, I know it's bad for me and whatnot, but addiction is a powerful thing. I can't stop even if I tried.

It is the one constant in my life that I can rely on, which I know will be there.

I always carry my trusty pack of Marlboros in my pockets. I can't count the number of times I reached for them whenever I'm feeling anxious or wound up. It's like my own loyal friend I can carry around with me in my pocket.

But, surprise, surprise, my dear father doesn't approve because it's a muggle object. God, I want to scream at him when I see him and his look of disdain. He hasn't approved of anything in a long time.

When he wasn't busy having secret meetings with his little fan club of Pureblood weirdos, he was busy shouting at me. I've got used to it to tell you the truth. But it hurt, of course, it hurt. I'd be lying if it didn't.

This journal is only for my eyes, so I have no reason to lie. I've cast a protective charm over this, one where my father can't see it or read it, but it wears off in a few weeks. I have to cast it again.

I wonder often if my mother had to deal with Father this way. I don't enjoy talking about her out loud. Ironically, that's one thing my father and I have in common. I was very young when she died, and all I remember is the devastation on Father as his face crumpled when the Healer at St. Mungo broke the news to him.

Strictly speaking, I don't remember what I felt. I mean, I barely know what I feel now. After her death, however, Father threw himself into his work and became colder and colder as time went on. When was the last time he genuinely smiled? I wouldn't be able to tell you.

Dieu. Everyone at school thinks I'm so lucky to have a famous and well-respected father, high-ranking in the Ministry, but I believe I got the short end of the stick. I'll swap for Yaz's parents in a heartbeat. Even Potter's were nice. No one was worse than Antoine Laurent – except probably Black's parents. Nasty pieces of work they were.

Black is the more tolerable of them all – his brother, on the other hand. . . well, he's another matter.

Wait. I'm doing it again, getting distracted. To be fair, I do have a short attention span. I'm just writing what's coming into my head.

So.

Recently, I was smoking under the stands of the Quidditch Pitch, sharing a cigarette with Henry. I find him fit and he finds me fit. I know because he tells me a million times while shoving his tongue down my throat.

He's sloppy with it, but I can't bring myself to care too much. He's into me and willing to be there β€” someone to fill the hole in my heart. At least for a snog or two.

We haven't slept together yet, but I know it'll be a matter of time before we get there, eventually.

Henry's voice can be very grating on my ears sometimes. I usually tune him out, which works. Not that he was saying anything special or life-changing, anyway. Teenage boys all thought and said the same thing. I've noticed the pattern in my experience, at least.

I couldn't even get a few minutes to myself when the bane of my existence appeared at that moment. He's like that, popping up at the most inopportune moments. I'm convinced he does it to spite me. Apart from my father, he is the most insufferable person in my life.

I call him Prince. It's not his real name, by the way. I just made it up simply because he acts and talks like he's the Prince of England. He walks around like he's got a stick up his arse or something.

Prince always tries to look unbothered and cold – his usual temperament – but it didn't always work. Plus, I like the way his jaw clenches and his cheeks flush in anger when I call him this name to his face multiple times. It's funny and cute.

Not that I was calling him cute. Don't get it twisted. He is far from cute.

Henry scowled at Prince; not that I blamed him. Prince was disrupting our private time. He said a few things about how using such muggle objects is a disgrace to us as witches and wizards and how it will cause me to die. Huh, he sounded like my father.

I laughed in his face and told him I looked forward to it. Prince will most likely celebrate at my funeral if he had half the chance. I asked why he was here instead of just giving me a tedious lecture.

Turns out that Slughorn has given us – me and Prince I mean – detention for two months every Friday. And Slughorn will blame him further if I'm not there with him. So, I may have forgotten about that little detail about detention. Truly.

Prince threw one last disgusted look, followed by a glare at Henry and me, and strode off, his hands clasped behind his back.

I was half-tempted to not go and see how infuriated Prince could become if I push his buttons far enough.

Henry raged he could curse the foul git, meaning Prince. I shut this down quickly. I'm already becoming bored with smoking and hearing Henry's voice. I pushed him off my body and made my way to detention.

Thank you for reading. The conflict between the two really seems to be picking up and their relationship will worsen as time goes by. Alex is between two states at this point.

Also, this chapter hints at Alex's father, and I wonder if you guys have figured it out yet.

I wanted to ask if you guys wanted Ron to be with a specific person further on in the series, or if you want me to create an OC for him? I'd love to know your thoughts.

Next chapter is the train ride. πŸ‘€