Bladewolf101: Thanks so much for your comment! Love reading the theories. :)
Softness was all he could feel beneath him. His head was spinning as his eyes faintly fluttered open. Bright light filtered into view, and Alexander groaned, raising a hand to his temple. It felt like being caught in a tempest of pain, each wave crashing against him with the force of a raging storm. It took a while for his eyes to become accustomed, and he noticed that he was in the Hospital Wing. He felt lethargic and depleted of energy, but perhaps not as weak as he'd felt previously, which was a welcome reprieve.
Alexander sat up, an audible grunt escaping his mouth, and suddenly, like a tidal wave, everything rushed back. The burning ropes, the bruising ache, the fear, the pounding heartbeat, the absolute terror, and the. . . oh, god. Bile rose to the back of his throat, and his hands trembled. The vivid blood, the tattered scraps of skin and flesh all mashed together like a grotesque tapestry woven from agony. The flashes of gory images haunted his mind and no matter how hard he blinked he wasn't able to erase them. He swallowed harshly, his mouth as dry as cotton buds.
"Oh, Mr Laurent, lay back down," said Madam Pomfrey, rushing towards him and pushing against his shoulders. "Do not strain yourself too hard."
"I'm fine," he protested, but even he could hear how throaty and rough his voice sounded. "Really, there's no need, it's nothing."
Madam Pomfrey scowled, dabbing against his temples. "Hush, you silly boy. Fine, indeed. A few minutes under the torture spell is not 'nothing', I'll have you know. I'm surprised you can even talk, Laurent. No, you still need rest."
"What, no! Madam Pomfrey, please, I don't need rest. Can't I go for meals or something?"
"Your meals will be brought to you here. As I said you still need plenty of rest so I can keep an eye on you. Ah, no — no more arguing, Laurent, mark my words. I've already had to deal with your persistent friends, who demand to see you."
"My friends want to see me?" Alexander blinked and felt his chest warm.
"Honestly, how they thought they could get past me, twice might I add, is something to be told. Years of catching students and they still try their luck." Madam Pomfrey harrumphed, shaking her head in disbelief as she plumped his pillows.
"Well, when can I be expected to leave?" he asked impatiently, his body full of restless nerves.
"Not for another week, I'm afraid. I still need to monitor you. Besides, the Headmaster and your grandfather are waiting to talk to you."
"Now?" Alexander groaned, gripping the white sheets and feeling a fresh ache in his bones at the thought of confronting his grandfather.
"Merlin's Beard, no!" exclaimed Madam Pomfrey. "No, Laurent, I will let them know when you're ready. But for now, here, drink this."
A potion was shoved to his chest and, under her watchful, hawk gaze, Alexander had no choice but to swallow the thick liquid down. He resisted the urge to wrinkle his nose. It wasn't terrible per se — not like the dreadful Skele-Gro Harry had described to them last year — but it made him feel very tired with his eyes growing as heavy as bowling balls. He didn't even hear Madam Pomfrey's voice anymore as the darkness enveloped him in its arms.
Alexander didn't have to wait long at all. A day later, he sat up on the bed, already fed up with glimpsing the vacant beds around him and the surrounding white walls, and waited for his grandfather to come in. Madam Pomfrey still wouldn't permit him to have visitors despite how much he argued with her that he was seriously okay, that the worst of it had passed. It was like trying to reason with a stubborn mule. He'd be okay when she deemed it to be.
The doors creaked open, and Alexander watched as the two figures walked in, their statures casting tall shadows to follow behind them. Professor Dumbledore appeared serious, though there lingered a twinkle beneath his half-moon spectacles. At least it signalled that the Headmaster wasn't angry with him, which was a relief. Grandfather's face was unreadable like always and his hands were crossed behind his back, his posture as stiff as a board. And yet, he caught how Grandfather's facial muscles softened just a minuscule as his penetrating dark brown eyes, the shade of acorns, met Alexander's. The two stood on either side of the bed, and Alexander fumbled with the sheets, waiting for them to speak.
"Alexander, how are you feeling?" Professor Dumbledore began softly.
"Peachy," he shrugged. "Could be better if I was let out."
"I'm sorry to hear that. I'm afraid that's in Madam Pomfrey's hands. Now, I must ask you: do you remember anything? Anything that happened or the events that led to it?"
"Uh. Yeah." He cleared his throat. "Yes. I do."
The Professor appeared to have aged considerably as soon as Alexander said that. The twinkle in his eyes faded and his expression turned solemn. His grandfather hadn't said a word yet, which was causing Alexander to become agitated. He couldn't bring himself to look at him as Alexander knew he'd be reminded of everything like he was experiencing it all over again.
"I am sorry, my dear boy. No child should have to go through that — never experience that curse. I assume you know what it is. Yes, it was an Unforgivable Curse. One of the darkest and most vile curses to exist, which has disastrous consequences."
Alexander's throat was dry. He felt rather annoyed at the 'child' comment and gripped the sheets. He swallowed and then asked, "How did you know where I was — where we were? He — he said no one could find us in that place."
"Hmm, yes, well, when you ran outside of the building, you very conveniently escaped the magical borders that were placed there. They were rather strong, I admit. But your actions alerted us of your presence and the trail of your wand we followed to the outskirts of Hogsmeade. I think Mr Eaton waited rather easily until you were out of Hogwarts and then cloaked you to hide your presence from others. He knew that he couldn't apparate into the castle, so he bided his time to carry out his plan."
Alexander nodded mindlessly. "Hermione mentioned that," he said distractedly. "That you couldn't apparate in or out of the castle."
A smile crept on the Professor's lips beneath his long, white beard. "Precisely. A very clever witch. And I'm sure you're grateful for having such worried friends on your behalf as Miss Granger. I'd like to think of friendships as the golden threads that weave the very fabric of our world, binding our hearts together. We couldn't function without them."
He couldn't help the curiosity in his voice. "My friends are worried?"
"Oh, yes. Very much so," replied Professor Dumbledore matter-of-factly. "I think they've driven poor Madam Pomfrey out of her wits, waiting for news of you constantly. It was Miss Granger and Mr Weasley who alerted us about your disappearance and knew that something was wrong. They became rather concerned when you vanished into thin air, giving them a bit of a scare. And then Mr Eaton's demands came to us and that solved that mystery."
Alexander's heart brimmed with ardour. A smile curled at the edge of his lips. It was the best news he'd heard in a long time and he sharply inhaled, feeling his eyes sting. He blinked rapidly, trying to make himself composed. A weight suddenly settled beside him, and he lifted his head to see his grandfather perch on the bed and place a hand on his shoulder. Alexander tensed but kept quiet, his tongue lodged to the roof of his mouth. He felt as if a cold breeze had sliced through him, so fast and unexpectedly.
"You did very well, Alexander," said Professor Dumbledore softly. "You should be proud of yourself."
Problem was that Alexander didn't exactly feel proud. Maybe the Headmaster was wrong about him. Maybe his friends are wrong to be worried about him. Did he even deserve it? Every time he closed his eyes that face flashed into his mind, taunting him about his masterpiece. He was the one who did it. No one else drove him to it. His hands picked up the rock, his arm propelled back, he was the one who couldn't stop, not until there was nothing left to resemble the man. Was that something to be proud of? Proud of a bloodthirsty monster.
"What happened to Jonas? Is he. . .?" Alexander couldn't even finish his question.
"He's still alive, but only just," said Professor Dumbledore, raising a hand as if calming him. "He'll be spending some time in St Mungo for the Healers to rearrange his face."
Alexander didn't know what to feel about that or say. Was he slightly disappointed that he wasn't even able to finish the job? He doesn't know. All he knew was that he wanted to burrow his head into the sheets and sleep for a very long time until all this had disappeared, and he could wake up in a world where he wasn't this stranger. Grandfather's expression darkened and he patted Alexander's shoulder.
"Oh, I wouldn't worry about that man. He will be dealt with properly."
"Antoine," said the Headmaster in a soft, slightly warning tone. "Mr Eaton will be tried before the Ministry. He will be given a fair trial, do not forget."
His grandfather hummed and gave a cold smile. "Yes, I understand perfectly. I will personally make sure he receives it, Dumbledore."
The Headmaster didn't say anything for a few seconds and merely considered Grandfather with a thoughtful gaze. He then turned towards Alexander.
"I wish you a speedy recovery, Alexander. My thoughts and wishes are with you. And remember that our choices and intentions make us who we are." He then walked out, and Alexander narrowed his eyes, wondering what the fuck he meant by that. Now it was just him and Grandfather.
"I have spoken to Dumbledore," said his grandfather, rising from the bed and placing his hands behind his hands. "And he agrees with me. Perhaps it would be better for you to spend the rest of the year at home."
Alexander's head snapped up. His mouth flew open, and his cheeks burned as he exclaimed, "What? No!"
"Alexander—"
"No, no! I'm not going. You can't make me. I want to stay at Hogwarts."
"Listen to me—"
"No! You'll have to drag me out of here by force," threatened Alexander, glaring at him and crossing his arms. His sheets had become all twisted up as he tried to rise.
His grandfather sighed audibly. "It won't come to that. But I do hope you'll reconsider, for your own sake if not for mine."
Alexander clenched his jaw and reiterated in a firm voice, "I'm not going. I'm staying here."
He felt like a parrot with a limited vocabulary, echoing the same phrases relentlessly. A silence settled and he was left breathing hard out of his nose.
"I'm sorry," said his grandfather very suddenly. Alexander raised his eyebrows, stunned. This wasn't something very common.
"For what?" Alexander asked.
"For going through that horrific experience. Can't think it was a picnic. You didn't deserve it, Alexander, and for that I'm sorry." Grandfather rubbed his temple. His tie was slanted a tad and his hair had flyaway wisps of hair. "This is my fault. Being who I am — being Antoine Laurent — I have made a lot of enemies in my life, and you had to pay the price for that. To hurt me they hurt you. And I will always regret that, most sincerely."
Alexander closed his eyes, and a feeling of exhaustion overcame him. A thought came to him. "How did he even know we were going to be in Hogsmeade that day?"
"I have a sneaking suspicion that someone must have tipped him off. He must've had inside information. A Professor perhaps, or a student. We don't know exactly."
Alexander's mouth dropped. His brain raced. "Tipped him off? But who would want to — to hurt me?"
The idea was absurd. He didn't know anyone at the school who hated him enough to want him hurt or dead. Quirrell's gone, Riddle was destroyed, and even Voldemort was a shadow of his former self and was obsessed more with Harry than anyone else. There was Malfoy, conceivably, but he didn't have the brains, skills, or courage. Whoever it was seemed to have a grudge against him, or his grandfather. But who? A dark wizard? A Professor? What if it was Lupin? The man was mysterious, but he didn't seem to have any ulterior motives. But appearances can deceive, right? That was the whole thing with Quirrell.
"I will say that I am very grateful to — what was her name — your friend — ah, yes, Miss Granger, I believe. Her gut feeling saved you, Alexander. For that, she has my eternal thanks. I dread to think what would have happened if she didn't—" Grandfather choked on his words and then cleared his throat. His voice sounded much clearer than before, like a fog lifting to reveal a crisp, blue sky. "Anyway, this is the cause, Alexander. I wish you'd see it. If someone wants to hurt you, then it's even more reason to come home. I won't ask twice; do you hear me?"
Alexander scowled, his gaze as hot and striking as a lance. "Good, because I'd hate to refuse you again. And so what?" he demanded. "I'm staying even if someone does have it out for me. I won't be a coward, Grandfather. Not ever."
Grandfather appeared frustrated. "It's not cowardice, Alexander, if it's self-preservation. Can't you see that I worry for you? Okay, fine. Suit yourself. But just know that I will be keeping tabs on you, and I'll know the second that you're in danger, okay?"
"Hmm. . ."
"What was that? Speak up, Alexander."
"Okay, I said, okay."
"Good. . ."
Grandfather hesitated for a split-second but then leaned down and pulled Alexander into a light hug. Alexander tensed and kept his hands flat down on the bed. He could smell Grandfather's scent — a blend of pipe tobacco and cedarwood, once comforting, but now tinged with a faint bitterness, like a fading perfume on forgotten letters.
"I'm glad you're safe, Alexander. You're very dear to me — I don't know what I would have done if Eaton. . ."
Alexander's bottom lip trembled, and an ache panged in his heart as a soft kiss landed on the top of his head. He wanted to burrow his face into his grandfather's shoulder and stain his expensive suit with his tears. He raised his arms and hugged back, feeling emotionally exhausted, and not having the effort to think. As his grandfather departed, stealing one last glance back, Alexander succumbed to sleep, haunted by merciless flashes of Jonas's bloodied, battered visage.
∞ ϟ 9¾
A week later, Madam Pomfrey finally allowed him to leave the Hospital Wing, much to his utter relief. He swore he began to see visions of weird creatures after being stuck there for so long. He made a mental promise that when he got his own house when he was older, he would not have white walls, that was for sure. He was going to paint it a light blue or a red maybe.
His steps towards the common room were measured, and when he glimpsed sight of the scarlet and gold furnishings and decorations, Alexander felt elation. Finally, somewhere that wasn't a cramped, bare room or some quiet Hospital Wing that would drive him insane. A room with colour. It was mostly empty, which he was thankful for. When he stepped inside the portrait hole, his friends spotted him and jumped from their seats, moving towards him instantly.
Alexander grunted as Hermione raced into his arms with a tiny whimper escaping her lips. She squeezed him so tightly as if she were trying to imprint him onto her very being, like a sculptor moulding clay with unwavering determination. Alexander winced but not a word of complaint fell from his mouth. It was a comforting hug, a caring touch, and the weight of her made him want to sink to his knees. Her bushy hair was in his face and her hands wrapped around his neck. Her familiar fragrance wafted into his nostrils, something intoxicating resembling a field of wildflowers kissed by the morning dew.
"Alex!" said Harry.
"Alex, mate. It's so good to see you," said Ron, approaching him. "Bloody hell, Hermione, let him breathe at least."
"Alexander, what — what happened?" Harry is the first to voice his concern.
Hermione pulled back and clutched his shoulders and she eyed his face with a hungry gaze, demanding to see for herself if he was hurt in any way. He was almost disappointed with the cold air that hit him as she moved back.
"We were so worried," cried Hermione. "We tried asking what happening, but no one would tell us anything. Professor Dumbledore looked serious, and your grandfather came, and they kept everything so hushed. Nobody would tell us anything. I knew something was wrong when Ron said you'd disappeared. And I was right, wasn't I? Oh, Alex, what happened? Where did you go?"
"Was it to do with Sirius Black?" asked Harry with a furrow of his brow.
"No, it's — it's not Black," Alexander denied, jerking his head. He eyed the one or two people dotted nearby and then muttered, "Look, not here, come on."
They huddled over to a quiet corner, where there was no risk of anyone overhearing them and Alexander explained the events in a hushed voice. He gave them the bare basics of it, of course, and left out a few tiny details now and then. Especially about the part about him almost beating Jonas to death with a rock. He couldn't bear for them to think of him as a murderer, as this fucking insane bloodthirsty monster with no remorse. He certainly didn't want to be one. They all looked shocked as he finished. Ron's mouth was gaping, Harry was frowning, and Hermione appeared tearful, with one hand covering her mouth.
"Alexander, that. . ." said Harry, lost for words.
"Mate. . ." said Ron morosely.
"Oh, Alex. . ." she said in a quiet, reserved voice and then moved forward to clutch at his arm. "I'm — I'm so sorry."
"Sorry? What for?" Alexander asked, staring at her in confusion.
Her voice quickened in pace, and she wrung her hands around. "It's just so awful and that horrid, horrid man — oh, don't you see, Alexander — maybe if — if I was quicker then he wouldn't have taken you. We should've noticed, we should've never split up. Or if—"
"No." His voice was firm enough that she stopped talking. "Jonas, he seemed to have it out for me — or, well, my grandfather really — he hated him a lot. It — it wouldn't have made a difference, anyway, believe me."
Alexander swallowed the huge lump in his throat. That was the truth of the matter, there was no way around it. If it wasn't now, then maybe tomorrow, or next week, even in a couple of years. Jonas had so much resentfulness and anger built up in him that there was no talking him down. The power and hold that the name Antoine Laurent had on him was too much to bear. Alexander had to make peace with that.
"So, what's going to happen to him? They're going to lock him in Azkaban, right? Give him the Dementor's kiss," questioned Ron. "I mean, they have to, he tried to kill you."
"There's going to be a trial," admitted Alexander, leaning into Hermione's soft touch as she stroked circles into his arm. "That's what Professor Dumbledore said. We don't know yet."
"They can't let him out — they all saw him," argued Harry.
"Yeah, but you don't know with things like this," explained Ron with a scrunched-up face. "Dad said they once had a prisoner a couple of years ago who burned down a building with a family inside in broad daylight and all he got was a hefty fine, apparently. Think his defence claimed he was being controlled by the Imperious Curse. It's mad — I remember my dad was properly angry. Mum had to calm him down."
"A fine!" exclaimed an outraged Hermione, snapping her head up at Ron. "That's it? That's completely ridiculous. They can't let that man out — what if he's going to come for Alexander again."
Alexander watched as she rose from her seat and began pacing, capturing a few curious looks from the other people. Her face flushed with vexation, turning as crimson as a blood-stained rose, and her eyes were wide.
"Oi, don't bite my head off," retorted Ron, raising his hands. "I'm not the one who decided."
Alexander shook his head and sharply inhaled, drawing their attention to him. "No, look you guys, forget it."
"Alexander, are you — are you sure?" prodded a hesitant Harry.
"Yeah, completely. It's over."
"What, no. Alexander, you—" protested Hermione, but he cut her off.
"I'm serious. I don't want to talk about this again, alright? So whatever happened, it happened, nothing we can do to change it. So let's just move on."
"But—"
"Drop it, please."
He held her gaze as Ron and Harry shared a worried look. The glint in her eye revealed her displeasure with unmistakable clarity, akin to an unyielding boulder in its resolute stance. Hermione's stubborn habits and her need to push annoyed him at times, especially now. Alexander clenched his jaw. He meant what he said: his problems are his to solve and think about, alone. He didn't want to drag his friends, people he cared about, within the labyrinthine tangle that constituted his mind.
"Fine," said Hermione in a stony manner. "Seeing as you don't want to discuss it then I'll be in the library. I have work to do anyway, so I'll see you all later."
With that, she sniffed and turned her back as she stomped off and out of the portrait hole. Her scent lingered in Alexander's nostrils as he watched her figure disappear with a pit in his stomach. He then turned his eyes towards the other two.
"So," he cleared his throat and continued, "What have I missed, tell me."
Ron and Harry began to explain, and he allowed the lull of their voices to wash over and distracted himself with mindless catch-up in the castle. If only for a minute, of course.
∞ ϟ 9¾
Now, it must be said that Alexander also got the opportunity to talk to Helen again. It was a few days later when he noticed her exiting the Hospital Wing on his way to class, probably finishing her own. It wasn't exactly a smooth meeting at first. They both froze on the spot as their gazes landed on each other.
Alexander's eyes widened, and his heart nearly stopped. In between contemplating whether to make a run for it, he suddenly noticed how frazzled and exhausted she appeared. Her typically straight tie was tilted and there were wisps of fly-away hair poking out from her ponytail. A pang pierced his heart, and he ached to hold her in his arms and offer whatever solace and reassurance he could provide. But no. He didn't have that luxury anymore. Not when he ruined it.
Helen nodded in acknowledgement and turned around, but before she could walk away, Alexander opened his mouth without thinking and shouted across the hallway for her to wait. He was glad there was barely anyone there to see him make a fool of himself; still, it didn't stop him from becoming embarrassed.
"Yes?" asked Helen, arching a perfectly trimmed eyebrow.
"Uh. . ." said Alexander intelligibly. He cleared his throat and then asked, "Can — can we talk? Please?"
Helen's mouth parted, appearing surprised, but she nodded and agreed. Alexander breathed a sigh of relief, grateful that she didn't blow him off or spit in his face. He couldn't put this off anymore. He had to deal with it appropriately. He stood in front of her.
"How have you been?" Alexander questioned awkwardly, not knowing where to put his hands. Should he hug her? Give her a handshake? He settled for letting them hang by his side.
Helen shrugged. "I'm doing okay, I suppose." She sighed. "Well, actually, I'm rather stressed to tell the truth. Madam Pomfrey's starting to become more intense with the lessons. She says OWLs is next year for us and just trying to prepare me for how overwhelming and hard it's going to get. I know I should get used to it but it's taking most of my strength."
"You'll do well. You'll smash it — I know you will."
"Thanks. . ." She rocked on her toes and then took a deep breath. "So, like, are you just here to talk about exams or for something else?"
"I'm sorry," Alexander blurted out. "Sincerely, from the bottom of my heart, I really am sorry. For how I treated you, and how I shut you out, and the horrible things I said — I. . . I never meant to hurt you. That wasn't my intention."
Helen looked down. "I just don't understand. . . why — why don't you talk to me, Alexander? Or tell me how you feel. It's hard to know what you're thinking if you don't tell me. I can't read minds." She didn't sound accusatory, just genuinely curious.
It took a while for him to reply. "I-I don't actually know. Maybe I find it hard to confide in others. I mean I've always been slightly independent growing up because I've had to deal with not having normal parents and a grandfather who—" He ran a hand through his head. "Look, it's not an excuse, okay, I need you to know that. But an explanation maybe. Some things I can't explain myself. It just happens. Does that make sense?"
Helen eyed him curiously. "Kinda."
He wiped his hands against his robes. He avoided eye contact with her and rubbed the back of his neck. "Okay, good, good. I guess I-I didn't want you to. . . to, well, think me weak or scared or some bullshit like that when the Dementors came."
"Alexander, I could never think that. I was just worried and wanted to see if you were okay, that's all." Helen shivered. "Those creatures are simply terrible."
"Yeah," he agreed, smiling. "A fucking nightmare, right?"
"Exactly. They scare the living daylights out of me."
"I'm also sorry for calling you those nasty names. You're sweet and kind. I was just upset and hurt, really, and jealous."
Helen blinked repeatedly. "You were jealous?"
"Yeah, 'course I was. I hated that feeling. It was eating me up from the inside like some flesh-eating worm. Consuming everything in me. I care for you but I understand if you can't forgive me for the way I made you feel. Shit. I guess I owed you an explanation is what I'm trying to say."
Helen remained silent; her expression was as blank as a slate and it made Alexander rather nervous. He chewed on the inside of her cheek and then lifted his head as she spoke finally.
"I'm still hurt, I won't lie. About how you treated me and pushed me away. But I am sorry too. For pushing you too much, I shouldn't have done that." Helen sighed, placing one hand on her hip. "My need to be in control most of the time overpowers me. But I forgive you, Alexander. You're earnest. I can see that."
"Really?" He hardly dared to breathe in case she laughed in his face and told him that this was a joke and that she didn't truly believe him.
"Yeah. I think, bottom line, maybe we weren't good together. Not as a couple at least. And I wasn't completely honest before. I should've mentioned it but I didn't think it was going to be too much of a big deal at the time because I was trying to manage it in my own way. I don't think I'm over Johnny, not completely I don't think."
"You. . ." Alexander stared at her.
Her voice carried a melancholy undertone. "He was my first love. The breakup was still fresh and rushing into a relationship with you, Alexander, wasn't the right thing to do. I see that now. Maybe — maybe we're just better off as friends."
"Yeah, I guess, we are."
Alexander knew she was right. Still, it didn't stop the sensation of his heart having been impaled by searing tongs, shattering into tiny fragments. He knew it was coming but it didn't mean it wasn't any less hard. The pain in his chest would never end. He felt a faint sting in his eyes as he pressed his lips together. Helen pulled him into a hug.
"So. . . is this it?" he asked.
"Yeah, this is it," she answered with a muffled voice as she covered her face in his shoulder. "We'll still be friends, Alexander. So not truly the end."
Alexander nodded as they pulled back. "Does this also mean Nia will stop glaring at me in the corridors?"
Her laughter was watery. "Yes. Yes, it does. I will see you around, Alexander. Don't be a stranger, okay?"
"Okay."
Only when Alexander turned away and heard her footsteps turn fainter did he allow his facade to crumble, unleashing a trickle of tears.
∞ ϟ 9¾
Two weeks preceding the end of term marked a turning point for Alexander, as he finally found peace from the menacing image of Jonas's macabre countenance that had plagued his nights for so long. He was honestly rather relieved, but it still didn't stop some of the nightmares here and then. In some dreams, Alexander killed him, while in others Jonas succeeded in murdering him. Some nights he'd wake up in a sweaty, breathless manner, mouth opened in a silent scream and scouring the room for any sign of the middle-aged man, coming back to finish the job.
He was a quiet sleeper; he didn't snore like Ron, whimper in his sleep like Harry, or shuffle around so much like Neville. None of the other boys in the dormitory knew that he was having nightmares. It was like he was relieving the moment repeatedly, trapped in a perpetual cycle with no means of breaking free.
His grandfather's words lingered in his mind too. During the day, he'd eye the students, wondering who had it out for him, but none of them seemed suspicious or a likely target. It was maddening. He couldn't talk about this with anyone, certainly not his friends, and there was no teacher that he trusted enough. Professor Dumbledore was busy most of the day and Alexander only saw him during mealtimes. But it's not like he could hardly approach him in full view, could he?
Eliot would tell him to write to his Grandfather but that was the last thing Alexander wanted. He was in this whole fucked up mess in the first place because of his grandfather and his actions. He was Alexander Laurent, grandson to Antoine, which meant he paid the price. Some days he even wondered if he blamed Jonas for what he did. Would he do the same if Alexander were in his shoes? Would he want revenge too?
It made him ponder on how many others his grandfather had harmed, and whether it would be worse than what he saw. Worse than Jonas pleading or his wife screaming in pain for their lives? How many innocents? But what could be worse than threatening to harm a pregnant woman?
A subtle but potent wave of fear seized Alexander. What if his grandfather wasn't even half the monster he thought him to be? What if he was worse? Perhaps he and his mother, judging by her entries, were thinking the same thing. Could Grandfather have gone beyond his beliefs, theories and article writings and contributed to something truly horrific? Last year, Riddle made it seem as though Grandfather was simply feeding information and details from the Ministry, but what if that wasn't simply the case? What if he played an active role? Alexander knew the answer was mostly likely to be yes and that scared him more than Jonas's mild threats to kill him.
So, this time when his grandfather sent him an Owl to him, asking for an update on himself and Harry, Alexander ignored it, crumpled up the note and shoved it in his pocket to throw in the fire. He'll probably get a worded letter later on but he couldn't find it in himself to care. He's not spying for his grandfather anymore. Or Fudge or the Ministry.
In between bouts of his depressive mood and melancholy thoughts that Alexander fought to keep hidden, the sky lightened abruptly to a stunning, opaline white and the muddy grounds became enveloped in a glittering frost. There was a buzz of Christmas in the air. The rest of his friends were going to stay in the castle over the holiday period, but Alexander had decided to go home. He loved his friends, truly he did, but they just wouldn't leave him alone for one second. Ron appeared nervous that he was going to vanish as soon as he turned his head. So, yeah, Alexander needed some peace to himself. Well, that, and because the castle had somehow become suffocating to him and he needed a change of scenery.
To everyone's delight except Alexander's and Harry's, there was to be a final Hogsmeade trip on the very last weekend of the term. Harry couldn't go for obvious reasons, but Alexander felt nauseous every time he thought about going to the village again, his heart racing with anxiety. The memory was etched into his mind like a scar, a constant reminder of the vulnerability he had experienced. He would've preferred curling up on his four-poster bed, playing his violin, or doing some more research on the Patronus Charm.
"We can do all our Christmas shopping there!" gushed Hermione, aiming a bright smile at them all. "Mum and Dad would love those Toothflossing Stringmints from Honeydukes!"
"Yeah, I've been meaning to get my Mum something too," said Ron. "Alexander, what about you? You coming, mate?"
Alexander peered up from his Ancient Ruins book with a startled expression. In the face of their expectant looks, he couldn't say no. Otherwise, he'd have to explain why he couldn't go, and he wasn't looking forward to dealing with that.
"Uh, sure, yeah. . ." he mumbled half-heartedly.
"Oh. . ." exclaimed Hermione, blinking and looking surprised.
"What?"
"Nothing. Just — I thought you'd go with — with Helen instead of us."
Alexander rubbed circles into his temple. "Yeah, we, er, we broke up. I'm not going with her."
"Oh, mate, sorry," muttered Harry and Ron with uncomfortable looks.
"Ah. Are you okay?" asked Hermione.
"Yeah. Absolutely, I'm fine. Promise. It was only one date, so don't know if we were truly together or not, to be honest, but she seemed to think we were. Not anymore, apparently," said Alexander, unable to stop talking.
An uneasy hush settled over the space, punctuating the air with palpable awkwardness. Hermione then moved on the sofa and hooked her arm through his. Alexander turned his head to stare at her in surprise as her weight settled next to him. A radiant smile graced her lips and she patted his arm with her other hand.
"It'll be okay, Alexander, I promise. Maybe Hogsmeade can cheer you up."
It didn't seem worthwhile for Alexander to mention that he didn't exactly think so, therefore he simply nodded briefly. Much less hassle that way. He couldn't help but notice that there was a bounce in her step as they walked towards their classes.
∞ ϟ 9¾
On the Saturday morning of the Hogsmeade trip, Harry bid them goodbye as they walked out of the doors wrapped in cloaks and scarves. Harry looked disheartened and Alexander felt for him. It was cruel of his relatives to not allow him to go, and for a minute he forgot his nervousness for the anger bubbling in his gut at Harry's attempt to be excited for them.
Alexander walked in the middle of the two as they trudged towards the village, the flaky snow crunching underneath their shoes. Alexander felt the body heat radiating from them, and it provided him with comfort, indicating that he wasn't alone, that they'd be there with him. They both promised him that they weren't going to split up this time with Hermione's voice sounding rather adamant. She probably still harboured a little guilt.
Hogsmeade looked like a painted Christmas card; the thatched cottages and shops were all swathed in a coating of snow. Holly wreaths lay on the doors and strings of enchanted candles hung in the trees. People with hooded cloaks covered their faces from the blizzard as they walked past. Alexander sharply inhaled, stumbling over his feet slightly.
"You alright, Alex?" asked Ron with a frown.
"Yeah, I'm — I'm fine," Alexander managed, feeling sweat pool at his temples.
A soft hand squeezed his, and he turned to look into Hermione's doe-eyed gaze. Alexander basked in the soothing warmth radiating from her smile, a gentle beacon that steadied the rhythm of his heart. Feeling much calmer, he walked with a steady pace.
Just as he was about to enter Honeydukes, Alexander noticed a familiar flash of blonde hair. Caramel eyes caught his gaze and he raised his hand to wave hesitantly, knowing he no longer felt as if his chest was going to collapse on itself. Helen returned it and waved back with a growing smile, and all he could feel was a tranquil peace in his chest like the gentle caress of a cool breeze on a warm summer day. It was going to be okay. At least one part of his life was going well. And he couldn't help but worry that this was the calm before a torrential storm. She then turned her back and walked inside a shop, her scarf catching on the door.
Hermione nudged him. "Everything okay," she asked slowly with a curious glint.
Alexander smiled earnestly. "I'm good."
Ron had bounded ahead and left them in the dust as his wide-eyed gaze soaked up the various new products that were displayed on the shelves. Alexander chuckled and shoved his hands inside his trouser pockets as he explored for himself, wondering what to get Harry from here.
A while later, Alexander's attention was drawn to Hermione, who cast a longing gaze upon a vibrant assortment of sweets displayed in a decorative box. She bit her lip and placed it back while a tiny huff escaped her mouth. She then walked off towards another section. Alexander narrowed his eyes and then strode towards that particular shelf again, picking up the box. He then marched towards the counter.
"How much for this?" he asked Mr Ambrosius Flume brusquely.
The wizard's blue sparkling eyes landed on him as he pulled his long moustache. "Ten Galleons, my boy," he replied jovially.
Alexander nodded and then pulled out the required amount from his pouch. After he had paid he found Hermione near the Chocolate Cauldrons Corner. He stretched out his hand and offered her the paper-wrapped box.
"Alexander, what—" Her eyes widened, and her mouth slackened.
"Here," he said with a shrug as if it were obvious. "You wanted this so. . ."
"You bought this," she hissed, pushing the box back into his chest. Her cheeks had flushed as scarlet as her scarf. "From your own money. Are you crazy? Do you know how much it is? I can't take it, Alexander — it's too much."
"Why not?" he argued. "I bought this for you. I wanted to, okay? So take it. I owe you, remember, for the chocolate you gave me last time."
"I—"
Hermione's expression wavered with conflict, but eventually, she sighed, relenting to his unyielding determination. He wasn't going to take no for an answer. She wanted it and he wanted to get it for her. What was the problem?
"Thank you," she said quietly, taking the box and offering a bashful half-smile.
Alexander grinned, pleased to see the glimmer of delight in her gaze. "You're very welcome."
They wandered towards Ron near the farthest corner of the shop which had a sign hanging from the ceiling named Unusual Tastes. He was examining a tray of odd-looking lollipops.
"There you two are. Look at this — do'ya think Harry will like these?" Ron asked them.
"Ugh, no, Harry won't want one of those, they're for vampires, I expect," Hermione said in disgust.
"How about these then?" teased Ron, shoving a jar of Cockroach Clusters under Hermione's nose, who leapt back. Alexander earned himself a smack on the shoulder for his laughter at that.
"Definitely not," said a voice sounding exactly like Harry.
Ron nearly dropped the jar and Alexander nearly drew his wand from how shocked he was.
"Fuck, you nearly scared us, Harry," snapped Alexander, shaking his head.
"Harry!" squealed Hermione. "What are you doing here? How — how did you—?"
"Wow!" said Ron, looking very impressed, "you've learned to Apparate!"
"'Course I haven't," snorted Harry.
He turned his head around surreptitiously and dropped his voice. They all listened as he told them about the Marauder's Map. Alexander was impressed while Hermione seemed disapproving. This was way better than Apparating. Getting into anywhere you wanted in the castle and the Village and the chance to spy on people sounded as if Harry had struck a goldmine. Ron was furious as expected that his brothers wouldn't share the map with him. Hermione voiced something that Alexander had rather conveniently forgotten about.
"But what about Sirius Black?" she demanded with a scowl. "He could be using one of the passages on that map to get into the castle! The teachers have got to know! Come on, Alexander, you know I'm right."
He fought the urge to groan as three sets of eyes settled on him expectantly. Shit, he hated getting in the middle of things like this. Still, Hermione does have a point. He was caught between being impressed by such a clever, useful object and worried that Black could stumble across it and use it to get to Harry. The consequences could be great in the wrong hands.
"I. . . think that. . . it's highly unlikely for Black to come into Honeydukes of all places," Alexander settled on reluctantly, and Hermione's face fell.
"See, Hermione," pointed out Ron. "And look! Right there!"
They all turned and read the sign pasted on the inside of the sweet shop door, which informed them that Dementors would be patrolling the streets after sundown. This didn't exactly make Alexander feel any better but it seemed to settle the matter for Ron.
"Come on, Hermione, it's Christmas. Harry deserves a break."
"Are you going to report me?" Harry asked her, grinning.
"Oh — of course not — but honestly, Harry—"
"Seen the Fizzing Whizbees, Harry?" interjected Ron, grabbing him and leading him over to their barrel.
Alexander stared at her as she looked worried, gazing out of the mullioned windows at the thick, swirling snow. He nudged gently her with his shoulder, prompting her to lift her gaze to meet his deep, azure eyes, which sparkled with a mixture of curiosity and understanding.
"Black won't come. Don't worry," reassured Alexander.
"I hope you're right," sighed Hermione.
"I always am, now come on, before Ron gets him to buy a Nosebleed Nougat or something."
Afterwards, mostly to escape the bitter wind and warm their hands, they decided to go down to the Three Broomsticks and order some Butterbears. None of them disagreed. When they entered the tiny Inn, it was crowded, noisy, warm, and smoky. Madam Rosmerta was serving a bunch of rowdy warlocks at the bar.
"That's Madam Rosmerta," mumbled Ron to Harry. "I'll get the drinks, shall I?"
His eyes were fixed unblinkingly on the curvy witch and his cheeks had blossomed red. Alexander narrowed his eyes at Ron and then Madam Rosmerta, his head flickering between the two. Something clicked in his mind and he began snickering loudly. Ron scowled and muttered at him to shut up. Oh, this was pure gold. Of all the times that Ron had teased him, Alexander could finally get back at him. Harry raised an eyebrow, as Ron slinked off.
"Ron fancies Madam Rosmerta," Alexander explained with a smirk.
They made their way to the back of the room, where there was a small, round table between the window and a large Christmas tree standing next to the fireplace. Ron waddled back, carefully carrying four foaming tankards of hot butterbeer. Alexander rose to help him carry the load.
"Merry Christmas!" Ron announced happily, raising his tankard, and they all followed.
As the warmth of the drink spread through him, accompanied by the gentle sensation of Hermione's leg brushing against his own, a subtle tingle danced along his skin with each contact. At this moment, Alexander found himself wholly content, savouring the simple pleasure of their shared company. Of course, with most things, it could only last so long.
The door opened, and Professors McGonagall and Flitwick had just entered the pub, a flurry of snowflakes scattered over their figures; Hagrid shortly followed and after him — to Alexander's complete and utter horror — was Cornelius fucking Fudge the Minister of Magic. His gaze snapped towards Harry.
"Didn't you bring your Invisibility Cloak?" he hissed at Harry in a whisper.
Harry, with wide, panicked eyes, shook his head rapidly, and Alexander cursed inwardly. They then moved quickly. Harry was forced under the table, clutching his empty tankard. Hermione whispered, "Mobiliarbus!" The Christmas tree rose a few inches off the ground and landed with a soft thump, hiding them all from view. Alexander could've kissed her right then and there.
Why the fuck did Fudge decide to come here out of all the days to exist? Didn't he have a Ministry to run? So why was drinking during the day? God forbid if Fudge spotted Alexander. Alexander was at once immensely grateful that his grandfather didn't accompany the Minister. Grandfather would've taken one look at the back of his head and instantly walked over, recognising his grandson. That would've blown their cover out of the water. They could do nothing but sit there and listen.
"Thank you, Rosmerta, m'dear," came Fudge's voice. "Lovely to see you again, I must say. Have one yourself, won't you? Come and join us."
"Well, thank you very much, Minister."
"What a week it's been. Always, always busy down at the Ministry. Not a moment's rest let me tell you. These reporters have been breathing down my neck about Sirius Black, Rita Skeeter especially. But Antoine's been a constant saviour. Don't know what I'd do without him or Dumbledore."
"Glad to hear it, Minister. Antoine's always been a charmer him," remarked Madam Rosmerta, then her voice shited to coyness. "And very handsome, if I do say so. Admired him greatly and still do."
"Ah, yes, yes. Well, I suppose Antoine has forever been popular with the ladies. Me, not so much sadly. He's currently disposed to France, taking care of some business for the Ministry. You won't see him today, I'm afraid, Rosmerta dear."
Fudge chuckled, and Alexander cringed, feeling his body recoil. He caught Ron's half-jealous expression.
"So, what then brings you to this neck of the woods, Minister?"
In an unusually quiet voice for Fudge, he said, after checking for any eavesdroppers, "What else, but Sirius Black? I daresay you heard what happened up at the school at Halloween?"
"Do you think Black's still in the area, Minister?"
"I'm sure of it."
The more they spoke the lower Alexander sunk into his seat. He leaned forward and clutched the sides of his head. A deepening abyss gnawed at the core of his stomach and there lingered a bitter sense of foreboding in the air. Some of the details Fudge and the Professor discussed he knew, of course, from what his grandfather had revealed to him before the start of this year. But for others, he had to sink his teeth into his arm to stop gasping or indicating his shock. He felt Hermione trembling next to him. He couldn't even imagine how Harry felt at this point. To have your whole world turned upside down. Well, maybe just a little. . .
"We'll catch Black, soon enough, mark my words," said Fudge, bringing his tankard to his mouth. "The Ministry has their own tricks up their sleeves, Rosmerta, don't you forget that. And if not, then we have an eye on Harry Potter at least."
"Harry Potter? What do you mean?"
"Well, Anotine's grandson, Alexander, you know him, I believe."
"Yes, I've seen him a short while ago. A handsome boy and I see that he gained much of his mother's looks."
"That's him. Well, we have him keeping an eye on Potter and reporting to us. Black won't get to Potter so soon, believe me. His safety is an utmost priority next to capturing Black."
There was a faint ringing in Alexander's head like he heard everything through a tube.
"You know, Cornelius, if you're dining with the headmaster, we'd better head back up to the castle," said Professor McGonagall.
Alexander scarcely registered the flurry of departing footsteps from the inn, his attention consumed by a growing sense of apprehension that weighed on him like an anchor sinking into the depths of his stomach. His gaze met Harry's, who stared up at him with an unsettling blankness, sending a shiver down Alexander's spine.
August 20th, 1977
Voldemort is getting more dangerous as each day passes. I've seen the Prophet, the stories that are published and the details that just don't add up. People are starting to get more paranoid as no one has been able to beat him yet. Not one. It's worrying, I'll admit. I see the shifty looks, the hushed voices. They're afraid to laugh, to draw attention to themselves as if they're going to be targeted next.
Every day seems like a fresh new murder of a witch or wizard, or a whole family depending on who it is. I don't understand why no one is lifting a finger. I mean, the Ministry condemned him and wrote a statement against him in the paper, but that's about it. They're such spineless cowards, not willing to do anything. It's so fucking frustrating. We're just waiting ducks at this point. No one's taking any real action against him.
I also attended a ball the other day. I say ball but it was more like a formal gathering frankly. It was tedious and typical just like all the others at first. I was forced to shake stuffy old people's hands, smile politely at them and ask after their family. It was funny, yeah, when I refused to act ladylike in front of the camera for the picture for the Daily Prophet. It was satisfying to see how livid my father became — steam was practically pouring out of his ears and it was all he could do to not yell.
I then spotted Prince in the corner, the only familiar face I knew around my age, standing beside his parents, who looked even more haughty and stern than anyone I've ever had the displeasure of seeing. I never realised there could be someone more pretentious and dourer than him, but, hey, first time for everything. He appeared solemn and uncomfortable because he was fidgeting with the cuffs of his robes a lot. When he saw me his eyebrows rose and there was a twitch in his facial muscles. My father wouldn't mind if I wasn't there — I've done all he wanted of me; so when everyone was mingling and laughing together, I escaped that suffocating chamber and walked up to him discreetly. I asked if was forced to be here, too, and he admitted that he was. He'd rather be at home reading but he couldn't shrink away from his duty as the only remaining heir to his House. He didn't have a choice.
I genuinely wanted him to loosen up — he seemed too stiff for my liking. I dragged him away from the lively Manor and towards the garden, with its meticulously trimmed rose bushes and a kaleidoscope of blossoms.
I lost track of time; I can't even describe what it felt like to be there, away from the prying eyes, from my father's judgmental and angry gaze, while listening to the rushing of the waterfalls or feeling the scrape of the thorns against my palm. My father would kill me if I ruined my dress with any splatter of mud or grass, but I couldn't find it in myself to care very much.
We chatted for a while, it was quite nice. I remember distinctly the warmth in my chest and the tingly sparks that erupted like a constellation of fireflies when his knee grazed against mine when we sat on a circular stone that faced the waterfall. There was a sense of vulnerability present in the air, and I didn't exactly know why. I glanced to the side and caught the sunset reflecting off his soft features, and I couldn't look away. I don't think he's ever looked so pretty then with his face adorned with a luminous smile.
And then, of course, I was hit by reality. When we walked back in, because it had started to get dark, he looked troubled. He then whispered to me that my father was talking with a rumoured Death Eater, one who had been present in some of the killings of Muggles. My stomach churned. My father wasn't like that. He just couldn't be. I know his views about Muggleborns and that bullshit about Blood Supremacy back in his younger days, but, like, surely he wouldn't join ranks with Voldemort.
Here is the long, awaited chapter. Many thanks for your support! All mistakes are my own, of course. Hope this one turned out okay.
Let me know what you think. Very often, I'm filled with doubts that my writing isn't good enough or something.
Hope you guys are having a great weekend!
Until next time, bye for now.