Alexander doesn't think he has seen Professor Dumbledore look so grim and serious. The twinkle in his eyes was absent and his mouth pressed into a thin, white line. Alexander understood how he felt. What was once a state of drowsiness, and as if his limbs were about to topple over, had disappeared and his nerves tingled like they'd been electrified.
He scoured his surroundings, hoping that Sirius Black would be lurking behind a statue or a painting, hiding in the shadows with a feral gaze, waiting for his chance. Alexander's body tensed and his hand drifted to his wand, eyes narrowed. How can he be so careless? Surely a man who escaped Azkaban, a heavily guarded fortress, can break into Hogwarts? It'd be like a simple walk in the park for him, clear-cut and easy. God, he should have been more aware, more awake. He can't afford to mess up, not if it meant Harry's life on the line. Alexander swallowed the lump in his throat and moved to rest on a shell-shocked Harry and stunned Ron and Hermione.
Professor Dumbledore announced soberly that no one was to sleep in their dormitories tonight and instead, they'd be camping in the Great Hall. A large hush and whispers erupted, some looking less than pleased but Alexander didn't mind. Not if it meant being close to his friends, in a way that he could protect them, protect Harry. Others, however, appeared excited at the turn of events. This, Alexander, couldn't comprehend. A murder could have occurred so closely, under their nose.
The Great Hall was packed to the brim that evening with sleeping bags in every space. Alexander grabbed a light blue one and joined his friends in a nearby corner. He positioned himself next to Harry on his right and his wand close to his palm, so all he had to do was grab it. Hermione was on his left while Ron was by Harry's other side, yawning.
A few metres away, Alexander spotted Nia and Helen huddled together closely. Helen's head draped across her shoulder and her fingers drew circles into Nia's palm as they whispered. He watched Nia shuffle closer if that was possible, most likely comforting her.
"Do you think Black's still in the castle?" Hermione whispered anxiously, peeking a look at Percy nearby.
Alexander turned his head. "Probably, who knows," he muttered.
"It's very lucky he picked tonight, you know," said Hermione, biting her lip. "The one night we weren't in the tower." She took a shuddering breath. "I just can't help wondering what if–"
Alexander sighed and rustled around as he lay down. "We shouldn't think about what-ifs and could-have-been. We were lucky."
"But how did he get himself in the castle, do you suppose?" asked Ron, propped up his elbow. "Disguised himself maybe?"
"No," answered Alexander instantly.
"The castle's protected by more than walls," explained Hermione with a roll of her eyes. "There are all sorts of enchantments on it, to stop people entering by stealth. And I'd like to see the disguise that could fool those dementors. They're guarding every single entrance to the grounds."
"Alright," grumbled Ron a bit put out. "It was just an idea."
"I wouldn't fancy him busting in here," mumbled Harry distractedly as he looked at Percy. "Don't think he'd have the nerve to."
"That won't happen," promised Alexander. "Professor Dumbledore's here, remember?" And I won't let it happen.
"The lights are going out now!" Percy shouted in a warning tone over the chatter. "I want everyone in their sleeping bags and no more talking!"
The Hall darkened as the candles snuffed out. Silvery ghosts and the enchanted ceiling were the only light visible. Alexander saw the misty whiteness of his breath waft out in front of him. People slowly drifted off to sleep with a few light snores appearing here and there; the rustling of sleeping bags echoed.
He must have fallen asleep for an hour or two because when he woke everything was silent and dark. It took a moment of disorientation before he remembered where he was. An owl faintly hooted and a dog barked from outside, which sounded suspiciously like Fang. He shuffled on his side. Harry appeared asleep judging by the rise and fall of his chest. That's good.
It was hard to fall back asleep after that, his mind too restless. He wondered if it was his fault for not being too vigilant and becoming laxer lately. What would have happened if Black had gotten his hands on Harry? Would he have come back to a castle sheltering his friend's rotting corpse and Black standing triumphantly over him? He almost pictured it: Harry pale and slack-faced with Black looming, a crazy, blood-thirsty grin over him. His stomach twisted into knots, and he shook his head to erase the image.
Maybe his grandfather was right. Maybe he was destined to be a huge failure. He couldn't do anything right.
"Alexander. . ." A soft feminine voice whispered. It came so close to him, he thought someone was murmuring straight into his ear. He fought the urge to shiver. "Are you awake?"
"Yeah," he said, then cleared his throat. "I am."
"Oh, you can't sleep too?" asked Hermione, her voice lighter than a feather. He could just about make out her features under the moonlight slanting in through the window. They were soft and shining.
"Who would with Ron's snoring?"
A quiet, musical giggle came from her. Alexander's lips twitched upwards. He turned his head sideways and caught her gaze already on him. The enchanted sky reflected a light that made her eyes appear a darker shade of brown, so deep and endless. He already felt his muscles loosening the longer he stared. Her eyes scanned the room as she bit her bottom lip.
"Scootch closer," she gestured. "That way Percy or any of the professors won't be able to hear."
He smirked gently. "Breaking rules now, are we?" he teased and earned a delicate smack against his shoulder.
"Hush."
He moved closer until their shoulders brushed in their sleeping bags. She leaned her head forwards.
"Have you slept yet?" she asked.
"A little. Don't think I'm going to be able to any more, to be honest. What about you?"
"Only a few minutes. I'm a light sleeper. All this noise is making it hard to," she admits. "I need complete silence. I usually cast the silencing charm in the dorms but it's hard to with so many people here. Parvati and Lavander talk too much every night–it's distracting."
"Hmm, clever. I might have to try that soon. Drown out Ron's snoring."
"Works wonders really."
Their subdued laughter settled into a comfortable silence. Alexander could almost count the single strands of hair. Vanilla and light citrus filled his nostrils. He had a sudden desire to curl a bushy, brown piece of hair around his finger just to feel how soft it would be.
"I-I have too much on my mind to sleep," he sighed, resting an arm behind his head as he peered at her. "Don't think I can even if I force myself to."
"Oh. . ." She blinked her deep brown eyes at him. "Did you, um–did you want to talk about it? My mum sometimes says that talking about things makes a person a whole lot lighter than before. She's usually right."
Alexander chuckled drily. "Our families couldn't be any more different. Bottling it up is the Laurent motto."
Hermione kept quiet but Alexander felt her gaze on him. He could tell that she hadn't gone to sleep yet because of the pace of her breath, how steady and rhythmic it was. He listened for a while before speaking, his head aimed at the ceiling.
"I don't know how to explain it exactly," he begins softly. "I just–" He sighed then stared again. "It's a huge buddle of a mess, all twisted and. . . and weird. Inside me, I mean. In my stomach and my chest. I have all these–these emotions inside that I can't understand. But I feel it. And some days I feel sick holding it all together."
"How so?"
"Well, like, I'm worried and confused. . . scared and furious all at the same time. That shouldn't be normal. At least I don't think it should be. Surely someone can't feel all that–it seems impossible."
"We can't help how we feel, Alexander. It's a given."
He made a frustrated sound. How was he to describe it? "No, I know that I do. I just–" He stumbled on his words. "–wish I didn't." He felt a tender graze of a hand against his own and he swallowed at her light touch. Seeing that he hadn't objected, Hermione interlocked their fingers and squeezed firmly. The strong weight of her touch encouraged him to reveal, "It's sort of like I'm a ticking time bomb just waiting to explode someday. Other days I feel as if my head is a balloon filling up with water until it gets to a time where it's going to pop and all the water is going to go everything, and there'll be a huge mess and I just want–"
Hermione frowned. "Yes?"
"I feel like a failure most of the time," whispered Alexander, scared that revealing this meant that the whole Great Hall had heard it. That it had been released into the air and the walls of the castle hid it within its magical seams, savouring it with glee, and whispering his secret to every student that passed.
He heard her shuffle even closer until her head was near enough to lie on his shoulder. He suddenly became aware that the material of the sleeping bags was the only thing keeping him from experiencing the ghost of her skin. She'd worn a short-sleeved top and shorts earlier he recalled for some strange reason. Her thumb went on to caress the top of his hands, and he had a sudden urge to cry.
"I don't believe you're a failure, Alexander," she declared as if it were a rigid, proven fact she read about in one of her books. Alexander blinked in surprise. "I also don't think you're strange or weird or whatever you must think of yourself. I think– no–I know that you're one of the bravest people I've met."
It took a while for him to dislodge his tongue from his mouth. "I-I appreciate that, but I don't feel brave on most days. I mostly feel like a great, big coward. I mean, seriously, I can't even fight off a dementor or, or protect anyone. I mean you saw what happened with Black earlier."
Her hand reached out to cup his cheek and tug his head towards her. If he leaned forward an inch their noses would graze. He realised how incredibly odd that sounded even in his own mind, so firmly shoved that thought away, and instead chose to lean into her touch. He inhaled deeply, the warmth of her palm grounding him and easing his anxiety somewhat. If the candles were on perhaps, he might have been embarrassed.
"I get weak and fearful too sometimes. You're not alone, Alexander, I promise you."
Alexander blinked in surprise. "You?"
"Yes, what you don't think me capable of that?" Her tone had become defensive.
"No, no, I just–I never thought anything bothered you really. Even in the face of danger, you seem so, well, so determined and strong-willed."
"Well, now you know." Her facial expression turned nervous. "You and Ron and Harry, you're all so, so brave to face the dangers and dark creatures while I'm hesitant. I truly think my overthinking and logic hold me back."
Her voice wavered and a crease settled between her brows. If Alexander was the type of boy to act on it, he would have imagined himself reaching out and smoothing out the lines on her forehead with his fingers or pressing a tiny kiss to her temple. If he was that is. His tonged darted out to wet his lips.
"Well, honestly, I don't think we go looking for trouble, trouble usually finds us. Or Harry at least. What I'd give to have a normal year at Hogwarts."
She laughed and then quietened down as a Hufflepuff student nearby turned in their sleep.
"We are, aren't we?" she agreed fondly. Her smile disappeared and just as Alexander was about to ask her what was wrong, she spoke. "I don't think I've ever told you this before, or anyone really, but I think the Sorting Hat put me in the wrong House. I get scared and I don't feel very brave or like a Gryffindor at all."
Alexander frowned. "What are you talking about?" he said in a tone of bewilderment.
Hermione's other hand fidgeted with the edge of her sleeping bag. She shrugged. "I read a lot and know some things but beyond that, I–" She closes her mouth as if gathering her thoughts before continuing. "I don't know who I am. I'm afraid of not belonging here, at Hogwarts."
Alexander supposed what she said made sense in a way. It was why she made so much of an effort in her first year and still does nowadays to fit in and belong. He mused before he replied.
"Well, I think that utter bullshit," he professed in a matter-of-fact tone. "No offence."
"What?" Hermione's mouth dropped open.
"You heard me. You know what I think. I think you're more than your intelligence. It's, like, a part of you but not the whole of you."
Hermione's mouth resembled a goldfish out of water. She was blinking a lot and her expression had turned slack.
"You are kind too," he said. "I see how you help Neville in Potions when you think Snape isn't looking. Do you think Malfoy would do that? No, of course not." She huffed a laugh. "But even if you don't believe it, I think you're loyal and brave. You're my best friend and Hogwarts wouldn't be the same without you. Not for me."
He heard a sniff and became alarmed at how water-logged her voice sounded. He asked if she was okay, and she waves away his worried concern. She was fine. A glimmer of tears glistened on the surface of those deep, dark eyes of hers. The hairs on his arms stood up as if sensing how charged the atmosphere had become. He couldn't seem to look away, her eyes acting like hooks to his soul. His expression was sure to appear open and vulnerable to her and before he knew it, he was saying something before his brain could catch up.
"I need to tell you something," he murmured, his heart squeezing. "It's about my grandfather. . ."
Hermione tilted her head in confusion but showed she was listening. "Alex, your grandfather?"
"Yeah, I don't know him. I think I did, or I used to, but I don't. Possibly." He took a deep breath, scared to even look at her face or the judgment in her eyes, or pity maybe.
Before he could continue, however, the doors of the Great Hall opened, and their eyes spun round to rest on Professor Dumbledore. Hermione appeared disappointed but still shot him a worried, curious glance. An almost feeling of relief settled in his stomach. He got an easy way out it seemed like.
"Headmaster?" came Snape's voice.
Alexander pressed a finger on his lips as met Hermione's wide-eyed gaze. They kept very silent.
"The whole of the third floor has been searched. He's not there. And Filch has done the dungeons; nothing there either."
"What about the Astronomy tower? Professor Trelawney's room? The Owlery?"
"All searched."
"Very well, Severus. I didn't expect Black to linger."
That was one good news at least, Alexander had to admit. Black disappearing meant that Harry was safe for now. Though it didn't shed light on how he came into the castle in the first place nor how he got out. All these professors and not one had any clue whatsoever, thought Alexander bitterly. Weren't they meant to be the ones to have all the answers? So why didn't they? Why was the Ministry so useless at obtaining their prisoners? Why did Harry have to suffer? Why did they all?
"I must go down to the dementors," said Dumbledore. I said I would inform them when our search was complete."
"Didn't they want to help, sit?" questioned Percy curiously.
"Oh yes," said Dumbledore in a cold voice, causing Alexander to shiver. "But I'm afraid no dementor will cross the threshold of this castle while I am headmaster."
Alexander glanced sideways at Hermione as they left, the thud of the doors echoing. Harry and Ron seemed awake now too and had probably heard the whole conversation. Alexander genuinely hoped it was only Dumbledore they'd heard and not his conversation with Hermione, particularly about his grandfather. It was one thing to say it to Hermione and a whole other business to Harry and Ron. Like he was crossing a line as crazy as that sounded.
During that time, Hermione had moved away from him, and Alexander felt the cold breeze nuzzle against his arms rather uncomfortably, missing the warmth she emitted. He clenched his fists under his sleeping bag and, ignoring the slight pang of his heart, he turned around on his side, his back facing her. Yet, as he shut his eyes, he could almost sense her inquisitive stare burning into him for the rest of the night like a hot brand of lava against his skin.
∞ ϟ 9¾
Sirius Black was the only topic on people's lips. All through meals and classes and in the common room they would chatter and theorise. Alexander believed some of the claims to be ridiculous. It was just another sensation for them to reveal in. Next month they'd probably move on to seventh-year Hufflepuff Joshua Jones being seen coming out of a broom closet with sixth-year Gryffindor Melanie Wiggins. They were fickle like that he'd come to discover.
It's also worth mentioning that Alexander had not bought up the subject of his grandfather to Hermione since. He felt it to be a moment of weakness underneath the moonlight, and he'd lacked clarity at the time. No, revealing it might have caused her to be disgusted with him or something. Maybe she wouldn't have wanted to be friends anymore. And that was something he feared greatly. He'd rather face a thousand dementors all at once than lose Hermione's friendship. It'd be too painful, soul-crushing even. More than finding out about his grandfather. He couldn't imagine not being in her presence or listening to her sprout of facts she'd learnt in her books or bicker with Ron. It wouldn't be Hogwarts to him. He knew this to be a solid truth down to his bones, right to his very soul.
And, sure, Harry knew some gist of it from last year but seemed to have forgotten about it, for which Alexander was grateful. Black had distracted him more so than anything before.
But Hermione was a different question. She'd been relentless and rather impatient to talk to him. Alexander quickly steered the conversation elsewhere to distract her. His stomach clenched every time he saw a determined glint and a tiny bit of guilt fluttered around inside him. Friends don't keep things from each other. He didn't blame her for being curious. But he wouldn't have her look at him differently. He just couldn't.
In other news, it'd also turned out, much to every single Gryffindor's displeasure, that the Fat Lady's ripped canvas had been taken off the wall and replaced with the portrait of Sir Cadogan, a ridiculous knight and his fat grey pony. It only took one meeting for Alexander to have already reached his limit of tolerance. He was a ridiculous man. Sir Cadogan spent his time thinking up ridiculously complicated passwords, which he changed at least twice a day. It was hard to keep track of.
"Ah, thou dastardly knave!" exclaimed Sir Cadogan, raising his sword at Alexander as he approached the portrait. Hermione made an exasperated sound next to him. "By the knightly code I uphold, I challenge thee to a duel of wit and valour! Art thou ready to accept my challenge, or dost thou cower in the face of my might?"
"Oh my god," groaned Alexander, throwing his head back in irritation. This was nothing new. "Quixotic."
The knight ignored him as he repeated the password and glared, swishing his sword about even more. He seemed heavier than him and Alexander wondered how the knight hadn't toppled over yet. Alexander heard Ron and Harry approaching them slowly behind. He threw an exasperated glance at Hermione, who merely sighed.
"Sirrah! By the stars above, thou art a craven soul! How dare thee refuse to take up arms in defence of thy lady's honour?" He gestured towards Hermione. "Ha, 'tis an affront to the very essence of chivalry and knightly virtue! Behold, I now challenge thee not only for thy cowardice but also for thy flagrant disrespect towards the fairer sex. Draw thy sword and face me, boy!"
Alexander choked on air, a strangled gasp escaping his mouth and a rush of heat rushing across his cheeks, flaming them as bright as the scarlet of his robes. He closed his eyes, wishing he could wring the neck of the bothersome knight with his bare hands. A small squeak sounded from Hermione, and she seemed to be unable to meet his eyes.
Ron bounded up loudly. "What's going on?" he demanded. "Come on, Qui– um, Qui-xo-tic. Come on, come on. Open. We haven't got all day."
The knight sighed but his beady eyes focused on Alexander. "Alas! Fare thee well, thou disappointing soul, and mayhaps one day thou shalt find the strength to redeem thyself in the eyes of honour and thy gentle lady."
"Yeah, yeah, you lunatic," Alexander muttered in a mortified tone and climbed into the portrait hole, immediately bounding up to the dorm room without a second glance. That portrait needed to go.
Alexander had also kept his word and become more vigilant of Harry. He wrote his grandfather a few letters once every two days, telling him of the situation, and monitoring his friend as subtly as possible. Or at least he thought so until Harry noticed.
"Will you stop with that!" Harry snapped, turning on his heels in the corridor to glare at Alexander. "Stop following me everywhere. I know what you're doing. What the professors are doing. I just didn't expect you to join them."
Alexander blinked back in surprise. He swallowed as he tried to find words and look a little less guilty. "I'm not following you," he weakly defended.
"Yes, you are. I need some breathing space–stop treating me like I'm porcelain or something. It's starting to become really annoying!"
Indignation bubbled in his chest. "Yeah, well, sorry that I don't want to find my friend dead in a corridor!" scowled Alexander. It hurt that Harry couldn't see that he was trying to look out for him, but he'd never admit it.
"Oh, just leave me alone, would you? Think you can manage that for five minutes?" huffed Harry angrily and stormed off.
Alexander clenched his jaw and ignored the looks he was getting from the other students. Harry Potter was an annoyingly stubborn git. He then spent a whole two hours practising his violin to clear his head until Dean throw a pillow at him to get him to be quiet because he wanted to nap.
Something that was even more persistent in his mind, however, was trying to figure out a way to defend himself against those nasty, ghostly-like dementors. He never wanted to feel weak and vulnerable like that again. He shuddered just thinking about it. It was horrible, toe-curling and sickening.
He'd been looking through some books recently and had stumbled upon something called the Patronus Charm. The book prefaced it by describing how incredibly difficult it is to conjure one and how most wizards and witches go their whole lives without being able to produce it. Alexander tried on his own to create the charm but failed miserably when only a thin wisp, if you could even call it that, appeared and disappeared just a quickly.
But he was a Laurent (even if some days he didn't feel like one) and he was nothing if not obstinate. He couldn't do this one on his own. He needed help as dismayed as he was to admit.
"Uh, Professor," he began after class once everyone had left for lunch. "I-I was wondering if you could help me with something. With a spell. . ."
Lupin closed his book and looked up from his desk. He appeared more weary than usual, and Alexander believed that he'd come on a bad day.
"Ah, Alexander. A spell you say. Well, I can't promise much but I'd do my best I suppose. What spell were you thinking of exactly?"
"It's something called a Patronus Charm if you've heard of that. I need your help in learning to do it." He admitted it as if he was reluctant or a gun was being held to his back. But there was no going back from this. It was Lupin or no one else and Alexander supposed he seemed more trustworthy than say, Snape.
Lupin's eyebrows raised despite his tired expression. "This is most surprising I have to say. A spell like that is increasingly advanced magic, well beyond someone of your age. It won't be easy."
"I know," said Alexander, determined and unwilling to look away from Lupin's gaze. "But I need to, Professor, please."
"Yes, I thought you'd say that." Lupin sighed. "So like your mother in that regard. I should have expected this. Okay, if you're willing to put the effort in then I will help you."
Alexander nodded eagerly, feeling as though a large weight had been lifted off his shoulders. That was easier than he thought. He'd been willing to argue his case.
"When can we start?" he asked.
"Oh, soon, I should hope. But not right now."
Alexander wondered why they couldn't start tomorrow. It was a Saturday after all. But as his gaze ran over the weary Professor, Alexander paused on the deep, dark bags under his eyes. Lupin had never looked worse and that was saying something. He needed all the rest he can get. Alexander can work with that.
∞ ϟ 9¾
After a dismal Care of Magical Creatures class one Wednesday afternoon, Alexander strode across the grounds, the light wind whipping across his face and a faint smell of flowers wafting in the air. He walked past the lake and spotted Nia nearby, laying down on the grassy area with her back against a tree. She wore her signature jean jacket and carried a notebook and a muggle pen with her.
He paused for a moment then approached gradually. Nia peered up and blinked owlishly as she saw him. He threw her a nod.
"Hey," he greeted, standing in front. "Mind if I join?"
"Hi," she said, raising a hand and then shrugging. "Sure, yeah. Don't you have a lesson though?"
"Hmm, oh, no. I have a free period." He moved to sit beside her, the rough bark of the tree digging into his back. His gaze fell on the page filled with ink. "What are you writing?" he asked.
Nia shifted and covered up the page shyly. "Oh, er, it's my, um, my journal," she said, as if bashful to admit, fiddling with the edge of the notebook. "I like to write about what happens and stuff. It helps me clear my thoughts, I guess. It also has a few doddles and song lyrics too."
Alexander smiled. "Oh, does it mention me anywhere?" he teased playfully. "I mean it should do – we're friends, right?"
Nia snorted, losing some of her nerves. "Oh, don't flatter yourself, Laurent. I'm not wasting any pages on you." She tapped her pen against the surface. "I, er, listened to that CD by the way. The one you got me, remember? Liz Phair wouldn't have been my first choice but she's really good. She's not Nirvana but she's better than I expected, like beyond."
"Yeah, I thought you'd like her," he grinned brightly.
"Alright, Laurent, stop gloating–you look hideous when you do that." She rolled her eyes.
"You're the only one who thinks, sorry to disappoint." He watched as a tentacle appeared from the lake and then sunk into the depths of the Black Lake. "Do you always hang around here?" he asked with a curious lilt to his voice.
Nia nodded. "I like being close to nature. Gives me a sense of peace, I don't know."
Alexander made a face. "Ah, I've always been more of a city boy. Don't get me wrong, I mean, I like parks and all that, but I'll never go out of my way to experience camping."
Nia laughed. "That's the rich, private boy side of you talking."
Alexander's mouth parted slightly. "I-I'm not rich," he said. Well, he doesn't consider himself to be. Not like any of the other families he'd encountered who were ridiculously wealthy and it showed through their clothing. "I mean, sure, I was privately educated but I'm not rich."
"You might not be to you, but you are to me," pointed out Nia writing, scrawling something down. She shrugged, meeting his eyes. "How could I not? I live in a two-bedroom council flat in South London. It's not exactly the Ritz, is it?"
Alexander furrowed his brow. "I never thought of it that way."
Nia hummed contentedly. It's silent for a moment as they both soaked in the peace. The grass prickled underneath his fingers. He cleared his throat as he peered at her sideways. "Um, how's, er, how's Helen?"
He felt Nia tense beside him, but she didn't draw her gaze to him. "Why do you want to know?" she said in a strained voice, more wary-like.
"I just. . . wanted to know."
"She's fine."
"Oh."
"Yeah."
Alexander took a deep breath. "Does she hate me?" he prodded, almost not wanting to know the answer. "Does she not like me anymore?"
Nia slammed her book shut and huffed. She threw him a terse glance. "Why don't you ask her yourself seeing as you're so interested?" Her voice came out sharp.
"I-I, er, I can't," he stammered. Why couldn't he speak probably? "I know I hurt her so I can't." He was willing to bet that Helen probably didn't even want to see him. So, he had no right to ask her.
Nia stared at him with a hard glance and Alexander fought the urge to cringe away. She could be scary when she wanted to be.
"Be a Gryffindor, Laurent, use some of that bragged-about bravery and talk to her. It's really not that hard, I promise you."
Alexander rubbed his palms against his thighs. "I will. But I kind of get the sense that you're angry at me?" he mumbled, swallowing harshly.
"I'm not," she barked, clutching her pen tight. "I'm looking out for my best friend, and I'm not just going to let some boy hurt her, even you, Laurent. Even if we're friends." She rose from her position and Alexander followed as they stood in front of each other. Her expression relaxed into worry. "Look, she doesn't admit it, but I know her better than anyone and I know when she's sad. She's my best friend. So, you better fix it."
She threw him a pointed look and walked away, her notebook tucked under her arm. Alexander stared with a growing pit of misery in his stomach. His relationship – if you could even call it that – was now affecting Nia as well. It was the most he'd seen her annoyed with him. And he knew without a doubt that Nia would choose Helen a hundred times over and would take her side always. He expected it even.
∞ ϟ 9¾
One afternoon, a day before the Quidditch match, Alexander and the rest of the class turned up to discover Lupin missing. He wondered if it had anything to do with how ill the Professor had seemed lately, way worse than usual. Alexander shared a look with Ron and asked about Harry, who still had seeker practice.
His face dropped when the familiar swish of a dark cloak appeared at the front of the class as they filtered in. Snape stood there with a smug, sneering expression and snapped at them to hurry up and take their seats. Everyone shuffled in with matching scowls and looks of dismay. Great, now they had to deal with this greasy-haired git. Nothing seemed to go right lately. He knew Lupin needed rest, but couldn't they have any other Professor instead, like, literally any other one?
Snape split up the class from their usual seats and instead of Ron and Hermione, Alexander found himself next to Dean. Alexander hoped that Snape would only be here for this lesson and not the rest of the year. What a nightmare that would be. He'd start bunking lessons if that was the case. Potions were all he could take off Snape.
"Open up your books," instructed Snape, glaring at a twitching Neville, who avoided his gaze. "I see Lupin has been lacking in his talents for teaching as he's failed to mark where you've got up to. This won't be–"
He was interrupted by a heavy slam of the door and a panting voice accompanying it, apologising profusely.
"This lesson began ten minutes ago, Potter, so I think we'll make it ten points from Gryffindor. Sit down."
Harry narrowed his eyes at Snape, and Alexander watched curiously. Harry asked about Professor Lupin, but Snape refused to tell him and threatened to take more points off if he didn't comply.
"As I was saying before Potter interrupted, Professor Lupin has not left anything of the topics you have covered so far–"
"Please, sir, we've done boggarts, Red Caps, kappas, and grindylows," said Hermione quickly, and Alexander nodded, leaning back in his seat with his arms crossed. "And we're just about to start–"
"Be quiet," interjected Snape coldly. "I did not ask for information. I was merely commenting on Professor Lupin's lack of organisation."
Alexander narrowed his eyes as Hermione closed her mouth as if she'd been smacked across the face. A deep set burst of annoyance sparked within him. Prick, he muttered under his breath. Dean heard him and threw a smirk. Snape flicked to the end of the textbook and looked up with a demanding expression.
"Everyone turn to page 394," he said loudly. "Quickly."
They all shared a glance and went to the instructed page with many bitter sidelong looks and some sullen muttering. Alexander squinted at the page; a furry figure stood on its hind legs howling at the moon. Werewolves?
"Werewolves," Snape echoed his thoughts, staring at them with an expectant gleeful look.
"But, sir," said Hermione, seemingly unable to restrain herself, "we're not supposed to do werewolves yet, we're due to start hinkypunks–"
"Miss Granger," hissed Snape in a voice of deadly calm. "I was under the impression that I am teaching this lesson, not you."
Alexander leaned forwards with a glare aimed at the Potions Master. "She's trying to tell you something," he snarled. "You're meant to listen to her. That's your job, isn't it?"
"Ah, how dare you interrupt me. Ten points from Gryffindor. Try that again and I'll take fifty off. Now, as I was saying, which of you can tell me how we distinguish between the werewolf and the true wolf? What about you, Mr Laurent, seeing as you're so eager to speak?" provoked Snape. "Come tell us what the difference is."
"I don't know," he muttered quietly, seething.
"What was that?"
"I said I don't know. We haven't learnt it yet." He clenched his fists under the desk, his stomach clenching in anger or humiliation he didn't know.
"Tsk, tsk, what a shame. Are you telling me that you don't know what the basic distinction–"
"Please, sir," chimed in Hermione, catching a glance at him, "I think what Alexander means to say is that the werewolf differs from the true wolf in several small ways. The snout of the werewolf–"
"Yes, thank you, Mrs Laurent," drawled Snape, unimpressed. An uneasy chuckle erupted throughout the class while Hermione turned scarlet. Alexander fumed internally, wishing he could wipe that sneer off the Professor's face. "That is the second time you have spoken out of turn, Miss Granger, five more points from Gryffindor for being an insufferable know-it-all."
Alexander's mouth flew open furiously to defend her. But Dean grabbed his arm before he could lunch himself out of the chair and shook his head, whispering to 'leave it'. He wallowed in his fury for the rest of the lesson, the words on the page swimming before him. He pictured hurling a dozen curses, each as nasty as the one before, at the greasy-haired bastard repeatedly. It made it feel slightly better too, easing the ache in his chest.
∞ ϟ 9¾
The day of the Quidditch match dawned cold and windy and thick sheets poured down from the sky. Alexander woke up with a terrible headache from sleeping the wrong way and little sleep. He wondered if the match was going to be cancelled but to his surprise, it was to continue. Harry looked more tired than he was nervous as he kept yawning all through his porridge.
"Good luck, Harry," said Alexander, as his friend rose from the bench to follow the rest of the team. "You'll do great like always."
Harry shot a thin smile before leaving, as Ron shouted encouragement at him. He scanned the Hall and felt his stomach plummet to the floor. Helen, with her head thrown back, and golden hair draped down her back, was laughing with Johnny next to her. They were surrounded by other people, who also cheered and laughed but all he could see was them too. His headache became all the worse and his appetite vanished. He dropped his spoon in his bowl with a clatter, causing Ron to look at him for a moment.
Maybe he was being silly and overreacting. He knew they weren't together exactly. Hell, it was just one date, a measly, pathetic one but a date, nonetheless. Still, he couldn't help his mind from going into overdrive. When had they started to become all friendly again? He knew he should have just spoken to her as Nia said. But something held him back, and he cowered every time he spotted Helen studying in the library or walking the corridors. He'd had plenty of opportunities to simply speak to her, explain that he was just scared of–of. . . of what exactly? Why was he so scared to talk? He still hadn't figured that part out yet.
His gaze locked onto them as the group including Helen and Johnny rose from their seats and walked out, the latter trembling with smugness. Nia was starkly missing from the group. Alexander scowled darkly. Fuck him. Seriously fuck him. A burning heat boiled in his chest, gripping him tightly and causing a bitter taste in the back of his throat. He noticed that he was clutching his spoon very tightly and almost made it bend backwards.
His mind whirled in circles like tumbleweeds, endlessly driving on and on. When were they even talking again? He swore that she didn't like him before, so why was he there, breathing the same bloody air as her? It didn't make any sense. Had she changed her mind? Did he drive her to him? It must've been his fault, right? Because why else?
The real question was had they got back together again? She probably thought he was the worse person alive. And Johnny and Helen had been together for a long time, and everyone said she loves him. Well, loved. What was Alexander compared to that? She probably still saw him as a little kid. Most girls wanted other boys–he's seen it on TV and in books. It just made his chances worse. He swallowed the sudden lump in his throat, unable to chew on his thoughts.
"Hey, mate, are you okay?" asked Ron.
"Fine." Alexander tried a smile and luckily Ron brought it as he shrugged and went back to eating his buttered toast.
The attention at the table became swept up in the excitement of the upcoming match. Dean, Seamus and Ron all put their pennies in for who was going to win. Everyone had faith in Harry, of course. A deep sigh escaped Alexander as he got up and waved goodbye to the rest, muttering an excuse. He didn't feel like attending the match, not with his head pounding like this. An ear-splitting thunderstorm rumbled from outside and a fierce wind rattled the windows. He grimaced, pitying the teams who had to play in these conditions.
If it were any other time, he would have made his way to the library to hang out with Hermione, to share ideas, to breathe in her citrus and vanilla scent, to playfully tease each other. But she was off at the pitch with an umbrella, watching the match as she'd so eagerly claimed at the table. He couldn't speak to Helen, not when his mind pictured her in Johnny's meaty, sweaty embrace. Urgh. Plus, he feared running into them at the stands. No, he'd rather face another dementor than be put in that situation. Nia, he had no idea where she was, and he was willing to bet that she wouldn't be very eager to talk to him either. Nor did he wish to send a letter to his grandfather, he was the last person he wanted to share his feelings with.
He found himself in the hidden stone area of the courtyard that covered the wind and rain. While it was fairly empty, he paused, blinking, as he spotted Sebastian sitting on a ledge, his feet dangling a few inches off the ground. The blond-haired boy's head rose as Alexander's steps echoed.
"Oh, Laurent, fancy seeing you here," he said, holding what seemed to be a bottle of orange liquid in his hand. Alexander doubted it was pumpkin juice and threw a curious glance at it.
"Oh, er, hi."
"Thought you'd be at the match. It's your house that's playing, isn't it?" Sebastian took a swig of the bottle, throwing his head back.
Alexander shook his head. "No, I didn't, uh – no," he settled with.
"Your choice," shrugged Sebastian. He shuffled to the side, making more room to the side of him. "Come, sit. It's more comfortable than it looks."
"I don't want to talk," said Alexander, perching on the edge. Now the smell from the bottle was stronger, most likely being firewhiskey. "I just want to sit here."
"I'm not going to tell you what to do, Laurent. Do what you like. I'm not your father. Not smoking today, I see."
"Hmm, oh, no, that was one time."
"Ah, shame. They didn't look half bad, I'll say that much. But you're right, you're probably better off. I'd offer you a sip, but I have this thing with germs, you know."
Alexander shook his head politely. "No, that's okay. I'm okay."
Sebastian paused to take a long drink before speaking. Alexander wondered how his speech wasn't slurred yet. "Now, here's a question for you; are you planning on going to the celebration party afterwards? Seems like a good one is lined up. It's the first match of the season after all. Bound to be."
Alexander rubbed his hands on his thighs and pondered the question. "I don't know," he admitted. In a hesitant tone, "I've never been to one before."
Sebastian's eyebrows rose. "You don't say," he marvelled with a hint of disbelief. "Well, they can get pretty rowdy, to tell the truth."
"You go to them? Even if it's not your House that won?"
Sebastian smirked and then winked. "Who do you think supplies the drinks? Father fucking Christmas. No. 'Course I go."
Alexander flushed. "Right." People had lives and other interests at Hogwarts after all. They weren't all consumed with problems and mysteries.
"So, Laurent. Tell me. Do you have any bets on who's going to win?"
"Er, no, I can't say that I do," Alexander crossed his arms as he leaned his shoulder against the column. "But probably Gryffindor again. Harry hasn't let us down yet."
Sebastian chuckled, over the rim of the bottle. "Confident, aren't you?"
"Harry's a good seeker."
The rain poured down before them, even harder. Alexander hoped Hermione and Ron wouldn't get colds standing out in this weather. It couldn't be nice.
"I don't care who wins if I'm being honest. As long as there's a party afterwards." Sebastian tilted his head with a glint in his eyes and a smirk tugging at his lips. "Hey, do you wanna go to one, Laurent?"
January 15th, 1977
Is it possible to genuinely hate someone, down to your very core? I never thought so before, but boy was I proven wrong. Because this hate is burning me up from the inside. Scorching every inch of my body, pure, sizzling floods of lava, fury, and a fierce red, red, red rushing through my veins.
I hate him, with an unbridled, unaltered passion. Pure and simple. I don't think I've ever hated anyone in all my life. I can hardly even write without my pen trembling and I'm probably leaving ink stains everywhere. I should have known better. I feel so angry at myself.
How could he? Genuinely. I just want to know. How could he just stand there, so arrogant and obnoxious and not at all what I'd thought him to be? How could he degrade Muggleborns like that and call them that. . . that awful, dreaded name? If you could've heard his tone, Merlin. . . I shudder thinking about it. So cold and sharp like a blunt knife slashing into my gut.
Oh, but the icing on the cake, of course, because he didn't do things half-done, was the final blow. His eyes, devoid of anything except a coldness that no one could hope to emulate, stared back into mine as he spat out that I am a blood traitor. How I am a disappointment to my father and the whole school. And it was just to save face, humiliating me in front of his little club of wannabe-death-eater friends. And to think I thought of him differently. To be someone.
No. Absolutely not. He was the worst. The most despicable. I was a fool for thinking that I could get through to him. Now I know. I'll never talk to him again or see him as long as I breathe, that I promise.
Potter and Black are furious and rightfully so. The other night they played a prank. They tied him to a chair in the middle of the night with the windows on full blast. I know because I was there.
He was looking at me the whole time as he tried to speak. Not that he could anyway because his mouth was full of a gag. It was supposed to feel satisfying. Punishment and crime and justice and whatever my father talks about. So why did it feel like I was drowning the whole time?
It was hard to look away and for a moment I wanted to release him as I saw the ropes digging painfully into his wrists, leaving burn marks. My traitorous heart ached I'm forced to admit. A moment of weakness I tell myself. They were all goading me the longer I stared at him. I reminded myself of his words and spoke the final words.
Petrificus Totalus. The body binding spell.
I knew, right then and there, as his eyes bore into mine that my heart and his broke at the same time with a crack.
Oooo, this one was a pain to get through. Couldn't find the time to write, work is kicking my backside, to be honest. Plus, I got obsessed with that show Yellowjackets so my mind was on a pure brain rot.
Hello to anyone still reading this. Let me know your thoughts, I wasn't sure about this chapter, not sure if it worked well. I hope the next one won't take as long. Promise.