CenturionEon: Ahah, yes, it's Regulas. There is a clue in the first book when Alex looks into the mirror. But, well done for figuring it out. Peter escaping alignes with a major plot sadly enough even though we'd all like to wring the rat's neck. Thank you for sticking around!
nyarnazin: Hi! Sirius doesn't exactly know that his brother had a child. They never kept in touch once Sirius left his parents' house, which makes things interesting. Thanks for reading.
evattude: Hey! Omg thank you for your kind words, I appreciate it. Ahaha, Alex can never rid himself of that nagging suspicion in his brain.
Amelie tugged the brown corduroy jacket tighter around her slender frame, the coarse fabric rough against her skin, starkly contrasting the fine silks she was accustomed to. It was better this way, she reminded herself. Better to be unknown, to blend in. Her fingers brushed the brim of the tweed English cap, adjusting it to ensure it concealed her face as much as possible. The transfiguration charm had worked wonders, changing her appearance into that of a nondescript — but who knew how long the spell would last considering how advanced it was?
Despite the effectiveness of her disguise, Amelie's heart pounded in her chest. Fear was tangible, like a cold stone lodged in her throat. She glanced to the side. John, with his broad shoulders and steady eyes, exuded a calm confidence that she found reassuring. Rast, smaller but quick-witted, scanned the surroundings with a nervous energy that mirrored her own. She took a deep breath, trying to steady her racing heart. The air was cool, filled with the earthy scent of damp leaves and the distant hum of the city.
"What time?" she whispered.
"Ten," answered John.
There were a couple of semi-detached muggle houses across the street, each brick painted a shade of red. Beams of moonlight slanted onto the road, giving the evening an eerie touch. White mist escaped her mouth every time she exhaled. Amelie tugged her jacket tighter. Her eyes squinted. She waited. Then—
She signalled with a wave and they scurried forwards like ants for cover behind a tattered brick wall. John narrowed his beady eyes. They reminded Amelie of two burning coals and she shivered.
"I don't like this," he muttered under his breath, shaking his head. "It's too obvious, don't you think?"
Amelie raised an eyebrow. "Since when the fuck have we cared about being discreet? Look, we have no choice, okay? The message was clear when I intercepted it. They said they were going to attack these houses. Haven't led you astray before, have I? Don't stop doubting me now." She flashed a cheeky grin that felt more like a thin veil than anything she truly felt.
John's frown deepened, but he gave a curt nod. Rast remained silent, his eyes scanning the street. The minutes ticked by slowly. Amelie's breath fogged the cool air, each exhale a reminder of the tension knotted in her chest. She checked her watch. Come on. Any second now. Those freaks would apparate in like clockwork. She'd seen it before.
"We follow the plan," said John with finality.
Amelie hid behind the wall, her breath coming out in shallow, rapid bursts. She glanced at Rast, who moved forward, positioning himself closer behind a parked car. John darted to a bike shed, his movements quick and precise. Each took their position, and they signalled to each other with swift, practised gestures. Amelie narrowed her eyes, gripping her wand tightly.
A crack echoed through the night air, and Amelie's heart leapt. Finally, she thought, her lips curling into a grin. But her satisfaction was short-lived. A scream pierced the night, and her smile vanished. She looked ahead and saw Rast writhing in pain on the ground, his body convulsing.
"Rast!" she hissed, horror flooding her veins.
Black-robed figures materialised one after another, their faces obscured by sinister masks. Ten, fifteen, twenty of them. Shit. They had miscalculated terribly. There were only supposed to be two.
Rast's agonised screams stopped abruptly, replaced by a chilling silence. A flash of green light and Rast lay still. Amelie's stomach twisted. There was a ringing in her ear that sounded like bells that would chime in St. Paul's Cathedral, where her father would lift her onto his shoulders as a child. John caught her eye, his face mirroring her panic. He leapt from behind the shed, firing spells with fierce determination before she could yell at him to stay put. How could this all go so terribly wrong? She became too smug, too arrogant and it would cost her dearly.
"Protego!" John shouted. But it wasn't enough. The odds were overwhelming. They came from every angle. John was only one man, not a whole army. A jet of green light struck near him, and he crumpled to the ground, lifeless like a straw dummy. Amelie's mind raced. She had to think, had to act. But what could she do against so many?
Her heart pounded in her ears, drowning out all other sounds. She peeked from behind the wall, her grip on her wand tightening until her knuckles turned white. The attackers moved methodically. They knew she was there by the way they sneered and taunted.
There was no one coming to save her. She was all alone.
Amelie closed her eyes for a moment, drawing in a deep breath. She gritted her teeth, annoyance and anger rushing through her. She had to survive. She had to warn the others.
She then felt the instinctual tug to apparate away, to escape this nightmare with a simple twist of her will and magic. But as she gathered her focus to execute the spell, a cold realisation settled over her: the air around her hummed with an unfamiliar, oppressive energy.
Her heart sank as she recognised the sensation — an anti-apparition jinx. It must have been cast by the black-robed figures to prevent any escape. A heavy sense of dread settled over her as she tested her wand, trying to cast the spell despite the enchantment. The magic fizzled, ineffective, confirming her worst fears.
The anti-apparition jinx had her trapped.
She had to be calm, there was no time to panic. She couldn't afford to. She'd been trained not to. Her heart quaked, and her bottom lip trembled. I don't want to die, she thought, fear gripping her like iron chains around her chest, constricting tighter with every heartbeat. Please, not like this. I don't want to go. Not yet. Not now. Not with so much depending on me. It's too early.
Amelie watched in horror as a Death Eater hurled a blasting curse her way. She barely had time to react, leaping to the side just as the curse struck. The wall she had been hiding behind exploded into a shower of bricks and debris. Her heart pounded in her chest, the adrenaline making her movements quick and sharp. She rolled to her feet, her breath coming in ragged gasps, and darted away as another curse sailed past her, narrowly missing her shoulder.
Laughter echoed around her, chilling and mocking. Everywhere she turned, Death Eaters closed in, their wands aimed and ready to strike. Movement was the only thing keeping her alive. Amelie's mind spun, the oppressive energy of the anti-apparition jinx pressing down on her. She was cornered, outnumbered, but not outmatched. If she were going to die, she would take as many of them with her as she could. There was no more hiding, no more running.
With a fierce determination, she gripped her wand tightly, her knuckles white. The Death Eaters spotted her and shouted, their voices filled with glee at having cornered their prey. Amelie's eyes narrowed, her resolve hardening. She had one shot to make this count.
"Confringo!" she screamed, pouring all her anger, fear, and desperation into the spell. A powerful blast erupted from her wand, tearing through the ground and launching her backwards. She landed hard, the impact knocking the wind out of her. Smoke and dust filled the air, obscuring her vision. Pain shot through her limbs, and she could feel warm blood trickling down her forehead.
Groaning, Amelie forced herself to her feet, wincing at the ache in her muscles. The smoke began to clear, and she surveyed the aftermath of her spell. The ground was torn and cracked, and several Death Eaters lay lifeless among the rubble, their bodies twisted and broken. She allowed herself a grim smile, satisfaction mingling with the pain. For a sweet second, she thought she might have gotten away. But then—
A voice. A familiar voice.
"Bravo," it drawled, dripping with cold amusement.
Amelie's breath hitched. Her heart hammered in her chest as the fog cleared to reveal a tall, imposing figure in a finely tailored suit. Surrounding him were more Death Eaters, their wands raised and their faces hidden behind menacing masks. The man at their centre, however, stood out in sharp relief. His presence exuded an aura of command and malice, and Amelie felt a chill run down her spine as she locked eyes with him.
Father.
Images of their last encounter flashed through her mind — the anger, the pain, the relentless need to wound each other, tearing their hearts to shreds. Amelie couldn't muster the desire to repeat the experience. She was exhausted.
He regarded her with a mixture of curiosity and disdain, a smirk playing on his lips. Amelie's heart twisted with sorrow. He didn't recognise her. Shouldn't a father know his own daughter, no matter the disguise? But then again, they weren't close. Not since she was a child. Before her mother died.
Now it was a stranger wearing her father's face. The days when he was her just dad had long passed like a forgotten melody.
"I must say, your performance has been most impressive," he continued. "I wanted to come and see for myself who stands against the Dark Lord. The destruction you've wrought, the plans you've thwarted. . . It's almost admirable if it wasn't so foolish. Such power. Such waste." He stepped closer, his gaze never leaving hers. "And yet, it all ends here. A pity."
Amelie knew she should call out to him. But she couldn't. Her tongue was lodged in her throat. She tightened her grip on her wand, her knuckles white, but she felt the futility of her bravery in the face of such overwhelming odds. Wits wouldn't save her now. There was no escape.
"You won't win," she said quietly, her voice stronger now. "People like me, we'll never surrender. You're just a man. Someone who can die."
Father's smirk widened, an arrogant twist of his mouth that made her stomach turn. "Wise words," he conceded with a mocking nod. "But words are all they are. Unfortunately for you, boy, no one is going to mourn you. Your defiance ends tonight."
Her father's words cut deep, but she refused to let them break her spirit. She had to hold on to hope, had to believe that her sacrifice would mean something. She could feel her facial features twisting. The spell was eroding and in a matter of minutes, her true face was going to appear again.
Her father raised his wand, his smile widening. "It's time to end this little game."
Amelie's heart pounded as she saw the flash of green light. She shut her eyes. There was no time to react, no time to dodge. The world seemed to slow down, her thoughts drifting to Alexander, to the life she would never have, to the people she had fought to protect. She closed her eyes, praying for forgiveness for her sins, for peace. I'm sorry, Alexander. Sorry, I can't be there for you.
The green light enveloped her, and she felt a momentary surge of pain before everything went dark.
. . .
Antoine walked over, smoothing out his suit with meticulous care. His dark eyes scanned the scene, taking in the aftermath of the brief but violent skirmish. Debris littered the ground, the acrid scent of spent magic hanging in the air. He adjusted his cuffs, feeling a cold satisfaction at the sight of the limp bodies sprawled around him. The incompetence of his subordinates had once again necessitated his intervention, but at least his trap had worked perfectly.
The persistent thorn in their side had been removed. He grimly smiled.
Pettigrew sidled up to him, his rodent-like features twisted into a sycophantic smile. "Master Antoine, that was truly brilliant! The Dark Lord will be pleased! The way you—"
Antoine cut him off with a sharp look, his disdain for the snivelling man clear despite attempting to tamp it down. "Hold your tongue, Pettigrew. Your flattery is as repulsive as your appearance."
Pettigrew's smile faltered, and he retreated, muttering apologies. Antoine dismissed the whimpering rat from his mind and looked ahead. The figure that had caused so many problems and foiled so many plans, now lay slumped and unmoving. It was a shame to end such power, but it had been necessary. Curiosity piqued at him and he had a sudden urge to know who it was.
He walked over, the crunch of broken bricks under his polished shoes the only sound in the eerie silence. A Transfiguration charm, he thought. Clever. And very advanced it looked like seeing how it allowed them to change their face. Antoine crouched down. He reached out, his fingers brushing against the brim of the cap. With a swift motion, he removed it, gripped their chin and tilted their head in his direction.
His eyes widened, and he stumbled backwards, his breath quickening. The cap fell from his trembling hands as he stared in disbelief. The figure's features became clearer, and a wave of horror crashed over him.
"No, no, no, no," he muttered, shaking his head as if trying to dispel a nightmare.
The price of his loyalty to the Dark Lord was laid bare in the most brutal way possible. He had lost more than he had ever gained.
∞ ϟ 9¾
Alexander's body jerked awake with a gasp. His eyes fluttered open to see Hermione's tear-streaked face hovering over him. She sighed in relief, her grip on his shoulders tightening.
"Alexander, thank Merlin," she whispered, her voice trembling. "I thought I — we lost you."
He tried to sit up, wincing as the pain in his back flared, but Hermione steadied him with soft hands grasping his shoulders. His vision cleared. His eye caught Harry already on his feet, sprinting away in the distance.
"We have to go," Hermione urged, helping him to his feet. "You need to get to the castle. You're injured."
"Hermione. . ." he muttered. "No, I need. . . Look, Harry's in danger. . ."
"Alexander, please," pleaded Hermione, her cheeks streaked with tears and he lifted his hand in wonder to wipe one away gently. She closed her eyes and leaned in. He then let his hand fall.
"I. . . can't leave," he got out, and her eyes snapped open.
Alexander moved after Harry, his movements sluggish. He could feel the wetness of his blood-soaked shirt clinging to his skin, each step a sharp reminder of the werewolf's claws. Hermione called after him, but he didn't stop. They followed Harry, the sounds of their hurried footsteps mingling with the distant howls and snarls.
As they neared the Black Lake, a chill settled, a cold that seemed to seep into their very bones. Dementors glided towards them, their presence sucking the warmth and happiness from the air. Alexander's breath came out in ragged gasps, each one a visible puff of white in the freezing night. He saw Sirius and Harry a few metres away and approached them.
"Think of something happy," said Harry frantically, his wand raised towards the hooded creatures, his thin body shielding a fallen Siruis. "Expecto patronum!" he screamed.
Hermione stumbled beside him, her strength faltering. Alexander reached out, but his knees buckled. The despair was overwhelming, the darkness closing in around them. His mind struggled to latch onto something, anything, to fend off the encroaching hopelessness. But he'd never been surrounded by so many of them. He could barely conjure a faint spark.
He had to try.
Alexander squeezed his eyes shut, the images of happier times flickering like candle flames against the darkness. He thought of Eliot sharing cookies and hot chocolate with him on a winter's night, the warmth of the fire and the laughter of friends. Oddly, his mind settled on the kiss he shared with Hermione a few weeks ago, the softness of her lips and the way she looked at him. He held that image in his mind like a precious keepsake.
"Expecto Patronum," he yelled, his voice trembling.
A faint light flickered at the tip of his wand, barely more than a glimmer in the overbearing darkness. He focused harder, pushing to summon every scrap of joy he could summon. The light grew brighter, shimmering and wavering, but it held. Slowly, a shape began to form, ethereal and indistinct. He couldn't make out what it was, but the Patronus, fragile as it was, seemed to push a few of the Dementors back.
The cold still clawed at him, but he felt a slight easing in the crushing despair. He looked up and saw the spectral form holding the darkness at bay, just enough to give him a moment's reprieve. But his strength was waning, the agony in his back flaring and the mental strain of fighting the Dementors taking its toll. His vision blurred, his knees gave out, and he crumpled to the ground.
"I'm sorry," he gasped, his breath coming in ragged, painful bursts. "I'm so. . . sorry. . ."
Sorry that he couldn't do it anymore. That he was so weak. That they were in this position in the first place. That he couldn't be strong like Harry and Hermione deserved.
His body felt like lead, his mind too exhausted to fight any longer. And then a deep, merciful oblivion enveloped him where the cold and despair could no longer reach him.
∞ ϟ 9¾
There was a groggy feeling when he opened his eyes as if his head was submerged underwater. He blinked rapidly. He heard muffled voices, but he couldn't make them out. Slowly, the bright white light started to come into focus. He winced and raised a hand to shield his eyes from the brightness. As his vision adjusted, he noticed the multiple plain white beds around him. He was in the Hospital Wing. The sound of voices grew louder, and he turned his head to see Hermione's eyes widen as she noticed he was awake. She hurried towards him, her face etched with worry and relief.
"Alexander, you're awake!" she exclaimed, her voice quivering. Her face was quite pale. She reached his bedside, her eyes scanning his face anxiously. "How do you feel?"
Alexander tried to speak, but his throat felt dry and scratchy. He swallowed hard and managed to croak out, "Like a used dishrag. What. . . what happened? And how long was I out for?"
Hermione's eyes glistened with tears, but she quickly wiped them away. "A while. Your injuries were painful. You've been unconscious for almost three days. We got scared that you weren't going to. . . well. . ." She shut her mouth and swallowed harshly. "Anyway, I'm glad to see you awake."
Alexander's mind reeled. Two days? He moved slightly, feeling the sharp pain in his back flaring up. Madam Pomfrey, sensing his movement, rushed over, her expression stern but kind.
"Don't overexert yourself, Mr Laurent," she warned, her hands gently but firmly pressing him back against the pillows, much to his displeasure. "You're lucky the wounds weren't deep. They'll leave a mark, but that's all."
Alexander nodded as she walked away muttering under her breath, feeling the throb of painful memory as he pulled up his top and ran his fingers over the faint bumps on his skin. The scars were a reminder of how close he had come to a much worse fate. He looked back at Hermione, who was watching him with a mixture of relief and concern.
"I'm, uh, not. . . not a. . . a, er—" he began with a lump in his throat.
"No, you weren't bitten — Professor Lupin only scratched you with his claws, that's all," explained Hermione in a tight voice.
He aimed for a smile to distract himself from his overwhelming reliefn't fancy having to take a potion every month. "Ah, good to know I'm not going to howl at the moon anytime soon." Hermione gave a choked sob, and he leaned back against the pillows. "Where is everyone?" he asked curiously, peering around.
"They're all at Hogesmeade. The weather's nice so they decided to take advantage of it."
He stared at her in surprise. "You didn't want to go with them?" It felt unheard of.
"I. . . I couldn't leave you, not like this," she admitted in a soft tone, her eyes focused on the edge of the bed as she fiddled with her hands. A swell of affection gripped his heart and he felt himself melting deeper into the bed.
"Oh. . ." He bit his lip to stop himself from smiling. He cleared his throat. "So, uh, what happened when I was out? With Pettigrew and — and Sirius? Ron and Harry, are they okay?"
Hermione hesitated for a second and then launched into an explanation. Alexander didn't interrupt her and listened with wide eyes. He was glad that Sirius had escaped but his fury sparked when she told him that Pettigrew escaped from their clutches. He should've noticed that pathetic rat bastard running away. Madam Pomfrey entered once more, urging him to drink a foul-tasting potion. She then insisted Hermione leave, much to his utter dismay, to allow him the peace he needed to rest.
When Alexander received the confirmation that he could leave the hospital the next day, he felt a mix of relief and apprehension. He couldn't wait to get out of the sterile confines of the hospital wing, but the prospect of facing the world outside, with all its complexities and unresolved issues, weighed heavily on him. He lay back against the pillows, staring at the ceiling, lost in thought. If only he could wake up and everything would have been a dream.
The door to the hospital wing swung open with a sudden force, startling him. Madam Pomfrey's disapproving voice followed the sound. "This is highly irregular—"
His grandfather stormed in, his presence commanding and fierce, followed by a tranquil Dumbledore. Alexander tensed, his jaw set, and he ignored the curious and concerned looks thrown his way by Madam Pomfrey. Grandfather's sharp eyes locked onto Alexander, and he strode towards the bed, his expression a mix of worry and anger.
"Alexander," Grandfather began, his voice stretched. "Awake, finally I see."
"Anotine," said Dumbledore quietly. "Please take heed—"
Grandfather aimed a withering glare. "No! I have listened to you meaninglessly prattle on. I wish to speak to my grandson and I will — end of the discussion, Dumbledore. Don't you have a school to run?"
Dumbledore's calm demeanour did not waver. His blue eyes, twinkling, met Grandfather's steely gaze. "If that is your decision, I will not intervene," he said softly.
"It is." Grandfather's voice was stiff.
"Very well — Come, Poppy, I'm sure Antoine requires privacy."
Madam Pomfrey didn't seem very happy but she didn't argue against the headmaster. Dumbledore threw a final look at Alexander before the doors shut.
"I came as soon as I heard," muttered Grandfather with a sigh, looking much less like an enraged lion. "How are you feeling?"
Alexander regarded his grandfather with fresh eyes. He thought about Grandfather's cold, commanding aura, and the suspicions that had been gnawing at him for so long. His concern was genuine — or looked like it at least — but Alexander couldn't shake the memories of the man his mother had feared and loathed for good reason, nor Pettigrew's words.
"I'm fine," Alexander replied curtly, his voice clipped. He didn't want to show any vulnerability in front of this man.
Grandfather's expression softened, but there was a flicker of something else in his eyes — relief mixed with a hint of guilt. "I'm glad you weren't harmed by Black. The Ministry's incompetence is astounding. Fudge will hear it from me. But you're safe now, and that's what matters. I swear to you these people—"
Alexander couldn't stand it anymore. He took a deep breath, his voice trembling slightly as he interjected in a blunt tone, "Did you kill my mother?"
The question hung in the air, grave and oppressive. A gun had gone off. A hospital bed squeaked. Grandfather's face paled, more than Alexander had ever seen. It was as if someone had dipped his features in chalk. His confident manner cracked, and for a moment, he looked almost vulnerable like a wilted flower in the rain. He stumbled back, his hand gripping the edge of a nearby bed for support. His eyes darted around the room, seeking an escape that wasn't there.
"Wh—Where did you hear that?" Grandfather's voice was barely a whisper, his composure shattered. Alexander's fury flared, and he leaned forward, his eyes blazing with anger.
"It doesn't matter where I heard it. Just answer my question! I just want to know the truth. Did you kill my mother? It's a simple yes or no."
Grandfather closed his eyes, his face ashen. When he opened them again, they were filled with pain that Alexander had never seen before. He almost looked away. "Yes," Grandfather admitted, his voice breaking. "But it's more complicated than that."
Alexander's breath caught in his throat, his heart pounding. The room seemed to spin, the weight of the revelation crashing down on him. He wanted to lash out, to scream, but all he could do was stare at the man who had just confessed to the worst crime imaginable.
"Why?" Alexander's voice was hoarse, barely audible. "Why did you take her from me?"
"I don't — I never meant—"
Alexander's chest heaved with the effort of holding back the storm of emotions that raged within him. He stared at his grandfather, a man who had once been his pillar of strength and now stood before him as a stranger, a murderer. His fists clenched, his nails digging into his palm and drawing blood. There was ash on his tongue. Anger burned in his gut like a swarm of hornets trapped inside, each sting intensifying the searing heat. He had to cling to the rage otherwise he'd be lost.
"You've been fucking lying to me since I was born," Alexander whispered, his voice shaking with rage and disbelief. "I don't know who you are anymore. Or maybe I just never did." A humourless laugh escaped him. "I was the naïve, foolish boy who believed everything you said and did. God, you must've loved it. Relished in it!"
Grandfather took a step forward, his face lined with anguish. "Alexander, please, if you'd let me—"
"No, I don't want to hear any more of your lies!" Alexander spat, his voice echoing off the sterile walls of the hospital wing. He wondered if anyone could hear. The entire place seemed to hold its breath, the silence amplifying his fury. "How can you stand there, knowing you brought me up after killing my mother? Was it all a game to you? Part of Voldemort's plan? Huh?" Alexander's thoughts raced, his accusations spilling out like a torrent. "Is that why you wanted me to keep an eye on Harry? To bring back your old master? Were you planning to kill Harry and then me next? Was it some sort of sick revenge against my mother because you never got along? One final stab in her memory?"
Grandfather's eyes glistened, his voice croaky and desperate. "No, no, it's not like that. I never wanted—"
"How can I ever trust you?" Alexander interrupted, his voice raw with emotion. He looked at his grandfather with a mixture of revulsion and fury. "I can't even look at you without feeling utterly sick to my stomach. It's like there's this massive void in my chest that nothing can fill. Every word you say, every glance you give me, just twists the knife deeper. I can't escape this crushing emptiness."
Grandfather couldn't answer. His lips moved soundlessly.
Alexander's nails dug deeper and he embraced the sting, his body trembling. He steadied his voice. "Did you hate me this whole time?" His voice was barely above a whisper, yet it cut through the silence like a blade. "Did you ever love me or was it all a ruse?"
Grandfather's shoulders slumped, and a tear trickled down his cheek. His hand reached out, almost as if to touch Alexander, but it fell limply to his side. The silence between them was heavy. Alexander's tears began to fall, and he wiped them away angrily, hating himself for it.
The door creaked open. Dumbledore entered the room once more, no doubt attracted by the yelling. His eyes, filled with deep concern, took in the scene with a quick, discerning glance.
"Perhaps it would be best if we continued this conversation in my office," Dumbledore suggested gently, his gaze shifting between them.
Alexander swiped his face roughly with the back of his hand, shaking his head. "There's no need, Professor," he said, his voice rough but resolute. "I was just leaving."
Grandfather's face was etched with deep lines, his eyes silently pleading for something Alexander couldn't begin to comprehend. Nor did he care. Dumbledore looked at him and said, "Mr Laurent, please—"
But Alexander ignored him. He stormed out of the hospital wing, his footsteps echoing loudly in the empty corridors. His body moved on autopilot, driven by the need to escape the suffocating air of the hospital wing and the unbearable presence of his grandfather.
Outside, the fresh air hit him like a jolt. He paused, kneeling over and closing his eyes and taking deep breaths, trying to steady himself. The world continued, as usual, indifferent to his inner turmoil. He felt the breeze waft against his face, grounding him momentarily.
He looked up at the picture-perfect sky, the vast expanse offering no answers, only the cold comfort of its distance. Resentment curled in his chest and his shoulders sagged. Alexander felt a profound sense of loss, not just for his mother, but for the illusion of the life he had believed in.
∞ ϟ 9¾
The following day, Alexander sat alone in a secluded corner of the Hogwarts grounds. He felt raw and exposed and dodged Hermione's efforts to get him to speak or Ron and Harry's attempts to look for him. The fresh air helped to clear his mind, but the pain remained sharp.
A shadow fell over him, and he looked up to see Professor Lupin standing nearby. The professor's usually calm demeanour was tinged with a noticeable sadness. Alexander was surprised to see him.
"May I join you?" Lupin asked softly.
Alexander nodded, not trusting his voice.
Lupin sat down beside him, taking a deep breath. "I wanted to apologise, Alexander," he began, his voice heavy with regret. "For what happened to you, for the damage I caused. I will go the rest of my life regretting it."
Alexander turned to look at him. "Dumbledore convinced Fudge that you were trying to save our lives," he said quietly.
Lupin offered a wry smile, shaking his head. "That may be true, but it doesn't change the fact that I lost control. I let myself become a danger to everyone around me."
Alexander shook his head firmly. "I don't blame you," he interrupted, his voice unshakable. He'd been so focused on past events that the scars on his back barely crossed his mind. It seemed almost trivial to complain about. "It was an accident — you weren't in control of your body, Professor."
He knew all too well the feeling of being out of control. If he were then maybe he would have fought harder against the Dementors. He wouldn't have passed out and left his friends to the mercy of those cold, despicable creatures. If only he'd been stronger.
Lupin looked at him with a mixture of surprise and gratitude. "Thank you, Alexander. That means more to me than you know." He gave a sad smile. "I'm glad you feel so strongly about it. However, Professor Snape will have convinced the parents that I am a danger to the Wizarding World. Perhaps he is right. Regardless it is over for me and I just wanted to apologise to you before I leave."
Alexander felt a surge of indignation. "You can't leave, Professor," he said, his voice rising with emotion. "I'll speak to everyone and make them believe it wasn't your fault!"
Lupin shook his head gently. "I appreciate the sentiment, but there's nothing to be done. The decision is out of my hands and yours. It is for the best."
"But it's not fair!" Alexander exclaimed, his frustration evident as he clenched his jaw. "You shouldn't have to leave because of something that wasn't your fault."
Lupin gave him a kind, but firm look. "Life is often unfair, Alexander. What matters is how we deal with it. You mustn't beat yourself up about this."
Alexander looked down, feeling helplessness rolling around in his gut. "It just feels like everything is falling apart," he muttered.
Lupin regarded him with a curious look. "You're a courageous boy," he said softly. "You've come so far and overcome many obstacles. I'm positive you'll overcome many more, believe me."
Alexander shook his head, his expression bleak. "I don't think so," he admitted. "Not this time."
Lupin's eyes softened. "It's natural to feel that way, especially when faced with so much at once. But remember, you have friends who care about you and will support you. Once you remember to rely on them, of course. You're not alone in this."
Alexander looked up, meeting Lupin's gaze. The professor's words offered a small measure of comfort. "I'll try," he said quietly, though doubt lingered in his voice. "Professor," he began hesitantly, "have you, uh, ever felt like your entire life was a lie?"
Lupin considered the question, his brow furrowing in thought. "Yes, I have," he admitted. "There have been times when I've questioned everything I thought I knew. It's a difficult feeling to navigate."
Alexander nodded, feeling a small sense of relief at Lupin's words. "I don't know how to move forward from this," he confessed. "How to feel. . . normal."
Lupin placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "You don't have to have all the answers right now," he said gently. "Take it one day at a time. Is there a particular reason why?"
"Not really." Alexander swung his legs and clenched his fists against his leg. He swallowed and then looked up at Lupin's curious gaze. "I just — well, I don't know how to move forward with my grandfather."
Lupin's eyes narrowed slightly, a hint of concern crossing his face. "Ah, your grandfather. This is about what Peter mentioned."
Alexander hesitated, then nodded. "Yeah," he muttered, unsure of how much to reveal. "It's just. . . complicated. He's done things — things I don't understand. Things that hurt."
Lupin nodded slowly, taking in Alexander's words. "I suppose sometimes, the people we care about the most do things that are difficult to understand," he said softly. "They can make choices that seem monstrous, even. Enough to hurt us."
Alexander frowned, confusion knitting his brow. "But how can someone love you and still hurt you?"
Lupin sighed, the significance of his own experiences evident in his eyes. "It's one of the hardest things to grasp," he admitted. "People are complex, Alexander. They can be driven by fear, pain, or misguided intentions. Love doesn't always come with perfect actions. If it did. . . well," he chuckled softly, "the world would be a much better place." He paused. "Often I've found the ones who love us the most can also cause us the most pain. Love, therefore, is messy and imperfect."
Alexander looked down. "But if they hurt you, how can you ever trust them again?"
"That's a very personal decision," Lupin replied gently. "It's not about excusing their actions but understanding that people make mistakes. Terrible mistakes. What's important is how to move forward, how to try to make amends, and how to choose to act in the present."
Alexander looked up, still puzzled. "So, you're saying it's the choices they make now that matter?"
"Exactly," Lupin confirmed with a small smile. "The past can't be changed, but the present is where we have the power to act. To choose better. It's the choices we make now that define who we are."
Alexander sighed, the confusion still lingering but with a small glimmer of understanding. "I don't know if I'm ready to forgive. If I'll ever be ready."
Lupin nodded sympathetically. "And that's okay. Forgiveness isn't something that can be rushed. It's a process that takes time."
Alexander took a deep breath. His mind was all a tangle and Lupin's words hadn't made him feel any better at all. If anything he was more confused and angry than ever. How can Grandfather, who claimed to love him and his mother, take her from him? How is that love?
"I wish I had more time to talk this through with you," Lupin said gently. "But I'm afraid I do need to pack my things before I leave." He rose and stood there for a moment. "Remember, you're stronger than you think. Don't lose sight of that."
∞ ϟ 9¾
Alexander did his best to savour the final days of term at Hogwarts, desperately trying to distract himself from the thoughts of his grandfather. He wasn't the only person who was upset at the knowledge of Professor Lupin leaving.
"Wonder what who'll give us next year?" said Seamus with a gloomy sigh. "For Defence Against the Dark Arts, I mean."
"Maybe a vampire," suggested Dean hopefully.
Alexander snorted and slumped back against the sofa. "I fucking hope not. I don't fancy adding a garlic necklace to my uniform."
Seamus chuckled. "Maybe we'll get someone who's cursed. Seems to be a pattern, doesn't it?"
Dean nodded thoughtfully. "I just hope whoever it is knows their stuff. Doubt they'll be better than Professor Lupin. He's the best we've ever had."
"Can't be worse than Lockhart though," said Alexander with a wrinkle of nose. "At least they won't spend time teaching us how to survive an autograph session. Or running away from fucking pixies."
The three of them snicker and Alexander felt a blooming warmth in his chest he'd almost forgotten existed. Like his heart had been caged behind his ribs with no hope of ever beating again. It felt good to laugh, to soak in the mindless bit of last-term chatter. When his exam results came out on the last day relief settled in his chest. He had passed his subjects.
The Great Hall was filled with a jubilant atmosphere, the enchanted ceiling mirroring the bright, sunny day outside. The long tables groaned under the weight of a sumptuous feast, with plates of roast meats, steaming vegetables, and stacks of desserts that seemed to replenish themselves magically. The clinking of goblets and the cheerful voices filled the air, blending into a symphony of celebration. It almost made him forget that he had to meet his grandfather once more.
Nia and Helen's goodbye was short and sweet. They exchanged hugs, and Alexander was glad that they were all friends again. It felt right, as though a balance had been restored. One part of his life was turning for the better even if the other was collapsing like a deck of cards.
As the Hogwarts Express pulled out of the station the next morning, Hermione sat down next to him, smoothing her robes as she took a deep breath. "I've decided to drop Muggle Studies," she announced.
Alexander turned to her, a smile spreading across his face. "Really? You are?"
"But you passed your exam with three hundred and twenty per cent!" said Ron in disbelief.
"I know," sighed Hermione, "but I can't stand another year like this one. That Time-Turner was driving me mad. I've handed it in. Without Muggle Studies and Divination, I'll be able to have a normal schedule again."
"That's a relief," Alexander said, his smile widening. "You were stressing yourself out too much. It's good to see you smiling again."
She looked at him, her doe eyes sparkling. "Thank you. It feels good to just. . . be."
Alexander's heart fluttered unexpectedly at her smile. He felt a tingle spreading through him, a comfortable familiarity that had grown between them over the years. Without thinking, he shifted slightly closer, their hands brushing against each other. Their pinkies grazed lightly, sending a small jolt of electricity through him.
The familiar connection was something inexplicable, something fearful.
Just as a quiet, tender moment seemed to settle between them, Ron's voice cut through the tranquillity from the opposite seat.
"Oi, do you want a chocolate frog?" he said with a mouthful. Alexander raised an amused eyebrow while Hermione threw Ron a spine-tingling glare and then turned to stare out the window with a disgruntled look. Ron's expression twisted to bewilderment. "What?" he parroted.
When Eliot picked him up from King's Cross, Alexander remained silent despite Eliot's attempts to engage him in conversation. He was half-glad, half-furious that Grandfather hadn't bothered to show up. He wouldn't know what he would've done. The car ride was filled with an uneasy silence, punctuated only by the soft hum of the engine and the occasional honking of horns outside. Alexander sat with his arms crossed, staring out of the window at the passing scenery. Eliot glanced at him several times in the rearview mirror, concern etched on his face, but Alexander didn't meet his gaze.
After just two days at home, Alexander's tightly wound thread snapped. He couldn't bear to be in that house any longer. Grandfather might as well have been a ghost, haunting every corner with his mere presence. Resentment simmered within Alexander, like a cauldron on the verge of boiling over. What grated on him the most was the oppressive silence, the lack of any real interaction. He would have welcomed screaming or crying. But this. . . this hush felt suffocating, as if it rendered everything meaningless, something to be swept under the rug and ignored, just like every other day.
On the second night, Alexander lay awake, staring at the ceiling. The moonlight cast eerie shadows on the walls, and he could hear the faint ticking of the clock in the hallway. Each tick felt like a reminder of his mother's absence, a reminder of the man he now loathed. Grandfather hadn't said much since Alexander's return, but his guilty eyes followed Alexander everywhere he went.
It was fucking unbearable.
By dawn, Alexander had his mind made up. He couldn't stay in a house with his mother's killer without turning insane. The thought alone made his stomach churn. He packed his trunk with shaky hands. He paused briefly to look around his room one last time before heaving his trunk down the stairs.
Grandfather was in the kitchen. The smell of coffee filled the air, but it was no comfort to Alexander. Not anymore. He felt a pang of bitterness. Grandfather didn't stop him. Instead, he stood still, his shoulders slumped in a posture of defeat. He knew Alexander was leaving. He must have heard the trunk's wheels clattering on the floor. As Alexander reached the door, he glanced back.
A beat passed.
Grandfather looked at him with resigned, weary eyes, but he said nothing. It was as if he had accepted this moment long before it happened.
That made Alexander's fury heighten and he slammed the door behind him purposefully.
The walk to Eliot's flat felt longer than it ever had before. The morning air was crisp, and Alexander's breath formed small clouds before him as he trudged along, his trunk bumping over the uneven pavement.
When he finally reached Eliot's building, he hesitated for a moment. The chipped paint on the door seemed almost welcoming in its imperfection. Gathering his resolve, he knocked. The door opened almost immediately, and Eliot's eyes widened in shock as he saw Alexander standing there.
"Alex? What are you doing here?" Eliot asked, his voice filled with concern.
Alexander stood there, trying to find the right words. He felt a lump in his throat, and for a moment, he was afraid he might burst into sobs. But he swallowed hard and looked Eliot in the eye.
"I can't stay there. . . not anymore," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I just need a place to stay."
Eliot's expression softened. He stepped aside, allowing Alexander to enter.
We have reached the end, people! Can't believe how long that took me. Thank you all so much for bearing with me during my slow updates and for reading my silly little fic so far. Let me know what you think of it so far.
Now, this particular book might be over but the story is far from finished. The next book is going to take a while to come because I need to plan the scenes for each chapter in detail before I start writing anything. But this is me confirming that this is NOT being abandoned, okay? I just need time to outline the characters and relationships. I plan to write the full seven books. And who knows, if enough people are interested I might write a spin-off for the later years when they're young adults. Nothing is fully thought out yet though, so don't get your hopes up, ahaha.
We're definitely going to see shifts in relationships next year, particularly as Alex explores his feelings and positions with his family and friendships. There's going to be a bump in the rating towards Mature, also, just as a heads up, because he's going to be fifteen technically, meaning the exploration of explicit sexual content and themes featuring this. He is a teenage boy, there's no escaping this I'm afraid.
I'm looking forward to exploring multiple shifts in POV with other characters. I'm especially excited to start writing in their voices and capturing their unique perspectives on Alexander. And yes, this does include Hermione, if you were wondering.
Furthermore, feel free to share any ideas you have, whether big or small! I'm open to incorporating them if they fit the story. You can comment here or send me a personal message—whichever you prefer.
This is already becoming a long author's note, so will leave it here for now. Hope you guys are having a great day! See you in the foreseeable future.