Mystique → Hermione Granger [2] ✔

I 12 I A Series of Surprises

~*~

The holidays soon dwindled to a close and Alexander found himself on the train back to Hogwarts. The last few days remained relatively quiet. Grandfather went back to work after New Year's Day. Alexander had been avoiding any sort of contact with him in the house, and, for the first time in his life, Grandfather's absence came as a welcome relief.

Alexander would immerse himself by playing the violin or the piano and read if only to keep his mind engaged. He knew that Eliot suspected something was up as Alexander didn't immediately protest Grandfather leaving and had become more reclusive by staying in his room and depending on excuses such as homework despite already completing it. But, true to Eliot's nature, he didn't press Alexander on the matter.

Alexander himself couldn't even make sense of it – his mind was a chaotic mess, difficult to untangle. He knew that he still craved Grandfather's praise and respect – that was worth more to him than all the gold in Gringotts. A crumb of approval from Grandfather made him giddy for a while. Or used to anyhow.

Every time he remembered Grandfather's words in that dreaded article, "hierarchal structure", "better world", "Pureblood superiority", a shiver would slither down his spine. Then he pictured Grandfather from the photograph in the library book he discovered – the arrogant, carefree smirk. It was enough to cause his stomach to twist horribly.

Sometimes, at the dinner table, Alexander longed to slam his hands down and burst out with his inner turmoil, to demand that Grandfather explain himself. Explain how he could have that disgusting belief, that horrific certainty about Muggleborns and Purebloods.

Yet, when Grandfather raised an eyebrow at him, inquiring why he had stopped eating, he had already dropped his courage, like a feather lost in the wind, and crushing regret would consume him. What was wrong with him? Why couldn't he simply ask Grandfather? What was he so afraid of? Grandfather being like Mr Malfoy. That he was a terrible person, not at all like Alexander knew him to be. Who was his grandfather really?

Perhaps he had overreacted and misjudged way too soon. After all, he didn't know if Grandfather had changed for the better. It could all be a huge mistake that could be cleared. Because he wanted to believe there was a logical explanation. Hoped it. The Grandfather that Alexander perceived – the stable, reliable, amiable, and at times stern Grandfather of his childhood – would never have those warped views. He just couldn't . . .

Yet, these spiralling thoughts did nothing to reassure him. Alexander still couldn't find his voice, as if Hagrid's treacle fudge had permanently clasped his mouth together. All he had done for the last days was stay in his room and tick off the days on his calendar when he'd be back at Hogwarts.

The same could not be said for the rest of the students. It was with heavy reluctance they came back. It was written on their faces on the train. Neville kept unusually close to Alexander as they approached the castle, fearful that he'd be attacked as soon as they entered. Only Nia and Helen looked happy to see each other again, though Helen would probably be poised even if a storm knocked her down. It was one of the things that Alexander liked about her.