Finally, Alya stopped being afraid of the night.
The images about the doll turning into a snake and the run-down house stopped being nightmares. They became a recurring dream, instead. A pleasant dream.
Alya met Merope many other times, in the following months.
Certainly, it was nothing more than a mere projection of her imaginative mind (or at least that was what she believed); however, Alya soon became fond of that mysterious girl dressed in rags.
The nightmares which initially paralyzed her body with terror, had now become appointments the little Black was waiting impatiently for.
In fact, Alya didn't dream of Merope every night. These kind of 'encounters' were sporadic and they appeared in her sleeping mind in a totally arbitrary way. Nevertheless, whenever this happened, Alya was happy to spend a few moments with her new dream friend.
The process was always the same. Alya turned off the light in her room, closed her eyes, and fell asleep with the porcelain doll lying next to her.
Once immersed in the thick darkness of her mind, little Black always saw the shape of the doll floating in that dense, black and indefinite sea. Thus, the toy changed shape, turning into a large snake. As always, Alya followed the reptile, until she reached the old house where Merope lived.
Most of the time Merope waited for her awake, in her filthy, empty room. However, sometimes Alya was received by her strange dream friend outside, in the gloomy overgrown garden which surrounded the whole dilapidated mansion.
Alya much preferred the little bedroom to the courtyard. She didn't like that place at all, it gave her shivers.
Anyway, wherever they met, Merope and Alya spent their time talking about anything, their families, their lives.
And so, night after night, dream after dream, the two girls learned to know each other, thus consolidating their unusual friendship.
Alya found out that she had a lot in common with her dream friend. They were both witches, born in a pureblood House, named Gaunt. Alya had never heard about this clan, but she sensed it was surely a very ancient and powerful family of wizards. The Gaunts didn't look very different from the Blacks in this respect.
However, Merope told Alya that her father, Marvolo Gaunt, had dissipated the whole family fortune during his deplorable youth. He had always liked to show how rich and powerful he was; so, he had squandered his money on vice and gambling, thus throwing the family reputation into the abyss of misery and shame.
This was the reason why Merope had to live in that shabby shack, despite her noble origins as a pureblood witch.
From how his daughter described him, Marvolo Gaunt seemed a very cruel person. Alya imagined him as a rough and grumpy type, only capable of living in his solitude and despising the rest of the world.
Merope also had a big brother. His name was Morfin and he was as unpleasant as the father. And, judging by the little Gaunt's sad tales, neither of them treated Merope with love or respect, considering her less than a scullery maid. Compared to Marvolo and Morfin, even Walburga seemed a sweet, loving mother.
Alya often spoke to Merope about her noble family, too. She fiercely described her house in Grimmauld Place, and she spoke about the ingenious spells her father Orion had used to hide it from the eyes of Muggles. Alya also praised with pride the strict rules and values by which her mother had raised her three children.
Finally, whenever Alya mentioned Sirius or Regulus, her silvery gaze lit up and her face couldn't help but widen into a proud smile. Alya loved her two brothers very much, her affection for them shone thrpugh every part of her body.
Merope listened to Alya in ecstasy, despite a vague, ill-concealed envy, especially towards that wealth which she had never had the chance to experience first-hand.
Nevertheless, Merope was genuinely happy to receive little Balck's strange nocturnal visits. Alya was the only person the little Gaunt could consider to be her friend, after all. A real friend.
And the same was true of Alya.
***
It was a dark and cold night. A freezing wind raged in the wild garden around the Gaunt house, blowing violently through the trees.
Alya was sitting on Merope's battered bed. She and her dream friend were chatting softly, whisperung in the night, shrouded in the darkness of the cramped room, lit only by the pale moonlight that filtered through the window.
Merope was holding the porcelain doll in her arms as she told Alya some anecdotes about her sad childhood.
"May I ask you how did you get it?" Alya asked suddenly, pointing to the doll clutched in her friend's hands. This question had been swirling around in her head for some time.
Merope did not answer immediately and a dense silence poured into the room.
Outside, the wind was blowing harder and harder, hissing like a ghost's wail.
"It was a gift" Merope finally replied. Her pale face was suddenly covered with a veil of sadness.
"A gift? From whom?" Alya insisted curiously.
"My mother. She gave me this doll when I turned seven. She died a few months later." Merope said in a sad whisper.
"Oh, I'm sorry..." Alya stammered mortified. She had no idea what had happened to Merope's mother. She only knew she had died a few years earlier, nothing more. Merope never talked about it and Alya sensed that it must have been a painful topic, otherwise her dream friend would have no problem telling her more.
Thus, Alya fell silent, nervously biting her lower lip. Unfortunately, the little Black had inherited Walburga's glacial stiffness, therefore she had never been good to show empathy. She didn't how to to behave in such situations. Maybe, she should have moved forward and changed the topic of conversation.
Fortunately, it was Merope who saved Alya from her deep embarrassment.
"Her name was Meissa... I loved very much. It's been almost four years since she died and still a day doesn't go by I don't miss her." Merope explained in a faint voice, full of melancholy.
"Sometimes, I feel terribly alone without her... So, I decided to give this porcelain doll my mum's name... Meissa... In this way, it's like a part of her is still here, with me."
After these words, Merope sighed with watery eyes, lost in the void.
Alya listened to her in respectful silence, absolutely speechless. She couldn't find the right words to comfort her friend. Alya had never had an experience like this, so she didn't know what Merope was feeling.
"Meissa... I like this name. I think it suits the doll perfectly." she just said, softly.
A slight smile appeared on Merope's face and Alya felt immediately reassured.
"How was she? I mean... your mother?" Alya dared to ask, shyly.
Merope crossed her legs on the worn-out bedspread and hugged the doll tightly to her chest.
"She was quite an extraordinary witch. Kind and brilliant." she answered sweetly, "She taught me so much... It was my mum who showed spells and magic, since I was very little. My dad thinks I'm a Squib, that I don't have magic powers... But mum was different. She, more than anyone, always believed in me."
"What kind of magic did she teach you?" Alya asked her, more and more curious.
"Nothing special, nor particularly difficult ... She mostly showed me simple spells, useful to use in everyday life ... Actually, the hardest thing my mother taught me was the Parseltongue."
"Parseltongue?" Alya repeated disoriented.
"Yes, Parseltongue... the ancient language of serpents" Merope explained with simplicity.
Alya's eyes widened, stunned. She couldn't believe what Merope had just told her. She had already heard about the Parseltongue of course, her mother had mentioned something about it during one of her lessons.
However, the little Black had never met a real Parselmouth in person (a wizard or a witch who can speak with snakes) in her life; she knew it was a very rare skill; it was incredible that Merope could speak such a peculiar, magical language.
"And... have you ever talked to a snake?" Alya asked.
"For sure! I usually talked to them in the garden, when I was younger... when my mom was still alive. But, unfortunately, snakes quit coming around our house, since Morfin has got into the habit of killing and hanging them on the door."
Merope sadly sighed and shrugged. Alya assumed that she probably missed those snakes. It was evident Merope had no friends; even though they were just animals, the little weird Gaunt appreciated their unusual company. Speaking with serpents (or with anything else) made Merope feel less lonely.
Alya was starting to feel a lot of sympathy for her. She secretly swore to be a good friend to Merope. For all her life.
Alya gazed at the melancholic girl in front of her affectionately.
"So... Would you mind say something in Parseltongue for me? I'd like to hear how it sounds." Alya suggested, with a large, kind smile on her pretty face.
"Seriously? Are you really interested in it?" Merope asked in surprise. People usually despised Parseltongue and whoever could speak it. It was believed that the language of serpents had an association with Dark Arts, so people had start to assume that those with this ability must be automatically evil wizards or witches.
But Alya did not think so. She found Parseltongue truly fascinating and she wanted to learn more about it.
"Yes, I am. I really am! So, please... say something" the little Black begged, joining hands in front of her nose.
"All right... well, here it is" Merope said, as she cleared her throat. She took a deep breath and, then, spoke.
Alya listened to her very carefully. She heard no sentences. No words. No letters. Nothing but a long hissing noise which sounded like a murmured, incomprehensible whisper.
The little Black clapped her hands in delight.
"Amazing!" she trilled enthusiastically, "And... what did you say, exactly?"
"I just introduced myself. I said: my name is Merope. Nice to meet you."
"Wow... It's brilliant! You are brilliant." Alya exclaimed, truly impressed.
Immediately, Merope blushed at the compliment. She wasn't used to receive it. Her lips gave a hint of a smile.
"I'll teach you... if you want" she shyly proposed.
"Really? It would be great!" Alya replied full of enthusiasm. "I really hope to learn to speak Parseltongue."
"I'm sure you'll manage to speak it. You're a powerful witch. I can feel it." Merope claimed with conviction.
Now it was Alya's turn to blush.
"If I succeed, we could talk in Parseltongue all the time. It could be our own language." the little Black suggested, thinking that would be a nice idea.
Alya was right. When she gazed at Merope's face, the little Black saw that her squinting eyes were shining with joy. The joy of finally having found a friend.
"So we've got a deal!" Merope confirmed, as she extended her hand towards her friend.
Alya grabbed it and squeezed it tightly, thus sealing their pact, which had the same sweet taste of an eternal promise.