January, 1975. Hogwarts.
"Good morning to everyone,"
Professor Ghalil greeted Alya's class with an austere and dry welcome. As soon as he saw all the students seated, the teacher gave them their instructions for the morning class.
"Open your book to page forty-nine, to the chapter on Palmistry. Today, we will look at the practice of palm reading. We will discuss its origins and its diffusion in our continent. We will then proceed with the study of the lines that make up the palm, their classification, their meaning, and the various intersections. In the second hour of today's lesson, however, we will engage in a practical exercise: you will divide yourselves into pairs and each of you will read - attempt to read - the future hidden between the mysterious grooves that run across the palms of your partner," he explained in a practical tone, embracing with his stern gaze the entire audience of visibly listless students who sat in front of him.
The room was invaded by the subdued clatter of hands fumbling inside sacks and bags filled with school volumes and parchments, searching for the right text.
Alya opened her own book to the indicated page. Palmistry: the future in one's hands read the title that occupied a large part of the page.
As foretold, the first hour of the lesson was entirely dedicated to reading the chapter. Alya's stomach didn't seem to like the subject matter: the breakfast she had swallowed just an hour before had begun to do painful somersaults inside her belly. Her thoughts were also in turmoil. No matter how hard Alya tried to stay focused, her mind seemed to wander into distant summer memories. Images from her childhood returned to her memory without warning. The estate of Arcturus Black. The grove where she had first met Koboro. The strange formula in Serpentese he had taught her to save him from certain death. Sirius and his contempt. His words were full of hatred. Finally, Bennet House, where she had met Harry, the Muggle child who had come to her rescue and the old hag who gave herself airs as a clairvoyant. Suddenly, the woman's hoarse voice echoed in Alya's mind. A family united. A son. So the old charlatan had said, studying the palm of her left hand. Your seventeenth birthday: death. The verdict of the right hand. With all the logic at her disposal, Alya had convinced herself that such an anathema sounded impossible and absurd. One sentence cancelled out the other. Yet, the memory of those words spoken solemnly and definitively by the Muggle hag still caused her deep unease. For this reason, she felt rejection for the subject of palmistry.
The minutes passed slowly, hopping from one student voice to the next, taking turns with a bored, drawling tone as they read the chapter. When, at last, Professor Ghalil announced the end of the first hour's lesson, the whole room breathed a long sigh of relief. The pupils of the two Houses present, Slytherin and Hufflepuff, began to split up into pairs, keeping a fair distance between the silver-green ones on one side and the yellow-black ones on the other. Many Slytherin students snickered loudly as they changed places: the practical exercises in Divination had never been taken seriously.
Alya was soon joined by Beth. Philippa and Melyssa had wasted no time and had paired up for the exercise. On both of their faces, the usual mocking expression had appeared, expressing all their disdain for the subject. Even Beth, who now sat opposite Alya, had the air of someone who could hardly keep herself from laughing. Young Black, on the other hand, was in a mood that was anything but cheerful.
While the students were settling in, Professor Ghalil gave them further instructions, suggesting that they consult their own Divination manual to help with the palm reading. Alya had the impression that even the teacher spoke about that day's topic in a detached, almost disinterested tone. It seemed rather strange to her: usually the professor had no qualms about showing the esteem in which he held Divination, in all its forms.
"Shall we use yours?" asked Beth listlessly, grabbing Alya's book.
"It's indifferent to me," replied her friend, trying to simulate the same disdain as her housemates. "Who starts?"
"You first," said Beth, with a grin, pushing the schoolbook back towards Alya, looking at it with disgust. Thus, Beth opened the palms of her stubby hands, facing upwards.
Alya sighed in annoyance and looked at her classmate's white palms with an unconvinced expression. She tried, in vain, to decipher some arcane message by consulting the textbook. On the page was a large full-sheet image, very old-looking. It showed a drawing of a hand, inside which all the lines that made up the palm had been traced with meticulous precision. From each of these came arrows that led to dense definitions that were difficult to understand. Alya crossed her eyes, lost in that maze of letters.
"I don't understand a thing!" she blurted out contritely.
"Just make something up! I don't think it makes much difference." Beth suggested, impatient.
Alya welcomed her friend's advice. She took one of Beth's hands and sonorously cleared her throat.
"Well, well, well. What have we here?" began Alya, faking a pompous tone. "I see... I see a long life, a marriage to a tall, dark, wealthy man and... no less than eleven children! A radiant future!" exclaimed Alya in a solemn voice.
Beth had to fake a cough to avoid bursting out laughing in front of the whole class.
"Alya, you're terrible!" laughed Beth. Alya winked at her smugly.
In the meantime, Professor Ghalil had left his seat at the desk and was wandering around the desks, with a disinterested expression. Wrapped in his long black robe, his hands crossed behind his back, he walked slowly and silently, paying no attention to the whimsical predictions uttered by the students in turn. Like Alya, many others were having a heap of fun inventing wonderful or nefarious futures for their classmates.
"Now it's my turn!" Beth exclaimed, fiercely grasping Alya's hands. Beth's narrow, dark eyes, so similar to those of a small insect, stared for a long time at the lines drawn on her companion's tapering hands.
Beth studied Alya's right palm very seriously and with a note of vague satisfaction announced:
"Look here, the lifeline is very short. You will die in a few years, very young... hit by a meteorite!"
A wide grin of victory rippled across Beth's thin lips as she looked up at Alya, convinced that she would find her laughing at that fine find and ready to answer her in kind. But something was wrong. Alya was dumbfounded. She had suddenly turned pale, her mouth tight in a granite expression; her eyes darted with anger mixed with what seemed to Beth terror.
"What.did.you.say?" hissed Alya, in a threatening whisper.
"That you will soon die because of a meteorite," Beth repeated in a joking tone, not understanding her companion's strange reaction. Alya immediately withdrew her hands towards herself, hiding them under the counter. She looked at her companion with an icy gaze that Beth had never seen.
"Let's end it here!" said Alya, coldly.
"What's the matter with you? Look I was only joking, just for laughs!" scoffed Beth, unable to understand her friend's discomfort.
"Well, you're not funny! And you suck at making up predictions!" ranted Alya, her voice a little too loud. Phlilippa and Melyssa, along with other students sitting nearby, turned around puzzled and intrigued.
Beth was about to retort, but Professor Ghalil interrupted her.
"Is everything ok here?" he asked in a stern tone.
Alya instantly composed herself, trying to keep her demeanour firm.
"Yes, professor," she replied dryly. "It's just that Grey didn't quite understand how to do the exercise." she added, shooting an icy glance at Beth, who continued to stare at her in astonishment.
At that moment, the bell rang, ending the lesson. Without a second thought, Alya quickly picked up the book and parchments and threw them violently into the bag.
"Shall we go to lunch?" asked Beth, trying to appear casual.
"I'm not hungry," replied Alya dryly, without even looking at her.
"Go ahead without me."
"What's gotten into you?" asked Beth exasperated. But Alya ignored her, diving into the tide of pupils about to leave the classroom. She swiftly slipped between her classmates, putting a considerable distance between herself and her friends. She did not want them to catch up with her. She did not want to be followed. She only wished to leave and be alone.
Once she slipped out of the room, Alya quickly left the dungeon. As she had said, she didn't feel the slightest appetite, so going to the Great Hall was out of the question. Besides, the idea of spending time in a room full of people and confusion would have put her in an even worse mood. Going back to the Slytherin dormitory was also out of the question: Beth, Philippa and Melyssa would definitely have gone there looking for her. And Alya did not want to be found. Finally, she decided to take refuge in the library. At that hour, most of the students would have been busy in the Great Hall. With any luck, Alya would find the peace she desired.
Alya took the imposing stone staircase and quickly reached the third floor. As she had imagined, there were no students and the room appeared empty except for Madame Pince, the strict librarian. As soon as Alya crossed the doorstep, the skeletal-looking old witch shot her a look of disgruntled suspicion.
Alya blithely ignored her and went to sit at one of the small tables in the far corner of the huge room. She felt Madame Pince's wary gaze lingering on her back until she had pulled one of her books out of her bag - chosen completely at random - pretending to immerse herself in a thorough reading. Large stained glass windows stood out along the wall to her left, very similar to those in the common room of Slytherin House, but without the backdrops of the Black Lake as a panorama. The pale winter sun of a cold January shyly overlooked the vast expanses of Hogwarts. Glimpses of light filtered through the polished glass panes, illuminating swirls of dust which floated freely in the air.
Finally alone, immersed in silence, Alya began to think. The terrible feeling that had triggered her just now had faded, but had not disappeared. With shame, Alya realised that it had not been a fit of rage. Her - exaggerated - reaction before the end of the Divination lesson had been caused by deep fear. It was as if a monster hidden within his bowels, dormant and slumbering until that moment, had suddenly awakened, unleashing all its fury. A fury composed mainly of terror. It was Beth's mocking words that had allowed such an awakening. Alya was well aware that her classmate had not predicted any future for her and that she had made it all up out of thin air, with the sole purpose of mocking that absurd matter. However, the false prediction uttered by Beth had sounded so similar to that of the Muggle hag she had met years before that Alya had been unable to hold back her emotions. In a few years you will die, Beth had said, looking at the palm of her right hand. For Alya it was enough to bring back an old memory she had been avoiding thinking about for years. The old swindler she had met at the Bennet's house had also predicted a very similar future for her, again scanning the lines of her right hand.
"It's just a coincidence," Alya muttered to herself. To believe that it could be something more, an omen or a prophecy, was absolutely absurd. The girl's logical mind was stubbornly fighting against the unjustified terror that dwelled inside her belly. The monster dwelling inside her puffed undauntedly at the fumes of fear.
What the hell is wrong with me? I cannot be so stupid! she thought angrily, cursing at herself.
I am a Black, descendant of a proud and powerful family, I cannot be influenced by such childish fears. Alya clenched her fists tightly, trying hard not to slam them on the table. Madame Pince would have kicked her out instantly. In the meantime, the icy figure of her mother Walburga had appeared in her thoughts, the austere tone of her teachings on how the Blacks should never show weakness echoing in her ears. Now, in addition to the terror-soaked fumes swirling through the meanders of Alya's bowels, the bitter taste of shame had been added. Her mother would surely be horrified to see her daughter in the grip of such foolish fears.
You are not worthy of your name, Alya Merope, said a malicious little voice inside her, which sounded awfully like Walburga's.
Alya sat for a long time, her eyes fixed on the book, but lost in the void. She hadn't read a single line. The hoarse voice of the old Mugglewoman foretelling her a bright future and at the same time an untimely death alternated with the harsh and austere voice of her mother reminding her of her family honour. The girl looked at the time. Lunch in the Great Hall must have been about to end; she still had time before the afternoon's lessons began. With a deep sigh, Alya gathered her things and hurried out of the library. Her feet retraced the path that led to the dungeon, towards the Divination room. She opened the door and slipped into the room. As she had assumed, it was completely empty, the students would arrive at least half an hour later. The soft torchlight still flickered from above the walls, providing a vaguely gloomy atmosphere.
Alya reached the small door, half-hidden behind the desk, and knocked vigorously. The door opened with a loud creak, revealing the figure of Professor Ghalil. His brown, sunken eyes didn't conceal his surprise at finding the student in front of him.
"Miss Black, do you need anything? To what do I owe the honour of your unexpected visit?" he asked in a gentle tone.
"I would urgently need to speak to you, if you are not busy, Professor. " said Alya, with a very serious expression.
"I am happy to receive students. Please come in," he replied, motioning her to enter the study.
The room was definitely small, barely able to accommodate two people, but it exuded a cosy aura. A cheerful fire crackled in the small stone fireplace in the centre of the room. In front of it was a small desk, with a couple of wooden chairs. On the walls, made of stone like the fireplace, was a bookshelf filled with books, but apparently not capacious enough: there were more books scattered around the room, sprouting from every corner, arranged in tall stacks on the cold floor. Even the desk was full of them.
Alya sat down in one of the chairs near the fireplace, the pleasant warmth of the fire managing to partly melt away the dampness that had festered in her bones. Professor Ghalil did likewise, sitting opposite her on the other side of the desk. His face peeked out among the piles of books.
"So, what did you wish to talk to me about, Ms Black? Is it about some topic covered in the last few lessons?" the teacher urged her, visibly puzzled by this unusual visit.
"Actually, no. It's more of a consultation --" tried to explain the girl. The confidence that had led her there was beginning to waver. Suddenly she felt terribly stupid for having barged into her teacher's office to discuss her silly anxieties.
"A consultation," repeated Ghalil, crossing his hands in front of his face as usual. The brown eyes watched Alya's troubled face with deep curiosity.
"Yes, indeed. There is a thought nagging at me and I think you are the only one I can talk to about it. The only one who could, perhaps, give an answer to my... doubts." Alya could not define fear what she actually felt, she felt too silly.
"I'm afraid I don't understand," replied Professor Ghalil, with a slight frown.
"In other words, I would like you to read the lines of my hand. Of both hands, to be precise." said Alya all in one breath, almost instantly ashamed of her request.
"You mean you want me to read your future with Palmistry?" asked Ghalil, looking at her with stern eyes. Alya nodded, but without having the courage to sustain the teacher's impassive gaze.
"If I remember correctly - and, counting that I possess a very good memory, I do not doubt it - I have already explained to you, as to the rest of your class last year, that I am not a clairvoyant, nor am I accustomed to making predictions," Ghalil explained calmly, but in a tone vaguely more rigid than when he had welcomed her into the study.
Alya pursed her lips in a grimace of disappointment, mixed with embarrassment.
The professor noticed his student's upset and his voice became gentler again:
"However, this does not prevent me from listening to your words. Come on, tell me what is troubling you so much. From what I know of you, Miss Black, you do not have the reputation of being easily impressed." he urged her, granting her a wide, friendly smile. Alya bit her lower lip, a little reluctantly. Something inside her melted, however, at the professor's courtesy and she briefly recounted what had happened to her as a child, about her strange encounter with the old Mugglewoman who gave herself airs of prescience and the double prophecy she had announced to her. Professor Ghalil listened to her, showing visible interest the whole time she spoke, never giving in to expressions of mockery. Alya felt a strange, unusual sensation in confessing that experience to someone. She had never spoken of it to a living soul, not even to those closest to her, like her brother Regulus, for example. It was like releasing a weight, her soul felt lightened, at least a little. But, soon, came the agitation of the response. She didn't know whether to be afraid of appearing a fool or of discovering that that Muggle hag had actually seen something true in her future.
Professor Ghalil's words, spoken with serious gentleness, calmed Alya's fears.
"In all honesty, I really don't think you have anything to worry about, Miss Black."
Alya raised her face to observe the professor's expression. There was no trace of derision. He spoke with sincere seriousness.
''I've been a fool, haven't I? To believe the ramblings of a Muggle. Even you, Professor, do nothing but repeat it in class: Muggles are incapable of deciphering the cryptic messages of the universe." noted Alya, in severe self-pity. Ghalil gave her a gentle smile.
"I'm glad to see that at least one of my students takes the trouble to listen to what I say in class - don't look at me like that, I know my subject is not taken much notice of by your mates. Anyway, you don't need to be so hard on yourself, Miss Black. You were a child, in an unfamiliar environment, having suffered a severe shock, both physical and emotional. It is absolutely normal that you could be more sensitive than usual."
"However, I would like to add, so that I can refute any doubts you may have about what has happened to you, that of all the fascinating practices that the art of divination proposes, Palmistry is the one I consider the least reliable. In fact, I consider it to be the one most suited to charlatans and fanatics. It is much more scenic to claim that our fate is written on our skin, as if it were something inescapable, predefined. Inevitability makes us more resigned and, therefore, more prone to despair. And the desperate are easy prey for those who want to enrich themselves by offering bizarre, let's call them that, solutions. At a high price of course."
"The purpose of the divinatory arts is simply to help us understand the messages and clues of the universe. And consequently, how we choose to act, in line with the balance of the world. There is nothing predestined. We only have our choices. Our destiny is constructed according to what we choose. And as I always say, the most powerful choices are..."
"... the choices of love," Alya concluded.
"Once again, I'm glad to see the attention you give to my boring speeches," said Professor Ghalil, with an amused smirk. After that, he took out his pocket watch to check the time.
"I think you must hurry up, Miss Black, or you will be late for your next class," Ghalil announced, in a gentle but definitive tone.
"Thank you very much, Professor," Alya took her leave, sincere.
The heavy monster that had woken up inside her that very morning seemed to have reassumed itself. Now, she felt much calmer.
***
After leaving the Divination professor's study, Alya headed for the Potions classroom. Her classmates had already taken their seats, but the lesson had not yet started. Alya joined Philippa, Melyssa and Beth and greeted them as if nothing had happened. Her friends looked at her in puzzlement.
"Where have you been? We've been looking everywhere for you," Philippa scolded her.
"In the library." replied Alya hastily, carefully omitting to tell them about her visit to Professor Ghalil. She would never have admitted in front of her companions what fears had consumed her in the last few hours.
At that point, Professor Slughorn entered the classroom and started the lesson. All the students began to crowd in front of the lockers to get the necessary tools and ingredients, following the directions described in the book.
"How come you took your seats right behind Evans? You know I can't stand her!" grumbled Alya under her breath, frowning at the dark red-haired girl whose back was turned to them. Melyssa and Philippa shrugged, indifferent to the matter.
"For copying. Even you have to admit she's an ace at potions." Beth justified herself, before curving intimidatedly in on herself after receiving an icy stare from her friend.
"Then you should have stood next to Snape! At least he's part of the Slytherins!" hissed Alya.
"I tried! But look where he sat!" whined Beth, pointing at their yellowish-coloured, hooked-nosed mate. Snape sat almost apart from the rest of the class, in a desk at the back of the classroom, alone, hunched over his cauldron, his greasy black hair hanging limply in front of his face.
Alya resented his presence and made no effort to hide her disdain for the boy. But he was an excellent student, his grades were always excellent, especially in Potions. Thanks to his results, Slytherin House often gained points. It was just a pity that Snape's skill in working out complicated potions was only matched by his jealousy towards that skill. It was probably to avoid being copied by his companions that Snape had camped out in such a hidden stall. Moreover, a good handful of metres kept him at a distance from the wicked and mocking glances of Sirius and his gang. Alya suspected that this distance was no accident. If there was anyone who despised Severus Snape even more than she and her fellow Slytherins, it was her twin brother. Along with Potter, of course. Both of them wasted no opportunity to torment and taunt him, even in decidedly cruel ways (more than Alya would ever have expected from Gryffindors, who put on heroic airs). Since their first year at Hogwarts, Snape had become their favourite target.
Alya shot an indignant glance towards Sirius, standing in front of a steaming cauldron a few metres ahead. At his side, unfailingly, was Potter, with his usual arrogant, pompous daddy's boy face. Alya snorted full of contempt. Suddenly, she realised she wasn't the only one looking in her brother's direction: Beth was also watching him, along with Melyssa. In their eyes, however, there was no trace of Alya's disdain. The two girls stared at him dreamily, admiringly. When Beth realised that Alya was looking at her with incredulous eyes, she quickly looked away, blushing visibly. Melyssa, on the other hand, remained spellbound, heedless of the young Black's astonished expression.
"What's the matter with you? Why are you looking at my brother as if he were a jam-filled cream puff?" she asked, stunned.
"Sorry, I know he's your brother..." he stammered, unable to hide what Alya had hopelessly guessed.
"My idiot brother, you mean!" scolded Alya.
"He doesn't seem so bad to me..." muttered Beth.
"He's so charming!" sighed Melyssa, looking rapt.
"But he's a stupid Gryffindor!" retorted Alya, horrified.
"Yeah, he's really handsome though!" confessed Beth, completely surrendered, casting a fleeting but intense look of longing towards Sirius.
"Such a waste!" commented Philippa, giggling.
"Oh, girls, gross!" snorted Alya, bewildered and disgusted at the same time.
"He's very popular, you know? So many girls are after him." said Beth, sighing bitterly "I don't think I stand a chance with him." she added, bitterly.
"Oh, there's no doubt about that!" replied Alya, without an ounce of tact. Philippa gave a sour chuckle.
"You're cruel!" whined Beth again, giving her a testy look.
"Don't get me wrong, this isn't about you. Honestly, I don't think any of you could be his type. First of all, you're from Slytherin and for my stupid brother that's already a valid reason to find you disgusting. Also, I went into Sirius' room once and it was all plastered with Muggle posters. One showed a row of girls in skimpy bikinis with long ponytails... Muggle girls!"
Philippa, Beth and Melyssa intoned a yuck of disgust.
"Will you two stop gossiping!" Lily Evans had turned sharply, railing at Alya and her friends. Bright green eyes darted with exasperation. "It's class time and not a circle of gossipy sorceresses, if you haven't noticed, and there are people who want to focus on the lesson, unlike you!" the Gryffindor girl scolded her, without qualms.
Caught by surprise, the four Slytherins exchanged an astonished look. Then Philippa gave Lily Evans the cruellest look she possessed.
"I don't take orders from a filthy mudblood!" she hissed maliciously.
The insult hurt Evans, but her dignity didn't waver. She kept her gaze of implacable disapproval fixed first on Philippa, then on the others, down to Alya. The latter sensed the challenge concealed in his proud green eyes. But she didn't take the bait. She knew what was at stake in using that kind of offence. Especially in front of Slughorn, who had a very special fondness for Lily Evans, the flagship among all his Potions students. The proud young Black merely returned it, as always, with a look of condescension. An attitude Alya had learnt very well from her mother. The girl's silent but icy reaction was effective. Lily Evans lowered the hatchet, turning back to her cauldron, having shot one last indignant glance at the silver-green quartet.
"You're right, Alya! Next time we'd better find somewhere else to sit," Beth commented, looking disgustedly at Lily Evans' back.
***
Finally, Professor Slughorn's lesson came to an end. The fourth-year Gryffindor and Slytherin students poured into the corridor of the castle dungeons. As usual, Lily Evans demonstrated all her talent as a potionist, completing the assigned exercise excellently. Professor Slughorn didn't fail to award the student's House with numerous points, leaving the Slytherins, who didn't make their displeasure silent, high and dry.
Outside the classroom, many Gryffindor boys had joined Evans in congratulating her, excitedly. Among them, Alya also glimpsed Potter exulting boisterously, while Lily Evans seemed to ignore him completely; Sirius had also joined in the congratulations, giving Lily Evans a smug pat on the back, smiling at her with an expression of detached satisfaction.
At that very moment, the monster which slumbered in Alya's bowels awoke overbearingly and the girl felt, for the second time that day, a disarming wave of anger. She couldn't explain what had provoked it. For the briefest of moments, she felt as if electrocuted, but the intuition disappeared the moment Alya perceived it. She quickly turned on her heel, turning her back on her brother (Alya was certain that the anger she had just felt had something to do with him), and walked away with Beth, Philippa and Melyssa hot on her heels. Young Black felt an urgent need to put as much distance as possible between herself and the hateful group of jubilant Gryffindors. And, above all, to get away from her stupid braggart brother Sirius and that insufferable perfectionist Lily Evans.