June, 1975. Hogwarts.
The days passed quietly and soon Alya's fourth year at Hogwarts came to an end. As always, Alya's final grades were excellent in almost all subjects. With the exception of Potions, the subject Alya hated the most. Unfortunately for her, she was the only one in her family who was so bad at the subject; Sirius and Regulus both used to bring home excellent results, without the slightest effort. Both of them had managed to get into the good graces of the Professor Slughorn, Potions teacher and head of Slytherin House, thus gaining access to the coveted Slughorn Club, a kind of exclusive club formed by the most promising pupils and appreciated by the teacher. During the school year, Slughorn was in the habit of organising small evening events, gathering his protegés in pleasant private dinners. Regulus regularly received invitations from the teacher, at least a couple of times a month, and never missed an opportunity to attend. From his accounts, it seemed that Sirius also showed up from time to time - although Alya suspected that it was not so much for his personal pleasure, but more a strategy to curry as much sympathy as possible for the professor, who had a certain inclination to want to defend his favourites. Since Sirius often got into trouble, having a member of the school's teaching staff on his side could be a great advantage.
Alya had never been invited to Professor Slughorn's evenings. Not even once. Her results in Potions were too poor to be noticed positively. Not even the good name of the Black family could make up for her scholastic gaps.
Therefore, as the last day at Hogwarts of her fourth school year approached, Alya felt increasingly burdened by the idea of returning to Grimmauld Place. Her parents, haughty and so careful to keep the good image of the Black family intact, wouldn't have liked to hear that their daughter had once again been excluded from an exclusive circle. What Alya feared most were the lectures of her mother, who was far from understanding. Surely Walburga would have reminded her of her role as descendant of one of the oldest and most prestigious families in the magical world, her responsibility to hold high the name of the Black lineage and how reprehensible her failure in such a simple subject as Potions was.
On her last night at Hogwarts, Alya was haunted by her mother's nagging little voice, calling her the disgrace of the family, the entire time she packed her bags. A little voice that continued to haunt her thoughts the next morning, on the Hogwarts Express, during her journey home.
Also in the compartment with her was Regulus, who had noticed his sister's discontent, although she tried to appear as unflappable as ever, pretending to read a book out of her bag.
Aware of how proud Alya was, Regulus respected her muteness for a good half hour of the journey, after which he decided to address the issue. That enforced silence was becoming heavy.
"You're worrying for nothing," said the boy, subtly brushing back a lock of dark hair that fell across his face.
Alya did not move her eyes from her book, stubbornly glued to the pages.
"I don't know what you're talking about, Reg," she lied haughtily.
But Regulus knew his sister too well. He knew what her mind was ferociously labouring over.
"Mum and Dad will give no weight to your grades in Potions and will not reproach you for not getting into Slughorn's good graces," Regulus insisted firmly.
Alya noisily closed the little book.
"Mum and Dad do care! But it's easy for you. You're the professor's pet!" she blurted out brusquely. As always, Regulus had hit the nail on the head.
"I'll tell you again. Neither of them will give a damn about your situation. Trust me." he asserted, with the expression of one who knows better.
"Do you know something I don't?" asked Alya, looking at him with narrowed eyes.
"Let's just say I chatted with Slughorn last night --"
"Your stupid exclusive circle." snorted Alya scornfully. Regulus ignored her.
" - and it has unintentionally revealed to me that our beloved brother Sirius has gotten into a lot of trouble this year. The list of punishments is quite long," he explained smugly.
"It seems that some letters have been sent by the faculty to our parents, explaining Sirius' lack of discipline. I can already hear our mother screaming!" smiled Regulus wickedly.
"And Slughorn told you all these things unintentionally?"
"Well, the professor has a tendency to indulge in confessions when he gets a bit carried away. And I didn't bother to interrupt his drinking parade. At the end of the evening, he even recommended helping out our brother. According to him, my good behaviour could be an excellent example for Sirius and as his younger brother I have a responsibility to support and help him to become a great wizard, worthy of respect, as he is destined to be," Regulus added, imitating the pompous tone of the Potions professor.
Now it was Alya's turn to smile mockingly. She even burst into a mocking giggle, devoid of mirth.
"That stupid moustachioed walrus! He understood nothing about Sirius. Nor about our family." she noted in a bitter voice.
"We have a busy summer ahead of us, I'm afraid." Regulus let out a long, resigned sigh, before returning to gazing blankly at the scenery flowing swiftly past the glass.
Alya finally stopped pretending to read her little book and joined her brother in looking absent-mindedly out of the window. Neither spoke for most of the rest of the journey, each brooding over the complicated dynamics of their family. Alya, in particular, thought about how stupid her brother Sirius was to behave so inappropriately and risk undermining the Blacks' good name. But that was probably his purpose.
***
Early July, 1975. Grimmauld Place.
At number twelve, carefully concealed by powerful spells between the dirty walls of numbers eleven and thirteen, Alya and Regulus were enjoying a lazy summer afternoon, lounging in their living room. The long, black, heavy curtains that covered the room's high glass windows had been drawn all to one side to allow the sunlight to enter and flood the room with its warmth. The majestic black piano gleamed like a large onyx stone in the centre of the room. Regulus sat behind it, his fingers as delicate and elegant as his mother's, intent on playing a melody with melancholic notes reminiscent of a children's song. Alya listened absent-mindedly, stretched out sluggishly on the sofa, her face turned towards the intricate family tree that snaked triumphantly across the ancient family tapestry hanging on one of the four walls. It had become a pleasant habit for Regulus to strum melancholic notes, in his lazy moments of leisure.
As always, Sirius was missing, locked in his room, grounded. As Regulus had rightly predicted, on the journey home from Hogwarts, as soon as Sirius had crossed the entrance door of his house, his mother Walburga had almost attacked him, horrified and furious at all the letters she had received from the school informing her of her son's misconduct. Their father, Orion Black, a distant and strict man, had opted for a quieter, but no less cruel reaction. He had decided to completely ignore Sirius, the first heir to his name, treating him like any piece of furniture. That subversive and rebellious attitude was to be considered unworthy of any attention. From then on all regard, praise and consideration was reserved exclusively for Regulus, whose decent behaviour made him appear in his father's eyes to be the only true and worthy descendant of the noble Black lineage.
Sirius' life in Grimmauld Place didn't differ much from that of a criminal locked in a cell; he wasn't allowed to leave his room for any reason except to go to the bathroom or to eat in the company of his family in the gloomy kitchen. Every movement was strictly supervised by his mother or by his faithful Kreacher. In no way was he allowed contact with the outside world. No letters, no owls. Whenever mail destined for Sirius was delivered, Walburga would personally intercept and examine any sheets of parchment. Of course, all missives sent to Sirius were inexorably destroyed, without ever reaching the hands of the person concerned. Walburga's main aim, of course, was to prevent Sirius from contacting his little group of friends. But Alya had strong doubts that her twin brother was so easily discouraged and that he, along with that arrogant James Potter, had found alternative methods of communication. However, Sirius was suffering from the enforced imprisonment imposed by his mother and was showing signs of impatience, becoming, as was to be expected, increasingly irritable and insolent.
The melody Regulus persisted in playing was unable to cover the angry screams coming from the top floor of Black's house.
"YOU CAN'T KEEP ME SHRIED DOWN HERE FOREVER, OLD HARPY!" shouted Sirius lividly.
"YOU WON'T LEAVE THIS ROOM! NOT UNTIL I AM HERE!" retorted Walburga, unyielding.
Alya listlessly hummed the words that accompanied the song played by Regulus. She had to strain hard to follow the faint rhythm.
"YOU CAN'T STOP ME FROM SEEING OR HEARING MY FRIENDS!"
"FRIENDS? THAT BUNCH OF THUGS, FILTHY WIZARDS UNWORTHY OF THEIR OWN BLOOD?"
"DO NOT DARE," Sirius' voice turned into a menacing growl. He went into a rage when anyone dared to offend his friends.
"NONE OF MY SONS, NOT EVEN YOU, WILL MIX WITH SUCH RABBLE! YOU WILL NOT UNDERMINE THE HIGH HONOUR OF THIS FAMILY!"
"HONOUR? MY FRIENDS ARE WORTH A HUNDRED TIMES MORE THAN YOU, MORE THAN YOU! THEY ARE MY FAMILY! AND NOT THIS BUNCH OF STUPID OBTUSES!" ranted Sirius, with all the contempt he could muster.
The unmistakable sound of a slap went through the three floors that separated Sirius's room from the living room where Alya and Regulus loitered lazily. Walburga had struck him violently across the face. If Sirius was angered by insults directed at his friends, so was Walburga by those expressed towards his family. Although they fought on opposite sides, mother and son were surprisingly similar.
"HOW DARE YOU, UNWORTHY BOY! OFFEND YOUR BLOOD, YOUR NOBLE BLOOD!"
Sirius responded to his mother's slap by laughing in her face, scornfully.
Three floors down, Alya and Regulus exchanged an eloquent look of silent resignation. Alya had now given up her attempt to distract herself by humming. Regulus stubbornly continued to play on the piano, but missed notes every time Sirius or Walburga shouted their insults.
"Have you packed for tomorrow yet?" asked Alya. The following day, the entire Black family - including Sirius - would leave for the placid landscapes surrounding Arcturus Black's summer estate in Cornwall.
"I put the last things in this morning. My trunk is crammed with books. Our teachers haven't spared themselves with homework this year." replied Regulus, as he sank his fingers between the white piano keys.
"YOU ARE THE DISHONOR OF THIS HOUSE!" the cold voice of Walburga echoed implacably.
"You are so right! I'm afraid I'll spend all my time studying," huffed Alya contritely.
"THIS IS NOT A HOUSE, IT'S A PRISON!" cried Sirius in anger.
"Let's hope the weather is good at least. I hear it's going to rain next week." commented Regulus.
"YOUR EVERY WORD, YOUR EVERY BREATH IS AN INSULT TO THE NOBLE BLACK RACE!"
"Well, I wouldn't mind a bit of rain, always better than the sweltering heat of London! Besides, I really need the peace and quiet of the countryside," replied Alya.
"AND YOUR BREATH IS AN INSULT TO MY NOSE!" growled Sirius mockingly.
Another slap followed, final. Walburga had ended their quarrel. She was not a woman to be insulted without retaliating. She turned her back on her son and left the room, closing the lock firmly. From behind the door, Sirius continued his list of insults. In his voice, now hoarse from too much shouting, one could detect a note of desperation. Walburga descended the stairs with her unaltered regal frown, deaf to her son's outrageous words. Each step, an insult. With each floor, Sirius' tone became more combative.
"You're right." said Regulus, in an amiable voice, in stark contrast to his elder brother's laid tone, who was stubbornly railing at a now-absent mother. "London is becoming more and more chaotic."