16 July, 1976. Arcturus Black Manor, Cornwall.
The next morning, Alya woke up at dawn, her heart in her throat. She didn't even have breakfast, so anxious was she. The idea of being punished by her mother scared her to death.
As she was getting dressed, Alya shuddered at the thought of what awaited her: her mother's punishments were far worse than any punishment she suffered at Hogwarts. Alya knew well what her mother was capable of, having witnessed the cruelty heaped upon Sirius for years. Nothing to do with a few evenings spent scrubbing dusty cruets.
When Alya entered the boudoir, her mother was already there waiting for her, standing in the middle of the room, haughty, wrapped in a long black cloth dress. She also wore a heavy silver locket with a depiction of an intricate branch engraved on its surface, the only jewellery Walburga proudly sported.
"Good morning, Alya Merope," the woman greeted her daughter in a cold tone. "Follow me, I wish to show you a room," she added without much preamble, signalling Alya to follow her. The girl obeyed without a word, but without understanding what her mother had in mind. What did Walburga want to show her? A torture room, perhaps? A second shiver of terror ran down her spine.
Mother and daughter passed a couple of rooms, which Alya had never seen - how little did she know of the manor that had belonged to her ancestors? They finally reached a third room, rectangular and very large, well furnished, though looking rather uncluttered. It was sparsely furnished, except for the presence of a small wooden table, overflowing with magical objects of various kinds, many of which appeared unfamiliar to Alya's eyes; there was also a cabinet and a pair of chairs, also wooden, carved with elegant motifs.
On the wall to the right of the entrance, a majestic marble fireplace jumped into view, flanked by two large windows overlooking the building's outer courtyard. Above the fireplace, stood a silver mirror gleaming opulently - Kreacher must have recently polished it. On the opposite wall, there was a painting of considerable size (it occupied almost the entire wall space), surrounded by a mighty gilded frame with intricate decoration. It was a gigantic portrait of Arcturus Black, Alya's paternal grandfather and the old master of the manor. The position of the painting proved to be strategically deliberate; the girl noticed how the mirror placed in front of the painting reflected her grandfather's figure in its entirety. In this way, it looked as if two mirrored and identical portraits had been hung on the two opposite walls.
Alya studied with admiration the figure of her ancestor that towered over the room: Arcturus Black must have been a vigorous and imposing man, judging by the painting; his eyes were awe-inspiring even from the smeared canvas; they seemed to be ready to examine with an iron, inquisitive gaze all those who entered the room: not everyone had the right to stand before him. Alya had no memories of her grandfather, since he had died before her birth, but she was sure he must have been a very hard and uncompromising man. Someone it wasn't convenient to antagonise.
Alya looked at the other walls and saw two other paintings, much smaller than the portrait of Arcturus. Apparently, her grandfather must have had a real passion for Greek mythology: one of the two paintings depicted the god Apollo, intent on mowing the immensity of the sky with his chariot, pulling the sun above the world. The same motif was present in the octagonal hall. The other painting, on the other hand, showed Zeus, the most important of the Olympian gods, Apollo's father, in the act of hurling one of his thunderbolts at his enemies, who were prostrating themselves in despair beneath his feet. Alya couldn't help but notice how narcissistically Arcturus had arranged these paintings, both in terms of position and size. In other words, the portrait of Arcturus Black stood out as the most majestic in the entire room, while the paintings depicting the two Greek gods had been placed in the background, as if to make them appear as two simple and faithful vassals at Arcturus' orders.
Alya was still contemplating the magnificent portrait when her mother brought her back to reality.
"You must be wondering why I have brought you here," Walburga exclaimed with a certain solemnity in her voice, as she spread the flaps of a heavy, dusty curtain, which covered the window panes. The faint light of dawn shyly rested on Walburga's silver pendant, highlighting the finely engraved branch motif. Alya saw clouds of dust swirling in the slivers of light that now flooded the room.
"You are in a particular room in the palace, as you may have guessed. It is not often used, but it is of great use,' Walburga explained. Alya listened to her, but still did not understand why she was there and what her mother had planned.
"As you can see, we are exactly in the middle of the building, surrounded by other rooms. The only uncovered part is this wall..." the woman pointed to the wall where the fireplace with the mirror stood. "...which overlooks our garden. In short, this room is enclosed, like a casket, inside the building, protected. Concealed,' Walburga continued in a grave tone. Alya felt increasingly confused. Was her mother planning, perhaps, to lock her in there? She could hardly believe it. It was too much, even for the cold and ruthless Walburga.
Noticing her daughter's puzzled expression, Mrs Black continued her speech explaining the purpose of the room they were in.
"You see, Alya Merope, when your father was a student, just as you are now, your grandfather Arcturus decided to set up this room so that it could serve as a training place. As you well know, underage wizards are not allowed to practise magic outside the confines of Hogwarts. Things were no different in those days. Youngsters who dared to try their hand at spells once the school year was over risked expulsion, just as you do now. A real injustice. To prevent talented youngsters from learning, from improving themselves - and for what? To protect the preservation of people with no magic, with no value, incapable of understanding greatness." it was clear that Walburga was referring to the Muggles and the security rules that regulated the appropriate use of magic, so as to protect the secretive state of the magical community. Norms that the woman more than clearly despised.
As a rule, children of full-blooded wizarding families enjoyed greater freedom in the use of magic outside the confines of Hogwarts. This was because it was particularly difficult for the employees of the Ministry of Magic to keep track of every single spell that took place in the homes of pure-blood wizards and to verify who it actually came from, whether from an adult or an underage wizard; therefore, there was an unspoken agreement that the responsibility for protecting magical secrecy lay with the families of the underage student.
However, at that time of turmoil, when a powerful Dark Wizard was emerging, stirring up the most fanatical animosities against the Muggle community, the controls kept by the Ministry on the misuse of magic by minors - and not - had intensified and tightened; even powerful pureblood families often ended up in the crosshairs. Walburga, of course, shamelessly rejected such policy choices.
"Your grandfather, of course, could not accept that his son, a descendant of one of the noblest magical houses in existence, should be forced into a limited use of magic, outside of school. His talent had to be nurtured, nourished. Weeks and weeks off would have inhibited his power. Therefore, Arcturus had an idea. To create a place where his heir could train undisturbed. And this very room was chosen. As I explained, it enjoys an excellent strategic location and, with the proper protection spells, no one would be able to verify what goes on inside it. Not even the Ministry of Magic," Mrs Black explained, her glacial eyes shining with furious pride. The idea of being able to circumvent the rules imposed by the Ministry must have given her a perverse pleasure; the typical pleasure associated with power cravings.
"I'm guessing the spells used to conceal this room are the same ones Dad used to make our house in Grimmauld Place invisible to the eyes of the Muggles living around it," Alya guessed, with an alert mind.
"Yes, indeed. Basically, it's the same magic, only more powerful. There is talk of fooling the Ministry of Magic, after all, and not a bunch of obtuse Muggles. Therefore, such protection couldn't be arranged for too long. It's only a few hours, three to be precise. In the morning, very early. From six to nine. There isn't much work activity in the Ministry during this time of day, so it's more difficult for anyone to notice anything abnormal in this building. That is, if the proper checks are made. A tip-off is needed to start an investigation... but this Manor is in a very remote location, surrounded only by Muggles. Moreover, it's already protected by spells which make it invisible - by agreement of the Ministry, of course - so Muggles can see it as a mere abandoned ruin. It's quite unlikely that anyone would ever suspect that there is a room in here where underage magicians can cast magic freely," Walburga concluded with malignant satisfaction. Alya now weighed the perimeter of the room with renewed curiosity. However, she still could not understand why her mother had made her wake up so early and lead her in there.
"That brings us to the reason we are here today," announced Mrs Black, as if she had read her daughter's curious mind. "Kreacher told me about the visit you and your brother made secretly to the cellar. He listened to everything you said to each other - yes, Alya Merope, everything - and ran to warn me. This time, I will overlook the fact that you broke into a place where you are forbidden to enter," Walburga said in a grave voice.
"I, I do not understand... so, I'm not here to be punished?" replied Alya incredulously.
"No, Alya Merope. Not after what you told your brother. You acted for the best. For the best of this family. You fought for what was rightfully yours. And you took that insulting little girl down a peg or two. What a fool... setting eyes on the heir to a pureblood lineage. Who does she think she is? She's just an unworthy being! But you made her understand her place. Good! And in doing so, you have defended the position of your brother Sirius. His continued villainous behaviour threatens to sling mud at us. What you mistook for a stunt actually turned out to be the right action to defend us from a risk we cannot afford. Mixing with a Muggleborn! What filth!" Walburga's face had distorted into a gruesome grimace, revealing all the disgust she harboured towards wizards born into Muggle families. Alya, in a very hidden part of her heart, didn't share that sour contempt that her family held for all those who did not have pure blood in their veins, but she was careful not to express her real opinion on the matter. At that moment, she felt only great relief at having avoided what was undoubtedly a terrible punishment. Little did she care how her mother judged that insufferable know-it-all Lily Evans (although Alya's reasons for disliking her had nothing to do with Lily's Muggle origins).
"Your action, moreover, shows me your nature, Alya Merope, and I could not be more proud of it." continued Walburga, in an imperious voice "Stubborn, proud, loyal to our noble House, to our blood. A true Black! And for that, I believe, you deserve an award."
With these words, Mrs Black definitely caught Alya's attention. What was she talking about? The fear that had accompanied her until she had entered that unknown room had now completely abandoned her, giving way to a new excitement.
"I want to teach you a spell. A spell that can manifest your true strength. Your true nature. Let it be the magical representation of who you are."
"What is it?" asked Alya, who could no longer contain her curiosity.
"Have you ever heard of an enchantment called Patronus?" asked Walburga, piercing Alya's face with his inscrutable gaze.
"Sure, they told us about it at school. But we haven't performed it yet...I think it's part of the seventh-year program" murmured Alya.
"As I thought. Hogwarts is losing its prestige." Mrs Black clicked her tongue in disapproval.
"The Patronus is a very difficult spell, only experienced wizards can conjure it in its full form. I imagine the headmaster of your school doesn't venture to include it in previous years' program so as not to risk making a fool of himself. I doubt the unworthy Muggleborns Dumbledore insists on letting into Hogwarts are capable of wielding magic of such power."
"But you, my daughter, are of pure blood, a talented, brilliant and sharp witch. I'm sure you will be able to learn it without any trouble. I'll personally teach you. We'll use this room. Every morning, you'll show up here at six and practice until you master it properly."
"But its purpose is not to defend us from the Dementors. Are you expecting an attack from them?" replied Alya perplexed, poorly concealing a note of sarcasm.
"No, Alya Merope, no Dementor is going to attack us," replied the mother, in a calm voice. "It may even appear as a simple defensive spell, but in reality it is so much more. It reveals the deepest essence of a wizard or a witch, in my opinion. The sum of the values which really matter to us, from which we can draw the strength we need to face the rough roads of life. Tough times lie ahead, I fear. Times in which the purity of our magical blood risks being corrupted and contaminated. It's good to understand which side we are on. As I have said before, you have shown loyalty to your family. The time has come to nurture this inclination of yours. Make it anchored deep in your heart."
"Let's not linger further in silly talk. Let's start!" said, finally, Walburga in an authoritative voice.
Alya moved into position, her wand raised. She was eager and impatient to prove herself. It was not everyone who had the chance to learn a spell of that calibre at her age. Everyone at school would have admired her - and also envied.
"Good. To conjure a Patronus - a true Patronus - you must focus your mind on a memory. A single memory, one that conveys pleasant, happy feelings. Something deep, something that has relevance in your memory. Mind and body must be flooded with a total feeling of fullness and joy for the enchantment to be successful. The more intense the emotion of happiness felt, the easier it will be for your Patronus to take on a definite and complete form," Mrs Black explained. Alya hung on her every word, determined not to miss a single syllable.
"Once you have visualised the memory, you must try to channel the magic evoked by it through your wand. The formula you will have to pronounce is as follows: Expecto Patronum." Walburga scanned the magic phrase precisely, so that Alya could understand it and learn it properly. The girl impressed those words into her mind, as if carved in stone. She whispered them under her breath several times, so that she wouldn't forget them.
"Now, concentrate and find within yourself the memory, the thought that makes you happiest. Focus exclusively on it." her mother ordered, sternly.
Alya frowned, straining to recall an episode from her life that matched that request. What memory could she have used? Some moment from her childhood, perhaps... Alya rummaged through her memory, as if picking out a book in the library, looking for a suitable memory: the toys she had received for Christmas or for her birthdays, the first time she had unwittingly performed magic, the praise she had received over the years from her demanding parents, her first day at Hogwarts... They were all significant moments, but Alya felt them to be weak, lacking in intensity. She just didn't know which one to choose. In the end, urged on by her mother's pressing gaze, Alya opted for the memory where she saw herself at Hogwarts, during the Sorting Ceremony, when the Sorting Hat had elected her as the new Slytherin. She had felt proud to keep the family tradition unchanged and also extremely relieved that she hadn't been the cause of disappointment for Orion and Walburga.
Alya concentrated her mind on that thought, trying to bring back all the pleasant feelings that the Sorting Ceremony had aroused in her. Then she channelled the magic power into the wand stretched out in front of her, held as if it were an extension of her arm. Alya's lips moved decisively, pronouncing loudly:
"Expecto Patronum!"
From the end of the wand flowed a silvery flicker, timid and meagre, which dissolved in the air after a few moments, like steam. A decidedly meagre result, not at all in keeping with the girl's expectations. Alya felt deeply disappointed.
"Again!" her mother urged her.
Alya concentrated again on her memory, frowning in exertion. She repeated the hand gesture and the magic formula. Nothing. Faint white sighs puffed from the tip of the wand. Walburga's eyes narrowed, cold and unyielding.
"Try again!" she insisted.
Alya performed the enchantment again, but the result remained unchanged.
Over the next two hours, numerous attempts followed - Alya soon lost count - without any Patronus worthy of the name appearing. The young Black changed the memory on which to focus a couple of times. However, nothing came out of her wand but faint silvery vapour, the consistency of a light morning mist. The sun now filtered powerfully through the panes of the room's two large windows and Alya felt increasingly discouraged, exhausted and hungry. She had been awake for a while and had not yet had breakfast. Even the intensity of her magic soon began to suffer from tiredness. The already faint flickers of silver light became more and more meagre.
"That's enough. We're done for today," Walburga announced peremptorily, glancing reproachfully at yet another failed attempt by her daughter. Alya could not have been more heartbroken.
"In all honesty, I expected better results from you. It is clear that the memories you have chosen do not have enough intensity. You need to look inside yourself, Alya Merope. We will try again tomorrow. Always here, same time. Try to find a more appropriate memory," Mrs Black concluded, in a blunt but stern tone.
"Now go and have breakfast. Kreacher must have finished with the preparations." he dismissed her, finally, with an imperious wave of his hand.
Alya replied politely, but without concealing a contrite expression. She hadn't lived up to her mother's expectations and that, for her, was worse than a bad grade at school.
***
In the following days, Alya again appeared in the hall with the majestic painting of Arcturus Black, to practise the Patronus spell together with Walburga. A magic that was proving far more complicated than expected. Try as she might, Alya gave no sign of improvement: all her wand seemed to be able to produce were dim puffs of silver. By the end of the week, Alya's mood was low. The girl was at her wits' end, crushed by the intolerable weight of frustration. After yet another unsuccessful attempt, Alya slumped to the floor, exhausted.
"I can't do it," Alya muttered through clenched teeth. Tears of rage loomed menacingly at the sides of her eyelids, already dangerously moistened, as Alya fought with all her might to chase them back. She would never have allowed herself to cry in front of her mother. Never would she have shown her such weakness. It was humiliating enough to fail miserably with that complicated spell.
"You are not trying hard enough," replied Walburga inflexibly, in a cold and uncompromising tone.
"I'm trying, instead! But it's too difficult!" grumbled Alya. Mrs Black's eyes became slits.
"Difficult." Walburga repeated, her voice having become a hiss. "There is no difficult situation that a Black worthy of her name cannot deal with. I will not tolerate my daughter, a descendant of my noble house, wallowing in the futility of self-pity. If you cannot perform the spell, it's because you are not applying yourself properly." her mother scolded Alya harshly.
Alya tried and tried again for another hour. Nothing changed. No patronus. Only frustration, with the addition of her mother's implacably disappointed looks. Once the lesson was over, Alya spent the rest of the day pondering why that spell was so terribly difficult for her. She had dug deep within herself, as Walburga had ordered her to do, but she had not been able to find a memory or a thought that gave her the feeling of total joy so longed for and yet so necessary. When it was time to go to bed, Alya was exhausted and soon fell into a deep sleep.
That night, Alya dreamt of Merope.
Although she was sound asleep, she clearly perceived her surroundings changing shape. The darkness that enveloped her began to swirl and after a few moments Alya found herself wide awake, inside the small Muggle graveyard where Merope had led her many dreams before. The night hung over her like a heavy black cloak, studded with a few shy stars that struggled to show their brilliance. Gradually, the sinister silhouettes of the gravestones appeared into view, becoming sharper and sharper as Alya's eyes grew accustomed to the darkness. It was a particularly humid night, and young Black felt her bones grow numb on mere contact with the air. From the ground, covered by a grassy layer left to neglect, flecks of light mist evaporated, resembling vacuous sleeping ghosts.
As the mist lifted like the curtains of an eerie curtain, Alya caught sight of the sad, bony figure of Merope, dancing with shaky steps among the gravestones. Her feet seemed reluctant to follow the slow rhythm, sung under her breath by the thin, pale lips of the slender girl.
"You're getting better." hissed Alya in serpentese, thus announcing her presence. Merope turned sharply towards her, taken aback. A broad smile immediately broke out on her face.
"Alya!" exclaimed Merope happily, running awkwardly towards her friend. Her stubby hands clasped Alya's tapered ones tightly. The latter returned the smile with sincere emotion.
"I see you haven't lost the habit of sneaking up here to spy on the Riddle house on the hill!" poked Alya, affectionately.
"I don't spy. I admire it." justified Merope, pouting.
"And has there been any progress with the handsome Muggle scion? Have you spoken to each other? Has he noticed you?" asked Alya, with some curiosity. Merope's face darkened.
"In a way, yes... he has noticed me... but not in the way I had hoped. His thoughts about me - and my family - are no different from those shared by the entire village. He despises us," he said, in a mournful tone.
"Then he is an idiot!" exclaimed Alya seriously. Merope shook her head, afflicted.
"I prefer to change the subject. What about you?" asked Merope, faking a smile. Alya was a little sorry to see her so sad, but decided to respect her wish to gloss over the subject.
Thus, Alya told Merope about the events which had taken place in her reality. From what had happened at Hogwarts, the punishment she had received unfairly, Lily Evans and their chat in the prefects' bathroom, to the desperate lessons with her intransigent mother to learn the Patronus spell. The conversation that began as a simple pretext to distract her friend from her gloomy thoughts about the Riddle family eventually became a full-blown outburst. Alya discovered her innermost need to confide to someone what she was hiding inside her soul, and Merope could only be the best person: after all, she was the only true friend she had, even though she belonged to the distant world of dreams. No detail was left out, and by the end of the story, Merope was aware of all the facts that had affected Alya's life over the last few months.
"So your mother insists that you learn the Patronus spell correctly... I know it's very complicated," Merope finally commented, with an air of understanding.
"Definitely complicated. And, apparently, impossible. For me." replied Alya, gloomily.
"I disagree. You are an exceptional witch, Alya. You have all the makings of one." retorted Merope sharply.
"Not so outstanding. My Patronus is a mess!"
"I think your mother is right. You don't look inside yourself enough."
"Are you going to get into it now, too? Maybe, my problem lies in the simple fact that I don't possess happy enough memories!" grumbled Alya, frowning.
"No, I really don't think that's the problem. I think you're stopping at the surface, without really going deep into your heart," replied Merope wisely, not at all disturbed by the threatening glances Alya was giving her.
"And why should I stay on the surface?" scoffed Alya, in a defiant tone.
"Because you are afraid," said Merope simply.
"Afraid? I am Alya Merope Black. I am not afraid!" ranted Alya, offended.
"You are! You are afraid of discovering what is really important to you," hissed Merope, implacably.
"And I suppose you know that!" blurted out Alya, annoyed.
"I have an idea, indeed. But I think you can't admit it. You see, your mother was right: as in her, the strong sense of honour and belonging to the family lives in you. That is why, I think, she insists so much that you learn to perform a Patronus. But you will not succeed. Not as long as you insist on concentrating on the mask you have constructed for yourself."
"What on earth do you mean?" asked Alya in a husky tone, her eyes narrowed into slits.
"Let's talk about Sirius, your brother,"
"What does Sirius have to do with it now?" Alya stared at Merope, puzzled and frowning.
"He has everything to do with it. You know, you're not fooling me, Alya. I know you. You may have convinced Regulus, and even your mother, with the little story I don't want my brother to tarnish Black honour by taking an interest in a Muggleborn. You've never bothered Muggles. You didn't attack that Lily Evans because of her origins. There's something else behind."
Merope spoke with a stern voice and the air of someone who had hit the nail on the head. Alya peered at her in silence.
"Come on, you can tell me anything, you know." the dream friend heeled her, in a more sympathetic tone, urging her to open her heart to the reality of the facts. Alya sighed, surrendered.
"All right, you win. Nothing can be hidden from you! True, Lily Evans doesn't get on my nerves because she has Muggle origins. However, her presence still doesn't sit well with me. I'm worried. I don't want her buzzing around Sirius, it would ruin him," Alya interjected, hesitating to continue. But Merope's gaze had become insistent.
"I told you about my family's situation... Sirius's, I mean."
Merope nodded.
"The relationship between my parents and my twin brother gets worse with each passing year. He does nothing but act cheeky, any excuse is good to cast a bad light on us, on my mother especially...he seems to get a lot of fun out of infuriating her. If he keeps this up, I can feel it, we won't miss him for long, he'll drift away altogether. I dread the day when Sirius decides to no longer be a part of our family. After all, he's never really felt like one of us." the words that Alya previously struggled to utter even to herself, melted like ice in the sun, turning into a raging river.
"But without the support of his family, what will he be left with? The times we live in are not the most rosy. Some insinuate that there will be a war in our world... I don't care much for politics, but I am worried about Sirius. When I look at him, I feel like I see a leaf drifting, at the mercy of the wind. Unbalanced and rootless. All it would take is one wrong current to sweep him away, permanently."
"However, at Hogwarts he seems to have found his own dimension. He has friends. Or so it seems. People who are important to him, in whom he places all his trust, something you've never done so far, either with me or with Regulus. In particular, there's this one boy - his name is James Potter - Sirius treats him like he's his brother. They're always together, inseparable. But Potter is arrogant, cocky and a blowhard. To him everything is a competition, he seems to experience everything like a Quidditch match. Regulus hates him. And who can blame him! It's as if Potter took his big brother away from him!" Alya's voice had filled with rancour, without concealing a hint of resignation.
"And this Potter likes Lily Evans, did I get that right?" observed Merope.
"Exactly. You see, I can't let word get out about how that insulting Gryffindor feels about my brother. I can't risk James Potter finding out... I don't know how he'd react. Of course, for him to win Lily Evans' interest seems to be nothing more than a challenge, like he has to catch a snitch. Showing that he can take anything he wants. However, James Potter doesn't like to lose. For all I know, he might even stop hanging out with Sirius, if only out of spite for stealing his girlfriend. Potter is superficial, I don't think he's a correct person. He only thinks of himself. And for Sirius that would be a tragedy. He'd lose his lifeline. I don't want my brother to lose his best friend to a girl, someone like Lily Evans to boot, who is nothing but an unworthy being to my family." Alya spoke from the heart, revealing her real fears. Fears that she couldn't have revealed to anyone, not even Regulus. He would not understand, so blinded was he by the feelings of revenge and vengeance he felt towards James Potter.
Alya fell silent and began to stare blankly at the turf, black as night.
"You don't want your brother to be alone, in your difficult world and on the brink of war," Merope concluded, gravely. Alya nodded, saying nothing. She only let out a long, resigned sigh.
"You are his sister and you love him, despite everything. Sirius is important to you. You should concentrate on that, I think, for your Patronus," Merope noted, with practicality.
"And how? The memories I have of Sirius are certainly not happy ones. The only moments we share are quarrels and displays of mutual contempt." murmured Alya, grimly.
"Look inside yourself." repeated Merope, with a smile. Alya looked at her pleadingly. She wanted to ask her how.
But the world around her again began to swirl. The contours faded, the darkness became dense and impenetrable and around Alya there was now nothing but darkness. A darkness devoid of gravestones. Devoid of stars. Nothingness.
***
Alya dreamt again that night. But it was no longer Merope who appeared.
Now, Alya was a child. Five or sixyears old. She was in her beloved ballroom. She was sad. One of the endless dance lessons Walburga had given her children in childhood had just ended and Alya's exercises had been a fiasco. Her mother had grounded her, sitting in a corner, alone in the hall that then seemed so immense, with the task of brooding over her every mistake. Alya felt humiliated, heartbroken and disappointed. Exactly as she had felt after her last training with the Patronus spell. As a child, Alya struggled to push back big tears that were now trickling inexorably down her chubby red cheeks. But then Alya realised she was no longer alone: there was Sirius standing in front of her. He was holding out a hand to her. In those days they still spoke to each other, like brother and sister. Like twin and twin. Behind him, Regulus pawed uncertainly. He was still very small and had the habit of following his older brother wherever he went, like a faithful shadow. As a child Regulus regarded Sirius as a hero, he adored him.
"Come on, I'll teach you today's steps," said Sirius spicily, his hand outstretched towards Alya.
"If Mum catches you here, she'll ground you too," Alya replied, worried.
"I'll take my chances. Mummy doesn't scare me. She's just a hag." replied Sirius, with a shrug. Then, he distorted his mouth and face into a grotesque grimace to imitate his mother. Alya laughed. She grasped her brother's hand, willingly accepting the help offered. Together they went over the dance steps that had proved difficult for Alya. Sirius moved confidently and, within a short time, his sister also improved considerably.
"Thank you for helping me!" said the girl finally, her spirits galvanised.
"It is my duty as a twin brother. Toujours uni, remember?" replied Sirius, with simple, natural kindness.
New tears ran down Alya's cheeks. But they were no longer the cheeks of when she was a child. In her sleep, immersed in that dream with the taste of a childhood long gone, Alya cried silently, remembering what she had lost and what, deep in her heart, she longed to have again.
***
The next morning, Alya was on time for her daily appointment with her mother. She was ready to put herself to the test, again. Once again, Alya raised her wand, lips half-closed, waiting to pronounce the formula of enchantment.
"Concentrate," Walburga urged her, in a cold but vaguely encouraging voice. Her icy, attentive gaze had caught the light of determination that flashed in her daughter's eyes.
Alya's soul was still imbued with the nostalgia that the memory that had surfaced during the night had awakened in her. A kind of bittersweet joy, which had given her a long-forgotten hope. And with this emotion in her body, Alya powerfully vibrated her wand, reciting the words Expecto Patronum with renewed confidence. A beam of silvery light gushed copiously from the end, condensing swiftly into what appeared to be the figure of a mighty animal.
A stag.
An imposing stag, with intricate antlers adorning his head, like a crown. The animal stood proud and elegant in the middle of the room, rendering even the majestic portrait of Arcturus Black insignificant.
Alya, incredulous, admired the fruit of her magic with enchanted eyes. It was a truly beautiful stag.
Walburga approached the silver creature with slow steps, studied its features with a pride Alya had never seen.
"Alya Merope, you are indeed worthy to be my daughter," whispered the woman solemnly, looking at Alya with intense pride.
A/N: Hi everyone!
Here we are at the end (according to what's going on in my head) of the first part of this story. A sort of turning point. The chapters published so far have served to introduce Alya Merope Black, her character, her values and her way of relating to the other characters in the saga.
From the next ones, we will get into the heart of the plot, which will be totally focused on the sixth year that Alya will live at Hogwarts.
I really hope you're enjoying the story so far.
Let me know ♡
~Vale