Late November, 1976. Hogwarts.
November was coming to an end and Alya almost forgot the strange feeling she had during the last disturbing dream in which Merope had appeared.
The days passed quietly, with no particular events. Lessons went on as usual, without a hitch. The only exception was Potions, as always.
Alya found the topics covered in the sixth year very complex and often struggled to keep up with the passages Slughorn explained. The teacher now took many basics for granted, believing that the students, having reached that point in their school career, were perfectly capable of understanding the intricate threads of his soliloquies without getting lost. However, Alya found herself understanding almost nothing at the end of an explanation, far more often than she wanted to admit. But she dared not intervene, nor ask questions for clarification. Her pride in Black prevented her from showing herself unprepared.
Moreover, after her excellent result at the O.W.L.s, showing herself insecure and full of shortcomings would certainly have aroused suspicion as to the veracity of that incredible result. Therefore, Alya tried to make do as best she could, copying the movements of her comrades here and there, blindly executing the preparation steps of the various concoctions proposed by Slughorn. The failures were not long in coming and did not go unnoticed.
At that time of year, the sixth-year Potions class was tackling the difficult subject of love potions and their devastating effects. Professor Slughorn, in a good-natured voice, had come up with a predictable but equally annoying joke:
"Never as devastating as those of the dangerous infusions prepared by Miss Black. A single drop could prove fatal," he had exclaimed cheerfully, waving his big walrus moustache as usual. The whole class had erupted in thunderous laughter and Alya had never felt so humiliated. Afterwards, she wondered how she had managed to maintain an impassive dignity for the rest of the lesson.
But there was something else that bothered her more than Slughorn's playful banter in that class: the looks of disdain that Lily Evans sneaked at her from time to time. The professor's pet peeve. The insufferable Gryffindor model student, whom everyone admired for her extraordinary skills as a witch and potion-maker. Every potion she prepared turned out to be almost perfect every time, and Alya seethed with rage, like the creepy fluids inside her old cauldron.
Alya's dislike of Lily Evans was more than rendered by those deep emerald green eyes; it was clear that the girl had not forgotten their brief but significant encounter in the prefects' bathroom the year before. Lily Evans still hadn't forgiven Alya for discovering the secret she jealously guarded and using it to blackmail her on that distant day during the O.W.L.s period.
As a result, the young red-haired Gryffindor seemed to greatly appreciate the hilarity unleashed in the classroom by Slughorn's jokes about Alya's poor results and didn't shy away from casting the proud Slytherin with smug smirks full of disdain.
Alya silently endured both Evans' stares and the professor's taunts: after all, her outstanding grade on her Potions O.W.L.s exam had been obtained with the help of deception and threats, and in her heart, Alya knew full well that she did not deserve to attend Slughorn's classes. Her potion skills had not improved, so it wouldn't be long before someone questioned how Alya had actually passed the exam. For this reason, the young Black tried to keep a low profile during Slughorn's hours and, above all, carefully avoided any opportunity for bickering with Lily Evans. The brilliant Gryffindor potion-maker was the only one who knew the truth and Alya was certainly not going to give her a reason to spill the beans. She even risked being expelled if it turned out she had cheated on an exam. The only advantage the cunning Slytherin had at her disposal was that Lily Evans would also risk big if the truth came out. Which was why she had kept her mouth shut all that time, despite her temper as a champion of justice.
Moreover, Alya was also aware of Lily Evans' secret: her hidden passion for the eldest Black. The feelings Lily harboured for Sirius hadn't vanished during the summer break, it seemed. Alya hadn't been able to help but notice the languid, fleeting glances the red-haired Gryffindor girl was surreptitiously casting at Sirius, behind the white blanket of steam rising from the mumbling cauldrons of the classroom.
Lily Evans wouldn't talk, Alya was certain. She was too afraid of the consequences. Therefore, during the steamy Potions lessons, both girls simply glared at each other, making silent threats with the only weapons they both had at their disposal: the secrets neither of them wanted revealed.
***
December arrived in its cold whiteness, and with it also came a latent enthusiasm to invade the souls of the Hogwarts students, eagerly anticipating the imminent arrival of the Christmas season and the associated holidays. Only a few of them would spend the break weeks within the imposing walls of the ancient castle. All the others would return home, to spend the festive period with their families.
Alya and Regulus were among them and were looking forward to returning to their parents in Grimmauld Place number twelve, London. The same could not be said for Sirius, who would have much rather stayed at school than see his hated relatives. Just the thought of spending even a minute in the company of his much despised mother made him visibly restless, in a bad mood. Even Alya, who rarely crossed paths with him at Hogwarts during the very few classes they shared, realised this.
Sirius' ill-concealed (and ill-managed) anger increasingly erupted into violent and sometimes even cruel spite against those the swaggering Gryffindor could not stand. First and foremost, of course, was Severus Snape, for whom Sirius seemed to harbour an almost visceral grudge. Whenever Alya's twin brother caught the unfortunate Slytherin wandering alone in the corridors of the castle, he lost no opportunity to insult him bitterly and cast some painful spell against him. James Potter, who didn't abandon his friend even when he went to the bathroom, backed Sirius faithfully, raging at poor Snape unsparingly. Seeing the two boys harassing their detested comrade was like watching two predators frolicking with their prey before biting it. A spectacle not at all pleasant, but decidedly painful.
The fact that Snape responded to the anguish he was subjected to with funny attempts at defensive spells that were poorly executed certainly didn't help matters. The only effect was to embitter even more the intentions of the two arrogant Gryffindor bullies, who enjoyed Snape's failures, laughing at him wickedly.
Although Alya didn't like Snape either, she was ashamed of her brother's despicable behaviour. However, not once did she consider the option of intervening in defence of her House mate. Sirius already despised her enough, without her showing any sympathy for Snape. Setting out to duel against her brother for someone like Severus, who she didn't really give a fig about after all, would bring her no advantage. Better to avoid trouble, she justified herself, when a latent and feeble sense of justice tried to shame her into total indifference. After all, the problems between Sirius and Snape were none of her business and she had to think of her own benefit.
For the same reason - that is, to safeguard her reputation - Alya hadn't yet stopped dating Maynard Nott, the bumptious captain of the Slytherin Quidditch team, although her interest in him waned each time they met. The better Alya got to know Nott, the more disgusted she felt with him. He was arrogant, insolent and malevolent. However, among the Slytherins he was widely admired, almost revered. In order to enjoy the privileges that that relationship granted her, Alya would swallow large bitter toads and would not shy away from being seen in public on romantic dates with Nott, nor from making out with him in conspicuous places in the castle or in Hogsmeade. Alya herself was astonished at her own stubbornness. To what compromises was she willing to make in order to keep up the mask of the noble snobbish witch she had built up over the years at Hogwarts?
One evening, while Alya and Maynard Nott were kissing on one of the black leather sofas in the Slytherin Common Room, in front of an audience of young girls and boys - Alya also had her own fan club - who were looking at them quizzically with dreamy envy, their kisses were abruptly interrupted by Evan Rosier, one of the Slytherin Chasers, and Thorfinn Rowle, the Beater.
"Nott! Nott!" they called him excitedly, in unison. Maynard broke away from Alya and glared at them cruelly.
"What? Can't you see I'm busy!" he barked at them, casting an eloquent glance towards Alya. The latter also squared the two boys with a contemptuous expression, although she was actually very grateful to them for interrupting that activity she found unpleasant.
"Forgive us, but this is an important matter," Thorfinn Rowle explained, waving a scroll. The Beater was a tall, muscular behemoth, but looking a little dumb. Only later did Alya notice the presence of Regulus, behind Rowle, hidden by the boy's mighty shoulders. Regulus gave Alya an embarrassed look, as if begging her forgiveness for disturbing her while she was in Nott's company; she replied with a fleeting, reassuring smile.
"Let me see!" ordered Nott to Rowle, violently grabbing the parchment. He quickly unrolled it on the small table opposite the sofa, while Rowle and Rosier sat on the second, empty sofa. Regulus, on the other hand, settled down next to Alya, who watched the scene perplexed.
On the paper Rowle had given Nott, there were a few sketches and simple drawings that seemed to have been made in a hurry: tiny human silhouettes riding lines, resembling broomsticks, fluttered like worker bees on the porous surface of the yellowed paper. Framing the stylised players, numerous writings and notes described what must have been game plans and strategies. Maynard Nott's eyes twinkled eagerly as they followed the agitated flights of the drawings and read the writing pinned to the margins, which to Alya appeared as incomprehensible as hieroglyphics.
"What is it about?" she asked curiously.
"It's the Gryffindor playbook!" declared Nott, his face lit up with a wickedly victorious expression. Quidditch, commented Alya inwardly, rolling her eyes exasperatedly. Her initial interest vanished instantly.
"Is it reliable?" asked Nott, turning a suspicious glance at his two companions.
"Yes, absolutely!" replied Evans Rosier decisively.
"How did you get it? Did you steal it?"
Rosier and Rowle sneered.
"No, let's just say it was a gift," replied the Beater evasively, with a smug, malicious grin plastered on his face.
"A gift" repeated Nott, scanning Thorfinn Rowle with his icy eyes. "And from whom?" he pressed him curiously.
"Pettigrew. Peter Pettigrew." it was Regulus who replied, almost in a whisper. Alya turned to her brother, looking at him dumbfounded. Maynard Nott did likewise.
"Pettigrew? That useless rat-faced Gryffindor?" retorted Nott incredulously, but at the same time amused. Regulus nodded seriously.
"And why would that insulting rat give this to you?" asked Nott, gesturing to the parchment.
"An exchange of favours," replied Rosier, without abandoning his wicked grin.
"Apparently Pettigrew likes the Dark Arts. He saw me practicing some on a filthy mudblood the other day. He got curious, shall we say - he sneaked up on me and begged me to teach him some tricks. An extra weapon to be able to defend himself in view of the hard times to come, he says. However, I told him that I never do anything for nothing, that my favours have a price. And so we came to an agreement," Rowle explained proudly, winking at the parchment sheet. Evan Rosier burst into mocking laughter.
However, Nott didn't seem to share their sense of victory.
"I'm not aware that Pettigrew is a member of the Gryffindor team, nor that he's a skilled player. How would he have procured such information?" he hissed acidly, suspecting a scam.
Once again it was Regulus who answered for the others.
"Pettigrew is one of Sirius' best friends, my stupid brother. And Potter's. He is the shadow of their every step. And those two trust their little friend blindly. It must have been child's play for Pettigrew to get Potter to tell him his team's secret strategies. That one likes to strut his Quidditch prowess," Regulus' voice cracked in a note of wicked satisfaction. Alya continued to stare at him in disbelief.
In any case, the young Black's explanation seemed to convince Maynard Nott, who totally changed his expression.
'The Gryffindors, they're just a bunch of fools! Never trust the weakest. They would sell out their own mother to taste even an iota of the power for which they so desperately yearn," he commented sardonically.
"You have done a great job! Thanks to this valuable information, we will have victory in our grasp! Make sure Pettigrew continues to spy on us and I promise you we will crush Gryffindors at the next match!" declared Nott vigorously. The four members of the Slytherin team exchanged looks of complicit jubilation.
"First thing in the morning, I'll go claim the field's availability. Go and rest now. We have a lot of training ahead of us, I want you ready," the team captain ordered definitively. Rowle and Rosier obeyed instantly. Nott also got up immediately afterwards, taking leave of Alya with a chaste kiss on the forehead, before going to his own dormitory.
Regulus, on the other hand, remained seated on the black leather sofa next to his sister, who had meanwhile turned towards the majestic marble fireplace. Alya contemplated the crackling embers, her grey eyes motionless, lost in who knows what thoughts, her jaw stiffened like granite. Her tapering fingers frantically tortured the large silver pendant hanging around her neck.
"You are silent," Regulus observed.
"Quidditch bores me, Reg. You know that," retorted Alya in a flat voice, not looking away from the swirling flames. She was lying. Regulus knew it. He could clearly sense the lividity that was devouring his sister's soul at that very moment. The boy sighed bitterly.
"Don't fret about Sirius, Alya. It's none of our business if our brother is unable to choose his own friendships. He has made his choices. It is only fair that he pays the consequences." he sentenced coldly, with a tinge of cruelty tinging his voice.
"Of course." replied Alya, caustically. After that, the girl stood up, simulating a yawn.
"I'll go to bed, too. I'm tired. Good night, Reg." she said, waving goodbye to her brother before climbing the staircase that led to the girls' rooms.
Left alone in the green half-light that hovered in the bedroom, Alya mulled over the conversation she had just witnessed in the Common Room. Young Black didn't feel tired, far from it. An evil determination had awakened within her, the same one that had seized her the year before, when Slughorn had punished her unjustly because of Lily Evans. The same consuming lust for vengeance.
In the girl's head a thousand thoughts whirled furiously, voices and words mingled with stylised images of fluttering Quidditch players, chasing each other like frightened mice. Finally, a familiar sound emerged resolutely:
C'est comme un arbre, notre famille
sus branches jamais vacillent.
Toujours pur, toujours uni
que nos ennemis soient punis.
The old family rhymes which her mother had so proudly taught her now rang in Alya's ears like an ominous war cry.
***
The next morning it was impossible for Alya to concentrate on her lessons. Her mind was still busy ruminating on Peter Pettigrew. The young Black felt unsettled and furious: the mere thought of Pettigrew double-crossing Sirius, making nice behind his back, sent Alya into a rage.
It was lucky that the Slytherins and Gryffindors had no classes in common that morning - lucky for Pettigrew. If Alya had found herself face to face with him, she probably wouldn't have been able to resist the instinct to hex him.
At lunch, Alya's mood didn't improve; the rage bubbling up inside her had all but robbed her of her appetite, so she merely munched reluctantly on what little she had on her plate, paying no heed to the new malicious gossip Beth was entertaining Philippa and Melyssa with. Her hunger vanished completely when she saw the full Sirius gang enter through the Great Hall doorway. Opening the rows was her brother, springing forward with springy boldness, his uniform in disarray and his shirt slightly unbuttoned, beside James Potter, who was also proud with a broomstick on his shoulder, which he displayed like a trophy. From behind his round spectacles, the boy's eyes darted attentively over the entire room, certain to catch the attention of those present. Carelessly, he ran a hand through his black and already dishevelled hair, ruffling it even more.
Idiots! commented Alya in her mind, disgusted.
Behind Potter, Remus Lupin, the most discreet and submissive member of the group, was trudging along: he looked awful, pale and emaciated, with deep dark circles furrowing his face under his tired eyes. He looked sick.
But Alya took no notice of Lupin's state of health. Her grey eyes darted furiously at the small figure, who trotted behind Sirius' heels.
You filthy rat! snarled Alya inwardly, barely suppressing the urge to leap from the Slytherin table and hurl herself at the unsuspecting Peter Pettigrew, who was now cheerfully taking his place among his friends.
Unable to bear Pettigrew's presence any longer, Alya decided to abandon her meal and mates, she quickly exited the Great Hall.
"What has gotten into her this time?" asked Beth in amazement.
"She must have remembered something urgent," Philippa shrugged, her mouth full of meat pie.
"Something urgent - with Nott!" giggled Melyssa mischievously, catching a dirty look from the blonde girl.
Alya's friends didn't care much for her impromptu absence, by now accustomed to her haughty snob behaviour, with a tendency to vanish, without explanation, whenever she felt like it. She was a Black, after all. She and Regulus were known to be as shy as they were cold and aloof.
Once outside the hall, Alya savoured the silent solitude that hovered in the long corridor. The scarlet fury that had reddened her cheeks immediately subsided, although the anger within her gut continued to mutter unchanged. Not knowing quite what to do or where to go to calm herself down, she finally decided to head for the school library. Immersing herself in a frenzied study would perhaps help her calm her thoughts and angry instincts.
Usually, Alya preferred to hole up and study in the emerald green light of her House's Common Room; the library, as quiet as it could be and overflowing with magical knowledge, was often teeming with students, and young Black didn't like having too many people buzzing around her as she read and concentrated on her books. However, at that moment, almost everyone was in the Great Hall enjoying the lunch banquet, so she would not run the risk of finding the library crowded. Alya then headed at a brisk pace towards the third floor of the castle.
As she had imagined, the library appeared almost completely empty, except for the sullen Madame Pince, the old librarian, who stood hunched in a corner on a stool eating a frugal meal in solitude. When the woman, who had all the appearance of a withered vulture, saw the girl enter, she glared at her with an icy stare, judging her guilty of interrupting that intimate moment so idyllic for the librarian, during which she could be alone with her beloved books.
But Alya was undeterred by Madame Pince's grim glances, ignoring them with contemptuous indifference. She sat down at one of the small wooden tables that dotted the intricate corridors amidst the tall shelves full of books, and immersed herself in a thorough review of her notes taken at Transfiguration.
It was not long before handfuls of students began pouring through the library door, making Madame Pince frown even more. Absorbed as she was in her study, Alya didn't pay too much attention to the crowd huddling on chairs around the tables, yet the presence of all those people soon began to disturb her. She was on the verge of moving away, when Alya noticed the pudgy figure of Peter Pettigrew emerge on the doorstep of the library. Alya froze, staring at him like a panther at juicy prey. His glittering grey eyes fixed themselves blazingly on the little Gryffindor. The girl watched Pettigrew's moves carefully: she saw him asking with his typical hesitant manner for something from the dry librarian, who looked at him indignantly, hissing inflexibly:
"I'm sorry, but without a signed permission from a teacher I cannot hand over any volumes from the Restricted Section to you."
Although very disappointed, Pettigrew dared not retort and immediately beat a retreat, heading back towards the exit.
Without thinking, Alya followed him as fast as a bloodhound. She stalked the rat-faced boy for a few minutes along the corridors and wide stairs of the castle. Evidently, Pettigrew was on his way to the Gryffindor Common Room. Alya hastened her pace, determined to stalk her prey before he could reach his destination, his safe lair.
When she was close enough, she grabbed Peter Pettigrew by the arm and dragged him into one of the empty classrooms that lined the corridor. Fortunately, no one noticed them. Pettigrew squeaked in fright, wincing when he realised who had taken him so by surprise.
The figure of Alya loomed imperiously, looking menacingly over the small Gryffindor, hunched over himself, intimidated. The young Black had placed herself in front of the room's only door, preventing any and all attempts at escape by Pettigrew.
She watched the little fellow with inscrutable intensity. The room was too dark, so Alya took out her wand and waved it without uttering any formula - she had become very adept at non-verbal spells.
At the tip, a small but powerful light immediately lit up, illuminating what was necessary, namely the Gryffindor boy's pained and frightened face.
"You're Peter Pettigrew, am I right?" exclaimed Alya, without much preamble, pointing her glowing wand in the face of her trembling prey. Pettigrew swallowed hard as she nodded, unable to speak.
"And do you know who I am?" asked Alya insistently. Peter shook his head again, in assent.
"Cat got your tongue, Pettigrew?" taunted Alya, amused to see him so afraid.
"N-no," stammered Peter, sharply. Even his voice resembled the cry of a mouse, Alya noted with disgust.
"You look scared - do I scare you, Pettigrew?" asked Alya, pretending to put on a sorry pout. The boy lowered his gaze, staring hard at the floor: perhaps he hoped that a trapdoor would suddenly appear, allowing him to sneak away. But the floor remained motionless, with no escape route.
Resigned, Pettigrew inhaled audibly, as if to gather the courage he lacked from the air around him.
"You are Alya Black, of Slytherin. Sirius's sister." he said finally, with immense effort.
"Alya Merope Black." Alya immediately corrected him, frowning. "Anyway, yes, I am the sister of your friend Sirius. I guess my sweet brother has told you about me -"
"A little bit," squeaked the little boy, growing paler in the face.
"And that's why you're afraid? Did Sirius tell you something bad about me?" the way she spoke, Alya seemed to be addressing a five-year-old.
"And what would he have told you so terrible about me?"
Pettigrew sighed again.
"T-that you practice Dark Magic," he whispered, almost hoping Alya wouldn't hear him. The girl laughed mockingly.
"And you believe that?"
"Well, y-you're a very clever witch - and y-you're a S-Slytherin. M-many Slytherins p-seem to be interested in the Dark Arts," now, mingled with the obvious fear oozing from Pettigrew's voice, a note of flattery could be detected.
Like a feline, Alya sank her claws into that revealed glimmer.
"And, from what I understand, we Slytherins aren't the only ones interested, am I right Pettigrew?" trilled Alya, piercing Peter's face with an implacable gaze. The latter stiffened, as if turned to stone.
Impressed, Alya continued:
"A certain rumour has reached me - about an agreement, between you and two dear friends of mine, Rosier and Rowle." - Now Peter seemed even unable to breathe. - "Information about Quidditch, in exchange for invoices from Dark Magic."
Unable to sustain Alya's cold eyes any longer, Pettigrew lowered his gaze again, longing for that hatch.
"Oh, don't be shy, Pettigrew!" the tone of Alya suddenly became reassuring. "You have nothing to fear, I'm not here to judge you. In fact, I must admit I'm pleasantly amazed at this unexpected initiative of yours. I didn't think you were so smart!" lied Alya, with a candid smile painted on her face. At those words, Peter seemed to relax slightly, his chubby face, until then pale with fear, seemed to regain some colour.
Alya didn'tt linger.
"Indeed, that is why I wanted to draw your attention, Pettigrew. I would also have a deal to propose to you -"
"You need Quidditch information too?" squeaked Peter, incredulously.
"No, of course not!" chuckled Alya falsely coquettishly, while inwardly despising Pettigrew for his stupidity and utter lack of acumen.
"It's not about Quidditch. It's about Sirius. My mother is very concerned about his conduct. We all are, actually, in our family. You would be doing me a huge favour if you helped me understand what my brother is up to here at school. If you would tell me his secrets, I mean, written down in black and white, on parchment."
Peter seemed to weigh that proposal reluctantly, fighting a deep inner conflict. But, finally, he gave in.
"And in return, what would you offer me?" he asked, with sudden greed.
"That depends - do you have any special requests?" replied Alya, feigning affability.
"Is it true that you can speak Parseltongue?" asked Peter immediately.
"Maybe," replied Alya in an elusive tone, glaring at her twin for blabbing to her friends about something she was trying so hard to keep secret. However, in such a situation she could use that information to her advantage.
"If I give you what you asked for, would you teach me to -"
"To talk to snakes?" concluded Alya for Peter. The latter nodded. Young Black saw in the chubby boy's gaze an ill-concealed thirst for power.
"What a daring proposal, Pettigrew!" complimented Alya, still pretending. An inept Gryffindor like Peter Pettigrew would never have been able to learn the ancient and complicated language of the reptiles. Only a fool like him could have thought it possible. Nevertheless, Alya decided to play along.
"Deal, then. Meet me this evening, at eleven o'clock, at the entrance to the Forbidden Forest, behind Hagrid' House. You hand me the parchment with all the secret activities of Sirius and I will show you what you asked for." declared Alya, in a practical and definitive voice.
With surprise, the girl saw Pettigrew hesitate.
"Tonight? B-but there's a full moon," she stammered hesitantly.
"So? Do you have any other romantic dates planned?" sneered Alya. 'Tonight, Pettigrew. At eleven o'clock. Be on time." she concluded, giving a clear impression of not accepting protestations. Although concerned, Peter finally agreed.
"Perfect!" trilled Alya enthusiastically. "Thank you, Pettigrew, for this pleasant chat. But the time has come to say goodbye. You may go." said Alya finally, moving away from the door and signalling Peter to leave. The young, trembling Gryffindor didn't take two seconds and slipped out of the classroom, quick as a rat.
Alya watched Peter Pettigrew walk away, staring at his chubby, short figure with narrowed eyes reduced to thin, menacing slits.