December 27, 1976. Grimmauld Place number twelve.
Alya fiddled nervously with the food Kreacher had made appear with a snap of his fingers on her silver plate. She had no appetite at all; eating was out of the question. She was still shaken by what had happened the night before. She felt drained and distressed.
After Sirius had left home, vanishing with a pop into the dark snowy night, Alya had spent her remaining time before dawn crying all her tears in the bedroom, her face sunk into the pillow to stifle her sobs.
In the morning, she had resorted to every possible spell to hide the signs of her despair, but nothing proved powerful enough to lift the shadow of deep sadness that veiled her gray eyes, reddened by weeping. Regulus sat beside her, determinedly devouring the breakfast served by the old house elf.
"Try to pull yourself together, by Merlin's beard!" he scolded her, noting from the corner of his eye his sister's pitiful state.
But Alya didn't even look at him. All her attention was focused on the act of shredding the now shredded slice of toast with her hands.
"Eat something, at least! Mom and Dad will be angry if you look so desperate," Regulus urged her, worried more about her parents' reaction than the reason why Alya was in such pain. The girl ignored her brother's advice: the mere thought of putting a piece of food in her mouth made her nauseous.
By now, everyone in Grimmauld Place number twelve knew about Sirius' escape. Kreacher had raised the alarm as soon as he awoke at dawn. However, no one was shocked by the news. An unnatural calm permeated in the Black house. The only one pining over the affair was Alya: guilt for not stopping Sirius, for not being able to convince him to stay, was eating away at her soul. She couldn't give herself peace.
"How do you do it, Reg? Pretend that nothing happened? Our brother ran away and you don't seem to care!" blurted out Alya, lashing out at Regulus.
"Sirius has made his choice. I'm tired of telling you this, Alya. You heard it last night, too, how he insulted us. And disowned us. There was nothing we could do to stop him. Besides, I suspect he had been planning to escape for some time." sighed the young and elegant Black, displeased.
"And doesn't it worry you that he is out there now, alone? What will become of him? He will be in danger of getting himself killed within two days!" Alya had to restrain the urge to burst into tears.
"Maybe that's exactly what Sirius wants: to be killed as a martyr, in the name of the high ideals of brotherhood that Dumbledore's followers have instilled in him. You know what kind of rabble he runs around with at school." retorted Regulus, with a wicked smile, devoid of mirth.
"But as far as I'm concerned, what becomes of Sirius is no longer our problem. You have to accept that too, Alya."
"How can you talk like that? He is our brother, Reg!" exclaimed Alya, indignant and incredulous at Regulus' indifferent coldness. Did he really no longer care about Sirius?
"Not for long. Mom is upstairs, preparing the family tapestry for the ritual. In fact, we'd better hurry up and finish breakfast. She'll call us soon." the boy sighed practically, sipping greedily at the pumpkin juice in his silver goblet.
Alya's mood sank to an even darker level. Ritual. The most heinous of condemnations, according to her family's strict traditions. Once accomplished, Sirius would no longer be part of the Blacks. Definitely and irretrievably. Considered worse than dead; disowned, banished, exiled. Forever. Even if he had wanted to, if he had changed his mind, after the ritual, Sirius would never again be able to return to what, until a few hours before, he had still been able to call home. Years ago, the same fate had befallen Andromeda, Alya's cousin, who had run away with a Muggle-born, with whom she had fallen madly in love. Alya had not heard from her in ages. She didn't even know if she was still alive. On that occasion, it had been her uncle Cygnus, Andromeda's father, who had performed the ritual, even though, by tradition, it was up to her mother to perform the extirpation; but Druella, desperate as she was for her beloved daughter's escape, had not felt up to it, and, by way of exception, the duty had passed to her husband.
Obviously, in Walburga's case, there would have been no such problem: the inflexible and tough Mrs. Black, so bound to the dictates of her lineage and so proud of enforcing them, sometimes verging on sheer fanaticism, would have shown no hesitation or sign of weakness as she set about to eliminate forever the branch that united Sirius with the Black family. And, as tradition dictated, the other members, such as Orion, Regulus and Alya - even Kreacher - had a duty to be present while the ritual was being performed.
No matter how loudly her heart screamed refusal, Alya could not exempt herself.
With trembling hand, the girl grasped the chalice in front of her and took a long sip of water: she was not thirsty, but she felt, nonetheless, her own parched throat, her salivation interrupted by the upset.
"What if we refuse to attend the ritual?" whispered Alya, pleading Regulus with her silver eyes. He returned her with a frown, looking at her as if she had lost her mind.
"Don't talk nonsense! Do you think our mother would retrace her steps and start looking for Sirius, shouting his name in the streets, in despair? Sirius.has.made.his.choice." he said definitively, punctuating the last sentence well, with a granite face.
There was a sudden pop. Kreacher had just materialized in the kitchen.
"Everything is ready upstairs. Mistress is waiting for you both in the living room, in front of the tapestry." announced the elf, in his croaky voice.
Alya groaned.
Regulus removed, with an elegant gesture, the crumbs still caught in the corners of her mouth, using the napkin.
"Tell our mother we will join her at once," he ordered the elf, standing up. He gently placed his hand on his sister's shoulder, petrified in place.
"Come on, Alya! The time has come. You'll see, it won't last long." he told her in a low voice, veiledly sympathetic.
Alya nodded, drawing in a big breath, as if she had to dive into the water. She reassumed her Black descendant demeanor and followed her brother upstairs.
When they entered the living room, a dreary darkness enveloped them: the heavy dark curtains had been drawn, covering the windows so that not even the barest sliver of light could penetrate through the panes. The torches, which usually remained perpetually lit thanks to magic, had been extinguished, from first to last. Only four long white wax candles floated, jellyfish-like, above the heads of those present, in the corners of the room. They emitted a sinister bluish glow, the flames unnaturally still. Waiting for them were the parents, already settled in their seats: Orion near the black-lacquered piano, Walburga erect in front of the tapestry, with the rigid, unyielding expression of an executioner. An empty space had been left between the couple, for Alya and Regulus, who immediately joined their parents, obediently positioning themselves. Kreacher stood behind them, at an appropriate distance, but obliged to assist.
Once they were ready, all five present pointed their eyes in unison at the tapestry, whose golden intricacies were illuminated by the faint bluish light released by the candles.
This is it, thought Alya, contrite and resigned. Time had run out. There was nothing more to be done.
"Well, we are all here," Walburga exclaimed, in a solemn tone."As you know, yesterday Sirius left these walls. This house. And with it, his family. He has disowned his own blood, his origins, the ancient values that have always been handed down and shared by our noble ancestors." the woman spoke in a grave voice very slowly, careful to punctuate each and every word of her sentence, which expanded in the sepulchral silence that reigned in the living room of Grimmauld Place number twelve.
"A despicable act. And unforgivable. Therefore, we are all gathered here to proceed with the Ritualis Evulsionis, the ritual of extirpation. I, Walburga Irma Black, mother of Sirius Orion Black, fulfill my duty as protector of the noble family tree. My hand shall be firm and have no hesitation in uprooting the rotten branch attached to my unworthy firstborn, lest the infection spread and spread irreparably to the other members. I, Walburga Irma Black, will uproot the disease that afflicts the branches of the tree of the noble House of Black, so that it may heal, renew itself and continue to thrive through the centuries in its purity."
Alya's mother thus pronounced her cold sentence, announcing in a firm voice her verdict.
Thus began the ritual. Walburga theatrically drew her wand and pointed it at Sirius's name embroidered on the golden tapestry. The cold, impassive eyes shone under the motionless light of the bluish candles, which floated in midair. Orion, Alya and Regulus also turned their eyes in the direction of the tapestry, staring at the spot indicated by Mrs. Black's wand. Kreacher did the same, a few steps behind them: each family member had to watch as the woman, who appeared as implacable and cruel as an executioner, performed the ritual.
The task of the other members was simple: they only had to recite the family chant, repeating it without interruption, for as long as Walburga needed to complete the arcane spell.
Alya's mother drew a deep breath and closed her eyes. After a few moments, the air in the room became heavier, the darkness thicker. The flames of the four candles crackled, as if struck by an unknown wind. It was time. The voices of Orion, Regulus and Alya rose in unison, intoning the ancient French verses, handed down from their ancestors:
C'est comme un arbre, notre famille
sus branches jamais vacillent.
Toujours pur, toujours uni
que nos ennemis soient punis.
The chant, made up of three voices spread out, enveloping Walburga in a cloak of gloomy solemnity. She still had her eyes narrowed, her brow furrowed in concentration. Father and sons continued their song, similar to a whispered prayer to the darkness, without pause, without delay.
Walburga snapped her eyes open, her ice irises pointed motionless and glittering at her son's name.The chanting continued, flowing relentlessly out of the lips of Orion, Regulus and Alya, like the lapping of a torrent, deadly as lava flows.
C'est comme un arbre, notre famille
sus branches jamais vacillent.
Toujours pur, toujours uni
que nos ennemis soient punis.
Walburga raised her chin, standing haughty and imperious; her figure loomed over the golden branch of Sirius, ready to hurl the anathema that would erase him from her line forever.
The wand moved. The woman, with prodigious calm, drew with the tip the symbol that would sever that unworthy firstborn son of hers.
"Exstirpo." she uttered in a guttural voice, deep enough that she did not even sound human.
As she relentlessly intoned the subdued chant, Alya felt a shiver of horror run through her back, along with a twinge in her heart, which the girl felt as if shattered, struck by a sudden bolt of lightning. The spot where Sirius Black's name was written on it glowed with scarlet flames, which crackled, burning the fabric beneath for very few seconds, but which for Alya were as long as centuries. Then, the bluish light of the four floating candles suddenly went out, and a gloomy, total shadow fell over the four Blacks and Kreacher, like a tidal wave of black, putrid water.
Alya's heart shuddered, as if she were floundering and drowning in that maelstrom of despair and darkness. She wanted to scream, but she had no right to. The inflexible traditions of her Household subjected her to silence.
The whole thing lasted but a few, very few moments. The candles were lit again and, with them, so were the torches. A golden light devoured the darkness, returning to illuminate as usual the drawing room of Grimmauld Place number twelve. The air had lost its heaviness, everything was back to normal. Or rather, almost everything. A tiny detail showed what had just happened and which, by now, could no longer be changed. Alya gazed in terror at the tapestry before her gray eyes, which could barely hold back tears: the name of Sirius Black, her twin brother, was gone. In its place, a small burn, the size of a cigarette, had appeared.
Walburga analysed the success of her powerful magic carefully. The infection had been stopped, the branch extirpated and cauterized.
Thus, Mrs. Black turned toward her husband and children, with an icy expression, not at all shaken by the loss of her son.
"The spell is completed. Sirius Orion Black is and will no longer be part of the noble Black family." she sentenced with the cruel coldness that never left her.
Again silence fell in the room. But Alya could clearly hear her own soul crying out in pain.
***
A cold night had fallen on Grimmauld Place. Everyone was asleep, and a wadded quiet permeated the streets as well as the rooms of the unknown number twelve house.
The only one who could not sleep a wink was Alya. Wrapped in a white robe, she sat in the living room by the fireplace. Her dark hair, as always, was styled in a soft tail that fell to the side, over one shoulder. The hair, however, appeared ruffled. The girl had fidgeted a lot in bed, tossing and turning several times between the covers, at the mercy of nightmares.
The image of her brother Sirius running away from home, once again declaring his contempt for his family and, above all, for her, his twin sister, kept appearing to her every time she closed her eyes. Then, blazing scarlet flames wrapped themselves around the figure of the boy once he crossed the threshold of the house, reducing Sirius into a cloud of ashes, blown away by the wind, invoked by the cold and cruel voice of his mother, who cried out into the night Sirius Orion Black is no longer part of our noble family.
The nightmare had tormented Alya to the point of exasperation, making any attempt at a healthy rest impossible. Thus, the girl had abandoned her bed and fled to the living room, seeking torpor and comfort in the crackling fire in the fireplace.
As Alya tried to absorb as much heat as possible from the flames, her gray eyes, swollen with tears, stared at the golden tangle that snaked across the opposite wall. Until the day before, the sight of the family tree representing her family would have filled her heart with pride. Now, just looking at it brought her a piercing, excruciating pain, like a dagger plunged into her chest. Even from a distance, Alya could make out the small burn that had erased Sirius' name forever.
How could she pretend that he was no longer her brother? How could she have accepted such a thing? She and Sirius had come into the world together, bound by the same umbilical cord, by the same branch of the Black tree. It was true, they had never really gotten along. And Sirius despised her. But Alya could not imagine her future existence without him being a part of it.
But now, both her mother and the tradition on which her lineage was based required her to pretend that her twin brother no longer existed. Forever. The spell cast with the Ritualis Evulsionis was irreversible. There was no counter-spell capable of remedying it. Sirius was officially banned from the family; even if he changed his mind and retraced his steps, he could not rejoin the Black tree.
Warm tears ran down Alya's white cheeks, free in the solitude the night afforded her, to give vent to her sadness. She rose and reached one of the room's wide windows. She peered bitterly at the snowy white landscape outside. Where was Sirius now? Was he safe? How long could he have survived on his own in a world now filled with danger?
Unmentionable doubts and fears within the walls of Black's home swirled like bolting locusts in Alya's exhausted head. With all of herself, the girl prayed that Sirius, wherever he was at that moment, would be all right. That he was safe. And as the distraught girl contemplated the depths of the night, as if searching for a sign that would comfort her about her brother's fate, suddenly, a sharp thump tapped on the window pane.
Alya gasped on the spot in fright. Guarded, she turned her eyes left and right, trying to find out what had produced that noise. The usual child throwing stones at the windows of her house? Unlikely. It was the middle of the night. The Muggle children had long since gone to sleep.
Suddenly, in front of young Black's puzzled face, two long tufts of brown, antennae-like feathers sprouted; a pair of orange eyes, cowardly and stern, were staring at her insistently.
An owl? thought Alya, stunned.
A magnificent eagle owl stood perched on the ledge in front of his window, looking decidedly contrite. Spaced out, the bird tapped its arched beak against the glass again, clearly demanding to be welcomed into the house. Alya, though disconcerted by this feathery and unexpected visit, hurried to open the window to let him in. She didn't want to risk having her parents wake up with that racket.
With theatrical flair, the eagle owl spread its broad wings, fluttered into the middle of the room and glided placidly to one of the two sofas in front of the fireplace. He cooed contentedly, refreshed by the warmth of the fire.
"Hey! You can't stand there! It's a valuable antique piece of furniture! Animals can't climb on it!" scolded Alya sternly, but the bird gave no sign of hearing. He ignored the girl, haughty.
Alya approached him to chase him away, but carelessly, the owl dropped a note from one of its mighty clawed legs. He threw it toward Alya, who picked it up puzzled. On the envelope was written For Alya Merope Black. 12 Grimmauld Place, London. Apparently, it was addressed precisely to her. The girl looked carefully at the letters, her heart hammering hard in her chest. For a moment, she hoped it was Sirius who had sent her that message. But she had to reconsider. It was not her brother's handwriting. She called herself stupid for even assuming that. In truth, that handwriting was completely unfamiliar to her.
Confused, Alya feverishly unwrapped the envelope. A postcard quickly slipped out of the paper wrapper and opened; an annoying shrill voice began to sing an off-key version of Jingle Bells, piercing young Black's eardrums.
"Silentium!" Alya cast the spell to immediately muffle that noisy note.
That's all I needed was a Christmas joke! cursed the girl, inwardly, as she picked up the card from the floor.
Frowning, she wondered who the heck the sender was. She didn't know anyone so childish who could pull such a prank on her. The classic stunt of an idiot, she observed the maiden, gingerly. Annoyed, but curious, Alya began to read the contents of the postcard:
Hi Alya,
I hope you enjoyed my little song!
I wanted to let you know that Sirius came to stay with me. He is still shaken and angry, but he is fine.
Merry Christmas,
James Potter
P.s. Godric (my owl) won't leave your house until you offer him a cookie. That's his price for delivery made.
He loves the ones with raisins.
Alya had to reread the letter at least twice before she could believe her eyes. Her gray irises stared in amazement at the sender's signature for a long time. James Potter. Why on earth had that blowhard of a Gryffindor come up with the idea of writing her a letter? Terribly annoying and sharp. What was he up to?
Perhaps he and Sirius had concocted some diabolical prank against her. Alya immediately discarded the hypothesis. In all those years at Hogwarts, neither Sirius nor Potter had ever ventured to target her. Sirius had always been adamant about ignoring his sister as if she did not exist. He was certainly not going to start now, counting in addition the tragic situation, tormenting her with such childish tirades.
Alya turned the out-of-tune note over in her fingers, unable to find a plausible answer. She emitted a long frowning sigh, letting the matter drop. She had quite other problems to think about, and Potter was certainly not in her priorities. To be on the safe side, she decided not to answer him anyway. The shrieked notes had been enough for her.
She approached the brown owl, who was still perched comfortably in front of the fire, his orange eyes half-closed, relaxed.
"Come on! You must leave now. Go back to your stupid master!" urged Alya brusquely, prodding him with a finger. The offended raptor turned sharply and pecked her index finger, out of spite.
"Oh, come on!" exclaimed Alya, exasperated, massaging the sore spot. The eagle owl turned back to the warm flames, with a haughty expression, well determined to ignore any further demands without due payment.
"All right, all right! I'll give you your damn cookie! Only an idiot like Potter could have such a demanding pet!" snorted Alya, displeased at that absurd situation.
Alya quickly went to her room, where she jealously guarded an assorted stash of magical sweets, gleaned during the Christmas vacations. She grabbed a pair of Gingerbread Men, who, as soon as they were discovered free of their wrappings, began pawing at the girl's bed in a vain attempt at an escape. But Alya caught them back in a flash; she felt them molesting in her hands. She returned, then, to the living room and handed one of the gingerbread cookies to the owl, who peered at it with little conviction.
"The buttons are made of raisins - That's all I have!" retorted Alya, to the orange, stubborn gaze of the owl. The latter booed sufficiently and grabbed the treat with his mighty paw. He jumped on Alya's shoulder, letting her know that he wanted to be escorted to the exit.
"You're a spoiled pet, you know!" apostrophized Alya, approaching the window.
She opened the window and a rush of icy air made her shiver. Before the owl took flight, Alya added:
"Since you like pecking people so much, why don't you pinch the nose of that stupid idiot Sirius? That way, to make him pay for everything he's putting me through!"
Alya offered the second gingerbread man to the bird.
"Deal?" she proposed wryly. The owl peeped a second time, swelling its brown feathers. He snagged the cookie, pleased with the lavish unexpected loot, and flew out, diving into the frigid night. Its wide spread wings majestically embraced the snowy neighborhood of Grimmauld Place.
Alya gazed for a long time at the dark figure of the eagle owl as it swiftly receded until it finally disappeared from her sight, swallowed by the dark horizon.
The girl closed the window and picked up from the ground the Christmas card that that arrogant James Potter had inexplicably sent her.
However, as unwelcome as the sender was to her, receiving that card had lifted her spirits somewhat. After all, she should have expected that Sirius would run away from his inseparable school friend. Inside, she called herself stupid for not thinking of it right away and for distressing herself so much, unnecessarily.
Alya once again read the contents of Potter's letter. Her eyes, now dry and tearless, lingered for a few seconds on a single sentence.
Sirius is fine.
For the moment, that was enough for her.
And with her soul a little refreshed, young Black felt a sudden weariness come crashing down on her. She dragged herself to her room, slipped between the covers of her bed, and finally fell asleep.