29 March, 1977. Hogwarts, Potions classroom.
The cell where Professor Slughorn's boring lessons were held was undoubtedly the gloomiest and coldest classroom in all of Hogwarts. Alya was used to the damp, pungent air that hovered in the dungeons, but when she crossed the doorstep of the Potions dungeon her mood reached the lowest levels. Being surrounded by that jumble of granguignolous ampoules and dusty flasks made her blood run cold with disgust. Not to mention the sense of claustrophobia, caused by the dark, narrow perimeters that bordered the room.
However, in recent times Alya had to admit that Slughorn's lessons, though hopelessly long-winded and tedious, had seemed more bearable to her. The explanations sounded magically comprehensible to her, managing to keep up as the lecturer expounded definitions of ingredients and procedures on difficult distillates.
Perhaps, it had been thanks to a certain dishevelled Gryffindor, who had taken such an interest in the plight of the potion-denied Slytherin.
The fact was that Alya had improved considerably in the last few weeks, even in practical performance. An improvement that had not gone unnoticed even by Slughorn.
The concoctions prepared by the young Black were still far from perfection, yet the jovial, pot-bellied professor had not spared himself in muttering shy compliments to her beneath his ever-well-groomed walrus moustache as he made his rounds between the desks.
On those occasions, Alya instinctively cast victorious glances at James, who in turn didn't fail to respond with proud, encouraging smiles.
In particular, the last Tuesday morning in March had turned out to be much more fun than usual, by the haughty Slytherin's low standards. Not only because of the growing satisfaction at her progress in the subject that had always made her struggle, but also - and above all - because of the goliardic shows that James and Sirius had put on. Well aware of the euphoria that had blossomed among the Slytherins over the bloody accident that had claimed Potter's hand, the two Gryffindors had not missed the opportunity to make known, in their own way, the perfect state of health of the Hogwarts Quidditch champion. James's hand was totally healed and he was more ready than ever to take the field, chasing Golden Snitches.
For the entire hour, Potter did nothing but ask Sirius to borrow any kind of tool or ingredient he could think of. In response, his faithful companion was careful to pass them to him in the normal way, resorting instead to acrobatic throws over their counters. James then performed athletic and jerky catches, worthy of a real circus show. Every time he masterfully caught a vial or a scroll for notes, the talented Gryffindor Seeker would wave his right hand emphatically, as if waving to a cheering crowd in the stands, while Sirius applauded enthusiastically.
Soon, the concentration of the class became as evanescent as the fumes rising from the cauldrons. The Slytherins, feeling outraged, muttered sour insults under their breath, without hiding a note of disappointment as they realised that their opponent's hand now bore not even the shadow of a scratch. Snape, in particular, seemed to be in the throes of quite an attack of bile. Intolerant of Potter's clear provocations, the greasy-haired Slytherin stood hunched over his cauldron more than ever, his nose immersed in the vapours it puffed.
But no matter how hard Snape tried to hide his anger, Alya couldn't help but notice how Sanpe's usually yellowish face had taken on creepy, greenish hues.
To calm their spirits, Slughorn was forced to intervene.
"Black! Potter! Give it a rest. This is a classroom, not a Quidditch pitch, for Merlin's beard!" he ranted angrily, trying to unravel the general distraction that had invaded the classroom.
The two Gryffindors obeyed, instantly putting an end to their impromptu little show. They looked at Slughorn contritely and guiltily, but exchanged a furtive, complicit glance that did not bode well.
"We're sorry, Professor. We got carried away by our enthusiasm," James promptly apologised, emphasising a deep regret.
"Yes, our enthusiasm's got, shall we say, the upper hand...", said Sirius, seriously.
"... because of our hand games. But, with hand on heart, we promise to get back to work in earnest", James continued, tapping his right hand on his chest.
"That's right. We won't be fiddling around and sitting on our hands anymore." assured Sirius, nodding vehemently.
"Alright, all hands on deck!" concluded James, emphatically.
An excited murmur, interspersed with the hushed giggles of the Gryffindors and the snide comments of the Slytherins, quickly spread in response to the exchange of jokes from the two boys, who were now no longer holding back from laughing out loud, all the while reveling in the attention they had gained.
The only Slytherin who struggled to participate in the sense of indignation shared by the other silver-green comrades was Alya, who was struggling with all her might not to burst out laughing in turn. She was forced to fake numerous coughs, so as not to be discovered. But the sight of Lily Evans sniggering with her fellow Gryffindors made her lose her mirth for real.
At that very moment, Alya wholeheartedly envied Lily Evans and her freedom to be able to laugh unabashedly at James' jokes, even though, as Alya suspected, her laughter was more dedicated to Sirius than to her bespectacled friend. In any case, the red-headed Gryffindor was allowed to participate freely in the goliardia of her two companions, without triggering unpleasant suspicions.
The fact that she could not participate in the same way threw Alya into a dark and shadowy mood.
However, Potions Hour was not yet over and seemed to have other surprises in store for young Black.
It took Professor Slughorn several minutes before order was restored in the classroom. Once eyes were once again on him - and not on James and Sirius - the moustachioed teacher ordered his students to stop their work and quickly tidy up their stations. He then motioned for them to approach and gather around him in a semicircle, a sign that an important communication was on its way.
In fact, as he had already anticipated to Alya a few weeks earlier, Slughorn also announced to all his other companions his intention to test them once they had returned from their Easter holidays.
Annoyed snorts and apprehensive murmurs were the response and the teacher once again found himself forced to tame the tension and calm the waters.
"Come on, come on. You have nothing to worry about. Just study and practise and you will see that the test will seem like a piece of cake!" he tried to reassure them, waving his moustache in a conciliatory manner. "But, remember: whatever potion or distillate you come across, the ingredient you must never forget is..."
"... patience!" crooned Alya, overthinking. She was so absorbed in her dark thoughts about Lily Evans and the laughter she couldn't afford, that young Black didn't even realise she had spoken.
The entire class fell silent, baffled by the unexpected intervention of her classmate, who usually tended to keep as quiet as possible during Potions class. Alya suddenly found herself surrounded by a handful of incredulous eyes. Even Slughorn stared at her in amazement.
"By all the cauldrons! Miss Black, you are so right! Five points to Slytherin," the professor exclaimed smugly, with a broad, jovial smile plastered under his walrus moustache.
The prize awarded guaranteed a slight improvement in mood among the Slytherin pupils, who gave Alya satisfied, though still somewhat bewildered, looks.
Even the Gryffindors looked at her in astonishment, though their expressions betrayed blatant disdain for her. The competition between the silver-green and red-gold houses had always been fierce. Which was all the more reason for Alya to rejoice; she had not missed the clucking of the tongue of a displeased Lily Evans, who was now talking to her friends and giving Alya disapproving glances. She stared at her for a long time, with a haughty air, while a slight sense of revenge galvanised her spirit.
In the same way as the redhead Gryffindor, Sirius also showed his disdain, but his sister was careful not to notice.
However, Alya couldn' refrain from casting a fleeting glance at James. Now it was his turn to stifle his laughter in fake coughs.
For the first time in six years, Alya walked out of the Potions classroom with a beaming expression, walking swaggeringly, ten feet off the ground in satisfaction.
***
30 March, 1977. Hogwarts, Forbidden Forest.
"I see my review lessons are paying off. I'm so proud of you, Alya!" James Potter chuckled wryly for at least half an hour as he held Alya fastened to his body in a warm embrace, both of them sitting on the grass turf of the clearing.
In the paper butterfly he had sent her that morning, to confirm their usual meeting in the Forbidden Forest, the Gryffindor had specifically stressed not to bring any miniature cauldrons, Potions manuals, or vials with ingredients. That would be the last Wednesday before the Easter holidays and both Alya and James would spend the next two weeks away from Hogwarts, in their respective homes with their families.
Away.
Therefore, James had no desire to spend those last stolen hours watching the girl bent over a steaming cauldron. He had something else in mind. And Alya could only be of the same opinion.
As soon as they recognised each other in the dense darkness of the forest, they did not even give each other time to greet or welcome each other that they had already rushed to embrace, plunging into a long and passionate kiss, which had the bittersweet taste of impending nostalgia. They had spent entire years without even a glance at each other, barely aware of each other's existence, yet now the idea of not being able to see each other, even in passing, for two whole weeks was tantamount to a heartbreaking farewell.
They would dedicate that evening to caresses and embraces, to whispers in the night and their secret smiles.
Sarcastic jokes and crystal clear laughter interspersed between kisses: James was having a great time mocking Professor Slughorn's dismayed face after Alya's unpredictable intervention, who was still gloating over the points awarded to her House.
"Anyway, Alya..." the girl's heart did a somersault. She still hadn't gotten used to the pleasant sensation of the sound of her own name being uttered by James' lips. "... You have to admit that those points belonged to the Gryffindors. After all, it is thanks to me that you finally learned the famous secret ingredient of every potion in existence!" sniggered the dishevelled boy, as his hand gently fiddled with Alya's raven hair. He loved her hair, he would have stroked it for hours.
"I feel sorry for you, Gryffindor of my boots, but I have no intention of giving up the prize I have so painstakingly earned."
"What about my hard work, shall we talk about that? Look it's not easy having you as a pupil, Miss Black! Your whining drove me crazy!" pretended James, as he attempted another ambush on the maiden's lips. But Alya blocked him, responding promptly to the subtle provocation.
"If I complain so much, it's because your explanations are so boring. You're worse than old Slughorn!" she replied with cutting malice, before indulging James's lips, teasing and torturing them with quick, sensual kisses. Unlike her, the Gryffindor was careful not to interrupt her; as long as Alya kissed him like that, he had no interest in having the last word in their sarcastic squabble.
Their tongues thus remained entwined in a slow and pleasant dance for several minutes, until Alya suddenly broke away. James protested, trying to bring her face closer to his again, but she stubbornly resisted. It was clear that something was on her mind.
"Tonight I would like to be the one to teach you something,' she whispered, sketching a shy, uncertain smile. It rarely happened that Alya showed insecurities and fragility, and usually only James had the great honour of witnessing it. Which made the boy totally inclined to acquiesce to any Slytherin request.
"What would you like to teach me?" he asked, by now surrendering to the evidence that he was unlikely to refuse her anything.
But Alya didn't answer. She merely smiled at him in a mysterious and not at all innocent way as she elegantly stood up. She reached into the bag lying on the ground next to James's and slipped her hand into an outside pocket, rummaging for a few seconds.
She fished out a small object, resembling a miniature wooden box. A small, thin crank protruded from one side.
"A music box?" asked James doubtfully, when Alya handed it to him.
She nodded vigorously.
"Yes. I bought it last time I went to Hogsmeade. You know... in that new emporium full of junk..."
"Yes, I know it." cut the Gryffindor short, a little hoarse. He remembered exactly which little shop Alya was talking about. The last time he had entered that shop he had seen her together with Maynard Nott. A snort of jealousy peeped out at the pit of his stomach, but he managed to quell it instantly. She was finished with the pompous scion for good. Now they barely spoke to each other.
Although their relationship was relegated to clandestine meetings, Alya was now his, James thought. A wry, victorious smile decorated his thin face.
And as the Gryffindor struggled against his own urges of jealousy and competition, Alya continued to proudly decry the characteristics of that wooden trinket.
"At first glance it seems completely insignificant, but this music box can play any tune you want," the maiden explained, recalling with slight nostalgia that her porcelain doll, abandoned on a dusty shelf in her room in Grimmauld Place, also had the same properties.
Therefore, Alya hadn't resisted the temptation to buy the pretty wooden music box and enchant it so that it could play the notes that had accompanied her childhood, before Hogwarts.
In particular, she had taken it upon herself to instruct the little magic box to play a song so dear to her, which her mother had taught both her and Regulus many years before. It was their favourite and even her brother occasionally delighted in playing it on the piano, in the sumptuous and dreary drawing room of Grimmauld Place number twelve. Alya, on the other hand, loved to dance in the shadow of those nostalgic notes.
James, who still had not the faintest idea where the Slytherin wanted to go with this, watched the music box perplexed.
"So... are you going to teach me a song?" he threw out haphazardly.
Alya burst out laughing.
"For Merlin's beard, no! The music box will sing the song I desire. You will only have to dance."
James squinted, terrified.
"W-what? No way, I don't dance!" was his reply, shaking his head vigorously in rejection.
But Alya had no intention of giving up.
"Hey! I remind you that three days ago you forced me to fly on the back of that plucked twig you call a broomstick! You can't refuse, it would be disloyal!"
"But it's different! Quidditch is much more fun!" grumbled the disheveled boy.
"It's no fun for me at all," she blurted, snooty.
James was on the verge of retorting that if Quidditch didn't amuse her, it was because she didn't understand a damn thing about it, but he bit his tongue in time, seeing Alya already quite upset. He merely huffed vehemently, ruffling his hair with one hand.
"Besides, I don't even know how to dance..." he muttered, wishing the girl would let it go.
"Well, like I said, I'll teach you!" she reprimanded him decisively, rendering the Gryffindor's hopes in vain. And before the boy could even counter, she added:
"No objections are accepted. You will dance with me tonight, James!"
Hearing Alya's name called was the coup de grace for young Potter, who relented, agreeing with contrite mutterings to the request.
He stood up reluctantly, continuing to muss his hair in embarrassment. He had been honest earlier, he had never danced in his life.
But the smile that lit up Alya's face was enough to dissolve the last reticence.
The girl fiddled with the small music box and gently placed it on the floor. Within moments, the Forbidden Forest was invaded by a gentle, waltz-like melody.
Enthusiastic as a child, Alya reached for James, who stood stunned and completely confused in the middle of the clearing.
'The waltz steps are quite simple, the important thing is to pay close attention to the rhythm.... One, two, three. One, two, three." the girl tried to reassure him, noticing how bewildered James was. Part of her couldn't help but soften at the swaggering Gryffindor who now looked like a total fish out of water.
Alya began to improvise a few steps, following the notes that spread through the air with natural gracefulness.
"See, it's easy!" she exclaimed, as she twirled like a true ballerina.
James watched her with a contrite and admiring expression at the same time.
"If you say so..." he murmured uncertainly, as he mechanically readjusted his glasses on his nose.
The Slytherin stopped dancing and pawed merrily near the Gryffindor.
"Good. Let's start with the posture: back straight and chest out," she exclaimed, schoolmarm-like. Then, she grabbed the boy's arm and placed it around his waist. James blushed, his hand firmly at the indicated spot, focused on not letting it slip by an involuntary instinct lower than the edge of his back.
A strange tingle pervaded his body when he felt Alya rest her arm on his shoulder as their free hands intertwined in a gentle grip.
James's breath caught in his throat as Alya seemed totally at ease. She gave him the most encouraging of smiles and said:
"OK, let's start."
James only realised at that moment that he had feet and how heavy and difficult they were to move. With clumsy movements, the Gryffindor stumbled over the ground, repeatedly risking tripping over his own shoes.
"You must not look down, you must look at me! And don't stand so stiff. You look like a piece of wood!" scolded Alya, sternly.
James tried to recompose himself, but ended up tumbling for real, slamming his bottom ruinously to the ground.
"For Merlin's beard! You're less coordinated than a mountain troll," Alya teased him, with a note of resignation in her voice.
"Dancing is women's stuff. I much prefer broomsticks!" grumbled James indignantly, as he leapt to his feet again, trying to display a more manly demeanour.
"Yet both my brothers are accomplished dancers. Sirius never told you?" poked Alya, rhetorically.
"I guess not." chuckled James, trying to imagine Sirius twirling to the notes of a waltz.
"Well, I'd say we're even now. Now you have some idea how I felt the other day on that stupid broomstick of yours!" Alya finally conceded, revealing the real intent of that dance lesson.
"So you concocted all this to get revenge, treacherous Slytherin!" mocked Potter, feigning indignation.
But Alya had stopped listening to him. Something else had caught her attention.
The girl's grey eyes had caught sight of the outline of a leaflet in the dark turf, which she was certain she had not seen until a few minutes before.
"What's this?" she murmured, as she picked it up from the ground.
In her hands Alya held an old photograph, a little yellowed by time. It portrayed a family: the mother, a welcoming and kind-looking woman; the father, an affable gentleman with a broad dark moustache and eyes shielded by fine, square-rimmed glasses. Both of them proudly held the shoulders of a petite boy, looking no more than ten years old, with a swaggering, slightly cocky air, who smiled proudly and confidently, supported by the obvious affection of his parents. Like his father, he wore a pair of glasses, but the lenses were familiarly round.
Alya instantly recognised James's unruly, brunette mop of hair, along with his sly, hazel eyes.
"This is you! It's your family!" she exclaimed in surprise.
"Yes, that's me with my parents. We took it the summer before I entered Hogwarts." confirmed James, signalling the girl to hand the photograph back to him. It had to be a very important heirloom for him, Alya surmised.
"It must have fallen out of my pocket when I slipped on the ground... good thing you noticed it, I'd have been very sorry if I had lost it," he commented, staring at the portrait fondly, before slipping it safely back into his uniform pocket.
"And do you always carry it around with you? I didn't think you were so sentimental," Alya observed, though there was no shadow of either mockery or judgement in her voice.
Potter shrugged, to hide a slight embarrassment.
"It's a happy memory. I like to keep it with me."
Alya understood and smiled.
"A happy memory... that is, your Patronus?" she asked, although she had already guessed the answer.
James nodded. He drew out his wand and in a faint voice whispered:
"Expecto Patronum."
From the end of the wand gushed forth copious silver light, which took the form of a large male deer. The iridescent reflection of the animal shone brightly in young Black's black pupils.
"It's amazing how you always manage to surprise me, James," was the girl's enigmatic comment, as she slipped the silver pendant she always wore around her neck from under the collar of her uniform.
She handed it to James to show him. The light of the Patronus he evoked played with the silver of the jewel.
"My mother gave it to me for my seventeenth birthday. Do you see the engraving on the surface?"
"Yes... What is it? It looks like a branch or something," replied the boy, a little confused.
"It's an antler. A deer's antler, to be exact."
James stared at Alya in amazement.
"My mother once told me that the deer has always been a highly prized animal for the women of my lineage. It embodies the spirit of devotion to family and the inclination to protect one's herd," Alya explained, recalling the pride with which Walburga had told her about their Patronus the summer before.
"I don't think it's an accident that your Patronus looks like a deer, James. You're devoted to your parents, to your clan." she added, hinting at the Potters' portrait photo.
"What about you? What do you think about when you summon your deer?" asked James, staring at Alya with intensity. Part of him already suspected what the answer was.
She answered him with a smile imbued with complicity, as she in turn whipped out her wand. She waved it solemnly, pronouncing the formula of the protection spell and another majestic animal, adorned with a glorious antlered box, manifested itself resplendently before their eyes.
And as her glowing stag trotted towards the Gryffindor's, Alya brushed the silver surface of the locket with the sound of her own voice, hissing a word in Serpentese that seemed incomprehensible to James.
There was a click and the locket opened, revealing another photograph, also worn by time, in which three children were portrayed. James needed no explanation to realise that they were Alya, Sirius and Regulus.
"I think of my brothers. Of Regulus. And of Sirius. About when we played happily together. Without hatred, without contempt. Although life has divided us somehow, inside this locket we're still united. We're still together." confessed Alya in an almost choked whisper. The grey eyes glittering with pride became veiled with an ancient sadness, which had never left her.
James caressed her cheek, gently.
"Devoted to family," he commented with a complicit, gentle smile.
Alya nodded, smiling in turn, but with slight bitterness.
They both watched their patrons for a long time, floating together in the darkness of the night, in an evanescent, silvery dance, to the notes of an old children's waltz that Walburga had taught Alya many years before.
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A/N:
I'm sooooooooooooo sorry!!
I know it has been a very long time since the last published chapter. I sincerely apologise. It has been a busy time.
I will try to be more punctual from now on.
In the meantime, I really want to thank you so much for the affection you are showing for this story. For Alya and James. It means a lot to me.