Chapter Forty-Seven

A Dreary Summer

Outside, the skies wept endlessly like a widow at a funeral. Alex had visited London every week this summer, and though the sun was safely tucked away by a blanket of clouds, that did nothing to stop the suffocating humidity that plagued the city. That didn't prevent her from enjoying herself, though.

The source of her contentment smiled as he caught her eye from his place in line. Alex couldn't help smiling back, her cheeks warm. The girl behind Cedric shot her a nasty look. Alex's smile grew.

At first, the amount of unwanted attention Cedric drew had been irritating. While he definitely wasn't the most gorgeous person Alex had laid eyes on, he was still fit enough to turn heads, especially dressed in the mugglewear she put together for him. Eventually, though, Alex began to see the benefit of Cedric's looks; when they were together, people often overlooked her, providing her with a level of invisibility otherwise impossible via non-magical methods.

When out and about in London with Cedric, Alex felt free. There were no watchful eyes tracking her every move, no impressionable underclassmen to behave in front of, and no blood supremacists to be wary of.

It wasn't all sunshine and rainbows, though. The muggle world had its fair share of bigotry, and more than once Alex had to reign in her temper before she let loose a bout of accidental magic that could've landed her in hot water. She only had a handful of months left before the Trace left her, and if she performed magic in front of a muggle as an underage witch, she could kiss her wand goodbye. Because if the Ministry of Magic was good at anything, it was punishing people for the most trivial crimes.

Alex's expression darkened. True to his word, Fudge was doing nothing but sitting on his hands as Voldemort undoubtedly gathered his forces. No, wait, Fudge was doing something – he was running a smear campaign against both Harry and Dumbledore, hoping to discredit their names so that their words were worth less than a single sickle. It was August, the tail-end of summer, which meant Harry was finally permitted to leave the Dursleys and stay with Sirius until school resumed next month, so he would've heard all about the Daily Prophet and their shenanigans by now. The only silver lining was Rita Skeeter's radio silence on the issue thanks to Hermione and her threats.

"What did those poor condiments do to you?" Cedric asked as he slid into the seat across from her, a basket of crispy fish and chips in his hands.

Alex pried her gaze from the sauce bottle she had been unwittingly glaring at. "It was offending me," she said wryly, snagging a chip.

"Careful," he admonished her when she winced. "They're hot."

"Really? I thought it was steaming because it was cold."

"Okay, that's it," he laughed, dragging the food towards him and away from her. "No more for you unless you learn to stop sassing me."

Alex grinned. "Never."

Cedric rolled his eyes good-naturedly as he pushed the food back her way. "How are your driving lessons?" he asked, squeezing a wedge of lemon over the fried fish.

"So-so," she replied, passing him a knife and fork. "My dad's an awful teacher, and my mum is impatient as hell, but I've got the gist of it. My test is in a fortnight, so I should be good by then."

"Then you can drive us to school," he suggested, wagging his eyebrows.

"No problem. It'll only take us a week to get there by car." Alex speared a chip onto her fork. "I'm more worried about the apparition test," she admitted with a grimace.

"It's not too bad," Cedric assured her, sipping his water. "I didn't splinch myself, so you definitely won't."

She huffed, smiling fondly. "You have way too much faith in me."

The TV set crackled from its corner above them. "And finally, Bungy the budgie has found a novel way of keeping cool this summer," the newscaster said brightly. "Bungy, who lives at the Five Feathers in Barnsley, has learned to water-ski! Mary Dorkins went to find out more…"

"And they say this world isn't magical," quipped Cedric.

Alex stared at the TV even as the hosts moved on from the news to the weather report (cloudy and rainy, what a surprise). All summer, she had been waiting for word on an attack from either worlds. The most exciting piece she'd heard so far was the five-day disappearance of a sixteen-year-old girl in Surrey. It turned out she was just hiding in her girlfriend's apartment playing games the entire time.

When it became clear that Voldemort and his forces were operating incognito, Alex found herself unwinding just a notch. Although Moody advised constant vigilance—it was actually how he ended all his letters—Alex found it impossible to remain on-guard without feeling drained. She was a witch, sure, but she was also just a teen; she wasn't a child soldier, no matter what her dad said.

Her parents worried about her, both quietly and out loud. As soon as she stepped off the Hogwarts Express at the end of last term, Alex had fully immersed herself in her preparations for the war that was to come.

The first thing she worked on was wandlessness. Ever since that night Crouch Jr had stolen her identity and her wand, all Alex could think about was the possibility of Harry never stealing back her wand. If she had lost it for good, she might as well have lopped off her dominant hand. Sure, she could've gotten a replacement wand, but your first was almost always your best. And being wandless while engaged in a duel? That was the end of the line for you right there.

So she read up on wandless theory, both spells and runes. The latter was easy enough to practise, but she had to wait until she was back on the train before she could truly try her hand at wandless magic. On the bright side, her potion-brewing skills had improved exponentially over the holidays. She signed up for some self-defence classes too, and though she was no Jet Li, she could take on the average wizard any day.

"Oi! Shut the door, will ya?" bellowed the irate cook behind the counter.

The customer responsible was already out of earshot in their haste to escape the downpour outside. Grimacing, Alex leapt up from her seat, nodding at Cedric to signal it was time to jet. They were done with their food anyway.

"Thanks, love!"

Cedric popped open their umbrella before they stepped out. It was enchanted to ward off the rain more effectively than normal umbrellas, but still wasn't as useful as a Rain-Repelling Charm. It sufficed, considering they weren't outside for long. They ducked into the nearest alleyway and, after checking the coast was clear, Alex tucked her arm into Cedric's elbow so he could apparate them away.

So much faster than driving, she thought, sighing, as they landed in her backyard. Although overcast, rain had yet to spill over here.

Alex shook the rain off her like a dog post-bath. Cedric grimaced as some wayward drops slapped him in the face.

"Oops," she said, smirking.

"I'm leaving now."

"Boo. You're such a wet blanket."

He sent her a flat look that had her bursting into laughter.

"Go," she said, pushing his shoulder, "before your parents get annoyed again." Despite the fact that their son was almost eighteen, Cedric's parents were adamant about the curfew they set for him. Maybe they just didn't approve of all the time he spent with her.

Cedric leaned in for a kiss but Alex dodged and offered him a handshake instead. Bemused, he accepted it. "I'll see you soon," he promised her.

"Cool beans."

An amused huff was the last she heard of him before he disapparated with a deafening crack.

Alex went inside before she was rained on again. It wasn't like she and Cedric were strictly platonic; kisses weren't unusual for them either. The most Alex could bear in public was hold hands or hug, and sure, her backyard wasn't the most public of spaces, but her neighbours were notorious for their nosiness.

Spitfire chirped at her in greeting as she passed by him and his perch in the living room couch. Alex scratched his head before heading upstairs to her room. She had some letters to pen.

All summer she'd been keeping touch with her friends via mail when she could. Her preferred method of communication was in-person, but some of their circumstances (like Agatha's) made it impossible for her to hang out in the open. Things would be different once they all got their apparition licenses, but for now, letters would do. The exceptions were her muggleborn mates, Grant and Stephen, who—unlike her—could already drive on their own, and so were able to make their way to her place since they didn't live too far from her.

Alex was in the midst of a paragraph explaining to Agatha that, no, her reluctance to freely display her affection to Cedric wasn't going to ward him away from her, when she noticed something soaring in the distance. She stared out her window, trying to discern if it was an owl and if it was headed her way when it drew closer.

Alex bit back a scream as she jumped out of her seat in realisation. That was no owl – it was something far more dangerous, something that had haunted her nightmares for months after that dreadful encounter by the lake in her fourth year.

It was a dementor. Here, in her suburb.

What the hell.

"Is this real?"

Alex nodded vehemently, her chin brushing against her mum's shoulder as she peered at the photo she had managed to take on their digital camera before the dementor had left her line of sight. She had thrust the image in her parents' faces as soon as they had returned.

"I almost had a heart attack when I saw it," she said, wide-eyed. "I followed it, in case it attacked someone, but it left without doing anything."

Her dad massaged his wrinkled forehead. "You chased after a dementor," he said faintly. "Honeydew, do you even know to fight one off?"

"Well, no," she admitted, "but I have a better chance fighting it off than a muggle."

"You can't even cast a patronus!"

"I know the theory!"

"Enough," sighed Mum. "I'm taking this picture with me to work tomorrow. Hopefully I'll get some answers."

Alex nodded grimly. A year ago, her mum would've sided with the Ministry and staunchly defended their actions. After the Triwizard tournament, though, she was less trusting of her employers.

"Doubt it," scoffed Alex. "They'll probably think you're trying to make a case for Sirius' anti-dementor movement." She pursed her lips as an idea struck her. "Can I have a few copies of the photo when you print it out at the shop?"

"Sure, but what for?" her mum asked, eyeing her suspiciously.

Alex beamed. "To start shit, of course."

Mum whacked her on the back of her head. "Language."

"That's abuse," she sulked, smoothing out her hair. "I'm calling the aurors."

Dad gasped in amazement. "Why, they're here already! Extremely efficient, our aurors," he commended, placing a swift kiss on his wife's cheek.

"Ew," groaned Alex. "I'm going to my room."

When she got there, Alex flopped onto her bed, lost in thought. Realistically, where was there a dementor flying around so freely here of all places? Was there another escaped convict on the loose? Was Dumbledore right - had Voldemort already gotten the Dark creatures to do his bidding? Harry lived nearby, after all. If he just dropped dead in the middle of his neighbourhood, no one would consider foul play; they'd just blame it on the brutish nature inherent to muggles.

Alex bit her lip hard enough to draw blood. He needed to know as soon as possible.

But when weeks flew by without any contact from Harry, Alex grew anxious. He wasn't at Privet Drive, nor had she or her dad seen him when they were at the shop. Hedwig hadn't dropped by since last month, either. Before she could spiral into paranoia, Alex remembered she had Hermione's number. She rifled through diary and dialled accordingly.

It took approximately ten seconds before the phone was picked up. "Hello?" a deep voice answered curiously. Hermione's dad, then. They'd met once, though Alex didn't remember him all that well.

"Hi," Alex replied apprehensively as she fiddled with the curls of the phone cord. She always hated making phone calls regardless of the recipient. "Is Hermione in? I'm a friend of hers."

"Oh, hello," Mr Granger repeated, much more warmly this time. "I'm sorry, Hermione hasn't been home in a while; she's been staying at a friend's. What was your name?"

"Alex Fortescue. Is she at Ron's, then?"

"Alexandra! It's been a while, hasn't it? No, I believe she's in London this summer."

Her brow furrowed in confusion. What the hell was in London? "Oh. Okay. Cheers, Mr Granger. If you see her again before term starts, will you let her know I've called? Thanks."

Some light was finally shed within a week of the call. A familiar white owl came soaring towards her room. Alex opened the window just in time for Hedwig to swoop in and land elegantly onto her desk. With an impatient hoot, she stuck out a leg weighed down with a delightfully thick letter.

"Thanks, girl," Alex murmured, handing her a slice of salami from the mini charcuterie board she had been snacking on.

Hedwig eagerly gobbled up the treat as Alex sat down and tore open the envelope. She instantly recognised Hermione's writing.

Dear Alex,

We're so sorry for the lack of correspondence. I only heard about your call today after owling my parents. You're probably concerned about Harry's wellbeing; rest assured, he's safe as can be where we're staying.

I'd inform you of the exact location, but we've been advised not to include sensitive information through means that can be intercepted. We'll be seeing you soon, though. We're all planning to head down to Diagon Alley tomorrow for our school supplies.

Let's meet at the parlour around midday.

See you soon,

Hermione

Alex reached the end of the letter and peered at Hedwig. The picky owl never liked to stay away from her owner for too long, preferring to rush back to Harry even after crossing great distances for her deliveries. Seeing how Harry was apparently in London and not, say, halfway across the country, chances were Hedwig was going to take off again soon.

Not wanting to keep her too long, Alex opened her drawer and pulled out a printed copy of the photo she had snapped earlier this month. She slid it into the same envelope her letter had arrived in and taped it shut before tying it to Hedwig's leg.

"Have a safe trip," she wished her, offering up another slice of deli meat.

Hedwig nipped on her outstretched fingers as she accepted the bribe before launching herself off Alex's desk and into the night.

Alex sighed as her papers went flying. Damn bird.

Hermione, Ron and Harry barged into the shop five minutes to twelve the next day. "What on earth is this?" Hermione demanded, slapping the photo onto the counter.

Alex didn't reply immediately, busy as she was refilling the cone stack. After that was done, she wiped her hands clean on a cloth, patiently watching the trio as they grew more and more irate.

She put down the hand towel. "What's what?" she asked calmly.

"This!" Hermione jabbed a finger at the photo. "Where did you see this?"

"From my bedroom window, about three weeks ago. And yeah, that's a dementor alright."

"A dementor in Little Whinging?" Harry asked incredulously. "Why?"

"Well," Alex began, drawing out the monosyllabic word as she put together a sundae composed of her favourite flavours, "according to Mum and her investigation, there was no order put out by the Ministry to send out dementors at all. That means it was either an unofficial order or—" She levelled them with a meaningful look.

Harry wilted like a sunflower in winter. "Voldemort."

Ron flinched.

"Yep," said Alex, sprinkling some nuts onto her dessert. "They didn't attack anyone, which makes me think they couldn't locate their target."

"And you think it was me they're after," surmised Harry, his expression souring.

Nodding, she handed each of them a spoon. "Good thing you were safely tucked away wherever you were," she noted, her voice deceptively light.

Ron groaned through a mouthful of ice cream. "You're not still upset, are you?"

Alex wordlessly slid the sundae away from Ron and closer to the others.

Hermione cringed. "We really are sorry," she said sincerely. "But the place we're staying at is under the Fidellius Charm."

"So?" she scoffed. "You know where I live. You know where I work. You could've easily told me as soon as Harry left."

"At least you got to see the dementor?" Ron offered weakly.

Alex rolled her eyes. "I guess," she grumbled. "So what's the address?"

Eager to put the conversation behind her, Hermione fumbled for a slip of paper in the pocket of her denim jacket. "For your eyes only," she said surreptitiously as she slid it over face-down onto the counter.

With another eye-roll, Alex unfolded the paper and committed the address to memory.

The headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix may be found at number twelve, Grimmauld Place, London.

Alex whistled as though impressed. Headquarters, she thought, eyebrow arched. How official.

The Gryffindors were watching her expectantly.

"Sick," she said indifferently, wordlessly and wandlessly reducing the paper into ash. "See you later," she added when they didn't budge; the afternoon rush was about to begin, after all.

The kids deflated simultaneously at her lacklustre reaction. Alex tried not to smirk as they shuffled out, but not before a final bite of the sundae they were sharing.

Ever the diligent employee, Alex pasted a bright smile on her face as she turned to her customers. "Hi! What can I get for you today?"

The little boy whose eyes barely peered up over the top of the counter gaped at her. "You're the Hogwarts champion!" he gasped, starstruck.

Alex felt a blush heating her cheeks. This kid wasn't the first to react that way upon seeing her, but she still wasn't used to it. "I guess I am."

The boy's father ruffled his hair affectionately. "Forgive him," he said, smiling affably. "He was keeping track of the entire tournament last year. We were hoping you would succeed."

The kid nodded enthusiastically, nearly clipping his forehead against the edge of the counter in the process. He cupped his chubby hands around his mouth and thought letting her in on a secret. "We hate Harry Potter," he told her.

Her blood ran cold. "Why?" she heard herself ask in an innocuous tone.

"Kid's a chronic liar," replied the only adult in the room. He sneered. "The Boy-Who-Lived? More like the boy who cried wolf."

Ah. A Daily Prophet fan, then. Alex pursed her lips and constructed her expression into one of neutrality. "I see," she said coolly. She grabbed an ice cream scooper. "Cone or cup?"

The man refused to let it go. "He was just in, wasn't he?" he asked, eyes narrowing. "You might want to limit your interactions with him just in case. He isn't safe."

Technically he wasn't wrong. Harry was a magnet for trouble; he quite literally had a target on him in the shape of a lightning-like scar.

"I appreciate your concern." Fuck you, arsehole. "But I can take care of myself. What will you be having today?"

As soon as he left, Alex locked the front door and popped outside through the back exit. Behind their shop was nothing but an alleyway where the dumpsters sat (why magicians needed bins when they had the Vanishing Charm, she had no idea). Alex pictured that man's face vividly, thought of the poisonous words his son had no longer learnt from him, and channelled all her frustration into a fierce punch directed at the wall.

The sound of flesh slamming into brick echoed dully in the abandoned alleyway. There was no tell-tale crunch of bones fracturing thanks to the instinctual reach of magic that had rushed to her hand as soon as she had clenched it into a fist. The more she meditated, the stronger her magic became. The more she practised wandless magic, the better her control became.

It wasn't totally reliable, though. It was a hit or miss, and the only consistent variable was her anger. She was like a juvenile in that way, she supposed. It was kind of a bummer.

Alex flexed her fingers and, satisfied with her lack of injury, returned to the shop. The rest of her shift passed by peacefully.

Unsure as to whether or not she could divulge the existence of the headquarters Hermione had so generously shared with her, Alex opted to take a taxi to Grimmauld Place – or rather a street that was a block away. She walked the rest of the way, then retraced her steps when she couldn't located a number 12. There was an 11 and a 13, but no 12.

Puzzled, Alex paused in her steps and stared at the small space separating the two buildings. Where the hell is 12? she wondered, and just like that, there it was. It appeared out of thin air as if by magic.

A battered door was the first to materialise, followed by grimy windows and dirty walls. The buildings flanking number 12 were pushed aside by an invisible force to make room for the sudden addition. If the people in the other buildings felt anything, they showed no sign of it; one man in 11 was rocking out to a song they couldn't hear, while a girl in 13 seemed to be doing squats as she read a book. These people really needed to invest in some curtains.

After confirming no one was spying on her, Alex left the sidewalk and ascended the worn stone steps leading to the entrance. Curiously enough, the silver knocker on the shabby door was in the shape of a serpent. With some apprehension, she lifted it once and tapped it against the door.

Ten seconds passed. Just as Alex began to worry that this was an elaborate plan set up by the enemy, a series of clicks could be heard from the door as well as the clatter of a chain. The door eased open with an ominous creak.

"I'm sorry," said Ginny, feigning confusion, "I think you have the wrong place."

Alex clicked her tongue and punched Ginny in the shoulder. "Piss off."

"Password accepted," Ginny replied seamlessly. She opened the door wide enough for Alex to step through. "Welcome to magical Britain's dustiest and creepiest home."

"Not to mention Darkest," quipped Ron. He was leaning against the banister of the stairs to the second floor, Harry and Hermione on either side of him.

As Ginny closed the door firmly behind her, Alex took in the room. Her friends' descriptors were fairly accurate. The musty hallway was lined with gas-lit lamps and decorated with wallpaper so old it probably predated Dumbledore himself. By the door was an umbrella stand that looked like it used to be part of a troll's leg and what was probably a curtained-off window. All in all, it wasn't the state-of-the-art headquarters Alex had been expecting.

"I like the chandelier," she said, glancing at the ceiling. The light fixture looked as if someone had grabbed a bunch of snakes and turned them into metal.

"You would," sighed Harry.

Ignoring his remark, Alex approached them on the rickety staircase. "Whose house is this?"

"Sirius's, back when he was in school. This is the house his family lived in for generations."

"It's pretty shitty," she said frankly. "Even without all the grime."

Hermione grew tense. "You might want to lower your voice."

"Uh, okay. But why? Is there a ghost haunting this place?" It'd match the aesthetic, at any rate.

Her explanation came in the form of a purple-haired girl. She looked to be about Percy's age but made it clear she possessed none of his grace when tripped over her own feet, sending her crashing into the moth-eaten rug by the front door. The noise of her fall seemed to trigger a spell, for the velvet curtains by the umbrella stand flew apart, revealing not a window but a life-size portrait of a woman who bore a slight resemblance to Sirius.

She screamed as though she was not only alive but in immense, excruciating pain. The old woman was drooling, her eyes were rolling, the yellowing skin of her face stretched taut as she screamed, "Filth! Scum! By-products of dirt and vileness! Half-breeds, mutants, freaks, begone from this place! How dare you befoul the house of my fathers—!"

Alex did her best to block out the rest of her crazed rant. Despite the fact that other portraits had come to life and were joining in on the cacophony, the mad woman was still fairly audible. Her shrill voice drilled into Alex's head with a vengeance. Pressure was building in the forefront of her mind. Alex slapped her hands to her ears, but that did little to block out the screaming. She could sense her magic going haywire.

Before she could lose control, Sirius and Remus burst from one of the rooms downstairs and, with great effort, pulled the tattered curtains back into position, silencing the portrait for good.

Alex struggled to gather her wits, her ears still ringing. "What the fuck was that?" she moaned.

"That," sighed Ginny as she pulled out her earplugs, "was Madam Black, Sirius's mother."

"A pain in the arse even in the afterlife," grunted Sirius. His dark expression cleared as he waved up at Alex. "Welcome to my childhood home."

She waved back. "It's lovely. Very wholesome."

Sirius snorted.

Remus's eyes widened as he got a proper look at her. "Alexandra, your ears are bleeding."

Surprised, Alex grazed her ears. Her fingers came away wet with blood. She sighed even as she withdrew her wand to heal herself. "Any reason you're keeping that thing around?" she asked, nodding at the hidden portrait.

"I can assure you it's not for sentimental value," Sirius said dryly. "We've been trying to get her down for a month but we think she put a Permanent Sticking Charm on the back of the canvas."

"Then punch a hole through the wall," she replied, shrugging.

Sirius and Remus exchanged a glance. "Huh," murmured the former, "didn't think of that."

Alex shook her head as though disappointed. "It's not easy being both the brains and brawn of the group."

Even though she couldn't see them, Alex knew her friends were giving her the stink-eye. Sirius barked out a laugh while Remus indulged her with an amused quirk of his lips.

The purple-haired girl who had triggered the ruckus in the first place grinned up at her. "So, you're Alex, huh? Good show you put on during the Triwizard tournament – Bill was super impressed."

Alex tried not to shrink in on herself even as Harry inhaled sharply. "Thanks," she mumbled.

"I'm Tonks," the exuberant witch continued, oblivious to the tension seeping into the air. "Nice to meet ya."

"Likewise."

Alex was saved from trying to salvage the awkward conversation by Mrs Weasley's declaration that dinner was ready. Relieved, Alex followed the others downstairs into the somewhat cleaner dining room.

"Alexandra, you've made it," Mrs Weasley noted brightly. "How has your summer been so far, dear?"

"Quite relaxing," replied Alex as she took a seat between Hermione and Ginny.

"Except for the dementor," Harry added ruefully.

The ambiance had officially been murdered. Alex reached over Ginny to flick Harry's ear.

Mrs Weasley's face crumpled. "You'll be safe here, Harry," she assured him even as her lip quivered with uncertainty.

That wasn't what he wanted to hear, though. "But I'm not doing anything," he said, frustrated. "We deserve to be part of the Order too."

"You're underage," Mrs Weasley reminded him, her frown deepening.

The twins perked up. "We're not," they chimed.

Alex raised a hand. "I turn seventeen in two months."

Mrs Weasley glared at all three of them. "You're still far too young to be involved in such dangerous affairs."

Alex's heart clenched. "Harry isn't," she said quietly but firmly. "He's been fighting all his life."

The person in question tossed her a grateful look even as everyone else reeled from the brutal reality of her statement. As much as Alex hated to dispel their illusions, it had to be done. Mrs Weasley's intentions were good, but the rest of the world wasn't going to spoil them with the luxury of ignorance as war raged around them. Harry was situated in the eye all of the storm, he always had been, and the rest of them were going to be hurt regardless of what say they had in the matter.

"Alexandra makes a good point," Mr Weasley admitted.

"Arthur, not you too," his wife hissed, whirling on him. Seeing how everyone else in the room was more or less convinced by Alex's words, Mrs Weasley admitted defeat by throwing her hands in the air. "We'll discuss this later. Right now the food's getting cold."

Everyone dug into their dinner with gusto. Alex had no appetite, partly because of the sundae she had earlier, but mostly because of where she presently was. After picking at some mash, she excused herself.

"You gonna eat that?"

Alex froze where she stood. For a brief second she thought she was going mad. Sitting across from her where Tonks was a minute ago was someone who looked exactly like her.

Her doppelganger grinned even as her entire appearance shifted. In the blink of an eye, Tonks had returned. "I'm a metamorphmagus," she explained, reaching for some peas. She knocked over a gravy boat and elbowed Bill in the side in one fluid movement.

Alex inhaled sharply at the revelation. Metamorphmagi were rare enough that Tonks was the first one Alex had met – at least consciously. Who knew how many people in the community were hiding such a coveted ability? Their anonymity was aided by the lack of regulations agreed to by the Ministry of Magic. Unlike animagi, metamorphmagi weren't compelled by the law to register their identities. Anyone could learn to become the former (depending on ability, of course) but the latter's circumstances were purely natural; you had to be born a metamorphmagi, and despite many attempts throughout the ages, it wasn't a teachable skill.

It was shocking to see Tonks' casual treatment of her powers. Metamorphmagi were as desirable as they were despised. Their powers were too great for some peoples' likings, and could be a devastating tool if weaponised. Not many metamorphmagi lived long, happy lives. There was a reason they were a protected group.

"If you don't mind me asking," said Alex as she tucked her chair in, "what career path are you on?"

"Oh, I'm an auror," Tonks replied cheerily. "Trained under Mad-Eye himself."

What an unsurprising answer. Privately, Alex wondered whether the choice had been Tonks' at all. She perked upon registering the auror's additional comment. "Is Alastor a frequent guest here?" she asked hopefully.

Tonks quirked an eyebrow at the personal address but nodded nonetheless. "He's been a core member of the Order ever since the war."

Humming thoughtfully, Alex left the dining room. Though there were gaps in her knowledge, it was highly likely the ringleader of the Order of the Phoenix was Dumbledore. He seemed like the type to act as the mastermind of an underground resistance group. Besides, he was the only person Alex knew who actually owned a phoenix.

12 Grimmauld Place was deceptively huge, but the impressive size was counteracted by the fact that most of the rooms were sealed shut. The first interesting room Alex found was a library on the third floor. The Black library was nothing to scoff at even if it was a fraction of the size of the Hogwarts one. The books they each held were vastly different too. While the Hogwarts library covered a wide range of subjects, this one seemed to be exclusively about Dark magic. From spells to potions to items to rituals: if it was even remotely malicious, it was written about and stored here.

One particular title caught her eye. Secrets of the Darkest Art, it proclaimed proudly. The white ink of the text contrasted sharply with the black and purple cover. Tempted as she was to sink her teeth into it, Alex's caution overruled her curiosity. She would wait until Sirius came back before touching anything. There was no doubt the house was teeming with cursed artefacts.

Another floor up contained two rooms with doors which were closed but not locked. Curious, Alex cracked open each one at a time. What she found were two bedrooms immortalised by time, or a specific spell. Despite their proximity, the two bedrooms couldn't be any more disparate. The one closest to the staircase was bursting with colour and cheer. There were lion banners pinned over the red-and-gold bed, while the other walls had posters of bikini-clad women, motorcycles, and bikini-clad women posing seductively on motorcycles. Something told Alex this was Sirius's old room. She could picture a rebellious sixteen-year-old version of him decorating his room with the sole objective of making his mother flip out.

Its neighbouring bedroom was so much more sombre, it was actually disorienting. Whereas the other one was loud with its Gryffindor pride, this one was daintily decorated with green, the wallpaper bearing a striking resemblance to the one in her dorm down in the dungeons of Hogwarts. It was peeling now, held up only by the inflated Black crest in the centre of the room and a mass of newspaper clippings tacked to all four walls of the bedroom. As Alex inched closer, she realised they were all about one thing: Voldemort. What he and his followers did, where they were spotted, and their presumed crimes. It was a nauseating sight.

"Amazing, isn't it?"

Alex whirled around. She had been so mesmerised by the macabre room that she hadn't even noticed Sirius's approach. "In a way," she replied meekly. "Whose room is this?"

Sirius's expression was as open as a deadlocked door when he said, "My brother's."

Her heart sunk. She should've guessed as much. Although nowhere near as notorious as Sirius, Regulus Black had been a legitimate Death Eater. There wasn't much information on him from what Alex could gather; most of it came from the papers in conjunction to Sirius and his quote-unquote misdeeds. Regulus Black had died years before Voldemort's fall, though how, she wasn't sure.

"Sorry for snooping," said Alex, stepping out of the room and closing the door firmly behind her.

Some of the shadows receded from Sirius's eyes. "No, you're not," he huffed, grinning.

She smiled at his understanding. "Your room is pretty amazing too."

"Truly?" He laughed. "My family thought so as well. They came close to disowning me after that."

"I thought you were disowned?"

"Oh, I was, but only after I graduated and officially joined the good fight." Sirius pushed himself off the banister and began heading down the stairs. "Let me show you something."

After closing the door to his childhood bedroom, Alex followed him down all the way to the first floor and into what she supposed was a drawing room.

"I never got why it's called that," she mused aloud as she took in the open space. "People don't exactly draw in here." It was used for studying or plotting or taxes or whatever it was adults did.

"But I suppose that counts," she continued, her eyes growing wide as she took in a tapestry of the Black family tree. Designed as a literal tree with brown branches and green leaves, it stretched across an entire wall and seemed to date as far back as the 13th century, with the most recent addition being Draco Malfoy.

Sometimes she forgot how intimately related every pureblood in the world was. If she thought the inbreeding was bad now, it was going to be hellish within a few years' time.

"While I hate the idea, I have to admit the concept was executed really well," Alex announced, surveying the tree. "Also, why are there so many people named Sirius? Maybe you guys aren't that creative after all."

"You're not wrong," confirmed Sirius the Third. "If it helps, I'm definitely the best Sirius of my family."

"According to this, you're not," she noted, tapping the blackened section that used to bear Sirius's name and likeness.

"Please," he scoffed, "that's a mark of honour. Only the best and bravest of us Blacks have the privilege of being burned off this tapestry."

Alex dragged her finger from Sirius's name to Regulus's, over Bellatrix's and then to the dead-spot before Narcissa's. "Who's this?"

"My favourite cousin," Sirius replied happily. "Andromeda Tonks. She married a muggleborn. I stayed at theirs the year before, remember?"

"Vaguely. So, Tonks is your niece? What's her first name?"

"Nymphadora," he snickered. "You can see why she goes by her surname."

"Yikes," muttered Alex. "Did her parents want her to be bullied?"

"Maybe."

"I gave those tosspots a thorough beating, rest assured," said Tonks, leaning against the doorway. "C'mon, you two. Molly made dessert and she will not be satisfied until everyone has had at least one serving."

Alex grimaced, well aware Tonks wasn't even close to exaggerating.

Satisfied with the fire she'd manage to light under their arses, Tonks smiled and pushed herself off the doorframe. There was a slight skip to her step as she headed for the kitchen; unfortunately, that was enough to disturb her equilibrium and send her toppling onto the hardwood floor, waking Madam Black up once more.

Alex plugged her ears shut with a wince. Maybe she shouldn't have been so keen to come to Grimmauld Place after all.