24 March, 1977. Hogwarts, Forbidden Forest.

Alya measured the perimeter of the clearing in stride, snorting furiously like a dragon. It had been days of long waiting, which had seemed endless to the girl.

At last Wednesday evening had arrived, and with it the customary secret rendezvous between James and Alya.

In order to defend the clandestinity of their relationship, Alya had been forced to repress every single emotion that the Gryffindor's latest adventures in the girls' bathroom on the first floor had triggered in her.

Now that she was safely tucked away in the leafy vegetation of the Forbidden Forest, Alya felt free to voice all her thoughts, sprinkling the air with mixed tones of anger, apprehension and blame.

James, for his part, stood in the middle of the clearing, motionless and unsure of how to appease the fierce reproaches the girl was pouring out at him.

Of all the welcomes Alya had given him in their meetings in the woods, that one had undoubtedly been the least warm.

"I can't believe it. I just can't believe it!" kept muttering Alya on repeat, like a broken record. "Do you realise how reckless you've been, Potter?" she ranted, looking grimly at James.

"I just noticed a shady movement and acted. What else was I supposed to do?" retorted the Gryffindor boy, trying to defend himself against Black's implacable gaze.

"What do I know, maybe warn a teacher first", retorted Alya, pretending to ponder fanciful guesses. James burst out laughing mockingly; never in his entire career at Hogwarts had he needed the help of a teacher to solve his personal issues. On the contrary, it was usually the teachers who intervened against him and grounded him, to protect the students he was targeting.

"Or, you could have called for reinforcements and had my brother and your other little friends have your back," Alya continued undaunted, blithely ignoring the Gryffindor's dismissive reaction.

"I walked into Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, not a Basilisk's lair!"* I didn't think I'd have to put up a fight for my life", James justified himself, a little testily.

"And look how you got out!"

"Don't overreact! It's just a few scratches. And, besides, do you really think I can't handle myself against Snivellus?" he asked, outraged.

"What if it wasn't just Snape inside that bathroom? Did you think of that? The point is, Potter, you're in no position to act on impulse, and more importantly, alone!" reiterated young Black, unyielding.

"Look I can take care of myself", muttered the Gryffindor, gloomy in the face. He didn't like the fact that Alya didn't consider him capable of pulling it off in a clash of spells.

"You must realise that, right now, you are the most hated student among the Slytherins. All my classmates cheered when they found out what had happened to you. Some even hoped you had lost a hand in that stupid fight!"

"I'm touched." commented James, sarcastically. He quickly ran his hand through his hair, boastfully.

"Don't joke, I'm serious! You can't afford to act reckless. The risk is too high!" concluded Alya, in a calmer, but no less uncompromising voice.

James snorted impatiently. He didn't like being picked on like a child, although part of him admitted that Alya had a point.

"Alright, I get the lesson," he said finally, conceding her point. "I'll be more careful next time, I promise. Anyway, I'm fine. Don't worry."

"Well, Snape will be pleased to know you're fit as a fiddle," Alya ironized, with a half-smile. But he instantly flinched. "By the way, you told everyone you didn't see who attacked you... why did you lie and not report it?" she asked seriously, back on the warpath.

"For Sirius. When it comes to Snape he's incapable of reasoning. I wanted to avoid a repeat of the December incident." replied James promptly, giving Alya an eloquent look.

But she didn't stop staring at him reproachfully.

"But you didn't think twice before pointing your wand at my brother! First you defend Sirius and then you try to strike him from behind!" she rebuked him harshly. Her expression had become as hard as granite.

"That was a completely different situation... Sirius was attacking you!"

"Well, Potter, I'm perfectly capable of defending myself against Sirius, as well as anyone else. Even without your help!" asserted Alya, haughtily.

"I can't argue with that. You really are phenomenal with spells!" commented James with sincere admiration, remembering the ease with which the Slytherin had disarmed him and his friend days before.

"Don't try to distract me with your flattery! I mean it, Potter: don't meddle in the problems between Sirius and me! It's none of your business. And don't you dare point your wand at him ever again! Even if my brother throws an Unforgivible Curse at me, you must stay out of it!" Alya's tone had risen a couple of octaves again. She appeared furious, but it was her way of concealing a hidden fear that had worked its way into her heart. The fear that the friendship that bound James and Sirius tightly could be shattered because of her.

Tired of all those recriminations, the Gryffindor surrendered, babbling unwillingly, "Alright, alright, I'll stay away from the Black battle!", raising his arms in surrender.

Both remained silent, peering at each other with glances that brimmed with unspoken words.

James resented the lecture, but he had picked up on the fact that behind the young Black's harsh and abrupt tone lurked a deep apprehension. In her own way, Alya had tried to convey to him how much she had been worried about him.

He couldn't help but look at her fondly, as the girl, as if to confirm the Gryffindor's intuition, approached him. Gently, she grasped his hand that Snape had snatched.

He lifted it and turned it over so that he could better observe her palm. The girl's grey eyes lingered for a long time on the fully healed skin, now free of gashes or blood.

Still very gently, Alya touched with the fingertip of her index finger the spot where the shadow of a scar was visible, the only remnant of the curse. The contact was light, but it gave James an intense shiver of pleasure, which rose from his hand, from the point where Alya had touched him, all the way down his back.

A light breeze rose from the forest and a sweet smell of lavender suddenly invaded his nostrils. It was the scent of her, her hair and her skin. James inhaled it deeply and felt his heartbeat suddenly accelerate as he stared at the maiden, all focused on inspecting the veins in her hand.

"That Snape - You shouldn't have let him get off so easily! He deserves to be punished!" she sighed, lividity back in her voice. But she wasn't angry with James. Not any more, at least. Her anger, now, was directed solely at the greasy Slytherin, whose malicious grimace that had crossed his yellowish face as he boasted in front of Mulciber and Avery that he had hurt James, Alya remembered all too well. The desire for revenge made her blood boil.

"Believe me, Black, no one wants to see Snape in trouble more than me, but I didn't want to risk it. Safeguarding Sirius from his vicious reactions was my priority." reiterated James, who had meanwhile released his hand from Alya's grasp to caress her cheek. With a fine gesture, he slid down to below her chin, lifting her face so that she could look up into his face. When the Slytherin's silver gaze locked into the lenses of her round glasses, James had to suppress the burning urge to kiss her.

There was more he wanted to tell her.

"But that's not the only reason I didn't say anything about Snape..." he muttered with a very serious expression.

Alya looked at him troubled.

"What do you mean?"

"Do you remember the incident in December?"

"How could I forget?" she rephrased him, in a bitter voice.

"Didn't you ever wonder how I escaped the clutches of a werewolf thirsty for human blood?"

"Well, I guess you fought..." muttered Alya, confused. She scrambled through her memories regarding the vision she had had at Christmas, when she had dreamt of the fight between James and the werewolf... in fact, there were no images to explain how he had managed to escape. The vision had stopped at the exact moment Lupin had pounced on his friend, only to resume much later, when Potter had already entered the Forbidden Forest. As if someone had suddenly turned off the power. Everything had gone dark and Alya had seen nothing.

"I had lost my wand and was groping in total darkness. I think I even lost consciousness... my memories are very confused and fragmented... But one thing I'm sure of: I was a goner." commented James, with a smile that was completely devoid of mirth.

"Then how...?" murmured Alya, as she pondered possible options. "You don't think it was Snape who helped you, do you?" she blurted out suddenly, staring at the Gryffindor with wide, incredulous eyes.

"It's the only plausible explanation. Snape was the only one around. Perhaps, he was seized with remorse... Or he was simply frightened. Either way, he must have sneaked up on Remus, thus giving me a chance to save myself." said James, thoughtful, as if he himself was struggling to believe his own words.

Alya's gaze wandered absently over the thick vegetation that surrounded them; absurd as it seemed, Potter's hypothesis was the only plausible one. Without outside intervention, it would have been highly unlikely, not to say impossible, that the boy would have made it out of the Shrieking Shack alive and, more importantly, from the jaws of a ravenous werewolf.

"Well, even if he had helped you escape that night, it makes no difference. Snape is a devious, revolting being, capable only of holding a grudge against those he envies! Especially you", Alya exclaimed heatedly.

"Well, over the years I've given him plenty of reasons to hate me..." admitted James, guiltily.

"Snape hates you because you represent everything he wants to be. But who he will never be. And he knows that perfectly well, but he can't accept it. Besides, it was Sirius who instigated him to sneak into the Shrieking Shack that night, not you. So stop blaming yourself! You already saved his life once. You owe him nothing more!" Alya spoke with such fervour that it made the dishevelled Gryffindor flare up. As always happened to him when he felt nervous or excited, James tousled his hair in an excited gesture. James was aware of the misdeeds he had done against Snape and he was still ashamed of them, but realising the sincere esteem that Alya held for him filled him with pride.

Shaking off the last crumbs of blame and self-pity, James hugged Alya and squeezed her tightly, yearning for her lips, eager to press his mouth against the maiden's.

Alya and James kissed long and hard, until they were both breathless.

When with difficulty their lips parted, the Gryffindor looked at her and smiled.

"Sunday, after curfew has been triggered, be found outside the castle, on the west side of the Black Lake," he ordered her peremptorily, with a strange sparkle in his eyes.

"The Black Lake? And why not here, in the Forbidden Forest, as always? It's safer..." muttered the Slytherin, uncertain.

James shook his head.

"No questions, Black. Sunday, the west side of the Black Lake. Just trust me!" he retorted firmly, with the air of one who admits no retort.

And to make sure that Alya didn't dare to counter, he kissed her again, holding her close to him for a long, long time.

***

27 March, 1977. Hogwarts, west side of the Black Lake.

Alya admired the sliver of moon reflected in the calm waters of the Black Lake, a name that could not have been more apt at that time of night. The darkness gave the lake surface the same black appearance as the oil, highlighting the whitish gleam of the satellite reflected in it.

Alya vigorously rubbed her hands together, one against the other, to fight the cold that gripped her now completely numb body, despite the thick layer of the cloak that enveloped her. White rivulets flowed out of her mouth with every breath. Even though the calendar had marked the end of winter days ago, her icy air did not want to know about leaving Hogwarts and its confines. And being on the shores of a lake, where the humidity ruled, making the air even more pungent, certainly didn't help the night's patrons find relief.

Squeezed into her cloak and with her hood up, Alya walked back and forth along the shore in the remote hope of finding warmth in the movement.

As she sank her steps onto the ground, made soft by the damp atmosphere of the lake, the girl kept wondering why Potter had ever proposed to meet her there. In the meantime, she cast impatient glances at the jagged outline of the castle: it was a long way from the front door, but if she sharpened her eyesight, she would be able to discern any movement around it.

But there was no sign of James Potter or anything other than grass and sky, fused together in a sombre black skein.

Alya snorted audibly. That boy just wasn't capable of arriving on time.

The girl went back to watching the white moon swaying faintly in the dark waters, the only pleasant company in that dismal place.

Suddenly, she felt a tap on her shoulder. Alya turned: it was Potter.

She glared at him grimly. Once again he had appeared out of nowhere, without her noticing.

"Cute in the hood! From a distance, I had mistaken you for a Dementor," snickered the Gryffindor, also wrapped in a heavy black cloak to protect himself from the cold and blend in with the night.

Alya grunted in annoyance.

"I've been waiting for you for an eternity! Were you by any chance planning to freeze me to death?"

"Forgive me, it was harder to extricate myself from the others tonight," Potter replied, without going into details. "Follow me now. I want to take you somewhere." he said finally, firmly grabbing Alya's hand. The latter instinctively clasped her fingers around his and together they walked through the Hogwarts grounds.

James walked confidently and briskly, as if he couldn't wait to show the girl whatever he had in mind. They passed the broom shed and Alya began to break out in a cold sweat.

"Where are you taking me?" she asked in horror, sensing the answer despite herself.

"You will understand shortly. We're almost there, be patient," said James, a sly grin plastered on his face.

The grandiose figure of the school's Quidditch Pitch towered almost menacingly above them in the girl's eyes, and when she realised that James was pointing right at the imposing structure, adorned with flags depicting the crests and colours of all four Hogwarts Houses, she shuddered in revulsion.

As he had imagined the Slytherin, the dishevelled Gryffindor dragged her all the way into the field.

Now, they were inside the stadium, surrounded by the high wooden and metal stands. A gust of icy wind blew the fabric of the banners that stood, evenly spaced from each other, around the circular perimeter of the stands. On opposite sides of the field, the long poles of the Three Rings swayed, emitting a sinister squeak.

James savoured the air, which tasted of freshly cut grass, with a blissful and satisfied expression, as if he had never wished to be anywhere else in the world. Alya, for her part, looked around in disgust. She had always hated Quidditch.

"This is what your amazing surprise would be, Potter? Quidditch?", she asked, indignant.

"Exactly", he replied, calmly.

"Take me back," Alya ordered him, about to turn around.

But James blocked her.

"No way! Today is a special day for me and you are going to stay here and keep me company."

"A special day?" the girl echoed him, completely confused.

The young Potter puffed out his chest and assumed a truncated posture.

"Yes, it's my birthday," he announced proudly.

Alya gasped.

"Your birthday? I didn't know about it... Why didn't you tell me earlier? I would have got you something...' she mumbled, in awe mixed with embarrassment at having turned up empty-handed.

But James' smug expression made her realise that he hadn't told her anything on purpose and that the omission was part of a plan.

"Better. So now you can't refuse!" she exclaimed, snickering.

"Refuse me to do what?" squeaked Alya, growing increasingly worried.

Potter did not reply, merely chuckling under his moustache. Then, he extended an arm and with his wand pointed towards the changing rooms, he pronounced:

"Accio broomstick!"

A few seconds passed, then a low hiss cut through the air, something thundered swiftly towards them. With a forceful grip, James grabbed what Alya realised to her horror was a broomstick.

"Right, Black. You'll fly with me tonight," the dishevelled boy announced triumphantly, as a second gust of wind ruffled his mop of brown hair even more.

Alya recoiled in terror.

"No!"

"Yes, you did! I told you. Today is my birthday and you are in no position to refuse."

"Don't mess with me, Potter!"

"I never joke about Quidditch," asserted James, frowning in offence. After that, he leapt nimbly onto the back of his broom, which hovered spontaneously in the air, floating a handful of inches above the ground. The boy extended a hand towards the Slytherin girl:

"Come on, mount up!"

Alya remained motionless, firmly planted to the ground.

"Forget it! I'm not getting on that banger!" she screeched, poorly concealing a note of fear.

"Hey! This is a Thunder and Furious! It's the latest model to come out!" pointed out the outraged Gryffindor.

But Alya didn't give a fig about broomstick models, or anything else Quidditch-related.

She abhorred the idea of riding on the back of that shaky-looking and decidedly unsteady contraption.

She took another step backwards, but lightning-quick James stepped in front of her, blocking her escape route.

"Don't you dare! Get in, you wimp!" he scolded her, continuing to chuckle. Once again, the Gryffindor wittily hit the crux of the matter.

Stung to the quick, the proud Slytherin gave him a furious look, and far from showing fear of a broom, she grabbed the hand James had extended towards her and with clumsy movements mounted the wooden handle.

Behind her, James smiled tenderly, noticing the spasms that intermittently crossed the Slytherin's back. Stiff as a spindle, Alya held onto the broomstick, clasping her hands so tightly around the wood that she gave the impression she wanted to choke on it.

Naturally, the Gryffindor slid closer to her and Alya gasped when she felt the boy's warm breath tickle her neck.

"Relax, Black! I'm here with you. You have nothing to fear." he reassured her, speaking into her ear.

"I-I am not afraid!" lied the girl, in a trembling voice.

James slipped his arms under Alya's, grazing her waist. He gripped the broomstick a few centimetres earlier than where she had clamped hers.

The maiden was pervaded by another wave of shivers and felt herself falter. Not so much from instability or fear of falling, but from the close proximity between her and Potter.

The space between them had completely vanished, Alya could clearly feel the boy's chest against her back.

Although there had been numerous hugs and kisses between them by now, that kind of contact gave her a feeling of intimacy she had never felt before. James must have felt the same; Alya caught the slight hesitation in his voice and the beat of his heart.

"Ready? Now we go up", she announced and the broom pointed towards the sky, hovering slowly in the air according to the precise commands of the experienced Gryffindor Seeker.

As they moved away from the ground, Alya's courage failed, giving way to utter terror. She crumpled onto the wooden handle, paralysed by the sense of emptiness that gripped every fibre of her muscles.

She closed her eyes and clenched her lips tightly, so as not to let out panicked cries, trying to maintain as much dignity as possible.

To no avail. She explicitly heard Potter behind her grinning with amusement.

"I knew there had to be a reason," he commented under his breath, more to himself than to the girl.

"A-a reason for what?" the Slytherin bellowed in annoyance.

"For your utter contempt for Quidditch! You've never participated in a selection, never attended the matches. Not even the ones your brother plays in... I always thought it wasn't normal, that there was something going on. No wizard can hate Quidditch that much, unless he has a personal reason to repudiate it! And yours is that you have a strog fear of heights. Therefore you cannot fly on a broomstick." declared James smugly, in the same tone as a detective who has just unravelled an intricate mystery.

Wounded in her pride, Alya stiffened even more. If she hadn't feared losing her balance, she would have given that cheeky Gryffindor a good elbow in the ribs.

"And that's a shame, because you don't know what you're missing", commented Potter undaunted, as they continued to climb towards the sky. They must have been very high up, or so Alya deduced, since she had not yet ventured to open her eyes. The girl felt the wind lashing more violently against the bare skin of her face.

Then, the broom stopped, freezing in mid-air.

"Come on Black, open your eyes," he whispered in her ear, trying to reassure her with his voice. Meanwhile, a hand released its grip from the handle to securely encircle her waist, letting her know that he was there and nothing dangerous would happen to her.

Finally relying on the confidence the Gryffindor conveyed to her, Alya relaxed her eyelids and opened them slowly.

A breathtaking spectacle unfolded before her, like a painting magnificently crafted by the skilled hands of an artist. The ancient castle of Hogwarts stood out against the starry black mantle in all its jagged glory. In the distance, the leafy foliage of the Forbidden Forest could be seen swaying with placid elegance. The leaves danced to the rhythm of the hissing wind, which to Alya seemed like an ancestral, primitive song. Finally, in the immensity of Hogwarts Park, the waters of the Black Lake spread out like a gigantic inkblot. The brightness of the moon and the stars crackled on the dark surface of the water, where it mingled with the reflection of the few flaming lights of the castle still burning.

"It's nice, isn't it?" gloated James behind her back. Although she couldn't look him in the face, Alya knew he was smiling triumphantly.

"It's gorgeous", she admitted, almost forgetting where she was and how many metres lay between the ground and her feet.

"I often come here in the evenings to train. To admire this view in peace. At night, Hogwarts looks even more beautiful. For my birthday, I thought... well... I wanted to share it with you." stated James, hesitantly. Alya smiled, unable to be more grateful.

Had it not been for the growing terror of falling into the void, Alya would have remained there, with James holding her close, admiring the beautiful and evocative landscape for the rest of her days.

Unfortunately, the girl had the unfortunate idea of looking down for a brief, very brief moment. It was enough. A sense of vertigo and emptiness hit her with the same violence as a punch in the gut. Her breath caught and she began to shake like a leaf.

"Oh no, Black! First rule for those who has fear of heights, never look down!" said James, noticing Alya's fear.

"Ge-get me to the ground. Get me to the ground now!" she shrieked, unable to quell her panic.

James nodded obediently and gave the broom the command to land.

The thin flying machine then began to lower itself, slowly, carefully, so as not to further upset young Black's already distraught soul.

As she saw the ground approaching, Alya relaxed, regaining her lost composure.

"Is that better?" she assured James, thoughtfully.

"Yes", the girl confirmed, with no more tremor in her voice.

"Hang on, we're almost there, but first..." said the Gryffindor in a strange tone. Had Alya been able to look into his eyes at that moment, she might have noticed the strange gleam that dazzled his hazel irises for an instant. But the girl had her back to him, so Potter's impulsive action caught her completely unprepared.

James gave another silent command to his broom, which responded faithfully, suddenly increasing its speed. Alya instinctively grabbed onto the handle and had to close her eyes again, to defend herself from the air that was now whipping her face with impunity. Her raven hair lost all trace of its orderly dignity, wriggling in the wind.

Potter's broom moved slyly, thundering and slicing through the air like a sword, swift as a hummingbird.

Huddled around the wooden handle, along with her panic the Slytherin felt a sudden anger rise towards James and his diabolical trickery.

"Potter! Put me down! Put me down or I'll turn you into a Worm!" she shouted, trying to look menacing.

The Gryffindor snickered.

"Wait, one last thing!" he declared, with a sly, wry grin as he crouched against Alya's trembling body, wrapping his hands around hers.

James began to turn the handle to one side and Alya immediately guessed his intentions.

"No! No the vertical loop, please!" she whimpered in despair.

Too late. James acted quickly, with a dexterity worthy of his reputation as Quidditch Champion. The broomstick coiled in the merciless wind; Alya clearly felt the world spin around her as her insides twisted in a grip of terror. Totally frightened, she screamed.

Then, the world was back in order, straight back to where it belonged. James braked abruptly and the broom stopped flying.

Still with her eyelids tightly shut, Alya did not notice that her feet were only a handful of centimetres off the ground. All she had to do was stretch out her leg to savour its solid, firm hardness again.

James, still snickering, tapped the girl's trembling back.

"Hey, we're here!" he told her, in a joking tone.

Alya opened her eyes and when she realised she was safe again, she leapt off the broomstick, as fast as a feline.

Her appearance betrayed all the terror she had felt: her hair in disarray and dishevelled by the wind, her cheeks puckered with rage and fear, her eyes reddened, not at all used to the lash of the air. Seeing her in that state, James couldn't stop himself from laughing.

"What were you thinking?" the girl ranted at the Gryffindor, as testy as a cat thrown into the water.

"Sorry, but I couldn't help doing it!" he mumbled, cracking up with laughter. "Well, now you know what it means to fly. To really fly." he justified himself, then, trying to quell his sobs. Alya glared at him truculently, as James ran his hand through his hair once more, to ruffle it more. The adrenaline of flight gave him a swaggering, confident air. At that moment, Alya realised how charming that irreverent, mocking Gryffindor was.

The girl tried to compose herself, reverting to her haughty, snobbish frown, while a part of her fought against the sudden attraction she had just felt.

The boy meanwhile adjusted his cloak, which had become dishevelled during the flight, without being able to stop sniggering.

The Slytherin girl, still deeply offended, pierced him with her most vicious gaze:

"You know, James, you are the most mischievous boy I have ever..." the words choked in her throat at the exact moment she realised what she had just said.

Potter must have noticed it too, because he turned sharply towards her, his hazel eyes shining in disbelief.

"You've just called me... James?" he repeated seriously, with no trace of laughter left in his voice.

"No." lied Alya, instinctively.

"You called me by first name!" he reiterated, forcefully.

"I - I don't know... maybe..." Alya muttered, increasingly uncomfortable.

It was true, she had called him by his first name. It was a spontaneous gesture, neither meditated nor sought after, which nevertheless betrayed a feeling that she, out of pride, tried not to reveal.

Unable to deny beyond the obvious, Alya fell silent, staring at James in surrender. Instinctively, she bit her lower lip, intimidated by the boy's reaction.

But he didn't look upset at all. On the contrary, a broad smile soon spread across his thin face as he advanced swiftly towards her.

With an impetuous gesture, he drew her to him and embraced her with strength and warmth.

"I must make you fly more often, if this is the result," the Gryffindor joked, as his fingers strayed into the Slytherin's hair, fiddling with a raven strand. Alya couldn't hold back a smile of joy and relief as she sank her face into James' chest. The latter wriggled out of the embrace, but only to get a better look into the young Black's eyes.

"This is the best birthday present you could have given me, Alya!" he murmured, with a sincere smile.

Alya's heart vibrated intensely. The fear of having exposed herself so spontaneously had vanished. Especially as hearing James say her name sounded to her the most beautiful sound in the world.
The girl leaned forward, stopping only a few millimetres from James' lips, who kept staring at her with eyes shining from behind his round glasses.

"So, happy birthday, James", Alya whispered softly, before kissing him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N:

*I couldn't resist xD! Every now and then I have fun inserting cameos.

I made up the name of James's broomstick on the spot. I suspect Rowling has a list of the names of the various broomsticks, but I had neither the time nor the inclination to go and investigate.

To conclude, in this chapter we see Alya now finally breaking down her barriers and how much of a romantic James is underneath. Anyway, this chapter came about because I was in the mood for romance :P