The pale light of the full moon filtered faintly through the thick tangle of branches and leaves of the Forbidden Forest, barely illuminating the suffering muzzle of the stag lying on the ground at the foot of the majestic cypress tree.

Now standing beside him, Alya clearly saw the numerous bleeding wounds which dotted the animal's body. Much of the brown coat was covered in blood: by the looks of it, it must have been fighting desperately against a large predator. The bite marks were large and deep.

In particular, one of the two hind legs had a gruesome gash: the opponent's teeth had sunk down to the bone, tearing flaps of flesh and muscle, which now pulsed painfully in the open. In that condition, the deer would have had no chance to get back on its feet and, in all likelihood, would have died within hours from the copious blood loss.

However, despite being at the end of its strength, the beast was lusting and kicking, refusing to surrender to death. Alya admired its stubbornness. The girl couldn't help but recall the words her mother had spoken to her when she had first conjured up a Patronus: the stag is proud; if it must die, it will fight with all its might to take with it the foolish predator that attacked it.

Judging by the wounds it showed, that agonized stag demonstrated how much truth lay in Walburga's statement. The girl didn't know whether the predator which had attacked it had died in the encounter or not, but it was obvious that the stag had fought with all its might.

Young Black's fingers rose spontaneously to caress the horn-shaped pattern engraved on the silver pendant around her neck, while a sense of pity and determination invaded her heart. Meanwhile, Koboro had crawled silently up to the body of the animal lying on the ground, his small black eyes studied its wounds, his nostrils flared to inhale its gravity. At the sight of the large, obsidian-black cobra slowly approaching him, the deer kicked vehemently in a vain attempt to drive it away. Koboro ignored him.

"The stag is doomed," he sentenced without compassion. "My venom will give it a quicker end." he hissed like an executioner.

Koboro stood majestically above the animal's mighty throat, jaws wide open, revealing the sharp canines brimming with venom. The stag, which certainly didn't understand Parseltongue, sensed the deadly intentions of the onyx-colored snake all the same; it huffed muffled protests, wiggling its pointed antlers. In its dark eyes there was no shadow of either fear or supplication. Alya saw a furious vital spark shining in the stag's black irises.

"Stop!" growled young Black, reflexively pointing her wand at Koboro.

"Don't you dare!" she intimated to the animal. The snake instantly froze and turned toward Alya.

"It's just a stag." he hissed contritely, though not at all perturbed by the human's outburst.

"I don't care. I want to save him. And you're going to help me." replied Alya, firm and unyielding. "I have healed similar wounds before, remember? Thanks to your magic. I will save this stag as I saved you years ago."

Koboro remained in inscrutable silence for a few seconds. Then, he recoiled, albeit reluctantly, from the pawing figure of the dying beast.

"As you wish." said the reptile condescendingly, as with slow movements it wrapped its wide coils around Alya's body so that its triangular snout was at the same height as the girl's ear. "Clear your mind and focus your thoughts only on the wounds. Listen to the sounds I whisper to you and repeat them faithfully. But I warn you: the animal is very weak. It may not survive anyway."

"I have to try. It deserves a chance," Alya answered him, firmly.

The girl knelt beside the stag, which brayed menacingly, lashing the air with blows from its antlers. It almost pierced Alya. But she didn't back away; after all, the animal was only fighting for its life.

"Hey, hey, easy. I want to help you and not hurt you," whispered young Black softly. But the beast didn't seem to be inclined to trust and snorted aggressively, pawing at her hooves. Not quite sure how to quell the animal's fear, Alya did the first thing she could think of, improvising: she pointed her wand at the deer's snout and uttered in a low voice:

"Expecto Patronum."

A brilliant trail of silvery light slid out from the end of Alya's wand, gradually enlarging until it took the form of a majestic, proud-looking stag with huge antlers. The ethereal figure of the animal advanced slowly, hovering a few inches above the ground and lowered its silvery, evanescent muzzle close to the black eyes of the brown beast, made of flesh and bone. The groans and convulsive movements ceased.

"See, you can trust me," said Alya, sketching a gentle smile. Finally, the wounded stag seemed to give in to trust, abandoning itself exhausted on the ground.

Alya stretched out her arms toward the mighty bloody body, placing both her wand and her free hand over the gash in her hind leg, but without touching it. She closed her eyes, focusing every single thought exclusively on the image of the wound. After a few moments, she nodded her head slightly, signaling to Koboro that she was ready to begin the healing ritual. The snake's mouth barely opened, a few millimeters from young Black's attentive ear, and it hissed in a faint whisper the powerful sounds of its kind. An arcane chant, as old as the Earth itself. Alya sensed her own body reacting to such magic, flooding with chills, as if an electric shock was coursing through her veins. Like a shadow, Alya's voice began to echo Koboro's hisses, faithfully repeating each and every word (if it could be called that) uttered by the reptile. The chills that had immediately invaded her body at the beginning of that portentous chant went to concentrate in her palms. From the tip of the wand, gushes of white light, like drops of morning dew gushed delicately, settling on the torn edges of flesh and muscle. The gash slowly closed again, the bloodstains dotting the paw's coat vanished. Within a matter of seconds, the limb was as good as new, without even the shadow of a scar to witness what had happened.

"The worst is over." announced Alya, with a vague tremor in her voice. Koboro's powerful magic required a huge expenditure of energy, and Alya felt the first signs of exhaustion.

On the contrary, the stag had resumed breathing with more vigor and regularity. His black gaze now expressed total confidence in the girl.

"You must have faced a tough opponent. These wounds are certainly not the work of just any predator." observed Alya, as she meticulously studied the rest of the animal's body.

She moved her hands and wand over the bites given to the back and ribs, which were less severe than the newly healed gash on the hind leg, but still needed swift intervention to stop the blood loss. Alya repeated Koboro's arcane spell, which continued to envelop her with its wide onyx-colored coils. As the magical hisses flowed in the form of a remote melody from her newly opened lips, Alya lost more and more strength. Having finished her second healing, young Black felt her own body heavy and tired. She breathed laboredly, as if she had just finished a long and exhausting run.

"What happened?" she asked pantingly of the deer, not expecting an actual answer. "Some dangerous creature wanted to turn you into dinner?" she joked, as she moved her trembling hands along the animal's body, looking for more wounds to heal.

The stag snorted loudly through its nose, shaking its antlers. Was it perhaps expressing dissent? Alya laughed at herself for believing that an animal, with the exception of Koboro, could have the acumen to understand her. But she played along anyway.

"So were you perhaps protecting your territory? Or maybe your own pack?" the girl guessed, wondering how many deer packs could possibly live in the Forbidden Forest of Hogwarts.

At those words, the animal uttered a low cry, like a sad grumbling.

"So that's it. I'm not surprised actually. My mother once explained to me that you stags are incredibly noble and brave creatures. Although you don't live to attack other animals, you don't back down from a fight, especially when it comes to defending what belongs to you. Tonight you must have fought with honor." commented Alya, growing more and more fatigued.

The stag remained motionless, staring at her with his deep dark eyes. He seemed to be listening to her attentively.

"You must be patient a little longer. There is the last wound to heal." whispered Alya, with a concentrated expression, as she turned her eyes and wand on a scratch in his neck.

The cut was superficial, the claw must have only grazed the animal. But there was still blood coming out and it had to be closed again, to avoid possible infection. Koboro and Alya emitted their prodigious hisses for the last time, and the wound disappeared in the blink of an eye.

"An excellent job. You have learned well how to wield my medicine magic." hissed Koboro proudly, in Alya's ear.

The stag, fully recovered, leapt to its feet, showing itself in all its shining pride. He trotted vigorously around Alya's silvery Patronus, who had been standing beside him the whole time. Meanwhile, Alya lifted herself off the ground, struggling as Koboro unwound his massive black coils, lying flat again on the damp ground. The girl was exhausted, as if someone had sucked every trace of magical energy from her body.

The stag, now looking at least as majestic as the ethereal figure conjured by Alya's wand and with a antler stage as glorious as a crown, approached its savior cautiously. The girl and the animal remained motionless, facing each other, exchanging a long gaze of deep intensity. A solemn silence expanded between them. Alya felt her heart fill with emotion. And gratitude. She was happy that she had managed to save the animal's life; she wasn't a monster after all.

Suddenly, a distant crunch tore through the silence that had fallen in the forest. Both Alya and the deer gasped, looking away from each other, turning suddenly toward the spot from which the noise had emanated. Koboro had also snapped, lifting his triangular snout, alert.

"Something dangerous is lurking in the forest. We must leave at once." hissed the reptile peremptorily, not taking his eyes off an unknown spot in the depths of the forest.

Alya turned toward the stag.

"I think it's time to say goodbye. I'm glad to have helped you," Alya said, smiling. The animal lowered its muzzle slightly, as if to sketch a bow of gratitude.

Another crunch, this time less distant. Koboro swiftly spun around, pointing his smooth black snout at Alya.

"Don't waste time making friends! We must escape!" the snake intimated to her in a firm tone.

Alya waved the stag away. The latter looked to linger for a second, contemplating Alya's figure one last time before diving into the dense vegetation beyond the cypress tree. The girl imitated him, beginning to run in the direction of the castle. It wasn't easy: because of the immense effort required by Koboro's ritual, Alya's legs seemed reluctant to the imposed movement. Young Black felt them as soft as jelly and had to call on her last remaining strength to avoid collapsing to the ground.

Running as fast as she could, Alya followed back the path that had led her to the cypress tree; she crossed the clearing where she had hunted Peter Pettigrew hours earlier and plunged into the brush. Koboro glided swiftly beside her, like a faithful bodyguard, crawling over the earth covered with broken branches and dry leaves.

After a series of strenuous strides, Alya finally glimpsed the edge of the Forbidden Forest and the school grounds that stretched beyond the boundaries of the dense forest. The tangle of trees and vegetation thinned out, revealing the glorious jagged outline of the castle: now Alya could admire the imperious towers of Hogwarts silhouetted up to the sky, illuminated by the white light of the full moon, shining with radiant beauty amid the black cloak of the night sky.

"Danger averted. Keep running, reach the castle, I'll stop here." announced Koboro, halting his escape.

Alya gave him a quick nod of thanks with her head, without stopping her run. If she stopped, she would no longer be able to continue. She was exhausted, her legs were on the verge of giving out. Only when she reached, now out of breath, the large oak doorway of the entrance, could Alya feel a sense of relief. She quickly slipped inside the building and took off her heavy cloak, stuffing it back into her bag. She walked stealthily, skimming the stone walls, trying to blend in with the darkness of the dark corners so as not to be conspicuous. Arriving unscathed at the castle dungeons, Alya whispered the password and the door concealed in the stone wall slid aside, revealing the entrance to the Slytherin Common Room.

She had made it. She was safe. Exhausted, Alya sagged on one of the couches, throwing her bag to the floor. Every part of her body was drenched in sweat from the exertion. Her vision was blurred. Her chest rose and fell in quick, erratic movements as her mouth gasped, greedily inhaling as much oxygen as possible. Alya felt her body with her hands, checking its condition. She was uninjured, except for a few superficial scratches that the low, sharp tree branches had inflicted on her during her headlong rush. She pulled out her wand and cleaned herself up, at the least. With the end, she sucked up foliage and mud encrusted on her shoes and uniform.

After that, she abandoned herself on the pillows, exhausted. She brought one hand to her neck, grasping with her fingers the pendant her mother had given her. She sighed relieved; she had feared losing it as she fled into the woods. The tip of her index finger caressed the horn engraved on the silver surface. Weariness fell upon Alya like a heavy boulder, and her eyes closed like curtains as her thoughts swirled sluggishly and wearily around the image of the stag she had rescued. A sense of relief gently caressed her heart, before the darkness of a deep sleep swallowed her for good.

***

The next morning Alya awoke with a start: someone was grabbing her by the shoulders. Dazed and confused by the abrupt awakening, it took Alya a matter of seconds before she realised it was Beth.

"Alya, come on! Wake up!" she called to her worriedly and with some urgency.

"For all the Goblins, Alya! But how did you get like this?" the harsh voice of Philippa echoed that of her companion. She and Melyssa were standing in front of the young Black, sprawled on the couch and watching her in puzzlement. Beth, on the other hand, sat next to her, scrutinising her as if she were looking at a sick person in a hospital bed.

Alya pulled herself up with difficulty, her back and neck screaming their pain, completely sore from the uncomfortable posture.

"What time is it?" muttered the sleepless young Black, crinkling one eye.

"Time for breakfast!" huffed Philippa, brusquely. "But have you spent the whole night here in the Common Room?" she asked, poorly concealing her indignation.

"Yes," lied Alya promptly. "I fell asleep in my books while studying."

"But, really, did you look in the mirror? From the way you look you'd rather say you were duelling with it!" scoffed Philippa, shaking her head disapprovingly. Melyssa, behind the blonde, opened her eyes wide, as if thunderstruck by a sudden illumination.

"You haven't been with Nott, have you?!" she squeaked, with the growing avidity of scandal radiating from her pupils. She and Beth then burst into giggles, throwing each other knowing glances. Philippa glowered at them with her watery gaze.

"Absolutely not! What are you thinking?" snapped Alya, annoyed. The two other girls laughed louder, convinced they had hit the nail on the head.

"What a bunch of perverted gossips!" blurted Alya, haughtily, getting up from the couch and heading for her room in the women's dormitory.

"I'm going to go and get cleaned up. Wait for me here, I'll be done in a moment," she said in a tone that sounded more like an order than a request. The three Slytherins, ready in their black uniforms, adorned with the green and silver embroidery of their House, waited for their friend, leaning against the marble fireplace, exchanging banter about the possible sordid happenings in the Common Room that night.

Looking at herself in the mirror, Alya realised the reason for her friends' astonishment. Her face was still swollen from sleep and two deep purple circles circled her eyes, slightly peevish. Her hair was messy and ruffled: quite the opposite of its usual shiny, raven cascade. Moreover, she felt her body still debilitated and heavy, as if Koboro's powerful magic had drained her. Energy was slow to regenerate.

After rinsing her face with plenty of cool water and giving herself a quick comb-over, Alya returned to the laughing trio with a proud stride. She was back to her usual snobbish Black self.

The four girls then headed towards the Great Hall, joining the horde of students thronging in for breakfast.

Reaching the long Slytherin table, already fully crowded, Alya scrambled to squeeze into the empty seat next to Regulus. Melyssa, Philippa and Beth sat opposite them.

"Good morning, little brother!" chirped Alya, ruffling the boy's perfect hair.

"Don't call me 'little brother'," grumbled Regulus, frowning. "What have you done? You look awful!"

Melyssa and Beth couldn't hold back a giggle.

"Nothing to be alarmed about. Just a bad night on the books," Alya replied casually, as she glowered at her friends. Philippa seemed determined to give her full attention to her goblet of pumpkin juice.

"Yes, books!" commented Melyssa caustically, stifling another high-pitched giggle.

Regulus squared Alya with a slightly puzzled look and she answered him by barely shaking her head, impatient, as if to say don't-ask.

Regulus, for his part, was not at all keen on delving into what had all the air of being classic girl-talk: the young Black scion had always shown a certain contempt for female gossip and frivolity, the same as Alya reserved for Quidditch.

The girl plunged into breakfast, displaying a stoic indifference to her companions' assiduous mischievous jibes about the hypothetical nocturnal encounters she had with Maynard Nott.

As she ate slices of toast, Alya lazily embraced the spacious hall, invaded by hundreds of heads bent over the laid tables. Her gray irises suddenly ignited as they lingered over the area reserved for the Gryffindors: amid the gold and vermilion crowd, Alya spotted the plump figure of Peter Pettigrew. The young Black felt the blood boil in her veins and her cheeks flare with fury.

Alya watched him from a distance with malignant curiosity: he looked frightened and not at all at ease. Beside him was Sirius: he was whispering something in his ear, as if he did not want to be heard by the other companions around. The face of Alya's twin was grim, looking irritated. With each whispered word, Peter Pettigrew nodded or shook his head frantically, muttering timid replies from time to time, his chin trembling. He looked like a frightened child, severely scolded by his father. Perhaps Sirius was scolding him for disappearing the night before. Of course, Pettigrew could not confess to his companion the real reason for his absence.

Alya smiled with malevolent smugness at seeing that coward of a Gryffindor in distress.Sitting next to Sirius, Alya saw James Potter, much more disheveled than usual: his uniform shirt was buttoned at the least, and he, too, seemed to have had a sleepless night. But his appearance could be called fresh and rested when compared to the waxy, unhealthy appearance of Remus Lupin, to whom Potter was giving his undivided attention. He seemed to be reassuring him. He kept patting him lightly on the back, while Lupin held his forehead in his hands, shaking his head, looking miserable.
Apparently, Alya wasn't the only one who had faced a challenging night.

She was absentmindedly sipping her warm milk when for a brief, very brief moment, she had the impression that hazel eyes shielded by James Potter's round glasses had settled on her and were staring at her. Alya didn't have time to zap him with a look of disdain, that the disheveled young Gryffindor was once again turned toward Lupin, intent on joking laughter, as if to cheer him up.

Perhaps she had been mistaken, Alya thought. Her mind was still reeling from the previous night's events and perhaps she had only imagined that inexplicable furtive glance.

Alya and her friends quickly finished their breakfast and headed back to the castle dungeon, where a long Potions class awaited her, along with the other sixth-year Gryffindor students.

Tackling two hours of the subject she absolutely detested most in the poor condition she was in was for Alya anything but easy. If she usually found it difficult to pay attention to the long-winded notions dished out by Slughorn, that day listening to the teacher seemed unbearable. Nothing the lecturer explained could reach the girl's fatigued mind. The professor's voice sounded distant and much like an annoying indistinct buzz to her.

Therefore, when the fateful time came for the practical exercise, with the usual preparation of the day's potion, Alya found herself more unsure and unprepared than a freshman who had just entered her first year. To no avail were the suggestions her friends whispered under her breath when the professor wasn't looking, or attempts to spy on and copy the movements of the more capable students: they were all too far away from where Alya was standing to understand what exact ingredients they were handling.

Within not even half an hour of starting the exercise, Alya's potion had taken on the gruesome appearance of black congealed magma, its crust mumbling aggressively from the depths of the brass cauldron. It looked as if it was about to erupt ruefully like a volcano. A decidedly unheartening image, since the volume of Advanced Potions suggested a more placid outcome at that point in the process, wishing for a honey-like consistency. In the vapors puffed from her boiling cauldron, Alya could smell yet another D of Dreadful, which loomed ominously over her potion-making career.

Alya tried desperately to look around, seeking help. Judging by the dejected faces of Philippa, Melyssa and Beth, her friends were not doing so much better. The other Slytherins also seemed to be groping along, puzzledly comparing the descriptions in the book with the contents of their cauldrons.

Only then did Alya notice that someone from her House was missing: Severus Snape, for the first time in six years, had failed to show up for Potions. Which was unusual, since it was the subject in which he excelled most.

In fact, now that she was thinking about it, Alya realized that Snape had not even shown up for breakfast. Had something serious happened to him? Not that the matter particularly bothered her; she had never cared for Severus Snape. But it still seemed suspicious to her. And as she peered thoughtfully at the empty corner where her extravagant, greasy-haired companion usually took his seat, Alya discovered that she was not the only one who had noticed the boy's absence. James Potter was staring with unexpected apprehension at Snape's vacant desk. Judging by his stiff expression, he looked seriously worried.

Strange, thought Alya struck by that behavior. Whatever had happened to Snape, his non-attendance should have put Potter in a good mood. Then, it happened again: the Slytherin's gray eyes met the Gryffindor's brown ones. An indecipherable expression appeared on James Potter's face, staring at Alya with a strange, silent intensity. The girl didn't lower her gaze, mistaking that unusual insistence (usually Potter had never paid her too much attention, perhaps because of her parental connection to Sirius) for a challenge. Regardless of what was going on in that arrogant man's disheveled head, Alya was well determined to stand up to him.

But their furtive glances were abruptly interrupted by the sudden creak of the door, which someone had thrown open at that moment. Professor McGonagall appeared on the threshold with a sour and sullen expression painted on her face.

"Horace, forgive the intrusion," she announced dryly, giving no real impression of being sorry about it.

Slughorn didn't even have time to reply with a greeting, that the woman's rapt eyes darted toward one of the tables occupied by Gryffindors.

"Black and Potter, with me at once! The Headmaster is waiting for you in his office. Now!" thundered the professor coldly.

James Potter and Sirius Black looked at each other alarmed for a second. After that, they abandoned their steaming cauldrons and walked with a swaggering stride, which nevertheless ill concealed their guilty air, to the imperious teacher waiting at the door. A procession of jeering whistles and evil laughter from a very smug group of Slytherins accompanied the two Gryffindor students, all the way to the door.

"Quiet, quiet. Go back to your work." Slughorn apostrophized them, clapping his hands to call the class to order. But it was usless. Concentration had been irretrievably corrupted by the interruption. An incurious hubbub soon spread through the walls of the Potions cell. Along with the dense fumes, the most unlikely speculations about what Potter and Sirius might have been up to rose from the desks.

Alya cast one last glance toward her brother's station and saw Remus Lupin livid in the face, as if in terror. Peter Pettigrew, on the other hand, far from worrying about the fate of his friends-slippery traitor, hissed a small voice inside Alya's head-seemed much more in agitation about what was going on inside his cauldron.

"What do you think your brother did this time?" asked Beth, under her breath. Melyssa and Philippa listened behind her, with sordid curiosity in their eyes.

"I haven't the faintest idea. And, frankly, I don't care at all," replied Alya, haughtily, returning to scrutinize the liquid meanderings of her potion, which was clamoring for attention.

Indeed, she had precisely no time to lambast either her twin brother's school troubles or James Potter's inexplicable stares.

With grim resignation, Alya went back to work on her cauldron, in which her umpteenth failure in Potions bubbled ominously.