November, 1976. Hogwarts.

Autumn was slowly giving way to winter, which was already knocking at the gates of Hogwarts with its mighty fists of ice and cold. The days grew shorter and darker, the air stung like the icy blade of a knife. Sunny days became rare and pouring rain pelted the castle's wide windows with assiduous insistence.

It was a grey morning of a placid Sunday. Alya woke up early, as was her habit, although there was no class that day. She got ready quickly, careful not to make any noise, so as not to disturb her roommates' sleep. She reached the Great Hall, immense and majestic, which was almost completely empty and, for that reason, all the more spacious and solemn. There was no one at the Slytherin table: Alya was the first to invade that corner of the room. She rejoiced. Those were the moments which beckoned Alya to wake up early in the morning, even on feast days or days without classes; she longed to immerse herself in that silent morning solitude, when everything was still asleep and the day struggled to get going. The world looked suspended, as in a dream, floating in an indefinite limbo between reality and illusion.

Alya sat at the Slytherin table, set with silver plates and crystal goblets, ready to enjoy a hearty breakfast.

After a few minutes, she saw Regulus enter the Great Hall. Alya was surprised. Unlike her, a morning person since childhood, her brother used to sleep late.

" 'Morning.'" he mumbled in a slurred voice, his eyes still stricken with sleep. He clutched one of the goblets and took long sips of juice.

"Good morning sunshine! What got you out of bed?" his sister teased him.

"Quidditch. Extra training." Regulus muttered, pointing to the green uniform he was wearing.

"Again?" mocked Alya, a little indignant. It was the fourth day in a row that her brother had been called to training camp. The situation was becoming exasperating.

"We need to devise an unbeatable strategy ahead of the next match -"

" - which will take place in January. That is two months from now! Doesn't it seem exaggerated to practice so much already now?"

"The match is against Gryffindor. We have to be prepared."

"Sounds ridiculous to me," observed Alya, shaking her head.

"Look it's your boyfriend's fault Nott won't give us a break," protested Regulus, shooting, however, a mischievous glance at his sister. "Be honest. You're annoyed because your Maynard Nott can't spend time with you!" chuckled his brother, curling his lips into a kiss.

"Don't talk nonsense!" fumed Alya, "Nott is free to do all the training he wants! It's this insulting fixation on Quidditch that annoys me. Is it possible that there is nothing else in the heads of you, boys?"

"I assure you there is in Nott's. He occasionally lets slip certain, how shall I say - inappropriate comments!" chuckled Regulus again.

"Will you knock it off!" shouted Alya at him. She grabbed an apple from the basket in front of her and threw it at her brother, who was still laughing. The latter caught it with quick reflexes and took a crisp bite of the scarlet fruit.

"And by the way, Nott is not my boyfriend. We've been dating for just under a month and the times we've gone out together can be counted on the fingers of one hand," Alya pointed out, annoyed.

"You snog, though. And a lot, judging by what your non-boyfriend says," Regulus scoffed, laughing under his breath. Alya glared at him, frowning.

"You don't have to justify yourself, I'm happy for you. And you'll see how happy our parents will be when they hear about this. The Notts are a rather prestigious family," the boy asserted in a practical tone.

"Yes, I'm sure they won't object - although I'd avoid specifying that we snog." suggested Alya, with an air of reproach. Regulus replied with a wry chuckle, continuing to munch on his apple, now reduced to a core.

"In fact, I'd rather Mum and Dad didn't know anything about me and Nott yet. Since there's nothing official yet." Alya added in a stern tone.

Alya knew that Regulus was completely right about the reaction their parents would show once they learned of the sympathy that had arisen between their daughter and the handsome Slytherin captain. They would surely be thrilled. The Notts, like the Blacks, were part of the Sacred 28 and a bond between the two powerful pureblood families could only be welcomed with joy. Moreover, Maynard Nott had everything in place to enjoy the full respect of any parent: he had excellent grades, had been elected captain of the Quidditch team (an important position within the school environment) and enjoyed an excellent reputation at school: his conduct - at least in appearance - was considered impeccable by the entire teaching staff. The fact that he presented himself as a refined, good-looking boy with an elegant bearing could only win him a lot of points in the eyes of the adults observing him. Mr and Mrs Black would certainly have considered him a perfect match for their little daughter and wouldn't have hesitated to plan an immediate official engagement. But Alya absolutely wanted to avoid such a trap.

Deep in her heart, Alya didn't feel any kind of ardor for Maynard Nott. The only reason she kept going out with him was to maintain the unshakeable reputation of her noble name at school.

"Anyway, I think all this fixation on a single Quidditch match is absurd!" judged Alya, returning to the sporting topic.

"Just one match, you say -" retorted Regulus indignantly. "It's not just a game. It's a power struggle, Alya! Winning against the Gryffindors means making them realise where they belong. It means being able to silence that bunch of arrogant fools!" the boy explained, heatedly. Alya looked at him with the air of someone who knew better.

"I assume that you're referring to a single Gryffindor, aren't you?" Alya asked. Regulus fell silent, looking grim.

With false indifference, he concentrated on the slice of bread he was about to bite into. Even if Regulus pretended nothing had happened, Alya knew she had hit the nail on the head: she knew all too well the dislike her brother had for the Gryffindor Seeker and his direct opponent, James Potter. And he also knew that Quidditch had very little to do with it. The real problem, as always, was Sirius. For years, Regulus had hoped to ridicule the overweening James Potter in front of the entire school and, above all, in front of his brother. Regulus hoped to knock Potter off the pedestal on which Sirius had placed him. That silly Quidditch competition had turned into a family affair.

Regulus quickly swallowed his breakfast, after which he stood up, announcing:

"I'd better go or I'll be late. See you later."

And after that abrupt dismissal, he walked towards the door of the Great Hall.

"Don't tire yourself out too much at practice or you won't make it to the game in one piece!" shouted Alya after him, mockingly.

The girl remained a few more minutes in the Hall, undecided what to do. She had no particular plans, but the day was too dreary and cold to loiter in the large park surrounding Hogwarts. Even taking refuge in the Forbidden Forest, to read her Muggle book in peace away from prying eyes, in the company of Koboro, was not feasible. In weather like this, the Forest was not a safe place.

Alya decided, therefore, to devote her free time to homework. It wasn't an attractive option, but at least it would set her ahead for the week ahead.

The Great Hall began to populate with other students and suddenly a cheerful hubbub invaded the large hall. Annoyed, Alya got up and left the room, saying goodbye to the morning quiet she so enjoyed. She returned to the basement of the school, where the dormitory of her House was located. It would certainly have been more comfortable and useful to go to the library to study, but Alya preferred the comfortable torpor offered by the marble fireplace in her Common Room to the damp and gloomy atmosphere of the library.

As soon as she uttered the password, Purus sanguis, the door hidden in the stone ran silently along the wall, revealing the Slytherin dormitory. With relief, Alya saw that the Common Room was still empty and quiet, bathed in emerald light, emanating from the massive chandeliers floating in midair. There was a solemn silence, interrupted only by the intermittent crackling of the flames, which burned cheerfully in the fireplace. Alya slumped lazily into one of the black leather armchairs placed in front of the fire and pulled out a notebook and a large volume entitled History of Magic - Advanced Level from her bag. Professor Binns had assigned a long essay on the condition of wizards in Britain during the nineteenth century and the measures they took to hide from Muggles. Alya opened both the notebook and the book, determined to dive into the chapter that dealt with the topic. As she read, she compared the information in the text with the notes she had taken during class. The chapter proved tedious and long-winded; only halfway through the first page, Alya's attention began to falter. She had to read the same sentence at least four times to understand its meaning. Soon, she began to yawn, feeling her eyelids suddenly heavy, her mind numb. Lulled by the distant, soothing lapping of the waters of the Black Lake, Alya's body was invaded by a wave of drowsiness. Alya's eyes rested wearily on the majestic stone serpent, carved above the marble fireplace. She stared at it, but could not see it. Slowly and without realising it, the girl slipped into a state of semi-consciousness, the typical phase before falling asleep. Her eyelids closed, but in front of her was still the vivid image of the serpent carved in marble.

The stone reptile began to squirm, as if it were alive. Its small eyes suddenly took on a sparkling, emerald light, like the one cast by the chandeliers in the Common Room, and returned Alya's gaze. The mouth, which had meanwhile lost all trace of marble, was smooth and lipless. It opened and emitted a faint hiss.

"Follow me," said the snake. Alya instantly recognised the Parseltongue's hissing sounds. She nodded obediently, ready to follow him. Alya guessed where the serpent would lead her.

Suddendly, everything began to fade around her. A dense darkness fell over the girl, now accustomed to that kind of dreamlike phenomenon. The fire, the green light of the room and its sumptuous contours vanished, merging with the black cloak that now enveloped Alya completely. She floated in that dark nothingness for a few moments, before indistinct shapes began to gush here and there. A new environment emerged around Alya and she recognised it without doubt. She was now far away from Hogwarts. She stood in an uncultivated garden, covered by a dense tangle of branches that did not allow those outside to see what was hidden among those imposing and eerie trees. It was late at night and a heavy silence hung over the indistinct lines of the night.

The girl advanced, keeping following the snake, even though she had no need to. She knew the way; a little further on, she spotted an old dilapidated house, which appeared abandoned. When she reached a few metres from the tavern, Alya saw the dead snake nailed to the front door. She had become accustomed to that image, gruesome as it was. Yet suddenly, Alya was seized with a spasm of terror. But it was not for the corpse of the small reptile. It was for something else, which Alya couldn't define. Suddenly, Alya was enveloped by an ominous sense of inevitability, which stuck to her, as annoying as an invisible, sticky cobweb. She shook her head, chasing away the sudden uneasiness. Together with her crawling guide, the girl entered, crossed the main room and reached the old wooden door belonging to one of the mansion's two bedrooms. Alya opened it and slipped into the room: she immediately saw Merope, sitting on the bed, motionless and silent, in the same aura of desperate resignation in which she had left her the last time they had met. Merope wore a threadbare dressing gown full of patches, whose whiteness had turned into a dirty shade of grey. Merope must have been about the same age as Alya, maybe a few years older. In all those years, it had never occurred to young Black to ask her dream friend exactly how old she was. The Slytherin heir was young, but her appearance appeared defeated and ragged, like that of an old woman who had seen much, too much in life. Instead of shining with the typical radiant beauty of a young woman that she was, Merope could not have looked more miserable. Her skin was dull, ashen. Her eyes, already grotesque because they were cross-eyed, looked perpetually tired and sad. Her hair was long, but floppy and devoid of any lustre. It clung to her head, flat and without vigour, of an indefinite colour, so dirty was it. Merope presented herself as a drab girl, abandoned to herself.

Her bony yet stubby fingers sank into the blue velvet of the little dress that dressed her porcelain doll. The shining blond ringlets and the diaphanous whiteness of the porcelain emphasised with impunity the greyness emanating from the washed-out figure of the mistress. With one hand, Merope stroked the doll's soft golden hair as she gazed fixedly at an imprecise spot in front of her. She seemed to be completely absorbed in a complicated thought. It took her a while before she became aware of Alya's presence in her room. The girl smiled, sincerely.

"Alya! It's good to see you again," Merope said, in a voice that sounded slightly flat and distant.

"It's been a while," replied Alya, as if to justify her prolonged absence. Actually, it wasn't she who decided when to meet Merope in her dreams. It all happened arbitrarily, in her head. After all that time, Alya still couldn't understand the exact nature of that mysterious phenomenon. She was not even convinced that Merope was a real person. She had always considered her to be a mysterious projection of her subconscious, although by now she had become attached to her as a real, flesh-and-blood friend. In some respects, she felt much more attached to Merope than to Philippa, Melyssa or Beth. In any case, the only thing Alya had been able to guess about those strange encounters was that what had triggered them was the beautiful porcelain doll Merope held in her hands. The same doll that Alya had received as a gift many years before. There was no doubt that it was the same toy: the two dolls were identical. However, Alya had long pondered why and how that doll had bound her to Merope, without ever coming up with a vaguely convincing explanation. She had finally resigned herself, accepting those mysterious dreams as a mere part of herself.

Alya crossed the room and sat on the creaky old bed next to Merope.

"I was really hoping you would come back, Alya. I wished with all my heart to see you before -" Merope exclaimed without nipping the sentence in the bud, leaving a thought hanging in the air. The girl's voice had become so faint that Alya did not understand the last enigmatic words. "I'm really glad you're here," Merope added finally, in a tone that was only slightly more ringing.

"Your father and brother?" dared Alya to ask, looking around with sudden apprehension. She had not considered the fact that the two men might have been released by the Ministry and be in the house at that moment.

Wandering feverishly around the room in search of clues, Alya's attentive gaze noticed the presence of a large tome on the splintered, moth-worn bedside table next to Merope's bed. It seemed a strange, unusual detail to her. Alya could not remember ever seeing books in her friend's cramped bedroom. The pale light of a faint moon filtered through the only small window in the room. It was not much of a source of illumination, but it allowed Alya to decipher the title of the volume: Poisons and Love Potions read the large letters engraved in the leather surface of the cover. Again, a sudden unpleasant feeling took hold of Alya, making her tremble. Once again, she had the impression that something inevitable was looming over her, like large dragon jaws ready to swallow her... something she could not prevent... but what? At the same time, a sudden tingling sensation took hold of the palms of her hands. Alya rubbed them vigorously against each other, as if to wipe away the sweat.

What did Merope have in mind? What was she reading a manual on potions, poisons and love potions for? With horror, Alya recalled the time her friend had confessed to her that she had given both her father and her brother a few drops of a powerful soporific extract from a snake venom that, in larger doses, would have proved fatal. A ruse he had used with the sole purpose of sneaking out of his hovel to get a closer look at the Riddle mansion. Had Merope decided to poison her evil relatives for good once they returned home? Alya was horrified at that thought: sure, those two men were vile and infamous, perhaps they deserved such an end... but Alya didn't want Merope to stain her soul with such a horrendous act, becoming a murderer.

"My father and brother are in Azkaban now. They won't be returning for quite some time..." Merope's voice roused Alya from her grim thoughts, unknowingly answering the question Alya was asking herself.

"I see you've taken up reading in the meantime," the young Black observed, mentioning the potions book on the bedside table. She wanted to sound indifferent, but the question came out vaguely inquisitive.

"Huh? Ah, that book belonged to my mother -" replied Merope laconically. "You know, it's strange to be completely alone, so suddenly... reading it keeps me company... makes me feel less lonely." she explained, her eyes veiled with sadness. It was only then that Alya noticed the heavy gold locket her friend had around her neck: it belonged to Salazar Slytherin, passed down to his direct descendants over the centuries to Merope's mother. The woman had left it to her daughter shortly before she died.

Alya breathed a sigh of relief. The locket, the doll, the potions manual... Merope had gathered all her mother's legacies around her, clinging to those memory-laden objects to face the utter loneliness in which she dwelt. Alya couldn't blame her for that. Merope wasn't a bad girl after all. She wasn't capable of plotting sordid revenge in the shadows. She was just trying to survive.

However, the ominous omen that had invaded Alya's soul didn't seem to want to leave her.

Merope suddenly turned her back on Alya, turning her gaze towards the night sky, beyond the small window above her bed. With a dreamy air, she stared at the pale moon, bathed in the inky blackness that was night, like a pearl enclosed in an oyster shell.

"The moon is beautiful today!" Merope exclaimed, with a wistful smile painted on her face. Alya looked at the white sphere shining shyly in the sky, without, however, feeling much attraction. She nodded silently, but without transport.

"But I prefer it when it is full," Merope added. "And you? Do you like a full moon, Alya?"

Alya shrugged.

"I don't know. I've never thought too much about it -"

"You are the least romantic person I know, you know that! Haven't you ever fantasised about walking hand in hand with some handsome gentleman, maybe a handsome boy from your school, in the light of a white full moon?" squeaked Merope, almost indignant at the coldness shown by her friend.

Alya imagined herself for a moment hand in hand walking under the moon together with Nott and was overcome by a sense of revulsion. No, she was certainly not the type to lose herself in childish and silly fantasies like that. But she didn't have the heart to tell her friend.

"Well, I suppose you have fantasised about it quite a bit - perhaps in the company of a charming Muggle of my acquaintance." she merely scoffed. Merope blushed.

"Don't mock me! Anyway, yes, actually, I've been thinking about it a lot lately." confessed Merope, a mischievous blush dyeing her cheeks.

"Is there any news?" asked Alya, alluding to Tom Riddle. In truth, she doubted there could be any positive developments in Merope's love situation, but her dream friend's answer left her dumbfounded.

"Mmm - soon, there might be some developments," Merope said evasively. For a moment, Alya had the impression that the girl's squinting eyes had rested fleetingly on the manual of Potions, Poisons and Love Filters, but it was impossible to tell where those crooked pupils were looking.

Alya stared at her dumbfounded: was that really possible? That rich Muggle from a good family had set his eyes on Merope? Alya was ashamed of herself for thinking this, but in all honesty Merope was hardly a pretty and refined maiden. Moreover, both she and her father and brother enjoyed a bad reputation in the village. It seemed unheard of for a boy like Tom Riddle to be interested in someone like her. Alya had grown fond of her strange dream friend, and wished her well, but she just couldn't imagine her and Riddle in love.

"What do you mean? He proposed?" squeaked Alya, incredulous. But Merope gave no comprehensive answer. She merely said:

"Tom Riddle is the best thing that has happened to me in life - my hope - my way out. I love him so desperately and I have no intention of giving him up!"

From those enigmatic words, Alya guessed that apparently the unimaginable had happened and that something had finally blossomed between the two boys, who belonged to such diametrically opposed worlds. The last sentence - which Merope pronounced with a will and passion that Alya had never seen in her - sounded like a proud opposition to her father's hostility.

"Good for you, Merope! I truly hope this Muggle can make you happy." the young Black sincerely congratulated herself, though she still found it hard to believe that such an unlikely union.

"You've never been in love?" asked Merope point blank, full of curiosity. Alya fell silent. At that question, her heart remained coldly impassive. The beating remained regular, without any shuddering. Inside, Alya was perfectly aware that she did not love Maynard Nott, although she had been seeing him for some time. She was only dating him out of ego and convenience. In fact, she had never felt any transport or real interest in anyone, the girl noted with some bitterness.

"No, I would say not," she asserted with conviction. For the first time since they had become friends, Merope looked at her with affectionate pity.

"I expected that. You are so strict and inflexible. I wonder if anyone will ever make your closed heart fall. But I bet you too, with the right guy of course, would be seduced by the white rays of a beautiful full moon."

"If you say so." smiled Alya ironically.

"Really, I'm serious! The full moon is incredible. It is magic itself. It can transform things, souls. She is the goddess of change. Its pale light seems very weak compared to that of the sun, vigorous and dazzling. But it is the moon that influences the world, with its changing energy. Look at the tides, so inconstant! Darkness itself becomes sensual when invaded by its white rays. The full moon makes possible what normally, in sunlight, appears impossible. And it can also be dangerous, almost evil. It can turn people into violent creatures, into beasts. Like the Werewolves.
Even your armour against feelings would yield to its powerful influence. Beware the full moon, Alya! Your heart would be irreparably pierced by it," declared Merope, in a solemn voice.

Alya burst into thunderous laughter.

"Oh, Merope! What nonsense are you babbling? You are so weird sometimes!"

Merope also smiled, but she had the air of someone who knew exactly what she was talking about. And once again, an unusual feeling of danger and terror gripped Alya's insides. Again she felt a sense of inevitability.

Suddenly a noise distracted her. In an instant, everything around Alya vanished. A deep darkness, as thick as ink, returned to envelope the girl.

And the next moment, Alya opened her eyes. She was back at Hogwarts, in the Slytherin Common Room, slumped badly in one of the armchairs in front of the fireplace. The History of Magic book had fallen ruinously to the floor, its pages crushed against the stone floor.

"Taking a nap, Black?" a mellifluous whisper reached Alya's still numb ears.

It was Severus Snape. Wrapped in a long black cloak, which made him resemble a large bat, the boy stood in front of Alya, peering at her with a sardonic expression from behind the strands of his greasy hair, which fell over his face like floppy black curtains.

Alya shot him an icy, annoyed look. She didn't like Snape, she found him unpleasant.

Being caught napping by him put Alya in a foul mood.

"What time is it?" she mumbled sulkily, more to herself than to Snape, who had gone to take a seat at the wooden table, near the window from where one could admire the depths of the Black Lake.

"It's almost lunchtime," replied the boy, in an indifferent tone. Apparently, he was more concerned with studying than attending the banquet in the Great Hall. Soon, the table was flooded with dusty volumes of Astronomy, borrowed from the school library, and very recently printed star charts.

What an insufferable fellow, Alya thought as she watched Snape frantically flipping through the porous paper pages. The light of the flames bouncing off the boy's sullen face made his skin appear even more yellowish.

Alya picked up the volume of History of Magic from the floor and stood up. Her body was drenched in sweat from the strange dream she had had and she felt the urgent need to freshen up. She crossed the common room to reach the staircase that led to the girls' rooms; she walked past Snape and his Astronomy books, into which his hooked nose had dived.

Alya froze suddenly, terrified. Her attention was caught by the title, written in large letters above one of the astronomy maps, which Snape was studying in great detail at that moment:

The lunar phases of December: new moon and full moon.

In the middle of the page, there was a picture of a calendar of the current year, updated with the phases of the moon for each month.

Alya missed a gasp, which Snape promptly noticed.

"What is it?" he barked, aiming his liquid black eyes at the girl.

"Nothing," lied Alya, recomposing herself in her ostentatious indifferent superiority, and walked quickly towards her dormitory.

A shiver of anguish pervaded her back, the terrible feeling of inevitability which had seized her during the dream had returned all of a sudden.

The strange words of Merope echoed again in young Black's confused mind: Beware the full moon, Alya.