February, 1977. Hogwarts.

Life at Hogwarts proceeded quietly, the days went by in their usual daily routine, oblivious to the tumultuous changes that were silently creeping hidden within the castle walls.

However something had changed, indeed. Even if no one knew or dared to imagine it.

Two people, or rather two students, seemingly totally different, were grappling with the turbulent changes in their souls.

New feelings and unexpected emotions had unexpectedly overwhelmed them, leaving them bewildered. Nevertheless, both of them had decided to go along with that sudden change in the flow of events, letting themselves be carried along by that new and pleasant current. Neither had the faintest idea where it would lead them. But in all honesty, they were both dying to find out.

Alya Merope Black and James Potter walked through the castle corridors as usual, flaunting their familiar masks of haughtiness and boldness, which had always characterised them respectively since their entrance to Hogwarts.

They lived their daily lives as if nothing had happened between them, feigning indifference towards each other.

The whole of Hogwarts ignored to serve as a backdrop to their stolen glances, between the long tables in the Great Hall or through the billows of steam that rose thickly from the mumbling mouths of the cauldrons during Tuesday morning Potions hours. No student, teacher, portrait or ghost of the renowned Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry suspected the existence of thoughts burning with desire, imbued with the memory of passionate kisses, that swirled vividly in James and Alya's minds, tearing them sighing smiles between lessons.

Barely three days had passed since their last meeting in the Forbidden Forest, and James Potter was already itching to see Alya again. Watching her secretly from the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall during meals was no longer enough for him; he felt the growing need to take her in his arms, hold her close and kiss her until they were both out of breath. Inside, the boy hoped that Alya was also struggling with the same torment.

James had been mulling over the recent events that had seen him and the beautiful Black - and, in particular, their lips - for many days and had often wondered how wrong it could be to feel such an attraction for his best friend's hated sister.

However, the young Gryffindor had surrendered to the evidence that, for him, Alya Merope Black had now become a pleasurable fixture, which he wouldn't be able to give up easily.

James' heart and mind had archived many things about her: the fierce confidence with which she hurled her magic at anyone who dared interfere with her path (poor Filch still bore the marks), the sea of silver that illuminated her inscrutable eyes and the carnal way she kissed him. But also the faint note of fragility which tinged her voice whenever she happened to speak Sirius's name, the lavender scent of her hair and skin and the vaguely childish habit she had of fiddling with the silver locket she constantly wore around her neck and released from the collar of her blouse when she thought no one was looking.

Each of those images, which James had secretly captured and jealously guarded in his mind like a precious treasure, fuelled the boy's desire to be reunited with Alya as soon as possible.

A feat that loomed large if one wanted to keep it secret. Especially with Gryffindor's best friends. The question made him very uncomfortable: the idea of having to lie to his loyal group of fellow adventurers didn't appeal to him at all (the only time he had been forced to tell them a lie had been to guarantee them a safe alibi). However, James sensed how unwise it would be to blare his new infatuation for Alya Merope Black. Acting recklessly could have ruined more than one relationship and the boy had no desire to risk it.

Besides, before he was forced to get into furious arguments with another Black of his acquaintance, James wanted to get a few things straight with the elusive and icy Slytherin.

So Potter was back to square one: how could he meet secretly with Alya without arousing suspicion in his friends?

The issue of the Marauder's Map was undoubtedly the most pressing problem to be solved. With that in the hands of Sirius, Remus or Peter, James would be discovered in less than a second.

On the other hand, it wasn't even possible for him to keep the enchanted parchment all to himself.

The young Gryffindor racked his brains for a long time during that week to come up with an idea, a plausible excuse that would allow him to keep the Magic Map out of his friends' eyes during his meetings with Alya.

The solution leapt into his head on Friday morning, after breakfast, as he and the others were holed up in the torpor of Gryffindor Tower, enjoying idle moments during a dark hour.

James Potter was a strategist by nature, after all, and his shrewd and cunning mind was accustomed to devising clever stratagems that knew how to make his life easier.

"Hey, guys." he announced almost half-heartedly, interrupting the boredom-laden minutes that unrolled in the Gryffindor common room.

Sirius, Remus and Peter immediately answered the call, recognising the tone James manifested when he wanted to set them straight on a strategy, an exceptional idea that had come to them on the spot. They all three leaned towards him, mindlessly abandoning the activities with which they were cheating the passage of time, which seems slow and tedious for those who cannot stand without adventure.

Their eyes fixed on James, dense with curious complicity and expectation.

A vague sense of shame gripped the dishevelled boy's soul, given the wholly personal reasons that had little to do with camaraderie and loyalty to his group; he tried to shake it off with a quick sweep of his hand through his tousled hair.

"I was thinking about our Map," he exclaimed, casting a quick, inquiring glance around him, to make sure no one was listening to them. "I think it's almost completed. But there are still some improvements to be made, in my opinion. However, sneaking out, always in a group, to test it is becoming too risky."

"You have a point, Prongs. Being all together under your cloak is becoming more and more uncomfortable," agreed Remus, shooting an allusive glance towards Sirius and his height. Sirius nodded vehemently.

"I agree with Moony. By dint of cowering, I'll soon get a hump!" snorted young Black wryly. "What do you want to propose, Prongs?" his friend urged him.

"To use the Map in turn. Once - or even twice - a week each of us will go out in the evening with the Map, take a walk around the castle and test its properties. We'll note down everything that needs to be corrected and improved. At the end of the month, at our usual full moon meeting, we will report back and share all our considerations. Of course, I'll have no problem lending you my Invisibility Cloak on your turn out, so we don't risk getting caught," James explained almost in a whisper, but with the same decisive tone as an army leader outlining to his soldiers the strategies of action before a battle.

A silence pregnant with assent stretched across the faces of his three companions, Sirius's mouth opened in a smirk.

"Good idea, Prongs! When do we start?" the boy asked, eager to embark on a lonely night-time adventure around the castle.

"Also right away. Tonight I'll go first on the advance. Since it was my idea, it's only fair that I take responsibility for assessing the actual risks we might run into, acting alone and not as a group." hastened James, seizing the ball as the uncompromising voice of his conscience accused him of being a liar.

"Very kind of you," Sirius commented, giving him a sound, affectionate pat on the back. Remus and Peter congratulated each other just as warmly on the ingenious idea he had exposed.

James felt a second flush of shame and remorse wash over his insides. That plan he had devised had as its main purpose to ensure that he would not be discovered during his possible encounters with his best friend's sister. He cast a sidelong glance at Sirius and suddenly felt petty, almost like a criminal.

However, by now James couldn't - or, rather, wouldn't - back down. The desire to see Alya again grew more and more urgent.

To assuage the bitter aftertaste of guilt, the round-glassed Gryffindor vowed to himself to try as hard as he could to reconcile those two stubborn Sirius and Alya. Although aware of the difficulties such an undertaking entailed, the idea that, thanks to him, the Black twins could somehow mend their relationship made Potter feel much better.

Now, he just had to find an opportunity to tell Alya of his intention to meet her. Without realising it, James Potter found himself smiling blissfully, thrilled at the idea of seeing the silver-eyed girl again.

***

February, 1977. Forbidden Forest.

Alya fiddled nervously with the fragment of parchment in her hands. She folded and unfolded it feverishly, following the grooves on the paper.

She had found that note stuck to her, on the cloak of her uniform, that very afternoon. It had been carefully fashioned to take the shape of a small butterfly and appropriately enchanted so that it would fly directly to its target.

At first glance, the butterfly looked real and it had taken young Black a while before she realised that it was a note addressed to her. Or, rather, an invitation.

Meet me tonight, in the Forbidden Forest, after curfew. At 'our' tree.
James

Alya had read the message at least a thousand times during the day. The peremptory tone which flowed from the hastily written words, as suggested by the imprecise and haphazard handwriting that spread across the porous surface, betrayed the boy's impatience to see her again. An impatience he obviously shared, although Alya was still fighting against herself not to admit it.

The fact was that as soon as the snake-black hands of the wall clock in the Slytherin common room announced the start of the curfew, Alya had sneaked out of the castle dungeon and was heading swiftly towards the dark, hidden depths of the Forbidden Forest.

In no time at all, she had reached the pre-arranged meeting point - namely the cypress tree where the young Black had come to James' aid months before - and, with a hint of disappointment, had wrinkled her nose at seeing that the Gryffindor still hadn't arrived.

So, Alya had sat down on the ground, crouched down between the overhanging roots of the majestic tree and fiddled with the note she had kept, to beguile the wait.

Bored, the girl drew out her wand and improvised simple spells on the paper butterfly, making it flutter merrily in mid-air, while from time to time, streams of coloured vapour puffed brightly from the end of her wand.

Together with the celestial and emerald trails drawn by Alya's absent-minded magic, her thoughts also unrolled, all of which revolved around one person: James Potter. The girl could no longer deny it; she liked that scowling, swaggering boy. Over the last few days, Alya had often found herself thinking about him and mulling over what she had noticed about James: the density of his biscuit-coloured, probing gaze, which seemed to be able to scrutinise her soul without ever subjecting her to inflexible judgement; the scent of goodness and genuineness which emanated from his skin, the bold confidence with which he faced and challenged the world and its rules, the natural tendency to protect those for whom he felt sympathy. And also the familiarity with which he mentioned Sirius in speeches (a familiarity that had never existed between Alya and her brother, for which the girl nevertheless desperately yearned).

But it was above all Potter's way of pulling her to him, of clasping her waist in his hands, that shook Alya's cold soul irrevocably. It was a decisive gesture, but not at all overbearing, expressing the pure desire to have her in his arms, but without the insidious pretence of making her his property.

The hugs James gave her had a totally new taste, one that Alya had never tasted with Maynard Nott, nor in his set and pretentious grasps.

Immersed in her reflections, Alya still entertained the little paper butterfly with the colourful, evanescent flecks of her wand, while she strained her ears at every rustle among the leaves, waiting to catch a glimpse of James Potter's long, dishevelled figure among the dense vegetation.

And, just at that instant, as if he had answered the young Black's secret call, the Gryffindor with the round glasses emerged a little transfixed, from behind one of the bushes around.

Alya had to thank the darkness of the Forbidden Forest, which managed to hide the shadow of a barely-there but relief-filled smile that had painted itself on her face upon seeing Potter.

James, on the other hand, was far less reluctant to openly express his happiness at meeting her again.

"Black! What a relief, I was afraid you weren't coming!" he exclaimed, cheerfully.

"Actually it's me who's been waiting for you for ages, in the cold," muttered Alya, dramatically.

Nevertheless, the girl stood up, shaking off remnants of foliage and soil from her school uniform, and went to meet the boy.

"So why so urgent? Do you have something to tell me?" asked Alya, in a tone that came out a little more brusque than she had intended.

"Nothing in particular... I just wanted to see you again, that's all." replied James, simply, as if it was the most obvious reason. After that, he shot the girl an allusive look.

"Did you miss me?" he sneered.

"No." lied Alya impulsively.

James feigned a disappointed expression. He walked over to her, brushed a hand over her cheek and kissed her. It was a short, quiet kiss, but the gentleness and spontaneity of the gesture were disarming for Alya and more than enough to dissolve the wall of glacial detachment behind which she was trying so hard to barricade herself.

"Maybe a little," murmured the Slytherin, curling her lips in surrender.

"That's better." commented James contentedly.

Driven by the romantic vibes of the moment, Alya leaned towards the Gryffindor's face again, determined to continue what he had started. However, James blocked her.

"Slow down, Black! I didn't ask you to come here to make out. At least, not just for that!" he pointed out seriously.

"Then what for?" she blurted out offended, suddenly feeling rejected.

"Well, I'd like to have a little conversation."

"Conversation?" repeated the girl, frowning and puzzled at the same time.

"Yes, conversation. Talking... chatting... all those things that ordinary human beings do when they want to get to know each other better." the boy ironized, emphasising the obviousness of his intent.

Alya snorted, rolling her eyes. James sneered.

"You are hopeless! To make it easier for you, I propose this: we'll ask each other questions in turn, which we must answer as truthfully as possible. Of course, the conversation will be a bit sterile that way. But at least we'll spare ourselves unnecessary pleasantries. You know, we should also take a walk, to make the situation, shall we say, more natural," the boy teased her. Alya looked at him sidelong. However, she showed no reluctance when Potter took her under his arm and began to walk aimlessly.

"I'll start: your favourite colour?" asked James immediately, deliberately ignoring the girl's glances.

"My favourite colour, Potter? We're not twelve!" blurted Alya, disgusted.

"Come on, it's all part of the game!" the Gryffindor urged her, amused.

"Alright... My favourite colour is midnight blue." muttered Alya, unconvinced. "Yours?" she then crooned, disinterestedly.

"Orange. Well it's my turn again: when did you discover you could speak Parseltongue?" asked James point blank.

Alya gasped. She hadn't expected such a question so suddenly.

She shot a quick glance at the boy, worried. Alya well knew how Parselmouthes were regarded at Hogwarts. Or in the wizarding world, in general. Evil people, prone to the Dark Arts. Even among Slytherins it was unseemly to reveal certain abilities.

Alya felt a vague relief at noticing the total absence of contempt in James' face, despite the subject matter. She feared she could see a shadow of the same disdain that Sirius had directed at her many years before.

The young Black drew in a deep breath, as if diving underwater, and answered the question.

"Actually, I was taught that when I was about seven years old. That's all." she explained, simply.

"Taught? I always believed it was an innate gift," James commented, genuinely stunned.

"Probably, I don't know. In fact, after I learned to speak it properly, I tried to teach Regulus a few words, but it was all to no avail. He couldn't even reproduce a hiss." said Alya, shrugging her shoulders.

"And who taught you that? Some member of your family?" prodded Potter, curious.

"Someone. It doesn't matter who." she replied dryly. Alya did not want to mention Merope. Already disquisition about the famous snake tongue made her feel deeply uncomfortable, let alone getting into a discussion about her strange and recurring dreams - or visions.

James cashed in on the brutality of the reply with stoicism, neither countering nor insisting. He sensed that the topic belonged to a territory he wasn't yet allowed to tread.

"Does it bother you - that I can speak Parseltongue?" asked Alya, mildly worried.

James sketched a smile, softened by the nuance of fragility hidden in those timidly spoken words. Apparently, Alya cared about his opinion after all.

"No, it doesn't bother me," he replied promptly, wanting to reassure her instantly. But the girl still shot him a guarded, stern look.

"Well, if you had asked me the same question months ago, I'd certainly have answered differently, finding your unusual ability to communicate with snakes disturbing and dangerous. However, I suppose I must reconsider. I wouldn't be here if you couldn't speak Parseltongue. Isn't that right?" ran James, with a serious expression.

Alya nodded.

"I guess not," she merely replied. The timbre of her voice seemed more relaxed and the fleeting shadow of a smile seemed to cross her face.

A grave silence stretched out between them, both of them embarrassed to face such a loaded speech.

"I still haven't thanked you for what you did," he murmured, unable to put into words the real sense of gratitude he felt towards that cold Slytherin walking beside him.

"No need," Alya interrupted him, hastily.

For the second time in that conversation, James realised it would be pointless to insist.

"In any case, the spell you used is truly portentous! You possess extraordinary power! You should consider pursuing a career as a Curator." suggested James, without hiding his total admiration.

"I don't possess any healing power. It's Koboro who is the bearer of the magic that healed your wounds," Alya corrected him, in an austere tone. "I was only a medium, a kind of energy channeller. Koboro cannot perform the spell alone, he needs support. I simply repeated the formula he whispered in my ear. It's a very powerful spell, as ancient as it is; I wouldn't be able to repeat it alone. Koboro uses a very archaic form of Parseltongue, impossible for me to remember," the girl explained.

James arched an eyebrow.

"Is Koboro the name of that cobra that always crawls after you?" he asked squeamishly.

"Yes" replied Alya, casually.

"You speak of him as if he were a friend," observed James, at once intimidated and fascinated. Inside him a silent battle raged between the prejudice that still warned him against people being able to form a relationship with snakes (creatures considered evil by most wizards) and the curiosity to learn more about that aspect of magic completely unknown to him.

"In a way, it is. Although I don't know how one can call oneself a friend of a snake. But there is no doubt that some sort of bond exists between Koboro and me. Does that repulse you?" the overflowing question of defiance slipped out of the girl's lips, sharp as a blade.

"No. It scares me a little, it's true. But it also intrigues me." replied James truthfully, sustaining Alya's uncompromising gaze without hesitation.

She nodded, pleased and a little flattered by the unexpected interest James seemed to harbour for her and the unusual bond of friendship she had with Koboro.

Meanwhile, the boy and the girl had reached a clearing, where the tangled presence of trees was thinning out and a patch of starry sky spread out above their heads.

Tired of stumbling over the protruding roots that dotted the path barely visible beneath their feet, the Gryffindor and the Slytherin sat down on the damp grass of the forest.

Alya turned her silver gaze towards the celestial vault above the confines of Hogwarts, losing herself in the brightness of the stars. James, on the other hand, admired her profile, fine and hard at the same time.

"Tell me more about Koboro." encouraged her Potter, eager to find out what chained together that two enigmatic creatures.

Alya looked at him uncertainly, a little taken aback by the boy's insistent curiosity. However, she finally granted him a smile of assent.

She took a short breath and began to narrate, feeling inexplicably happy to share with James something that until that evening she had never told to anyone else.