February, 1977. Hogwarts.

For the whole weekend, Alya did nothing but ruminate on the "Maynard Nott" question.

James Potter was right: she had to get rid of Nott and end their relationship as soon as possible.

But Alya was reluctant to proceed. Not because of her feelings for the handsome scion of House Nott, of course. That boy meant nothing to her, she had realised that long ago.

What worried Alya was, instead, the risk of jeopardising her own reputation within her Slytherin mates.

As much as she despised him, Maynard Nott was well liked and respected by all Slytherin students. Alya had to act shrewdly and find a more than valid reason that could justify the sudden break-up of that much admired and envied engagement. A far from simple task, since Nott had always endeavoured to show himself as a perfect gentleman towards the beautiful Black. Or, at least, in public. What had happened on Valentine's Day had brought out the boy's true temperament, which was anything but polite.

Alya racked her brains for the whole weekend, unable to find a remotely plausible excuse that would allow her to end her relationship with Nott and save face at the same time.

Asking her mats for advice was absolutely out of the question: all three of them worshipped the rich scion - Philippa even too much - and Alya had not even ventured to mention to them the quarrel that had taken place on Valentine's Day. She wouldn't have put up with the cascade of mischievous jokes that would surely have gushed unrestrainedly from Beth's mouth, let alone the impertinent questions from Melyssa and Philippa, who would have been indignant at her companion's refusal to give herself to the charming Maynard Nott, the most desired party among all the Slytherins.

However, judging by the absence of judgmental glances from Maynard's friends, even the latter did not seem to have mentioned anything about the rant he had with his beautiful girlfriend on Valentine's Day. Evidently, Nott must have regarded Alya's rejection as only a momentary insecurity, not at all worrying. So full of himself, the noble scion was sure that sooner or later he would be able to get his hands on what he considered to be rightfully his.

The only positive aspect in the whole absurd affair was that they had both stopped speaking to each other since their quarrel. Nott waited with cold serenity for the most opportune moment to return to the attack; Alya, for her part, showed herself indifferent and aloof, as always. In reality, she was pining inside herself to find a stratagem to break up with Nott and, at the same time, come out with her head held high and victorious.

They both behaved as if nothing unpleasant had happened between them: he pretended to be busy with the commitments that his position as Captain of the Slytherin Quidditch team imposed on him; she was discreet and careful not to distract him from his sporting and school duties.

None of their House mates suspected the real problems that lingered within the couple.

The merciless cold, typical of the winter season, raged undaunted outside the walls of Hogwarts, with heavy rains and lashings of icy wind.

The weekend passed slowly and tediously and Alya was forced to stay holed up in the common room, hidden within the walls of the castle dungeon, together with Philippa, Melyssa and Beth. An activity that proved to be anything but pleasant. Beth did not stop whining about her poor school grades, hurling rants full of rancour at the professors - in particular McGonagall - who, in her opinion, had unjustly ganged up on her. Melyssa, whose presence was as significant as that of a shriveled mandrake, lent support in her own way to her complaining companion, with timely indignant comments that lacked any real transport.

The only one who appeared inexplicably in a good mood was Philippa, who looked completely distracted by other thoughts: she had an unusually relaxed and relaxed air about her, different from her usual tight-lipped expression of disgust, as if she perpetually had a slice of sour lemon in her mouth. Her watery, faded eyes seemed to shine brighter than usual. It was obvious that something nice and pleasant must have happened to her, but Alya did not bother to find out what was the cause of her companion's sudden happiness. She was too distracted by the tangle of her thoughts tangling in her head. On the one hand, she was trying to concentrate on the plan to end her relationship with Nott; on the other, she was struggling with the latent impatience to leave the Slytherin common room. If she had been wandering the corridors of the school, she would have had some chance of bumping into a dishevelled Gryffindor of her acquaintance, if only by chance and in passing.

The secret entanglement of scheming and fleeting glances with James Potter would have been an excellent diversion against the boredom and eagerness that raged relentlessly in Alya's soul.

***

21 February 1977. Hogwarts.

When the bell announced the long-awaited end of the lecture, the room was immediately invaded by an excited hustle and bustle of books, feathers, parchments and hands trafficking in bags.

Alya, Philippa, Melyssa and Beth left the History of Magic class looking bored.

"Am I wrong, or are Professor Binns' lessons getting more soporific every day?" commented Beth caustically, with Melyssa giggling in the background to agree with her. Alya merely demonstrated her assent with a wide yawn; she hadn't slept much the night before, busy as she was brooding over how to break it off with Nott. In vain.

The girl was astonished to see Philippa silent. Usually, her disdainful blonde friend did not miss an opportunity to bitterly denigrate a boring lecture or a professor. Yet she had not even retorted to Beth's comment with a scowl, proceeding with her head held high and her expression blank, unblinking. She seemed totally absorbed in her thoughts, which, judging by the vaguely dreamy air painting her face, must have been more than welcome. Alya even had the impression of hearing her humming.

However, Philippa's good humour left her completely indifferent. She had much more to think about.

The quartet, meanwhile, was heading for the ground floor, where the Transfiguration classroom was located.

"Girls, I have to go to the bathroom for a moment. Save me a seat." announced Alya, before momentarily separating from her group.

She entered a small, unadorned, deserted-looking corridor. It was a shortcut unfamiliar to the students, except for the older ones, which led more quickly to the ground-floor toilets. Along the narrow passageway, little battered doors occasionally appeared, guarding the entrance to unusual old classrooms.

Alya rinsed her face with copious amounts of cold water to combat the signs of residual sleepiness that still did not leave her from the almost sleepless night. Before leaving, she meticulously checked her appearance one last time, verifying that nothing in her was out of place. Young Black had always been a very vain girl, after all. However, in recent times she seemed to care more about looking beautiful and tidy.

Alya walked out of the ground-floor bathroom and down the narrow shortcut lined with old abandoned classrooms. It was from one of those worn-out doors that an arm suddenly jutted out, grabbing the girl and dragging her inside a narrow, dark room that reeked of stale dust and mould. On instinct, Alya drew her wand straight out in front of her, ready to defend herself.

"Lower your weapon, Black! It's me, don't you recognise me?" a voice that had become unmistakable to Alya teased her.

"Lumos." whispered the girl. A dim stream of light sprang from the tip of her wand, still raised, illuminating James Potter's mocking, smiling face.

"Potter! But how on earth did you know I was here?" blurted Alya, visibly confused and displeased. Young Black had a habit of scowling when she couldn't understand something.

"I was wandering around," he replied laconically.

Alya was on the verge of protesting and saying that that wasn't an answer at all, but James quickly took her face in his hands and unceremoniously kissed her. Suddenly, all the questions swirling in the girl's head dissolved, her thoughts became calmer, lighter.

"I've missed your kisses, Black," James murmured, gently stroking her lips with a finger. "I've done nothing but think about it all weekend!" the Gryffindor chuckled, explaining the reason for that unexpected ambush.

Alya answered him with a mischievous smirk, pleased to see Potter so attracted to her.

"So?" asked James, with a sudden inquisitive look.

"So what?"

"Did you get rid of Nott? Did you break up?" he urged her, impatiently.

Alya bit her lower lip, uncomfortable. She shook her head with a vaguely guilty air. James understood and frowned at her.

"What on earth are you waiting for?" the boy apostrophised her, annoyed.

"It's complicated." the Slytherin tried to justify herself, but the lightning-fast scowl from the Gryffindor silenced her.

"Complicated? What's so complicated? All you have to do is go up to that dandy and tell him straight, 'Listen to me you fool, it's over between us. Goodbye,'" he suggested, with obviousness.

Now it was Alya who showed signs of impatience and annoyance.

"It's not as simple as you think. Nott is held in high esteem among all our fellow Slytherins. I must have a good reason to leave him on the spur of the moment if I want to keep my reputation intact." she explained, trying to show a calm demeanour.

James' face contorted into an indignant grimace.

"Your reputation, Black? Is that really what you're worried about? What does a bunch of snobby snakes think of you?" retorted the boy.

"Well, if you haven't noticed by now, I'm part of that bunch of snobby snakes!" she snapped at him in a tone. A spark of anger flashed in the silver of her eyes. A spark that James did not miss. The Gryffindor clenched his fists tightly, barely suppressing the urge to shout in Alya's face how ridiculous and hypocritical he found her obstinate concern for what other Slytherins thought of her.

But James had not dragged Alya there, into that cramped, dusty, smelly little room, to argue. She let out a deep breath and tried to calm herself.

"I just don't like knowing you're still with him," he mumbled contritely.

Alya's face also relaxed. Once again the girl was pleased, seeing Potter's jealousy.

She looked the boy in the eyes, turning to him in a more understanding and condescending tone:

"Listen to me, I will break up with Nott, I promise! I just need time," Alya reassured him, with a distant tinge of pleading in her voice.

With a snort, James nodded.

The Gryffindor and Slytherin then exchanged awkward smiles, both sorry for losing their temper.

"I have to go now. I'm late for McGonagall's class." said Alya, gesturing to start towards the doorway. But James blocked her, grabbing her by the arm again.

"Are you free on Wednesday, after curfew?" he asked, fixing her with an imperative stare, making it clear that he would not take no for an answer.

Alya smiled.

"To our tree?" she asked in reply.

They both exchanged a complicit glance and a smile of understanding.

James pulled her even closer to him and kissed her one last time before letting young Black go.

After that, the two students slipped stealthily out of the dark room, each heading for their own classrooms.

When Alya crossed the doorstep of the Transfiguration class, she was greeted by a stunned silence, a sign that the lesson had already begun.

"Miss Black, you're late," Professor McGonagall burst out in a haughty voice, squaring the tardy student with a rapt look. "Ten points less in Slytherin." she then announced as punishment.

A faint murmur of disapproval rose from the desks occupied by Alya's classmates, instantly silenced by a lightning stern look from the teacher.

The girl, for her part, cashed in on the humiliation with stoic silence, immediately going to the seat her friends had reserved for her. Stymied, Alya cursed Potter and his jealousy.

***

22 February 1977. Hogwarts.

The following day was quieter, although Alya continued to nag about how to get rid of the cumbersome relationship she had with Maynard Nott. She had not yet found a solution to her problem and the Potions lesson on Tuesday morning was of no comfort to her.

Already struggling to juggle the cryptic instructions in the Advanced Potions volume and unable to properly prepare the concoction of the day proposed by Slughorn, Alya also had to endure Potter's silent, but nonetheless explicit, nagging glances.

For the past few weeks, the stolen glances that James had been sneaking at her from behind his brass cauldron had been a source of flattery and complacency for the vain young Black. That day, however, was different: Alya felt targeted, haunted by the fierce expectation and reproach that lurked in the glint that crossed the biscuit-coloured irises of the dishevelled Gryffindor.

It was a relief for the Slytherin to hear the chime announcing the end of the hated lesson. Without delay, Alya left Slughorn's dungeon, mingling among the group of her other companions so as to avoid James Potter's inquiring glances.

Fortunately, the rest of the day slipped by quickly and smoothly until dinnertime.

Alya had gone to the common room with her classmates for a moment, to relieve herself of the weight of the books used in the various lessons. The foursome had just emerged from the hidden Slytherin area when the young Black heard her name called.

It was Professor Ghalil. It had been at least a couple of months since their last chat about the strange dreams Alya had had and the mysterious seers, the Somnia Videns, to whom the lecturer had alluded during their conversation.

"Miss Black, I was just looking for you. Do you have a second?" the professor's deep, hoarse voice emerged from the darkness of a corridor in the castle dungeon, the same one where his office was located.

As soon as she heard herself called, Alya stopped her step, looking at the professor with a confused air. She walked towards him anyway, letting the others continue.

"Tell me, professor," she said with cordial politeness.

"I was curious how the reading of the interesting novel you told me about the last time you visited me was progressing," said the professor, with his usual enigmatic expression.

Alya stiffened a little. There was no novel; she had made it up so as not to reveal to Ghalil that it was she who had strange visions in her dreams. She had to answer vaguely and be careful not to betray herself.

"Actually, I'm at a standstill. With all there is to study, I've had to give up reading for now." she replied as nonchalantly as she could.

The lips half-hidden by the lecturer's thick white beard rippled briefly in an incomprehensible smirk. Then, Professor Ghalil slipped a small booklet from a large pocket of his tunic that looked decidedly old and worn.

"The other day I was in the library - in the Forbidden Ward, to be exact - for some personal research and my gaze was caught by this volume," Ghalil began, handing the worn manuscript to the increasingly curious student.

Alya found herself contemplating a thick cerulean cover, faded by the merciless passage of time. In the middle, in large golden letters, appeared an incomprehensible title: De rerum somnia - Ignoti portae.

Alya's snow-white face contorted into a puzzled grimace.

"Dreams - the doors to the unknown. Don't be intimidated by Latin, Miss Black. With the exception of the title, an incantation has been placed on all the pages of the book to make the reading of the text absolutely comprehensible,' Ghalil reassured her with a jovial smile.

"Keep it. I will more than gladly lend it to you. I believe that within this ancient manuscript you will find useful information about the Somnia Videns that so intrigued you during our last meeting. Perhaps it will be an incentive to go on reading that novel whose title you don't remember," he added, giving her a fleeting wink.

Alya had the distinct feeling that Professor Ghalil was perfectly aware that there was no novel. Nevertheless, the girl willingly accepted the teacher's offer.

"Thank you very much, professor. I will read it with due attention," the girl promised, carefully placing the small book inside her school bag.

"I welcome this. Finally, I ask you, once you have finished reading, to return the manuscript to me personally. You know, the text in question is not intended for students," the professor concluded with stern inflexibility.

"Certainly, professor," Alya nodded.

"Excellent. Now go and enjoy the banquet that awaits you in the Great Hall. I suggest, if you will allow me, that you try the kidney pie. It's delicious, the kitchen elves have really outdone themselves this evening," said Professor Ghalil, returning to his affable tone, before taking his leave with a quick nod and disappearing back into the depths of the dungeon.

Although she was still confused, Alya didn't let it be repeated twice and, urged on by the hungry murmurs of her stomach, she reached the Hogwarts hall swiftly where her companions were waiting for her at the Slytherin table. And while she answered with evasive explanations to her friends' curious questions about what the old Ghalil wanted from her, Alya pounced confidently on the large golden trays placed in the centre of the table, serving herself a generous portion of kidney pie. The professor had not lied: it was absolutely delicious.

After dinner, the four girls didn't wait long before taking refuge in their room in the women's dormitory. They went to bed early and young Black immediately slipped into a less than peaceful sleep.

Tangled images sprang from her subconscious, rough elaborations of what she had endured during the last few days. Different faces haunted her alternately, each one with its own gaze and mute reproach: the first to arrive was the imperturbable and malevolent one of Maynard Nott, who scrutinised her body with aggressive eagerness, without shame or respect; then it was the turn of James, as much awaited as feared. His hazel eyes, unfailingly shielded by sparkling round lenses, crooked even in dreams, silently rebuked her for her lack of courage in the face of a situation she would sooner or later have to face. But it was the ill-concealed disappointment in those eyes that sprouted warmth that made Alya squirm in bed in convulsive sleep. Then came the sharp, stern face of her mother, Walburga, with her glacial gaze as cold as a blade, who without uttering a word admonished her daughter on her duties as a noble pureblood witch. And finally, Sirius came. And with him, terror. Who knows why he appeared to Alya in the disguise of a large black dog. But her sister had no doubt, she knew it was the twin who so despised her who growled at her, gnashing his teeth and bristling fur along his back. Alya read in the angry eyes of the angry, wounded animal the instinct to defend one's territory that Sirius had painstakingly built up with his friends over all those years. The dog barked furiously at his sister, who had dared to cross a boundary that her brother would never allow her to cross. But she had crossed it anyway, heedless of the consequences. And now Sirius was aiming at her, like a bloodhound when he senses the distant scent of prey, ready to pounce on her and bite her in the jugular. It was when the dog leapt at her that Alya finally woke up, finding herself gasping but safe in her four-poster bed, wrapped in the green sheets now drenched in cold sweat.

The girl, exhausted and panting, stood motionless for a few seconds, contemplating the dense darkness beyond her gaze, which suggested that it must still be the middle of the night.

The maiden brought a hand to her forehead, as if to calm the twisted images still swirling within her, as she tried to harmonise her shortened breath.

It didn't take her long to realise that it would be impossible for her to fall back asleep. She might as well get up and find something useful to distract herself with. She immediately thought of the little book which Professor Ghalil had kindly handed her a few hours earlier. A healthy, instructive read was just what she needed.

Alya slipped out of bed, grabbed the thin manuscript and tiptoed down the mahogany staircase to the common room, which must have been deserted by then.

However, as she reached the last step, Alya realised that she was not the only one who had woken up in the middle of the night.

Muffled sounds, like a tangle of sighs, caught the girl's attention. Alya followed the origin of those noises, which had the scent of lust and the forbidden. The girl's feet moved on their own, as if driven by a sordid curiosity that led her to the Slytherin library.

Here, Alya stopped and observed the scene that unfolded starkly before her eyes.

On the library table was Philippa, seated in an indecorous position, whose legs were spread and she was holding the body of a boy whose back Alya could only see. But it was enough for her to guess who he belonged to.

Alya was grateful for the clothes that still covered those bodies moving excitedly, one clinging to the other, although Philippa's dressing gown had stopped caring to cover what Alya would rather not see. The blond girl's exposed breasts had become prey to the boy's lips, which tasted them with rough hunger; with his hands he grasped them and with his teeth he bit them, causing Philippa to sigh in agony that had nothing to do with pain. And as his brown head sank into her breasts, the boy gorged on Philippa's body with the refinement of a hungry boar.

Alya remained impassive before that dishevelled spectacle, watching him with disinterested curiosity.

It was her roommate who finally noticed the presence of Alya, whose figure stood motionless and haughty on the library doorstep.

"A-Alya?" squeaked the blonde, stifling a groan. Young Black answered her with her most impassive expression.

The boy, hearing his fiancée's name, immediately and awkwardly detached himself from Philippa, turning incredulously towards Alya, as if to make sure it was not a joke. Maynard Nott then showed his face, whose guilty expression resembled that of a criminal caught in the act. But there was no remorse in his dark, dense eyes; only ill-concealed annoyance at having been caught in the act.

Alya studied him from top to bottom with haughty disgust. However, she felt neither anger nor humiliation at the obvious betrayal. The only thing she perceived was a sense of relief that quickly spread through her, relaxing her muscles that had been contracted in a painful grip until just before.

A relief that soon mingled with the satisfaction of seeing her friend and her fiancé reeling in shame at having been discovered.

Nott had retreated into a resolute muteness, almost as if not speaking granted him the power to make himself invisible.

Philippa, on the other hand, begged Alya with her faded eyes.

"Alya... I can explain," sobbed the girl, pleadingly.

"How come you were so cheerful these days? I can see that for myself." said Alya with cold simplicity. Then, she turned her silver gaze towards Maynard, who sported a detached expression, as if he had been there by pure chance, just at that moment.

"I think it goes without saying, but it's over between us. Goodbye and good night." announced Alya in a calm voice, repeating the words that someone she knew had suggested to her only the day before.

And before Philippa and Maynard could reply, the imperious young Black turned her back on them, heading back towards the women's dormitory from which she had come.

She climbed the stairs victoriously, marvelling at how the problem that had plagued her for days had resolved itself, quite naturally and unexpectedly.