The Tree of Blacks (English version)

Trophy Room

Monday 14 February, 1977. Hogwarts, Owlery.

Alya turned sharply towards James Potter, looking at him with deep suspicion.

He had come out of nowhere, she had neither seen nor heard him coming, as if he had materialised. But Alya knew well that materialising and dematerialising inside Hogwarts was completely impossible.

Perhaps, she had not noticed him simply because she was too absorbed in watching Godric devour his sultana prize.

The boy, meanwhile, stood boldly in front of her, watching her in turn with equally circumspect interest.

It was clear that the Gryffindor's presence in the Owlery had a very specific purpose and that Alya was the main reason for it, but the dishevelled boy seemed to flinch now that he found himself standing in front of the Slytherin, as if afraid of her reactions.

Motionless and inscrutable, Alya stared at him, unexpectedly eager to find out what the young Potter was up to.

"So, Black, it's your fault Godric started picking on Sirius' nose recently," James commented finally, interrupting the heavy silence that was beginning to permeate the small round room.

Trying in vain to conceal a tinge of insecurity in his steps, the unruly brown-haired boy approached the perch on which perched the eagle owl of his own, beautifully saturated with sultana sweets. James shot the bird an amused glance, from which, however, a veiled reproach leaked out, which Godric ignored with haughty disinterest.

Alya continued to stand still and silent, nevertheless not taking her eyes off Potter.

"I do believe he likes you, Black. And that is admirable. Godric is a very selective owl when it comes to friendships." proclaimed James, proudly, as he sank his hands inside the pockets of his school uniform.

"He's just an owl, Potter. And he's not selective, just gluttonous. And spoiled." blurted Alya.

"So you do have a voice!" commented the boy, turning towards her. A smile of victory appeared on her face.

Now that she was close to him, Alya studied his features: thin and only a few centimetres taller than her, James Potter had a thin face with two hazel eyes which glittered with self-confidence and shrewd wit. They were rimmed by round glasses, which rested somewhat crookedly on the boy's nose. The head was covered by dark, wiry hair, which Alya found incredibly funny.

The thin lips seemed determined not to abandon the wry smile that had been rippling over them for minutes.

A strange silence still stretched between the two boys for a couple of seconds.

It was James again who ended it:

"Well... speaking of Godric... I was wondering if you got my Christmas card?" the Gryffindor asked evasively, no doubt alluding to the card in which he had warned her about Sirius' condition.

Alya stiffened instantly.

"Yes, I got it," she replied, in a monotone.

"You never answered me" replied James, revealing a nod of disappointment.

"Well... I had nothing to say." retorted Alya, attempting to raise as much of an icy indifference of defence as she could.

For a moment, her grey eyes rested on the boy's brown ones, which seemed to study her carefully, as if to understand how much truth lay behind that ostentatious detachment. From the sympathetic look the boy gave her immediately afterwards, Alya realised that James understood perfectly well how much, in reality, that postcard had meant to her.