A/N: As promised, the next installment - and the first real chapter - of James' fourth-year adventures. What uncertain fate has befallen Rain? How will the dynamic between he and Odette work as they explore new and scary ground between them? Will he ever make things right with Holly? And will Professor Longbottom forgive him for what he did at the end of third year? We'll be searching for answers to these and more questions throughout the year, and we may find that the resolutions are darker than we had anticipated...

The Junior Triwizard Competition for Magical Excellence ended in controversy when the elusive and possibly insane captive-turned-fugitive Dorian Alder was sighted on Hogwarts grounds, inciting panic in the thousands gathered to witness the Tournament. Though the Ministry-led Steelhearts failed to apprehend Alder, rumours persisted of an epic battle playing out within the grounds. And although battle scars were found raking through the Greenhouses, no evidence of the participants were ever found. It is said that whatever happened on school grounds that day caused the end of the Maleficent Malady that had held the Wizarding World gripped in fear for the past year.

James returns to school to face the disappearance of the mysterious Rain, following a sequence of events that had - for the first time - led him to question her loyalty and motives. Will he seek her out, in order to get the answers to so many questions? Is it even possible, when not a trace of her presence is left behind? And what clues are found hidden deep away in the centre of the Forbidden Forest...?

'So,' James asked. 'Nobody has seen Rain?'

Fred only shrugged. Clip looked apologetic. Cat shook her head. Her long, silver locks shimmered in the light of the candles that dotted the open expanse of the Great Hall above them.

'Cassandra said she hadn't heard from her all summer,' Clip offered.

'Oh, Cassandra did, did she?' Fred laughed. 'Did Cassandra tell you this while you were tucked away in your own private carriage?'

'Shove off,' Clip said. 'Nothing is happening.' But his traitorous smile betrayed the words he spoke.

The four of them burst out into knowing laughter, adding their own sounds to the general roar created by the gathered and impatient student body of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, as they waited for their Headmistress to arrive and open proceedings.

Up and down the four, long tables house colours shone forth proudly. The bold red and gold of Gryffindor shining in the warm light. Hufflepuffs gentle yellow. The cool blue of Ravenclaw, and the rich, shimmering green of Slytherin flickering in and out between the shadows that intertwined with the firelight.

The latent anticipation charging the air was almost a thing palpable, something that James could touch or taste or see. Though expressing in a thousand different ways, the students of Hogwarts all told the same story. It was written in their eager smiles. Whispered in the excited flutter of this student's voice, or the titter of laughter from that group of girls. Its breaths were the rise and lull of conversation. And its voice spoke in the growing murmur from a thousand throats. Taking on a curious tone as the minutes stretched longer and still, their leader had not arrived.

Suddenly, the metallic thump that announced the locks lifting on the doors to the room sounded, and they swung open on oiled hinges. The conversation instantly became a conspiratorial, sibilant whisper, as the ragged string of first-years, rosy-cheeked and wide-eyed, began their stuttering way up the aisle, shepherded along by the friendly smile and patient gestures of Rubeus Hagrid.

'Don't even say it,' James shot, as he saw Fred's scrutiny of the newcomers.

'There is no way I was that small.'

'Certainly, there's no way Cat was,' James countered. And turned to face her. 'Do you ever stop growing?'

'Mummy says it's the Nargle eggs,' Cat explained gravely. 'I eat them twice a day. Raw. She says they are most important for a growing girl.'

'Well you might want to start easing off,' Fred grinned. 'Or you're going to be giving Hagrid a run for his money.'

Cat stuck out her tongue in a most ladylike gesture of disapproval.

When the Sorting hat burst into song without warning, the first few lines of the tune were lost amidst the uproar from the students. Still Renshaw had not arrived, and now Sorting was to begin. The Hat waxed eloquent on the virtues of loyalty, and remembering those who had fought for them. That here, within these halls they were all family. And though outside forces may try to pull them apart, that sticking together was their greatest weapon, their strongest defence.

For once it was said by a wise talking head, who loved you with all of his heart,

that we're strong as we are united, and as weak as we are split apart.

If applause could be confused, that was certainly the sentiment as the last words rang out among them. It wasn't until Bridgewater, Bridget was sorted into Slytherin that the students overcame their stupor and rallied to cheer for the first years Sorted before them.

Cat sent them all diving to cover their ears with a cheering whistle that split the room as her half-brothers, Lorcan and Lysander were both Sorted into Hufflepuff. James watched with a grimace as, between them, they tripped over three times and missed no fewer than eight high-fives from their fellow house-mates as they took up their seats.

'Aren't you upset they're not in Gryffindor?' Clip asked, watching the two boys now fighting over which fork belonged to whom.

'Oh no,' Cat smiled. 'They've wanted to be in Hufflepuff since they were old enough to want anything. Their Daddy was a Hufflepuff. And so was his Daddy, and his Daddy. And his Daddy. And-'

'Er, yes.' Clip' cut in. 'We get the picture.'

'What about your father, Cat?' James asked, taking a sip of his pumpkin juice.

He regretted it instantly, as the spark that lived behind her pale eyes faltered for a moment, and she looked down, suddenly uncertain and closed off. Her shoulders hunched, and she became very interested in tracing circles with her finger on the table before her. 'I'm not sure,' was all that she would say on the matter.

The living organism that was the student body of Hogwarts reared its head once more as Professor Longbottom stood up and approached the dais. Renshaw's Headmistress chair was still conspicuously empty.

James waved to the Professor – he'd told his Mum a thousand times he wasn't going to give him love – but received only a stony glare in return.

'First years, welcome. And to all the rest of you, welcome back.' The professor's voice washed over the students like a gently lapping wave. And with the power of the sea behind it, it smoothed over the speculation, rounded out the peering heads, and quieted the last few lips that put voice to their consternation. 'Hogwarts is to be your home for the coming months. And those seated next to you now are to be your family. So I trust you will treat them as such.

'I suppose it would be remiss of me to not mention the Erumpent in the room, before proceedings advance further.'

The anticipatory buzz rose, right on cue. James found himself leaning forward slightly in his seat.

'The Headmistress cannot be with us tonight, as she is out of the country. She is currently enjoying an extended stay in France, and likely will be doing so for the immediate future. The length of her stay, at this stage, is indefinite.'

The single buzz became a swarm around them. James shot Fred a pointed look.

'France?' Clip hissed. 'She and Valerie Dufour don't get on at all.'

James nodded. No few threats had been passed between the two heads of school. He and Fred had been unwitting witnesses to most of it.

'Do you think it's the vampires?' Cat whispered over, a concerned look upon her gentle features.

'If she's stuck in France,' James ventured. 'Then it's probably not by choice. Might be that the vampires are a better option than what has her at the moment.'

'That will be quite enough,' Professor Longbottom continued. The razor sharp edge to his tone cut the head clean off the beast of speculation that was writhing within the room. 'In the interim, the remaining Hogwarts staff have agreed to share the burden of the Headmistress' administration and leadership duties among us. We will, under no circumstances, be selecting a new Headmistress until matters elsewhere are… resolved.

'I ask in the meantime that you treat one another with respect; that you look out for one another like the family that you are. And that you do not heed quite everything that you might hear or read about our Headmistress.

'Now, enough talk. Eat!'

James completely ignored the flourish of food that appeared on the plates before him. He was too busy staring, dumbstruck up at the dais that Professor Longbottom had just vacated.

'He can't just drop that on us and then try distract us with food,' Clip complained. Despite the statement, he was busily helping himself to a good handful of pre-dinner dessert in the form of a mountain of treacle tarts.

''Mmrph ermph,' Fred agreed through an eye-wateringly large mouthful of roast lamb.

'Didn't he look stressed?' Cat asked, chewing on the end of a strand of hair rather than favouring the fare set out before them.

'Reckon I'd be stressed too if I just got lumped with half of Renshaw's duties,' Clip said, gesturing pointedly with a stuffed éclair. 'She's always busy. Not a clue what she does most of the day, but she's always up to something.'

'Agreed,' James murmured. 'On both counts.'

But just what she was up to this time, allowing herself to be held, possibly captive, in a foreign country was well beyond him. The problem bothered him all through dinner and dessert, so that he hardly touched the food. Happily, Clip and Fred managed to take up his slack, and soon the four of them were groaning and staggering their way up to the Gryffindor Tower together.

James, at least, made it as far as the lowest step on the Grand Staircase.

'Potter, a word.'

He turned to see Professor Zoe Meadows making her limping way towards him, wincing slightly as her weight fell upon her wooden leg with every other step. She wore her customary bright pink lipstick, and her bright blonde hair fell elegantly around her shoulders. She'd also chosen for the occasion a bright yellow dress that didn't quite go with either of it. But for all the overtly garish display of colour, there was a hint of tired grey beneath it. The shadow of bruised bags beneath her eyes. A slight pursing of her lips that wasn't usually present.

'Hello Professor,' James said, a little uncertainly. They stopped, face-to-face in the middle of the Entrance Hall. The tide of students carried on flowing around them. The professor paused to swat an unobservant Ravenclaw with her nose in a book who'd nearly walked into them both.

'Detention, Potter. My office. Eight o'clock this Friday.'

'What?' James spluttered. 'I didn't do it, honest. That Dungbomb in the Slytherin carriage was a bunch of sixth-years. And fine, I might have let that badger loose under the Hufflepuff table earlier, but it was a Transfigured one. It only lasted a minute or two. There weren't even any tears!'

The professor studied James with her hands on hips. She was slowly being overcome by an odd sort of look that took James a while to realise was her attempt at not smiling.

'I'm not sure if I ought to be astounded, appalled, or impressed-'

'Impressed. You're definitely impressed.'

'And you're definitely heading for double-detention if that big mouth of yours keeps making noise.'

James' jaw snapped shut with an audible click.

'It isn't for anything you've done this year, Potter. Though maybe it should be. This is a follow-on from your activities at the end of last year. I believe the Headmistress informed you that a suitable punishment would await you. Well, here I am, suitably punishing you. Detention. Every Friday until, oh, let's say until our Headmistress herself can return and change her mind. Seeing as I was the arresting officer, you'll be spending it with me, first up. This Friday. Eight o'clock. We'll be practicing writing apology letters to Professor Longbottom.

'And when I say we, what I really mean is you.'

'But Friday is Quidditch trials!' James pleaded.

'Not my problem. Finish them early. Because if you're not there at eight o'clock sharp, then I'm going to take your broom and do something with it that most people would deem frowned upon.'

'What if I- never mind. I'll be there.' James finished, already walking away. He'd just spied another figure exiting the Great Hall that he was much more eager to be spending his evening conversing with.

Odette Mansfield.

Professor Meadows saw her, too. And made a grab for James, which he deftly avoided. 'Get back here, Potter. I'm not done with you.'

'Eight o'clock, or broomstick insertion,' he called over his shoulder with a wink. 'Gotcha.'

'Oh my, James. It sounds like you've quite the evening planned with the professor. Ought I to be jealous?'

Though it was one of the few times in the school year that to wear the entirety of their uniform was mandatory, Odette had somehow managed to get away with a very loose interpretation of the rules, indeed.

Her tie was nowhere to be seen – probably stuffed into the satchel bag swung over her shoulder from which a corner of her green-fringed robe still hung. The faded ashen blonde of her hair was now shot through with something darker, her eyes and lips painted to match. She'd unfastened enough buttons of her shirt so that James didn't have to stretch his imagination too far to wonder what that flash of mint green lace might be. In her heeled boots she stood at least as tall as he, and the cut of her skirt allowed him to take in the full length of legs he felt he could admire for days.

He attempted his least lecherous welcoming smile as he drank in the sight, the scent and the sheer presence that was Odette Mansfield. She was clearly enjoying his reaction.

They hugged. Long and close and, now, familiar. James became acutely aware of the fact that she smelled like she'd just stepped out of the shower, while he smelled like he'd spent all day in a cramped, hot carriage with four other blokes.

As they parted, there was the briefest of moments where they paused, still half-committed to the hug. Should James kiss her? He opted out. He could still feel Professor Meadows' eyes boring into the back of his skull from the first floor landing. And a few students had already slowed down to shoot them lingering sidelong glances.

The flicker of disappointment that skittered cross Odette's features, however, made him instantly regret the decision.

'How were your holidays?' James forced out, eager to move on from the forgettable moment.

'Boring,' she replied, twirling a lock of hair around one finger. She surveyed the students around them with an aloof distaste. Her smug superiority made sure that they knew that they were the ones on the outside, looking in. 'You might have thought to write.'

'I, er, don't know where you live,' James stammered, taken aback.

'You might have thought to ask.'

Her cool tone was giving James the impression that he'd somehow walked into this conversation having already done something wrong.

'I see your little ginger friend was absent from proceedings.'

'You haven't seen her, then?'

'I've better things to do with my time than follow around after unwanted orphan children, James. Last I heard, she was at St Mungo's. Perhaps she's taking time off for her health. Good riddance, I say. You spend entirely too much time with that girl on your mind.'

Odette had stopped the twirling now, and flipped the entire curtain of her hair forwards across her shoulder, combing it gently with her fingers. She looked up at James only occasionally.

'She's my friend. I'd like to know she's alright, is all.'

'Well, how about you write to her.'

'But I don't-' James cut himself off. A good few seconds after making a fool of himself.

Odette sighed, and finally left her hair alone. 'Well, as enlightening as this has been, James, I've got a bag to unpack, and a ceiling to go stare at, or something.'

'Oh, right. Sure.'

She blew him a kiss as she began to walk away. 'Good luck at trials this week. And I find Luckett's Lustrous Lubricant wax works the best.'

James frowned, confused.

'For the broomstick.'

His eyes widened in shock.

'Maintenance, of course. It gives the best finish. Good night James.'

And with the hint of a sultry smile, Odette was gone. And James was left with the same drained and confused feeling that he thought he'd started getting over.

'Good grief, my boy. That was hard to watch.' Tristan Macmillan strode out of the Great Hall shaking his head in despair. 'You didn't mention her hair, didn't give her a kiss, and you didn't even write over the holidays. Mate, take this. I've a feeling you're going to need it a hell of a lot more than me.'

James looked down at the book Tristan pressed into his hands: Twelve Failsafe Ways to Charm Witches. Tristan's "Holy Text". The book they'd fought so hard to steal back last year after the girls confiscated it from them.

As he gazed wistfully back down towards the Slytherin dungeons, James was inclined to agree.

His own version of unpacking was no doubt a little more haphazard than Odette's would have been. The only time he stopped to take a care was as he gently lifted his gleaming Nimbus Model One broomstick out and up onto the rack where he stored it beside his bed.

He had to dig to the deepest, darkest, forgotten-sockiest depths of his trunk to fish out his pyjamas. As he did so, he felt his fist close around something hard and cold.

He pulled out Rain's amulet, the one that she'd given him toward the end of the last year. He felt a little onrush of guilt at having left it, forgotten in the bottom of his trunk all summer. She'd needed that amulet to keep her alive through her second year. And probably still did. How long before she'd start to feel the effects of its absence?

He placed the amulet carefully on his bedside table. The cool blue glow lasted even after he'd turned out all the lights.

Sleep was a long time in coming. Two figures had up and disappeared from his life over the holidays, and he hadn't a single clue as to what either might be up to. He didn't like it in the least. And, being the one and only James Sirius Potter, he'd be damned if he wasn't going to do something about it.