It can't be true. It just can't be.
Cassandra Featherstone sat alone, ensconced within Hogwarts' exclusive and reclusive Waterfall room. Rough-hewn stone walls glistened wetly all around her. The steady trickle of running water that adorned each wall added a messy, hectic overtone that well matched the chaos of her thoughts.
"There are six ways to Anchor Runic keystones…" Cassandra wrote, then stopped and frowned down at the parchment. She'd written that very line three times already.
Cassandra threw her hands up in exasperation and flopped backwards, so she lay flat on her back on the small, threadbare rug in the centre of the room. Tiny, disembodied orbs of warm orange light floated above her, providing the room's illumination. She scrunched her eyes shut tight to hide from their mocking gaze. They left tiny pinpricks of bright purple afterimage behind her eyelids.
Subconsciously, Cassandra began biting on the end of her nails as she wallowed alone in her misery. The faded blue paint was chipped and worn. The ends of her fingers were constantly red and raw. She should have repainted them days ago. Just like she should be doing her Ancient Runes homework right now.
But she was finding it hard to concentrate through the haze left behind by the revelation that her best friend might be evil.
She'd looked at it every way imaginable. She'd brainstormed and justified and mapped out Rain's actions as far back as she could remember. Cassandra had turned one wall of her dormitory into a massive, sprawling picture she'd unimaginatively dubbed "The Diagram" in order to visualise every interaction she'd had with Rain, to try and overturn any clue as to why she might be innocent.
She'd come up with nothing.
Now, Cassandra Featherstone doesn't fail. She couldn't afford to fail, not when the stakes were so high. There had to be something she was missing, something she'd overlooked. But over a dozen sleepless, and often tear-filled nights since her world had been rocked by the revelation were starting to suggest that there might just be nothing there to find.
She blinked her red-rimmed eyes, looking at the ring of books laid about her spot on the floor without actually seeing any of them. There was a scattering of other things, as well. Torn sheafs of parchment, covered in hastily-etched drawings; blurred photos; a portion of blue silk curtain ripped from her four-post bed. All were covered in a hasty rendition of Cassandra's handwriting. Tiny and cramped, spiderwebbing letters barely illegible, crowding margins and filling every inch of available space.
Her dorm-mates had finally tired of her "eccentricities" they called it. Chloe Swann had led them in demanding that Cassandra remove the writing that was ruining their neatly-arranged living quarters. Cassandra had had no choice but to oblige, and so she'd taken notes on everything she'd written over the past two weeks in a fearful hour as the others of her dormitory tapped impatient feet and threatened to purge it all every time she paused to stretch her cramping hand.
There was one other thing with her tonight, as well. A small jewellery box that had been stuffed down the back of Cassandra's bed – next to the section of the Diagram about how Cassandra had never seen Rain use the bathroom on a Wednesday – she'd been getting desperate for clues, at that point.
The jewellery box was a gift from Rain, late last year. The day before she disappeared, in fact. Cassandra had been too scared to open it. She shamefully admitted to some lingering superstition, that if she never looked inside it, she might someday be reunited with Rain again. As if opening it was admitting that Rain was gone, looking upon its contents – jewellery that Rain would never wear again – was enough to seal her fate.
Cassandra's fingers shook as she reached for the box. It was simple, lacquered wood. It glowed a warm golden-brown in the dusky hue of the Waterfall room. Stylised raindrops were carved across the lid, and as Cassandra held it, she watched with a small, sad smile, as they came to life, dancing across the surface and making a scene of steady, driving rain. Grey-smudged and whirling. Simple, yet beautiful.
She popped the clasp.
Inside, there was no jewellery to be seen. The felt-lined interior was empty, untouched and pristine. Save for one, small square of parchment, folded tightly enough to fit within Cassandra's palm. It bore her name in a script that she would recognise anywhere as Rain's own.
Dearest Cassandra,
I hope with all my heart that you may never see this note. I must thank you for being the most wonderful, caring friend for all these years-
Cassandra led out a sob, clapping a hand to her mouth.
- There may come a time that your faith in our friendship is shaken. That you find yourself thinking less of me for what it seems I have done. People may slander my name after I am gone, they may tell you such things that still your heart and chill your tender soul. You may even discover them yourself. Your insatiable thirst for understanding and knowledge was ever one of your most admirable traits.
But I beg of you, that before you cast final judgement over my memory, seek out James Potter. The gifts I have given to him, together, will help you to understand the truth. And I hope that it will allow you to retain fond thoughts of myself and, more importantly, us.
There was no signature. Cassandra found tears were flowing freely down her cheeks now. Relief warred with despair, each jostling to be the emotion to overcome her. The note was written as if – wherever she was going – Rain had no intention of returning.
But there was hope! Glorious, beautiful hope. She must have been referring to the Locket, telling them that it was the key. Cassandra's shoulders shook silently. Even she didn't know if she was laughing or crying.
She could toss the section of the Diagram – there had been an entire sideboard of her bed devoted to it – of James conspiring to make Cassandra believe Rain evil. Suddenly, it seemed so stupid. Rain, trying to destroy the world? Their Rain? She'd once made Cassandra stay awake with her for a whole night because she'd been convinced that a Kelpie had swum up the drains into their bathroom and it was going to need their rescuing.
And so the hope shone through. And Cassandra Featherstone, alone in the room, and for the first time in weeks, began to laugh.
There was nothing within the confines of a Hogwarts classroom that could ever quite match the pell-mell furore of a group of students preparing for a potions class. Cauldrons were located, acquired, dropped to the floor with an ear-splitting clang, and sheepishly hurried over to desks. Scuffles broke out over the best-looking of the ingredients, all snatching hands and hissing curses. Fires were lit – often explosively. Stools ground across tiled floor. And on top of it all, the general chatter accompanying a group of thirty-odd fourteen-year-old children finished off the maelstrom of noise and confusion that marked the beginning of each and every lesson.
Not even the presence of Alabaster Shelby, Ministry stalwart and self-proclaimed Hogwarts Grand Overseer could dampen the mood. His cold eyes narrowed on the milling students, scanning through the crowd like fingers sifting through loose sand, every so often catching on something with the roughest of edges.
'Blimey, sorry Clip,' Fred muttered, patting out the last of the flames that had momentarily consumed the latter's sleeve.
'Bloody hell,' James Potter swore, as he watched the last of the water he was supposed to be adding to his cauldron run down across the tabletop to pool in between the pavestones on the floor.
'Oh, bothering heck,' growled an unusually distracted Cassandra Featherstone as she leaned over her table and accidentally creased one of the pages of her textbook.
Well, perhaps not all were rough edges.
'Silence, class!' Professor Elise Ellfrick finally barked, once she had had enough of the turmoil. The simmering commotion gradually subdued, until only the odd shuffle and mutter remained. 'Today I have for you a test.'
The class groaned audibly.
'And, for the victor, a reward.'
Even James' own ears perked up a touch at that. He saw around him the students of Gryffindor and Ravenclaw house standing a little straighter, surreptitiously eyeing the competition on either side.
'Only a select few among you, however, will be selected to vie for the prize. To whittle out those who merely attend this class to socialise, I shall pose a question. One simple enough that any who have truly been paying attention over the past few weeks ought to know-'
'Psst.'
James turned to his right. On the table next to him, separated by a narrow walkway, Cassie was making a terrible attempt at subtly garnering his attention.
'Silence, Miss Featherstone, lest you lose more points for Ravenclaw.'
James shot Cassie a questioning gaze. She was looking at him very intensely, trying to convey some message that was entirely lost. He gave a helpless shrug in response.
'In which half of the Centaur,' Professor Ellfrick asked. 'Would one expect to find it's heart?'
James gave a glum sigh. He had no clue. What would one possibly use a centaur heart for, anyway? He was adamant that they hadn't covered it in classes, and he ought to know, as he'd actually been paying attention lately, ever since he returned from his suspension. He'd managed an "Exceeds Expectations" grade twice in the span of his few weeks back.
'Psst.'
This time Cassie didn't even try and make eye contact, she simply raised her hand, and scratched her side with two fingers.
'Miss Featherstone, can I help you?' Professor Ellfrick's bark made Cassie physically jump.
'N-no, professor. Just an itch.'
But James had understood the gesture, and scribbled his answer down just in time before Professor Ellfrick summoned all of their sheets of parchment and sorted them into two piles. One was noticeably smaller than the other.
'Those who were correct,' the professor snapped in her short, clipped voice. 'Step forwards Mister Helstrom. Miss Featherstone. Mister Wallace. Mister Sameer. Miss Swann. And… Mister Potter?'
She couldn't hide the surprise in her voice at reading James' name. Fred nearly choked on the sweet he'd been chewing, slapping James on the back with an incredulous laugh. 'You jammy git,' he wheezed, sending Caspar and his cronies a healthy two-fingered salute for good measure.
The rest of you, pack up your things and move to the back of the class. You've twenty-six inches of parchment on the anatomy of the Centaur and the seventeen uses for its body parts, due next Tuesday.
There was a renewed moment of chaos, as those mentioned slipped to the back, while James and his chosen few relocated themselves at the front of the room.
Throughout it all, Alabaster Shelby scribbled furious notes, interspersed with some appreciative nods, and intense scrutiny of the students, particularly those left at the front of the class.
'Now,' Professor Ellfrick clapped her hands. The noise was like the bite of a whip. 'Today, you will brew a Dark-Piercing Decoction. This is an incredibly complex potion that grants the gift of night-vision for a short amount of time if brewed correctly. However, any slight misstep in the process can lead to drastic and permanent affects on one's eyesight, including blindness. This is a lesson in attention to detail, and finesse. The winner may keep a small vial of the potion, brewed by myself, for use as they see fit. Let us discover if any of you are worthy of it.'
Her cold glance in James' direction indicated that she was fairly adamant at least some of them wouldn't be.
But James was determined that he would prove her wrong. It had taken his mind less than three breaths to find a critical usefulness for this particular potion. He'd be damned if he let himself get dragged into those narrow, underground caves in the cliffs of the Forest again without being prepared.
He flipped the book open to the relevant page and read through the instructions twice before so much as reaching for a beaker.
Curiously, Cassie was as slow as he was to arrive at the ingredient cupboard. All of the quality ones were taken. James grimaced as he prodded at a rheumy-looking eye of lungfish, and the last few mantis hearts left looked misshapen and grey.
'James,' Cassie hissed from somewhere down near his elbow. She was barely even paying attention to her ingredients, and already had too much aspen bark on her scales. 'I really need-'
'There will be no collusion during this exercise, Miss Featherstone,' Professor Ellfrick snapped. Cassie scowled in annoyance and hurried away, leaving James staring at her back, perplexed. What could be so important?
Back at his table, James added three drops of owl's blood to the freshly-simmering water in the cauldron. He stirred once clockwise, then impatiently counted the seconds on his watch. Twenty three, twenty four… Then two stirs counter-clockwise, whilst adding a sprinkling of powdered newt tail.
He was interrupted on his third repetition out of four by a sudden flurry of movement beside him, and something brushing up against his knees.
'Miss Featherstone, for the love of Merlin! If you want to spend your spare time on your knees under James Potter's desk, you're more than welcome. But don't bloody do it in my class!'
A thud as Cassie jumped in fright, smacking her head on the underside of James' table. It added fuel to the burgeoning laughter around the room. James' cheeks flushed. Cassie surfaced with a brilliant crimson shade colouring her pale features.
James shot her a pointed stare. She tried to mouth something to him, but it looked more like she was chewing on some really sour gum.
James got the impression that Cassie was really bad at passing secret notes in class.
He turned back to his potion. The rest of the participants had a steady blue-grey smoke pouring from the tops of their cauldron, pooling above the ceiling and adding a misty air to the room. Its taste was acrid and sharp, and left the tongue feeling furry and numb. James' own cauldron was giving off little more than a feeble greyish puff every now and then. He hastily added the Mooncalf saliva and breathed a sigh of relief as his potion reluctantly joined in with the others.
Next came the boring part – watching the simmer for fifteen minutes, stirring only slightly to break up the green-blue congealed layer that would occasionally form on the surface. Struck by an idea, James produced a scrap of parchment from his bag, and scribbled a question upon it. When Professor Ellfrick was distracted by trying to butter up to Alabaster Shelby, he lobbed it across in Cassie's direction.
Unfortunately, her catching skills were about as honed as her note-passing ones. She snatched wildly at the note, fumbled it, and with a shocked little 'Ooh!' watched as it tumbled into her own bubbling cauldron.
Instantly, a small bonfire arose – startling in ferocity for the size of the source. Flames leapt up to lick the rafters, and a thick, black undertone mingled with the blue-grey haze, causing an instant round of coughing and choking. James knocked his book, along with a pile of ingredients off of his table as he stumbled back from the heat. He noticed Cassie had done the same, and she hurriedly collected the majority of them, thrusting the book back into his hands without meeting his eye.
'Miss Featherstone, that's enough! What has gotten into you today? Fifteen points from Ravenclaw. And you are suspended from this exercise, immediately. You'll be lucky if you don't send half of us blind! Get to the back of the class. I want six feet of parchment due by Tuesday on what you did wrong. Every single step. Go!'
Cassie squeaked and fled. James watched Professor Ellfrick work through a complex set of wand movements to banish the smoke and quell the blaze. With a start, he remembered his own potion, and hastily added a teaspoonful of melted Andean snow to cool the brew.
He re-opened his textbook, and frowned. Wait a minute… this book was much too neat to be his own. Where were the torn pages, the bent spine? The games of hangman and Quidditch plans that he had doodled in the margins with Fred.
When he came upon the page for today's lesson, he saw a single cramped line of text jammed right in the bottom corner – as if written by someone trying to minimise the defacement of such a precious artefact: Third floor classroom. After this. URGENT.
James chanced a look to the back of the room. Perhaps Cassie wasn't so bad at secret messages, after all.
When the time finally came for their potions to be judged, James was wiping sheets of sweat from his brow, and looking down at his cauldron with a critical eye. Thick, purple smoke spewed from it. It left him light-headed and vaguely hungry. Just as the book had said. Around the room, only three or four others could match the hue and ferocity of the smoke stream. He smiled to himself, and awaited Professor Ellfrick as she circled the room, commenting on each attempt in turn.
'Well done, as usual, Helstrom. I do hope you keep up with Potions come O.W.L and N.E.W.T years… This is adequate, Mister Wallace. That is all… Oh, excellent, Miss Swann. Truly, you never cease to amaze me.'
She hovered over James' own desk. His cauldron was smoking much stronger than Chloe Swann's.
'And what do you call this, Mister Potter? You're missing a third of your potion. You've clearly boiled it too long. The remains in here will be super-concentrated. The best you could hope for from this would be to blind someone. A potion like this, you might well send them mad! I ought to put you in detention right now, but I can barely stomach the thought of your company for an extra hour.'
She swept off, Vanishing the contents of his cauldron as she did so. Only a thin, tatter of purple smoke was all that was left of his efforts.
The award went to Chloe Swann. A fact that made Cassie scowl even more than she already was.
Though it didn't bother James in the slightest. As the class piled out at the end of the lesson, James patted an interior pocket of his robes, sewn in to the hem and out of sight of all but the most fastidious of searchers. Within it, sat a vial full of rich, purple-blue liquid, thick as syrup, and still warm to touch. Just like the recipe had said it should be.
