If you're reading this, much love. There are no wise words for this chapter because… yeah.

ENJOI

…

James woke up the next morning smiling. Many of his rowdier housemates made him and his three brothers out as heroes last night, and he had promised them a ride in the Anglia, should he ever manage to get it back. Climbing out of bed, he slipped into his school uniform, the same he wore the night previous, and clambered out of the dorms, not bothering to wake up Brian, Travis, or his other two bunkmates.

The Common Room was empty. Last night's fire was dwindling in the hearth, a mound of embers and ash. The smell of smoke and seasoned, burning pine filled the room and James inhaled it all in, holding it in his lungs and basking in its warmth. Without further ado, he grabbed his messenger bag and stepped out the room.

He strolled leisurely through the corridors on his way to the Great Hall, chirping hellos to the talking paintings, even the ones that cursed at him. He stopped once, along the Third floor's eastern wing and watched the sun as it began its ascent. It filled the grounds with golden light, from the mountains at the west, to the tops of the Black Forest in the east. James grinned at the sight and again, basked in warmth.

Filling his quota of "smelling the roses," he hurriedly bee lined to the Hall. Sitting down next to one of the other Ravenclaw early birds, a girl with wily, pale blonde hair and a dazed look on her face, James smiled at her, and she smiled back, somewhere off above his right shoulder. She looked to be close to his age, but he did not recognize her. She must have been one of the new first years.

"You must be a first year, huh?" He asked simply, as he poured himself a cup of orange juice.

"Oh, yes," She replied in a whimsical, far away voice. She reminded him of Gene Wilder's Will Wonka. "I'm Luna Lovegood. Weren't you here for the Sorting Last night?"

"Er, well, no," James stammered, almost forgetting the Anglia's 'mishap from the night before. "I was… busy."

"Too busy for the start of school feast?" Luna asked the wall behind James's right shoulder. "Curious."

"Yeah, it wasn't anything worth seeing. Or knowing. Seen one, seen 'em all, I say."

"So what's your name?"

"My name?" James asked, but then shook his head. "Oh, right, my bad. My names James," He held his hand out and Luna just looked down at it with a funny look on her face. James slowly started wondering what could possibly have gotten on his hand in the last ten seconds he hadn't looked at it to make her not want to shake it.

"I'm sorry," she said in a matter-of-fact tone before leaning in to whisper conspiratorially, "But your hand; it's covered in Nargles."

"Oh," James muttered dumbly, still holding his hand out. "My… er, bad?"

"Oh, it's nothing you should be sorry for. The Nargles are always bad this time of year. My papa told me so."

"I… see," James said before gulping down his glass of juice. Shoveling eggs and bacon on his plate and slathering a healthy portion of butter on a biscuit, he began slowly eating, considering the odd conversation he had just had with the girl next to him. He stole glances at the wild looking girl every so often, as if doing so would reveal the secret to what exactly she had been talking about. James would have just asked, but he had the distinct feeling he wouldn't really like the answer. He felt so awkward that he almost hugged Ron when he had walked up.

Yawning, James Dean's red-haired friend sat down next to James and mumbled something James couldn't make out. He didn't care, he hugged his twin's best bud and said, "Good morning, Ron! How are ya?"

Ron pulled away from James and winced. "Dya haf to tok so woud?" Ron asked over large mouthful of unbuttered toast. James cringed at the barbarity, his appetite now gone. "Blimey, what has you so chipper so early, anyway?"

"It's a new day, and apparently Nargle season is in full swing," James replied with a shrug. Ron looked at him cock-eyed. It made him look like a confounded ginger weasel. James laughed and shrugged again. Ron's cow chomping culled his appetite. He got up and decided to get an early start on running down classes.

"Oi," Ron hollered. "Where are you buggering off to in such a hurry?"

"Class," James answered, not looking back.

"Aren't you gonna finish your breakfast?"

"You can have it," James said with mirth as he took off along the Grand Staircase.

"Nargles," Ron scoffed; ignoring the looks he got from the Ravenclaw students, he shoveled James' half eaten plate onto his own. "What the bloody 'ell are those?"

"Oh," said the wily haired blonde, shifting in her seat excitedly. "You don't know? I'll just have to tell you everything!"

…

James met up with Brian and Travis when they all got their schedules from Flitwick. They reveled at having Charms, Herbology and potions first that day. Their Charms class went smoothly, where they learned the three forms of the Incendio charm, including the base fire starting form (which Brian and James perfected and schemed about things they wanted to burn, Number Four Privet Drive included,) the Faerie Fire version that simply cast a bright blue light but didn't burn, and the tricky candle lighting spell, that allowed the caster to ignite the wicks of one or multiple candles.

Herbology was excruciating, easy, and ear splitting. Professor Sprout had them re-potting infantile Mandrakes that left James' ears ringing for hours afterward, despite the ear muffs he had worn. He made a mental note to send a letter to his mother asking for extra ear plugs the next time he wrote.

The lunch hour was spent laughing as Ron got a misguided Howler from his mother about the Anglia. Apparently both James Sr. and Arthur were both facing inquiries at the Ministry over the car not being wholly legal, despite the loopholes Arthur had managed to weasel into the laws he'd written about muggle items misuse. She also told him in no uncertain terms that she'd be replacing his wand, since he was "only intent on using it for no good, anyways." Ron's face got so red from anger and embarrassment his freckles had disappeared, and by the end of the hour he couldn't barely go anywhere without someone chiding him with "Ronald Weasley! How dare you steal that car!"

Potions went smooth, considering. Snape had made it a point to try and antagonize James, but James had studied his book before Hogwarts had even started, so James knew every answer to every question. Brian, however, was lost and had turned his Hair Raising potion from the slime green color it was supposed to be into a thick, muddy goop by adding one too many rat's tails. Snape was forced to give James an exemplary grade, but he gritted his teeth and shook his head as the three left the dungeons, his greasy hair swaying limply as he did so.

Their last class that day had been Defense Against the Dark Arts. Talk around the castle had been that Lockhart's first class, which had been with the Gryffindors and Slytherins, had gone terribly when a cage full of Cornish pixies had gotten loose on Lockhart's own accord. Travis gulped audibly as they walked into Lockhart's classroom, but had turned it into a choking laugh as they saw the disarray the room had been left in.

"My, my, my," James tutted, causing Padma Patil to giggle. "What in the world did my twin brother do to your classroom, Professor?"

Gilderoy Lockhart stepped out of his office, his vivid, usually perfect blonde hair a mess and his previously perfect blue robes that were tailored to match his eyes were tattered and stained. He flashed a nervous smile, showing his ridiculously white teeth and making the female population of the class swoon.

"So pretty," Hannah Abbott, a Hufflepuff, whispered dreamily. Ernie McMillan, her best friend and fellow Badger, shook his head.

"Well, uh, James, things with the last class got a bit, well, uh… out of hand."

"Obviously," James said in his best Snape impersonation.

"Even flustered, he's beautiful…" Isobel MacDougal, one of James' own housemates, gushed. James sighed, as it appeared even the women of his own house fell for the dimwit. He was vaguely disappointed.

James took a seat right in the front, despite his usual back row arrangements. He was hoping for a show, He considered running for popcorn, he was sure the lesson was going to be quite a show.

"I heard that he had let loose a bunch of caged Cornish pixies," Michael Corner whispered from behind James. "Granger had to corral them for him, but she didn't do it in time."

"In time?" James asked with a laugh. "I already knew all of that, but what do you mean, in time?"

"Yeah," Michael quietly laughed. "Poor Longbottom got picked up by his ears and was hung to the chandelier by the scruff of his robes."

James chuckled. "Oh, lord."

"Yeah, and all Lockhart did was scream gibberish hocus pocus then ran in his office!" Bem, one of James's dormmates, added.

"Quiet, please!" Lockhart called. Every student snapped their attention to him, especially the girls. James noticed that Emma Kennedy was even raptured by the man. He rolled his eyes. "If you would, please, put your books away, please, please, thank you!"

"Allow me to introduce you to your new Defense Against the Dark Art teacher… Me!"

"Duh," Travis muttered quietly, earning a laugh from the class. Lockhart didn't seem to notice.

He smoothed his hair and swept the torn side of his robes behind his back. "Surely you all know who I am? Gilderoy Lockhart? Order of Merlin, Third Class? Honorary Member of Dark Arts Defense League? Five time winner of Witch-Weekly's Most Charming Smile Award?"

"That's quite the resume," Terry Boot teased, but the sarcasm was lost to the Professor.

"Indeed it is! But alas, I didn't banish the Bandon Banshee with my smile!"

"Could'a fooled me," Brian whispered. "His teeth are so bright they could blind a bat."

The class erupted in laughter at Brian's crack, and good Professor waited until every student had quieted down before continuing. "Now, we're going to take a quick pop-quiz-"

The entirety of the class groaned.

"Now, now," Lockhart chided with another award-winning smile. "I'm just seeing who all read their material before they came to school, that is all."

Lockhart passed the papers around, and the questions the quiz asked struck James as… egotistical.

What is Gilderoy Lockhart's favorite ice cream?

What does Gilderoy Lockhart consider to be his crowning achievement?

Which hand does Gilderoy Lockhart use to wipe his butt?

Just kidding, he is above asking such mundane things. But we all know the answer to that question.

James, feeling rebellious, answered every one of the ridiculous questions with an equally unreasonable reply. But of course, Professor, your favorite ice cream must be Blue Jay dropping, how else would your eyes be such a beautiful shade of indigo? Why, your crowning achievement, Professor Lockhart, was when you discovered the wonders of an orthodontist! Maybe you could give me his number? Your teeth are to die for.

To James's disappointment, Lockhart never bothered grading his.

"Why, there's no need me to grade yours, James," he explained with a withering smile as he wrote in a 100 on the top of the sheet. "Celebrities like us don't need to worry about grades, now do we?"

The sentiment left James feeling put off. Apparently being a "celebrity like him," made James above having to be a hard working, book reading commoner, and James was really just disappointed he didn't get to see a show like Harry, and mad that he was being lofted above his peers.

The man was such a dolt.

…

Kiara Emmaline Kennedy sat alone by the lake after the class. James sat by a window looking over lake with Harry, Travis and Brian, just hanging out, when he saw her. She looked a fragile thing, short, thin, and frail. He long, long brown hair gave her a pathetic puppy dog look, and her wide-eyed baby blues didn't help matters much. But from his vantage point he couldn't see her face, because she had it buried in between her knees. He was about to walk down to see her when she started wracking her shoulders.

By Merlin's beard and staff, she was crying.

He was again about to get up and do something about it when an annoyingly shrieky voice pierced James' eardrums.

"Oh, cool! James, and Harry Potter! Could I get your autographs?"

"Colin!" Harry screamed, about to push the kid out of the way.

"Who the heck is this?" James demanded, backing away and recoiling as this 'Colin' character held a camera held by a strap around his neck up and snapped a picture of James. "And why is he taking my picture without my consent!?"

"Colin Creevey," Harry growled, shoving Colin back the way he'd come. "He's opne of Gryffindor's new first years, a muggleborn who is obsessed with photography and thinks we're heroes or something. Colin, leave us alone, we're trying to relax!"

"But you guys are so cool! What was it like, beating He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named, James? Did you do something cool? I heard you're smart! I bet you said something witty!"

"I was a year old, dude," james deadpanned, looking at the kid like he had the plague. "I don't even remember that night."

"Cool!" Creevey gushed, and he snapped another photo.

"Hey!" Travios screeched, and reached for the camera. "We said no pictures!"

"Aw, man!" Colin whined as he struggled for control of his camera. "Can I at least get you to sign my copy of Hogwarts: A History?"

"Did someone say autograph?" the telltale, whimsical sound of Professor Lockhart's voice sounded from down the hall. "Nobody told me we were doing autographs!"

James's scowl reached Snape levels of anger. "Gimme one good reason not to turn you inside out for bringing him to us, you cretin."

"Who, Professor Lockhart! Oh, wow! Maybe he can sign the book, too! My brother at home is going to be so jealous!"

James, Harry, Brian and Travis prepared themselves for a new lesson in How-To-Be-A-Celebrity as Lockhart appeared, all smiles and feigned competence. James looked over his shoulder at Kiara, who he had really wanted to talk to, but to his dismay, she was already gone, nowhere to be seen…

…

Kiara, head buried between her knees, sat by the lake and wept. Looking down at the only picture she had of her mother, who died not long after she was born, she sobbed out her pain, wishing she had a mother to rely on. It had only been a day since she got to Hogwarts, but the bruises on her chest and arms were still dark, vivid, and sore.

Her father had hit the Firewhiskey early yesterday morning.

Just moving made her ribs ache, but she cried anyway. Practicing Charms today irritated the bruises on her arms, but she hefted her wand anyway. Just making it through the day was agony; she did it anyway. Why?

Nothing gets better without doing something to make it better, K, James Dean Potter's voice rang in her head.

"Kiara?"

Surprised out of her little world of pain, she quickly wiped the tears none to conspicuously and tucked the picture in her robes. Turning around, she saw that it was none other than James Dean Potter. He had caught on to her wiping her tears away but thankfully didn't bring it up. Kiarahad heard the dispute between him and that younger Gryffindor boy earlier, and being spooked, decided to move further on down the beach for privacy.

To be honest, Kiara didn't quite know what to do about him. He was popular, thanks in no small part due to his circumstances regarding the Dark Lord. Her father hated him, though, and by extension, his entire family, and he was the reason why she had been beaten so badly at the start of summer holiday. The stunt he pulled at King's Cross at the end of last year infuriated her father more than usual and led to one of the most vicious whippings she'd ever gotten. She hated James for it, but... at the same time, she knew he was only trying to stick up for since she couldn't. After everything they had gone through last year, she also couldn't dismiss the notion that he and his group wanted to be friends. Hell, even Dumbledore himself had deemed her his group's "Queen."

She wondered, then, why they hadn't written to her over the course of the summer. She had managed to sneak out a letter to them when her dad had gotten so inebriated that he'd passed out in his study that one night, and she had secretly hoped her "friends" would write her back, even if her father intercepted the letters. Just knowing that they were even thinking about her enough to write would have been enough to make that summer bearable. However, not a single letter had come, and thinking about iot made bile rise in her throat.

When it came down to the brass tacks of her division on him and his brothers, Kiara envied him. He was always so happy. And smart. And clever. And just… perfect. It was no wonder they's forgotten to write her, they were so busy just living life that as soon as she was out of their sight, shw was also out of their minds, as well…

Kiara saw James as a poster boy Ravenclaw, something she thought she could never match. She wasn't smart, or pretty, or even remotely clever. All she could be was a mediocre at best student, who had a drunkenly father who thought she should have been anything but what she was, and that she was a failure for not being so. She shook her head.

Yeah, despite everything that had happened in his life, Kiara envied him. And she felt bad because of it, since out of everybody else in her life, James Dean Potter was one of they few who was actually nice to her, and the only one who went out of his way to do so….

Kiara shook the thoughts from her mind. She knew that she should have known better, as he, Travis and Brian had confided to her about their experiences in the American orphanage, had gone out their way to be friends with her, but she couldn't help being confused. Why didn't they write her?

"You okay, there, Kennedy?"

Kiara was shaken from her thoughts yet again. "What do you mean?"

"Well," James replied with a chuckle. "I had your attention for a split second, and then you phased out on me again."

"Oh."

"Well?"

"Well what?"

"Are. You. Okay?" James asked again, almost stopping to spell the words out.

"Oh. Uh, yes, yeah, I think, I guess," Kiara lied, looking at her feet and wondering how sand had managed to form by a lake. That was interesting, because it gave her something else to think about other than the Witty Jimmy Dean and his unwavering concern for her well being.

"Right," James muttered with a roll of his eyes. He sat down next to and looked out across the lake. He squinted against the sunlight, no doubt looking for the Giant Squid. When he finally caught sight of it, he smirked, as if amused by its presence. "It's so beautiful, isn't it?"

"Yeah, I guess so," Kiara answered quietly. Her Irish accent made her feel even more insecure compared to James suave, unique accent. Her father said he gotten it from New York, and that it made him sound like an animal. But Kiara didn't think so. It sounded smooth, like every word could just roll off his tongue. Her Irish accent, in her ears, sounded chunky and garbled.

"I wish we were allowed to fish," James said randomly. "Hagrid would always come out to our place, pick us up, and take us to this little loch out in Scotland, and he taught me and my brothers how to fish. Dad even says when we get older, he'll take us out to our vacation home in Hawaii and take us deep sea fishing."

"That's nice."

"Hey, maybe you could come? You'd have a blast."

Did… did he just invite her to Hawaii? With his family? She had never been to the tropics before. Hell, she'd never been farther south than London! She had seen pictures of Hawaii in her old primary school science books. It looked beautiful. She wanted so badly to go, but…

"Maybe… I'd like to…"

"Sweet! You'll have a great time. Get away from all this stuck up, hoighty toity British upper class and just let loose, y'know."

Kiara doubted that it'd ever happen. Her father didn't like her even going outside their manor without his ever present eyes watching. But still… it'd make a nice dream. Using the warm thoughts of going on a vacation, with a real family, gave her the gumption to swallow her fear and ask him what was pressing on her mind. You didn't write me over the summer," she whispered.

"We did, actually," he stated with a nervous laugh. "We had… a bit of an odd summer. We wrote you like six different letters, but for some reason they didn't get through? We were being harassed and framed by someone's House Elf, too, and Travis thinks he may have been cutting our letters out and in to make us feel bad."

"Oh," Kiara said, confused. "That… doesn't make any sense."

"I know, it sounds bad…" He relented, looking sheepish. "But I swear, it is the truth. We thought about you and worried about you all summer!"

Kiara nodded, not really satisfied or believing him, but letting the topic die.

"Are you sure you're okay?" James asked again. He looked at her in an odd way, as if looking through her. "You keep looking off a thousand miles away."

"I'm fine," Kiara snarled, making him recoil from the sudden fierceness. She regretted getting angry immediately and stood up quickly. "I- I have to go."

She stood up and grabbed her bag. He stood up to and grabbed her arm. His thumb put pressure on a ripe bruise and she hissed in pain. Pulling her arm back vehemently, she stormed off. James called for her to wait, but she just muttered a "See ye later," and ran to her dorm.

…

It was after his first detention, and James waited until everyone had fallen asleep that night before sneaking out of the dorms. He decide to put the earlier incident with Kiara on the back burner for now, as he had other priorities. Grabbing his messenger bag and the Invisibility Cloak he and Harry shared, he soundlessly disappeared from the Common Room. The halls of the school were dark and quiet, and for the most part deserted. A few Prefects were out and abound, patrolling, and a few Slytherins were concealed in broom cupboards, doing naughty, naughty things to each other, and not in the Dark Arts way, either. James rolled his eyes at their unoriginality. There were so many classrooms with alcoves that blocked any view from the corridors, and lots of dark corners out in the courtyards, yet they always chose the broom cupboards.

The tight, tiny, confined broom cupboards. Tsk. Tsk. Tsk. They obviously didn't get lessons from the Weasley Twins.

Ignoring the Prefects and the occasional moans, James made his way to the dungeons. A derelict potions lab was down there, fully equipped with the necessary equipment from archaic Bunsen burners to cauldrons to distillers and pestles. All it needed was some potions supplies. And James had that covered.

Upon closing the old lab's door, James shucked off the cloak, but hooked it on the side of the main lab table in case he needed it in a bind. Pulling three stuffed packages from his messenger bag, he unwrapped them and categorized their contents, which consisted of toad eyes, rat's tails, various mushrooms, frog legs, dried nettles, bat spleens, snake oils, bicorn horns, boomslang skin, and even a few bezoars. Taking these ingredients and more and organizing them in a heavy oak lockbox James found in the lab's supply closet, he set them to the side and with a quietly muttered, "Nymphus Incendus," lighting a lantern with Faerie Fire.

Filling the cauldron with a gallon of distilled water, he scrubbed the rust, dust, and years of grime from the pot with a magical scouring pad he had nicked from Snape's classroom. Dumping the dirty water into a basin, he filled the cauldron and rinsed the last vestiges of impure compounds before dumping that water in the basin as well.

"Incendio," James muttered, pointing his wand at the ancient Bunsen burner. Content that it would stay lit, he set the cauldron on its own burner and lit that, too, adding his last gallon of distilled water. Grabbing three mortars and a pestle, a retort flask, and a bronze alembic from the supply closet, James finished setting up his table before finally pulling out his recipe; Severus Snape's "rejected" multiplication potion thesis.

Reading past the garbly-gook introduction and the critique written by the Merlinsonian hack, James got down to the nitty gritty, and reread Severus Snape's cramped, articulate writing as thoroughly as he could. It was a precaution more than anything; Travis, Brian, and himself all brewed the potion together last year, and while he trusted his memory, it was still better safe than sorry.

"The multiplication potion, as I have tested, can take but a mere drop of any other potion it comes in contact with and effectively duplicate said potion, and its effects."

James grinned. He knew Severus Snape and knew the old Snake wouldn't ask to have this published if he didn't think it was worthwhile; James had a meal ticket for anything he wanted: cheating in Potions class, creating mass amounts of potions for pranks…

Or, you know, saving lives or other boring such things of that nature.

James couldn't believe that this potion had been rejected, or much less misused to destroy the Potions Department of the Merlinsonian. James had studied the document many times ever since he discovered in the Library last year, when Hermione had James and his brothers searching for Nicholas Flammel. He was thoroughly convinced that this "Adallius Amerson," guy had either been an idiot, or had purposely screwed the potion up. Either way, the recipe was in James' sole hands now, since he had, to his knowledge, stolen the only known copy.

Grin growing ever wider, James settled in for a long night of work. It'd be dawn by the time the next batch of his, or rather Professor Snape's, masterpiece would be ready for the next phase.

...

James crawled, more than stumbled, out of the castle the next morning, obviously exhausted. He meandered off in the general direction of Hagrid's hut, fingers stained with juices and powders from his all-night potions work. His shaggy black mohawk was blown up and back, and all over from a particularly surprising mistake where he accidentally mixed two generally latent ingredients and they concussed in his face. He still had flaky white particles clinging to his eyebrows.

Rubbing his eyes, and by proxy, more of the crusty powder, he shook his head in an attempt to wake himself up. It took all of about five minutes to shamble up to Hagrid's hut, but it seemed like an eternity to James. More powder fell off his shoulders as he unceremoniously shoved the hut's door open, scaring a half-awake Hagrid into reaching for his crossbow while knocking over his bowl of porridge at his table, and causing Fang, the humongous black coated boarhound, to scamper under the bed, nearly toppling it over.

"Oh, James! You scared the devil out 'er meh," Hagrid breathed, wiping up the porridge he spilled when he reached for his weapon of choice. "All righ'?"

"Skiddish much, 'Grid?" James muttered as he pulled a basket of Hagrid's infamous Rock Cookies and a flagon of magically chilled goat's milk from the small larder. James dropped half the basket of the notoriously tough biscuits into a mixing bowl bigger than his head, and haphazardly poured the magically chilled, ice cold milk in, splattering the liquid all over the table and floor. Fang came out from his hiding hole and started lapping up the spilt milk on the floor and cleaning a hefty trail of dust as he did so.

"Ye jus' startled me, 'tis all," Hagrid answered as he stood and got himself a new bowl of hot porridge. At least, that's what James thought it was. He cast James a sideways glance "Ye even sleep last night?"

"Ner," James replied halfheartedly, barely conveying the negative. He took a seat across from Hagrid at the table.

"Working on tha' potion of Snape's?" Hagrid pushed, sitting back down at the table.

'Yer," came James' reply.

"It looks like it was as explosive as the ole college feller said…"

"Accidentally mixed dragon's blood with… with… something… I don't remember…"

"Ah, I see," Hagrid mumbled, looking odd at the prospect of James forgetting something.

James mumbled an unintelligible reply as he pulled his wand out from his back pocket. Twirling the tip into the milk, he muttered a quick "Laio xutos," and watched stoically as the milk magically penetrated the cookies and rendered them soft.

"Neat trick, tha'," Hagrid said over a spoonful of his fresh bowl of porridge.

"Hm," James replied as he scooped a generous spoonful of his own breakfast into his mouth.

"Well, it's only Saturday, yer free ter sleep in the bed. Prolly more peaceful than the dorms."

"Ye a' angel, 'Agid," James bumbled over a heaping mouthful of soggy rock cookie.

Some bits of the biscuit fell from his mouth and dribbled on the floor for Fang to summarily clean up. If Hagrid was put off by his terrible table manners, he did a fantastic job not showing it. They spent the rest of breakfast in comfortable silence, munching on the soggy meals and sipping the harsh, fetid tea that Hagrid boiled. Hagrid left James at the table to go to work on the grounds, making Fang stay to keep him company.

It wasn't long before James Dean was snuggled up sideways in Hagrid's large, bigger-than-a-king-size bed, using Fang's flank as a pillow and cuddling up with the dog. He was out like a light in moments and slept hard. He dreamed of things he could barely register, vague happiness, opaque sorrow, fleeting success and short-lived shame. He dreamt of fire and snakes, white hands that looked like spiders and a gleaming, gap toothed smile that made all his fears go away. But the one lasting memory was a red haired girl running through a field of green grass and blooming flowers, laughing and calling to him. He could almost hear what she said when-

"-oody slugs!"

"Gyah!" James shrieked as he jumped five feet in the air, legs flailing as he flipped backwards out of Hagrid's bed and landed on the dirty wood floor. Fang, startled yet again, rumbled off the mattress and skittered underneath the bed.

"Skiddish much, James?" Hagrid chuckled as he picked James up and set him back on the bed's edge.

"Laugh it up, 'Grid," James muttered as he rubbed the shoulder he landed on. Looking up at a slightly amused Harry, a miserable looking Ron, who held an ominous looking bucket, and an obviously confused Hermione, he cocked his head. "What's going on-"

James was cut off as Ron barfed up a slurry of... slugs? "Aw, gross!"

"Tell me about it," Ron whimpered pathetically. Harry stifled a laugh, and when Hermione looked at him, Ron's face went slack, and turned dark in anger. Curious.

"Curious," James mumbled, rubbing his eyes. "What happened?"

"Malfoy," Harry seethed.

"Uh-oh."

"That's an understatement," Ron muttered,

"What did he do?"

"Ruined Quidditch practice," Harry growled. "His daddy-dearest bought him the Slytherin seeker position, Snape forced us off the pitch, then called… he called Hermione…"

"Mudblood!" Ron roared as a pile of slugs slid from his mouth.

"And then Ron tried to curse him with a slug curse, and his wand is broken so…"

"Whoa," James breathed. A spell backfiring on Ron? Hardly shocking, given the state of his cello-taped wand. "That's… that sounds awful, I guess? You okay, "Mione?"

"Yes?" She asked in confusion. "I really don't know what's going on."

"Dirty blood," Harry elaborated with an eye roll as James sat up more, wiping the sleep from his eyes. "Muggleborn. Second rate. Purebloods like to you call muggleborn witches and wizards that to prove their superiority. It's like... well, the Muggle way to look at it is racism."

"Oh…" Hermione was taken aback, now disgusted. James could understand why she was now insulted. To imply that Hermione was less than adequate at anything was a personal insult to her… anything. "I'm sorry, I guess?"

"We aren't purebloods!" Harry defended. "Our mother is muggleborn…"

"And that Malfoy is whimpering brat, ye hear, 'Mione?" Hagrid spoke up, voice firm and edgy. "Ye jus' dun listen to Malfoy, there ain't a spell er incantation that Malfoy can cast that ye can't. In fact, there are some ye can that he can't. Yer ten times the witch tha' he will e'er be."

Hermione smiled at him as the wheels turned in her head. It wasn't the first time she'd faced discrimination; hell, James and she had some pretty infamous, insult laden spats before becoming friends. However, this was the first time she'd been attacked for something she didn't choose and couldn't change. She stood and stared out of the hut's window, arms crossed and contemplating everything. Harry and James shared a look and shrugged, grinning. Ron belched a slug.

"Malfoy is such a-"James started but Hagrid cut him off, knowing what he was going to say.

"James…" he warned.

"Web-toed floozy worm. Innocent insult, see?"

"Not funny," Ron cried. He belched another slug.

"Right… sorry…"

"Well," Hermione softly added with a shy giggle. "It sort of was…"

Harry snorted, Hagrid barked a chuckle out and Hermione grew bolder in her giggling fit. Soon, the three of them were in a fit, and James joined them as laughter filled the room and brightened the otherwise bleary day. And Ron belched up a slug.

As the laughter died down, the hut filled up with silence again, except for Ron's gasping and belching. James leaned back on the bed as Fang resumed his post next to him. Harry fiddled with his broom as Hermione began organizing Hagrid's flimsy bookshelf. She sniffled. The knowledge behind the insult must've been getting to her, but the distraction was getting her mind off it, and the laughter brightened her mood. She obviously felt better but was still hurt. James didn't know what he could say to make her feel any better. He never really got insulted… how could he comfort someone when he didn't even understand what they were going through…?

Ron belched up another slimy mollusk.

Struck with an idea, James picked up a small pebble off the floor; he lightly tossed it at the Gryffindor girl. Feeling the small rock bounce off her shoulder, she looked at him quizzically. Sitting up on the edge of the bed, he held his arms out. She smiled a bittersweet smile and walked into his arms. He squeezed tight and told her it would be okay. She replied with an I know.

And Ron threw up yet another terrestrial gastropod.

…

The week of detention blew by like a breeze for James, Travis and Brian. Apparently grading papers with Professor Flitwick was a disguised veil to sitting in his class room after school hours discussing the finer points about life, practicing and reviewing practical Charms spells, and getting extra credit course work that was so easy James was fairly convinced even Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle could have figured it out.

Harry and Ron, unfortunately, paid a steeper price for their "crime." Ron was forced to spend almost every night of the week of detention cleaning the Trophy Room with Filch, muggle style, at least until ten o'clock at night, if not later. Cleaning solution stained his hands, making them crack and bleed occasionally, and he earned more than a few chipped finger nails. His grades, which were near abysmal to begin with, suffered from the lack of proper cheating-off-Hermione time. His knees were sore and bruised from kneeling for too long. And Harry…

Poor Harry. He was left to grade assignments with none other than Gilderoy Lockhart himself, which all agreed was just cruel and unusual punishment. Basically, all Harry really had to do was read his fan mail and write and send off replies to said fan base… but it was Lockhart's constant chattering that was driving splinter's under Harry's nails. Many a night as the three Ravenclaws and two Gryffindors passed each other in the halls after their punishments were done, Harry swore he would ruin the pathetic DADA instructor's "effing perfect smile."

But it was on the last night, the night when their detentions were finally done and over, that it happened. James was swaggering with Travis and Brian back to Ravenclaw Tower discussing a potential prank to pull on Filch, and they crossed paths with Ron and Harry at the same juncture as they always did the past week. Harry had a look. You know the look. That trouble look. The, oh-no-something-is-gonna-happen look.

James stopped dead in his tracks and gulped.

Harry charged forward, grabbed James Dean by the arm and hauled him into the nearest classroom, telling the other three to shove off.

"Well," James sniffed as he dusted and straightened his robes from his twin's manhandling. "That was rather rude, eh? I mean, I know Lockhart is awful, but-"

"This ain't about Lockhart," Harry hissed conspicuously. That grabbed James Dean's attention. Harry never hissed, much less conspicuously.

"Uh, what's going on?"

"I'm hearing voices in the walls!"

"So… talk to mom? She's the shrink, remember?"

"I'm not crazy!"

"Okay, okay," James held his hands up in defeat. "You're not loco."

"It was while I was stamping Lockhart's signature on his femme mail," Harry explained. He started pacing, and animatedly gestured with his hands. James didn't acknowledge his crack on Lockhart's female based appreciation; it was actually… quite an astute joke. "I heard this voice, like… a hissing, almost ghost-like. It sounded like I was hearing it through a wall."

"Freaky…"

"And Lockhart didn't even hear it. It's like I was imagining things. But after he let me go, and me and Ron were walking back, I heard it again, and then it got weird."

It wasn't weird before? James thought.

"The spiders. There was an army of them, running single file away from the direction the voice was coming from."

"So what?" James asked. "It's a castle, there's gonna be bugs."

"Spiders aren't smart enough to be scared like that, don't you think? To run, single file, away from something?"