If you're reading this, much love.
ENJOI
…
James gasped for breath as he jogged along the bank of the Black Lake, Travis easily setting a brisk pace. He could not believe he let his friend talk him into this… it did feel good, though, in an odd way. The crisp October air settled in his lungs as he rested his hands on his knees. The evening sky was fading from orange, red, and pink to a settled purple, and the last of the birds in the forest sang their ending songs of the day with a lazy flutter.
The ringing in his ears had gone away slowly, but with each passing day he felt better and better. Quidditch practice was rough, but every day they were on the pitch, he found himself getting better. It took an athlete to play the game, he had found, as keeping your balance and practicing fine motor skills at sixty miles an hour was rather difficult. He now realized why Harry himself had started an exercise regiment and was appreciative to Travis for getting him to do it.
Travis gave him an annoyed look because of his wheezing, but said nothing, and James ignored him. Looking out across the lake, he watched the ripples of the wind play out across the placid surface. The squid who lived out in the middle of the lake daintily slipped its arms underneath, barely visible under the dark waters. It was times like this James enjoyed life's simple moments, tasting the late autumn air, the aroma of turning leaves and the last remnants of honeysuckle in the air. The birds would be migrating soon, and their songs reflected that, it seemed, as they turned from frantic summer songs to melodious fall farewells.
It was Halloween. The night where muggle born children dressed up as monsters and villains and goons and begged for candy from strangers. Here at Hogwarts, it was celebrated with a huge feast in the Grand Hall, with the floating candles replaced with carved jack-o-lanterns, and a solemn choir sung by Professor Flitwick's group, and the food on the table didn't leave until everyone was full. As James gazed over the waters he reminisced about last year, and how the troll had attacked Hermione in the girl's bathroom.
He reflected on how insane and… fun it was. James grinned and shot his brother a mischievous grin. "See any trolls lately?"
Travis snorted, smiling and rolling his sky blue eyes. "Not yet. We can hope, though, right?"
The two ambled back to the castle in silence, deciding to call the run after that. As they walked into the main hall they found Kiara huddled into a nook reading an old book about the Goblin Rebellion of 1612. She was nestled into as small a profile as she could get, with her knees tucked into her chest and her feet planted firmly to her thighs. Her knuckles were white from gripping the book so tightly. James was about to greet her when, surprisingly, Travis beat him to the punch.
"Y'know, if you grip that book any tighter you might break it in half."
"Oh!" she squeaked in surprise. The Irish girl quickly snapped the book closed and stood up straight. "I-I-I was-just-"
"Relax!" James laughed quietly. "We ain't the boring reading police!"
"I- yeah…"
"You alright?" Travis asked quietly, sensing she was troubled.
"N-no…" the girl mumbled, looking away from the two shamefully. "I mean yes, I'm okay."
"Well, that is reassuring," James muttered. Travis shushed him and gave him a glare that screamed, 'Sarcasm hasn't gotten you anywhere before, it isn't going to start.' James nodded and backed off.
"What are you reading?" Travis asked as he leaned against the wall opposite of her alcove and motioned at her. She took his cue and sat back down.
"It's a text about the Goblin Rebellions."
Travis laughed. "Well, if I was reading about those, I'd be pretty upset, too."
She giggled at that, honest-to-Merlin giggled, and James silently appreciated the easy way Travis was speaking to her. Sure, he could be smooth, but James always felt a bit clunky, like he was forced to walk on eggshells whenever he talked to her. Travis had it down to a science; hell maybe even an art.
"It's actually quite interesting… but it's not what I'm upset about…"
"We figured," James replied gently.
"Do you wanna talk about it?" Travis prodded, ever so softly.
She shook her head but relented. "My father sent me a letter this morning…"
"You two really don't get along, do you?" James asked. He knew the answer already, but asked because, like his mother had told him, getting things like that off your chest is bound to make one feel better.
She shook her head again, and looked down at her feet, nudging a toe against the other foot. Her chocolate brown hair danced as her head swayed, and James thought he saw Travis swoon. Brushing the thought away, James put a hand on her shoulder.
"It's alright," he soothed. "We don't get the luxury of getting along with our parents all the time. God knows me and my parents had a time getting on the same page after-"
James found him hitching on what he almost said. It just hit him, how on the surface coming from the orphanage to his parent's mansion was easy, but emotionally it was the hardest thing in the world he had ever done. To go from having nothing in the world but a wood cot and two other orphan "brothers" to having a full-fledged family, a home, and the responsibility of living up to them…
It was tremendous. He and Travis and Brian had to work hard at getting on the same page as their parents and uncles, and even then, they still butted heads.
"I understand," Kiara muttered under her bangs, not looking up. She shuttered, and James began to think he said something wrong. She laughed a dull, sad sound devoid of mirth, a hollow sound masked as a giggle. "I just wish someone loved me."
James and Travis stood there, shocked, at this revelation. They looked at each other, hopelessly lost for words.
"It's sad, y'know," she sniffled and looking up at James and waving an absent hand. "I lost my ma a long time ago, and ever since, he's has hated me. I'm worthless! I can't do anything right, much less get in the right House here at school. I can't make friends because no one wants me. Ye two and Brian are pretty much the closest things to friends I get, and even then, you're always doing something crazy and then you all didn't even write over summer like you said-"
James shook his head and took her face in his hands. "It's not sad. You're shy, we're crazy, and our paths cross at the weirdest times. I don't blame you for feeling weird about what happened last year, hell, I'd be creeped out, too."
"And we did try to write," Travis added firmly, but gently. "But something weird was happening, and our letters weren't getting out to anyone."
She looked up at Travis with hopeful eyes. "Is that… is that really the truth?"
"The truth, the whole, truth, and nothing but the truth, so help me God."
She considered this for a moment, looking down at her feet and seemed to be considering for herself if she believed it or not.
"Look, we don't really know why or how. We have our theories, but nothing really… real to pin down how it happened. Look, Kiara, we just want to be friends again. You're cool, man, and like Dumbledore said last year, you're the Queen to the Ravenclaw Kings, remember?"
Kiara looked up at Travis, dumbfounded.
"Don't look at me like that. You say you're worthless? How about the time you helped James in Transfiguration last month? Or last year, when we were trying to protect the Philosopher's Stone and you tried to stop us. It took a lotta balls to try that, and even more to join us. The fact that you're a Ravenclaw, and not whatever house you were 'supposed' to be in, says that you're smart. Worthless is not a factor the Sorting Hat takes into consideration when placing someone. If they really were worthless, it'd stall right?"
Kiara wiped her nose with the hem of her sleeve and nodded.
"I gotta say," Travis continued, in a softer tone. "I didn't know how to feel about you at first. But after last year… I got mad respect for you. You helped our friend with the troll and watched over me and James at the end of last year. You had our backs. You can hang with us, anytime, whether we can write you over the summer or not."
"Y-you really mean that?"
"He does," James stepped in. "I've known him a long time. TJ Barker never says anything he don't mean. Besides, after the incident with the troll, didn't I say you were now our sister?"
She nodded again, looking down. The boys watched her mull over in her head what they had said. She had absorbed it, apparently, because her posture solidified. James took her face in his hands again. "Back to being friends?"
She nodded with a shy grin, relishing in their touch. "Back to being friends."
…
"I still don't understand why we have to go," Brian whined as he readjusted the guitar strap on his shoulder.
"Harry promised," Hermione answered primly, flicking her bushy hair over one shoulder.
James and Travis, fresh from a shower after their jog and on their way to the Halloween feast, were nabbed by Harry, Ron and Hermione and suckered into going to a "Deathday Party," for Sir Nicholas, the Gryffindor House Ghost. By extension, of course, Brian too, had to attend, and the three of them were less than pleased by it. As the six descended the Grand Staircase towards the dungeons, they made their grievances known.
"Yeah, Harry promised," James retorted. "Himself. It's not your or Ron's or our fault he had to make a deal with a ghost to get outta trouble."
"I agree with that," Ron quipped. "They at least better have decent food down here. We're missing the Feast for this!"
"It'll be fascinating!" Hermione argued, holding her back straight in defiance. "Besides, the show of support from not just Harry, but the rest of us, including students from another house, will make his case even better. And Ronald, seriously, do you ever think with something besides your stomach?"
"Case for what, exactly?" Travis grumbled.
"Headless Hunt," Ron muttered.
The three Ravenclaws "Oh'd," appropriately, as if they understood what that meant.
"Seriously," Hermione sighed with an eye roll. "It's the ghost society he's been trying to get into for the last five centuries."
"Well," James shot back. "They haven't let him in in five hundred years, why are they going to start now?"
"Support," Hermione reinforced stubbornly, through gritted teeth.
James and Travis opened the door to the Dungeon with the sign posted out front, and James immediately wished they hadn't. Shrill, ear-splitting music rang his ears and agitated his still-healing mandrake injury. On top of that, the cold that followed it cut down to the bone. Then came the smell. Oh, God, the smell, the reek of sickly-sweet decomposition, the acrid smell of coagulated blood and the heady stench of worm-eaten earth. Shuddering, James looked pleadingly at Hermione.
He had to give it to her. It disturbed her, too, but she again put a rod in her spine and led the way into the party. Meekly following her inside, James came to see Sir Nicholas floating in front of a pair of drapes.
"My friends," he greeted mournfully. "So glad you came."
"Yeah, you sure sound like it," Travis muttered under his breath. Hermione stepped on his foot, but didn't say anything, smiling faux sweetly at her House's mascot ghost. As they swept under the drapes, they came into the ballroom proper and were greeted by the sight of an exceptionally large group of ghosts milling about, dancing, talking, debating, and some even screaming in horror, as if imitating their deaths. James shuddered again. Their milky translucence shimmered under the light of hundreds of black candles, shining the room almost as much as casting it in shadow.
James gulped. It was going to be a long night.
…
James, Travis, and Brian's dread quickly turned into chaotic glee as soon as they realized that the dearly departed spirits in attendance found humor about their own demises hilarious. While Hermione morbidly took notes on how the dead "tasted" rotting food, the three had spread out amongst the party goers and were livening the dour party with their gallows humor, to the chagrin of Hermione, the dismay of Harry, and absolute horror of Ron.
"So," James began, looking at the Wailing Widow of Kent with a shine in his eye. "A woman goes into labor with her child. The doctor says that they have invented a new device to transfer the pain of child birth to the father, and asks if it is okay to use the new device. The couple agrees, so he turns the pain to the father to 10%. The man feels nothing. They then bump it up to 20%. He still feels nothing. They keep doing this until they have the machine up to 100%. The man still felt nothing, so they go home happy, until they find the milkman dead on the porch!"
Her laugh filled the dungeon with its shrill ear-splitting scream, and she doubled over herself, slapping her black dress-covered knee as she cackled.
Travis was leaning against a wall, talking to the Huntsman of Dartmoor, clad in animal furs and sporting a spectral musket. "Two hunters were walking through the forest one day. All of the sudden, one of them passes out, so the other hunter panics and dials 911. The emergency responder says "911, whats your emergency?" The hunter answers, "My friend just passed out and I don't know what to do! I think he might be dead!" The emergency responder replies, "Before you do anything, make sure he is dead." The phone goes silent and the responder hears a gunshot. The hunter gets back on the phone and says 'Okay, now what?'"
Brian, meanwhile, strummed his guitar as he serenaded a ghastly group of young maidens, taken long before their time. They swooned as he crooned improvised lyrics based off their names to them, sweet, heartfelt lyrics of death befalling beauty, before promptly dropping a one liner about their deaths.
"Vera," he started, voice sounding grieving, leaning back in his spot on the bone-chillingly cold floor, head tilted up, eyes closed, as he strummed a few mournful chords. The girls huddled around him were leaned forward watching and smiling intently at him as he seemingly ignored them. "Your beauty was unrivaled, your laughter a song. You were the pride of town, your life seemed so long, until-"
Suddenly he slapped the strings of the guitar and bolted forward, looking her in the eye and taking the ghost girls by surprise. "Your father found you with a baker's son, what a wonderful way to die, hey!"
The maidens roared in laughter at the lighthearted jab about Vera's tragic fate, said ghost joining them, giggling and commenting on how cute he was.
James separated himself from the Wailing Widow and made his way back to his three favorite Gryffindors. With a grin he slung an arm around Harry's shoulders, watching as Travis had made his way out to the dance floor with an Elizabethan era ghost clad in a brocade dress that made her hips look four times wider than they were, with a grizzly collection of blood pouring from her neck and all over her front.
"You three look like you've seen a ghost," James quipped, grinning at his joke.
Ron grumbled and held his stomach, looking away with a cringe. Harry, to his credit, laughed, while Hermione stiffened her upper lip. "I'm just observing... for-for cultural reasons," she stumbled her words, wrapping her arms around herself defensively as she tried to hide her discomfort.
James cackled. "You better warm yourself up, 'Mione," he jabbed, poking her shoulder. "You'll... catch your deathin this cold."
"James Dean Potter!" she gasped, smacking his arm. "Really!"
His crack got Ron and Harry to laugh, though, and soon, she couldn't help but loose a grin herself.
"You don't mind telling me the finer details about how you were swindled into joining this tawdry affair, would you, Harry?"
Harry looked at his twin, and shrugged, pushing James's arm off his shoulder and motioning to a sparsely populated corner. James leaned against the cold hard wall while Harry scratched his neck. "Well, it started after Quidditch practice. It had been raining all day, and I was covered in mud as I came back into the castle. I ran into Nick, and was talking to him when Filch found me and got bent about me dragging mud in. He dragged me into his office-"
James held up a hand in shock. "You were in his office!?"
"Yeah, I was," Harry seethed, pushing James's hand down. "He was about to write me up when what I thought was Peeves wreaking havoc interrupted him, and he ran out, screaming at him-"
"You were in Filch's office, alone!" James shrieked, causing a few ghosts nearby to look at the two in shock. Harry gave them a sheepish, apologetic expression, while James ignored them. "And you didn't do anything while he was gone? Didn't jinx the desk? Left a firework in his drawers? Raid his stache of appropriated goods? Glue Charm his chair!?"
"Er, well, no," Harry muttered. "I didn't think to. I was too busy reading one his letters-"
Harry stopped as soon as he saw the burning desire in James's face. James stared at Harry with unwavering, unblinking curiosity, his eyes not even moving. Harry sighed and held up his hands.
"Kwikspell magic course."
The look on James's face turned into shock, then malformed itself into sinister glee as the information registered in his brain. Filch was a Squib?! A silent roar of bliss failed to come forth from the older twin's mouth as he almost fell to his knees in happiness, arms thrown above his head in an exaggerated victory pose before practically dancing with joy.
"You, dear brother, have just made my life," James finally breathed, hugging his spectacled twin.
Harry halfheartedly hugged him back, wondering just what can of worms he opened. "Be quiet about it, Filch came back and found me holding that letter, and told me not to talk about it in exchange for letting me go."
"Screw that guy," James replied as he released Harry, clapping his shoulder. "I have so many plans to make."
"Look, just forget it, it was Nick who helped me out, and I don't need any trouble from Filch. I promised Nick to come because he got me out of trouble with Filch, and I swore I'd avoid him-"
"Ello, pretties," a sniveling voice cut Harry off. The two turned to find Peeves, the resident trouble making poltergeist, torso leaning out from the wall. A bright orange party hat sat crooked on his wide head, and an obnoxious bow tie that was nothing short of a war crime against fashion adorned his neck, the bow occasionally spinning around in place. His equally wide, malicious face twisted into a smile that equaled James's earlier sinister glee and held up a bowl of moldy, fermenting peanuts to them. "Nibbles, my sweets?"
"No, Peeves," James muttered as he dragged Harry away from the poltergeist. Generally, James liked the devilish ghoul, but he did not want to spoil Filch's torture to the poltergeist. Joining Ron and Hermione, the two tried to ignore the shade, which only served to anger him.
James cringed. He really should have known better.
"Rude, wee ickle Potty," he whispered in James's ear, before raising his voice. "Rude it was, talking about poor Myrtle behind her back."
"No," Hermione said quickly as both she and James paled. "He-I- we didn't-"
Brian and Travis had since joined them, and the Gryffindor boys looked at Hermione and Peeves with a growing sense of dread. They didn't know who Myrtle was, but they had a bad feeling they were about to.
"Myrtle! "Peeves hollered over the crowd. "Oy! Myrtie Wyrtie Myrtle!"
A lone, squat looking ghost, a girl dressed in an antiquated Hogwarts uniform with greasy hair pulled back in pigtails and beset with too large, coke bottle glasses floated forward, solemn look on her face. She looked at the boys, then sneered at James and Hermione, before fixing Peeves with a similar, silent look.
"Oh, no, Peeves, please, don't," Hermione begged uncharacteristically.
"Did you hear what Naughty Potty and Grimy Granger was saying about you?"
James gulped. Peeves didn't do anything like this for no reason.
"Oh?" the sniveling voiced ghost queried, leaning in close to Hermione, sneer across her face.
"You look really nice, tonight, Myrtle!" Hermione squeaked, and James felt sorry for her. Being that close to a ghost was uncomfortable.
It appeared that Peeves didn't have to do any more work, as the ghostly witch started tearing up, face twisting from anger to despair. "You're making fun of me," she sobbed.
"No, please, Myrtle, it really is good to see you out of your toilet!" Hermione begged desperately, looking to Harry and Ron for support.
"Uh, yeah," Harry nodded, unconvincingly.
"Yeah, you look great," Ron mumbled through chattering teeth way too quickly.
"Liars!" The girl howled in humiliation. "You were calling me ugly! Fat! Obnoxious!"
"Don't forget pimply!" Peeves interjected.
"Actually, we weren't," James cut in. "They don't even know who you are, honestly."
James's words made things worse, given his relationship with her already, as she stared at him for a moment before screaming, making James cringe in pain as his recovering eardrums throbbed. She then tore off through the party, causing a ruckus amongst the ghosts. Apparently, it was rude for a ghost for pass through another, as many cursed or harassed her as she flew through them. Peeves, cackling with delight, took off and disappeared into the ranks of the party, probably to avoid the inevitable confrontation with the Bloody Baron.
"Enjoying yourselves?" Nicholas asked them as he approached, filling in the silence left over the group as Myrtle disappeared.
The group mumbled something along the lines of affirmative, and the ghost laughed it off with a waving hand. "Oh, don't get yourselves down about that, Peeves has been terrorizing the poor girl for decades."
The group shared a halfhearted chuckle, sparing a sheepish glance at each other.
"Not a bad turn out this year," Nearly Headless Nick continued, ignoring their bashfulness. "It's nearly time for my speech, I'd better go and warn the orchestra. . ."
The orchestra, however, stopped playing at that very moment. They, and everyone else in the dungeon, fell silent, looking around in excitement, as a boisterous hunting horn sounded.
"Oh, here we go," said Nearly Headless Nick bitterly. Through the dungeon wall burst a dozen ghost horses, each ridden by a headless horseman. The assembly clapped wildly; Harry and Ron started to clap, too, but stopped quickly when James tapped their shoulders and pointed at Nick's face. The spectral horses galloped into the middle of the dance floor and halted, rearing and plunging. At the front of the pack was a large ghost who held his bearded head under his arm, from which position he was blowing the horn merrily.
He slipped off his horse and jaunted up to Nick and laughed. "Nicky! Still... Hangingin there?"
His crack caused a laugh amongst the gathering. James laughed too, quietly, as he appreciated the humor. Nicholas, on the other hand, didn't, and squared his shoulders and glared at the man.
"Sir Patrick," he muttered darkly, but the ghost had already turned from him and ignored him as he caught sight of the six students.
"Live ones!" he roared, giving a preposterously fake jump of shock. James immediately scowled. He was all for a fair ribbing, but this guy was crashing Nick's party, stealing the spotlight, and now actively ignoring him.
"Very amusing," Nick seethed, hands shaking.
"Oh, children," Sir Patrick crooned. "Don't mind Nick, he's just rumpled because we won't let him into the hunt!"
"The Hunt?" Travis asked, a disgruntled look on his face.
"The Hunt!" Sir Patrick affirmed jovially, flinging his free arm up in a grandiose fashion. "The glorious, prestiged, Headless Hunt!"
"Prestigious," James corrected. "'Prestiged' ain't a word."
"Sounds stupid," Brian muttered. "Seriously, who'd wanna follow this guy on a hunt? He's as quiet as a nuclear warhead."
Sir Patrick ignored their quips. Harry stepped forward suddenly, drawing attention to him. "I-I happen to think Nick is-is very frightening-"
"Ba ha ha ha ha!" Sir Patrick thundered, amused. He reached out and 'ruffle' Harry's hair. "Bet he asked you to say that!"
"Smooth," Ron whispered to Harry, who grouched and tried to shake off the sensations of a ghost hand passing through his skull.
"Shut it."
"If I could have everyone's attention, it's time for my speech!" said Nearly Headless Nick loudly, gliding toward the podium and climbing into an icy blue spotlight. "My late lamented lords, ladies, and gentlemen, it is my great sorrow..."
But nobody heard much more. Sir Patrick and the rest of the Headless Hunt had decided to just start a game of Head Hockey as Nick talked, and the crowd were turning to watch. Nearly Headless Nick tried valiantly to recapture his audience but gave up as Sir Patrick's head went sailing past him to loud cheers.
James had seen enough. With shaking, clenched his hands, he drew his wand and marched forward. Hermione, too, had apparently felt as he did, as she marched alongside him. With little regard to any ghost in their way, they strode right up to the members of the Headless Hunt, purpose guiding every step.
"Defodio!" James casted, sending a gouging spell at the ghost head currently being used as a puck. The floor beneath it shattered and caused the head to sink, altering the head's course to fall through the floor. The head's owner gasped and dove after his head, falling through the floor himself.
"Periculum!" Hermione mirrored James and sent a large flash of red sparks scattering through the other ghosts.
"I say!" Sir Patrick gasped in shock, looking at the two with anger. "What's the meaning of this? Your little magic tricks don't hurt us!"
"And your ghostly forms can't harm a single hair on our heads," James shot back disdainfully. "A shame, because I'd loveto teach you a lesson."
"Such insolence!" Patrick protested, stuffing his bearded head back atop his shoulders with a huff.
"Us, insolent?" Hermione scoffed, pointing to Nick. "You prats show up unannounced, insult Nearly Headless Nick, continue to berate him, then outright ignore him at his own Deathday party! Now, while he's trying to just be a gracious host and thank everyone for coming, you act like a bunch of ignorant children and take that away from him, too? Are you trying to salt his wounds? You knew he's been trying to join you all for ages!"
"And to think," James added, curling his lip. "He actually wants to join you animals. He obviously thinks less of himself, wanting to be associated with the likes of bullies like you."
"I-what-you silly children are just-"
"Have you no shame?" Hermione cut Patrick off, raising her eyebrow.
"Have you no decorum?" James countered.
"Where is your sense of pride in your organization?" Hermione pressed.
"You'd think such a prestigious organization would conduct themselves with respect and dignity," James spat. "Instead, you act like a bunch of children, bullying a man for dishonorable way he died!"
"It's apparent that you lot are jealous of him. He's an amazing, caring person, worthy of respect even in death, while you can only get attention by insulting others and throwing your heads around like a bunch of teenage boys without adult supervision. Seriously, you are so childish."
James looked to Nick. "Did you seriously invite these jokers, Nick?"
Nick looked ready to cry. He could only manage to shake his head.
"Then I suggest you leave," Hermione commanded the members of the Headless Hunt. "You're not welcome here."
"You cannot kick us out!" Patrick demanded, his head nearly falling from his neck as he violently moved his torso around in what he probably thought was an intimidating manner. "You have no power here-"
"Shall I call the Headmaster, then?" James challenged. "Or maybe... the Baron?"
"Baron?" Patrick shot back quizzically.
"He means me," the Bloody Baron spoke up gruffly, emerging from the crowd, looking as blood soaked and taciturn as always. The ghost crossed his arms and shot the members of the Headless Hunt a disapproving scowl.
Patrick looked at the Baron with disdain. "Oh. You."
"Yes," the Baron stoically replied. "Me."
"Get outta here!" a ghost called out.
"You're all stupid anyways!" one of the maidens Brian serenaded earlier added, throwing a piece of rotting fish at Patrick.
"Yeah!" a chorus of ghostly shrieks erupted, and the members of the Headless Hunt were suddenly bathed in flying meat and fog as the ghosts rioted on them.
They fled as an army of party goers gave chase, leaving the dungeon suddenly empty and eerily quiet. The six students were left in the fog of the dungeon, James and Hermione shivering as they just been engulfed by the entirety of the gathered ghosts. They walked back over to Ron, Harry, Travis, and Brian as Nearly Headless Nick and the Bloody Baron approached them, the former ringing his plumed hat in his nervous hands.
"Excellent form," the Baron complimented James and Hermione, who shared a look of awe. The ghost rarely complimented anybody.
"Did... did you two truly mean it?" Nick asked them, bashfully.
"Mean what, Nick?" James whispered, trying to coax feeling back into his suddenly frostbit fingers.
"What you said... about me?"
"Of course," Hermione huffed. "We all feel that way."
"Yeah," the others chorused, looking at Nick as he started to tear up.
"I-well, never have I- I mean-"
"Seriously, Nicholas," the Baron chided, but gave James and Hermione a rare but terrifying smile. "Get a hold of yourself, man."
"Don't mention it, Nick," Hermione added with a smile of her own.
"No. Thank you. Thank each and every one of you."
"No problem," James muttered, scratching his neck. "Do me a favor?"
"Of course. Anything!"
"Stop trying to get in bed with those lames."
…