If you're reading this, much love. You know the Golden Rule? I feel like we've forgotten that. We should probably all try and relearn that. Seriously, treat people the way you want to be treated, and let the people who don't treat you the way you want to be treated go. They'll figure it out. Stay classy my friends.
ENJOI
…
In the months since their revelation about Hagrid's condemnation, they had all sort of gone their separate ways on the subject, all a little too perplexed by the thought of their gentle giant being a fiend. Harry had no occurrences with disembodied voices, Brian had no weird occurrences with bad daydreams, and had, in fact, shared with James in a private moment about what he would see.
"Today, I saw you," he admitted as they sat on the shore of the Black Lake, James trying and failing to use a branch of old driftwood as an impromptu fishing rod.
"Me?" James asked, perplexed as he dropped the crappy rod and sat down next to his brother.
"You were getting married to a pretty lady," Brian continued. "She was pregnant."
"I bet Mother Agnes would love to hear that," James laughed before adopting a terrible imitation of their former caretaker. "'No premarital sex, its against the law!'"
Brian laughed at his act then looked out across the ripples of the springtime lake. "She was in love, James. You two were happy, even if you looked a little sad…"
"Why was I sad?"
Brian looked down at his feet and went white as a sheet. "Because… well, we all were. There were… missing faces, James. People we know who should have been there."
James himself looked crestfallen. "Who was gone?"
"I don't know," Brian whispered with a shrug. "The faces were… they were blurry, the only ones I saw clearly was yours, hers, and Mom's. Everyone else was there, but… it was like a smudged camera lens, but I just knew that there were people missing, and it made me- made me-"
He wracked with a sob, and James slung an arm around his shoulders. "It's alright, brother," he soothed. "It's all going to be all right. Say, what did my blushing bride look like? It wasn't Pansy Parkinson, was it?!"
Brian wracked a half sob, half laugh. "I said she was beautiful, dummy."
Professor Sprout's mandrakes were maturing, having thrown a raucous party in the greenhouses one night, leaving the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuff second years to clean up the morning the after, to their dismay. Ernie MacMillan had come down hard from his gossiping fit, and as an olive branch, had asked James one day to help him with his potions work, and asked Harry to help him with another issue in Herbology.
Before they knew it, four months had passed, and the Heir had managed to slip most of their minds. James still kept tabs on the situation, but without any leads or occurrences, no chance to get out in between the constant patrols and the hard crackdown on early curfews and teachers escorting the students to every class, and the ever-looming threat of end of term exams, it got hard to dig anything up.
Aside from the heightened security, school went along as normal, without even quidditch being canceled. There was the final game of the year, Ravenclaw versus Gryffindor, coming up, and the school was teeming with energy to see how the two undefeated teams would do against each other. Harry and James's sibling rivalry flared but was still tempered by their overall mood considering the year's previous events, leading Roger to chew James out for showing poor morale.
One morning, McGonagall passed out parchment for the third ears class selection forms, as they would have to broaden their schedules with more, elective classes. James paid them little heed, picking to join the music club with Brian and the Ancient Studies group with Travis, then selecting Arithmancy, Magical Theory, and Ancient Runes as his other two choices before carelessly leaving the form in McGonagall's collection tray. Kiara, not quite sure what to choose, followed in James steps and marked herself down for the classes he was taking.
Harry and Ron went the easy route, choosing Care for Magical Creatures(how hard can babysitting a group of crups be?" Ron asked,) as well as divination. Brian, to everyone's shock, steered clear of that subject and chose the same classes James and Kiara had, stating he had had enough divination for one lifetime, and wasn't looking to get schooled on the finer aspects of how to get better at seeing terrible things.
Travis chose arithmancy and magical theory, scoffing at divination and having never been a real animal person, chose instead to invest his final elective on ancient studies. "Binns is a croaky old bastard, but the Ancient Studies Professor, Professor Fumijaru? She's fine."
Hermione had slapped his arm for choosing a class based off the teacher's attractiveness but had such a hard time choosing what extra classes she wanted that she just chose them all. She waved James off when he informed her it was impossible to attend all of them and turned her sheet in with her chin held high and a rod in her spine, determined to prove to him she could do it.
"… this could effect all of our futures," Hermione insisted. "I, for one, am not closing the door on any of my options."
"I just wanna drop potions," Harry grumbled miserably as he flicked the parchment of his potions book and glowered at the accursed text.
"You cannot!" Hermione gasped.
"Hate to say it, but she's right, pally," Travis laughed as he checked off his selections. "We keep our core subjects, no matter how useless they could be."
"Shame, too, cush' I wood love to dwop DADA," Ron laughed over a mouthful of ham.
"But it's extremely important!" Hermione insisted, looking shocked that Ron would insinuate otherwise.
"Not with the way Lockhart teaches it," James and Harry chorused.
"Only thing he's taught us why its important not to set pixies loose," Ron finished, gulping his bite of breakfast down.
After talking about it some more, some older students, including Percy, tried to give them contradicting advice. Percy came up and clapped Ron and Harry on the backs and said, "You have to take the courses you think will help with your future wizarding carrer."
"They want us to think about a career?" Brian laughed at him. "That's stupid, we're only twelve years old!"
Percy glowered at him. "No time like the present to think about your future, Gates."
Others tried to get them to take the classes they wanted to take, but James scared them off with threats of bringing back Harry's Heir religion and starting a holy prank crusade on them. The best advice came from none other than Fred and George, who looked at Ron's parchment for a moment before laughing.
"Just take the classes that interest you, no sense getting tied up in this 'prepare for your future!' nonsense," George said.
"That sounds horridly irresponsible," Hermione argued.
"it is, which is the point," Fred laughed at her. "But so is getting an ulcer over what you're going to be when you grow up, without knowing if you're even going to grow up to begin with!"
Hermione starkly refused to see the Weasley twin's point of view, and surged full steam ahead with all of her class choices. James let her have her fool's errand for the time being. He was more focused on keeping up with Quidditch practice and his schoolwork, since he had nothing else to do. Between the high security and lack of free time, he couldn't really pull of any pranks anyways, so they all just did their work and stayed in their respective commons, only getting to see each other at breakfast, lunch, and dinner time.
The morning of the final match was set a month before the end of term, and it dawned bright, warm, and green. There was barely a cloud in the sky that morning, and spirits were high as James sat at the breakfast table, munching on a piece of toast and giving Cho a sloppy kiss on the cheek.
"Ready to face off against the best Seeker Hogwarts has seen this century?"
"Don't let Mom hear you say that," Brian snorted.
James waved him. "It's her own son, she'll be proud."
"I think I can take 'im," Cho said quietly but confidently. "I cannae just let him roll all over me, cannae?"
"That's the spirit," Travis clapped her own the back and flipped a few sausage patties on her plate. "Eat hearty, because this morning, we dine in hell!"
"Okay there, Greek King, enough with the dramatics," Roger chuckled, shaking his head. "Gryffindor is the team we get along with the most, let's not burn any bridges with dirty play. Today should be a good game."
"Even if we beat them into the pitch?" Duncan asked.
Roger grinned a half maniacal smile. "Oh, we are definitely beating them into the pitch."
…
It was Zero Hour, 9 am, and the game was setting to start. Taking the last chance to walk to the pitch as a family, James's group of Ravenclaws and Harry's group of Gryffindors set out to march to the pitch together. James and Harry had their arms slung around each other as they led their friends out of the pitch. Ginny, it seemed, looked fit to join them, and even laughed nervously along as James and Harry sang boisterously as they marched down the entrance hall.
"Thunder!" James screamed at the top of his lungs.
"AH-ahhh-ahh-ah-ah!" the rest chanted back.
"Thunder!" Harry roared, pumping his fist into the sky dramatically to the same thunderous chant back.
Suddenly, Ginny stopped short in her tracks just as they reached the staircase. They only knew it because Brian had stopped short, as well, his fingers dropping from his acoustic guitar as his face went blank.
"Ginny?" Ron asked. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing," she responded stoically, almost robotically. Her brown eyes, which had been warm and bright all morning, turned into dark, narrow slits that stared straight ahead as if she was actively trying to ignore them. Without another word, she turned sharply on her heel and started marching up the stairs towards the second floor, rather than towards the entrance to the castle.
"Where are you going?" Travis called after her.
"I have things to attend to," she responded robotically.
"Brian?" James nudged his brother's shoulder, noticing he'd zoned out, too. "You okay?"
Brian brought his hand up to his forehead and rubbed his eye. "Er, yeah. I think so. I think I just got hit with another vision? I dunno. I can't… I don't remember it, for some reason."
James and Travis shared a look, and then James and Harry, both pursing their lips. Of all days, and of all times… why today?
"Listen, I don't care what the Snakey Boy is slithering around to doing," Travis slapped a fist into his palm. "We're beating Gryffindor today."
"Snake?" Hermione asked, eyes narrowing and a hand stroking her chin. "Snakes…"
Harry suddenly snapped to attention. "I hear it!"
"Hear it?" James squeaked. "Like, IT It?"
"It IT!"
"What's it saying?"
"It's hungry," Brian's mumbled, but not in Brian's voice. They all turned to see his eyes roll back into his skull before turning an ominous, milky white. "It's wanting to kill, when the school is mostly empty. More room to move, more room to hunt."
"Ho-lee shit," Travis gasped, poking Brian's cheek. "Did his eyes just turn white?"
"Snake…" Hermione whispered. "Harry, that night you told the snake Draco summoned to leave Justin alone, did it talk back to you?!"
"Yes?" Harry answered as a question, confused. "You didn't hear it talk?"
"No," James shook his head. "Not even a hiss."
"Like how we don't hear the monster talk," Hermione snapped her fingers as a lightbulb turned on in her head. "Snakes… Parseltongues… Heir of Slytherin… God, we're so dumb! I need to go to the library!"
"Now?!" James and Harry chorused as she made to run away. Travis, it seemed, had picked up on what she was getting at as a lightbulb went off in his head, too.
"Wait for me!" he screamed and ran after her. "I know just the book we need!"
"Book? Need?" James threw his hands up in the air in exasperation. "Travis, we have a game!"
"I'm going to be late!" Travis screamed back. "Get outta the school, now!"
"Thur yes thur!" James threw a sloppy salute and scoffed. "Seriously, what the hell are they doing?"
The only answer they got was Brian whimpering as he came back from LaLa Land and nearly collapsed to the floor.
…
"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" Hermione asked as they barged into the deserted library.
"Basilisk?" Travis asked.
"You know, you could be brilliant if you stopped cheating on your schoolwork," Hermione gasped as Travis led her to the magical beasts section.
"Can be?" Travis asked, faux insulted. "My dear, I am. Now, where is it… I only read it twice earlier this year… Monsterium Beastiarum… Monster… Here!"
Travis yanked the familiar book off the shelf and flipped to the reptile section before Hermione snatched it from his hands. "'The basilisk, or Lachesis Cyrenae, is a monster snake native to Greece that is known as the Serpent King, due to its immense size and deadly killing power. Classified as a XXXXX level threat to all who face it, it can kill with either it's extremely venomous bite, or by killing its prey with a single look into their eyes…"
"Brian mentioned it squeezing into a foul smelling tube whenever it was leaving its lair," Travis said darkly.
"The school's plumbing!" Hermione clapped.
"Which explains the water and the flooding at the scene of every crime," Travis nodded. "Water is reflective, which means…"
"Mrs. Norris made eye contact with its reflection!"
"Colin was holding his camera up like this, about to take a picture," Travis mimicked the act of holding up a camera. "So when it looked into his eyes, it would have been inverted and refracted by the lens, which could have had a dampening effect on it."
"Sir Nicholas was there when Justin got hit," Hermione pointed out. "He was the one who found him, but Justin isn't dead! He must have seen the basilisk through Nicholas's body!"
"It works," Travis declared with a laugh, throwing his hands up in victory. "It fits!"
Hermione and he shared a hug, laughing before they came to the realization that it was about to strike again.
"We have to tell Dumbledore!" they chorused, Hermione ripping the page from the book and crumpling it tightly into her hand before they both bolted for the door. Halfway out, however, Travis stopped short.
"We can't just run out there if it's on the loose," he said, grabbing her arm.
"You're right…" Hermione nodded then snapped her fingers and pulled out a small pocket mirror. "I got it! Parvati and Lavender Brown forgot these at breakfast when they were doing their makeup. We can use them to scout out the corridors ahead before running!"
"Brilliant," Travis grinned and grabbed the purple one from her hands. "Follow me, we need to find Dumbledore."
Hermione had no qualms staying behind the taller, more muscular boy. They looked quite a sight, sneaking down the hallways to the staircase, one bushy haired, nerdy girl and her tall, muscular, Quidditch uniformed friend. As Travis scouted out the hallway they were about to turn down, Hermione grabbed his hand and squeezed, as the weight of what was happening hit her. There was a good possibility they were being hunted at this very moment by a creature that even the most astute and acclaimed wizards of the world were terrified of, and here they were, trying to outsmart one.
Travis seemed to understand her fear and squeezed her hand back but kept his eyes forward and led the way to the entrance hall as fast as he could. They were halfway down the hallway when a large SPLASH and the splat of something heavy and meaty hitting the floor behind them rang loud and true. They both froze in place, Travis cursing and squeezing Hermione's hand tighter.
"Damn," Travis shook his head despondently. "Well, Hermione, guess we're too late."
"No," Hermione whimpered and shook her head, terror overcoming her even as she mentally fought the urge to turn around or even look over her shoulder. "No, no, no, no, no…"
Travis took a deep breath and exhaled heavily. Hermione could feel his pulse quicken through his grip, but even as his anxiety spiked, he kept up a calm façade and thought his next move out. He flicked his mirror over his shoulder for a split second, and all he and Hermione saw was a massive, spiky-skinned serpent rearing up, easily filling the hall with its height and baring its massive, venom dripped fangs.
Hermione shrieked in terror, and as she did, the thing snapped forward to attack. Travis was sharp on the response, though, and yanked Hermione out of its path and shielded her body with his. The dagger-like fangs ripped into his left flank and right shoulder, raking across his back, cutting through robe and skin alike. The force sent the two tumbling to the floor as gouts of blood flooded from his back.
"Aw, shit," Travis wheezed as he fell atop Hermione, the force of the attack winding him. "Only one way outta this, then, eh, 'Mione?"
"No," Hermione cried, hugging her arms around his neck in terror. "Please don't leave me, please…"
"HELP!" Travis thundered as loud as his voice would allow. "The monster is here on the first floor! HELP!"
His voice had taken the creature by surprise, as they could both hear it stop short of its next attack, and Hermione buried her face in Travis's neck, despite the blood beginning to run down his shoulders. He hugged her tight and laughed. "Only one way to survive this, and that's to get petrified in the most inconvenient way possible to deter it from eating us too fast. It'll have a harder time swallowing its prey when it's frozen in obtuse form."
"No, Travis," Hermione pleaded between sobs.
"Only way, 'Mione," he assured her, patting her cheek and wiping away her tears. "Trust me, okay? I'm going to kneel up, and then look at it in my mirror. Once it gets me, you need to put that sheet of paper out in your hand in a way everyone can find it and then do the same. When you go, try to make yourself as cumbersome for it as possible. You can do this, I'll be right here, and before you know it, we'll be back to normal in the Hospital Wing, okay?"
"No!" she cried even harder, fighting the urge to wet herself. Travis had a stark moment of realization, then. Hermione was a child of privilege. Even last year, she never had to face certain death like this head on, and she wasn't used to it like he had been. Unlike him, she was spared the awful upbringing of being an ostracized orphan in New York. She never had to see gangbangers die in a shootout, fight her way out of a mugging or attempted kidnapping, or having to fight for her life like that for even one minute. This was all new to her. He laughed and cupped her cheek, hoping to impart as much bravery as he could from himself to her through his straining, tearing eyes. The venom was burning into his skin and through his blood vessels, leaving a fiery path of pain he could no longer deny through adrenaline or will alone.
"Yes, Hermione," he assured her, hugging her tight one last time and giving her an assuring smile, despite the terror building in his eyes. "I know you're scared, Beautiful. But you need to be brave like the Gryffindor you are. We need to survive, no matter the cost. Be brave, brilliant little lion girl. Be brave."
With that, he let her go with one arm, knelt up so that his legs were to either side of her hips, but kept one arm around her neck. Shaking as the creature's venom began to surge in his blood vessels, he held a trembling hand up and pointed his pocket mirror behind him and looked at the thing straight in its venomous yellow eyes. Its gaze hit him immediately, the cold stare. First it became hard to move, then impossible. His eyes were the last to freeze, and he used the last of that movement to give Hermione one last assuring look, as if to say, 'You can do this.'
Hermione cried as his vision faded to white, and the last thing he heard were her ear-shattering. piercing screams. His body went numb, and the sharp, burning pain that was starting to set in as his sudden adrenaline rush was teetering off began to wither and ebb away. He was left feeling cold, but couldn't shiver, which was a form of agony within itself before it, too disappeared. His eyesight dimmed from white at the edges to black all over before he faded completely into a blissful sort of nothingness.
…
"Dammit," James Dean cursed, leg bobbing nervously as he stood outside the Ravenclaw locker room. Despite not really being allowed onto the pitch, Brian stood steadfast beside him, fidgeting his hands as he cried quietly. "Dammit, Travis where are you?!"
"He's gone," Brian mumbled quietly, eyes staring off into space. "He's still here, but not here here."
"Don't tell me that," James bit back a list of expletives he felt the urge to hurl at his brother. "Do not dare tell me that unless we know for sure."
"I am sure…"
"I trust you and believe in you but right now I cannot fathom you being right, so don't feel offended when I tell to go to hell, I'll believe it when I see it," James sneered.
"None taken," Brian coughed as he tried to stifle a sob. "I wish I could be that ignorant…"
James slung an arm around Brian's shoulder and hugged him close, while keeping a hopeful eye on the entrance to the pitch. Brian latched onto him with both arms and cried quietly into his shoulder, and it was all James could do to not start the waterworks himself. Harry emerged from Gryffindor's locker room on the other side of the pitch shooting James a worried, questioning look. James shook his head at him before looking up to the scoreboard to see that the timeclock counting down the hour, minutes, and seconds to the start of the game had halted at thirty seconds. His stomach lurched, as that could only mean one thing.
The teachers were postponing the start of the game.
Roger emerged from the lockers to grab James but stopped short when he caught sight of him and Brian hugging. He made to ask them what was going on when Flitwick appeared behind them and tugged at James's pant leg.
"Potter, Mr. Gates? I need you to come with me…"
"Professor Flitwick," Davies insisted. "The game is about to start!"
"Game's cancelled," Flitwick waved him off brusquely. "Get your team back to Ravenclaw Tower posthaste. Mr. Potter, if you would."
"Postponed?!" Roger roared, a sentiment that was shared by Oliver Wood, who seemed to have been screaming the same thing to McGonagall across the pitch. James looked over to see Harry fall to his knees, shaking his head and slamming his fist into the ground.
Oh, no. No, no, no, no, nononononono.
"There's been an incident, Mr. Potter," Flitwick urged him, tugging harder on his leg. "I'm afraid we need you two to come with me to the Hospital Wing."
The school flashed by in a blur as James, Harry, and Brian were all but dragged to the Hospital Wing. Nothing Flitwick, McGonagall, or Dumbledore said rang true in his head. It was all just white noise that he blocked out as his mind did what Brian's did to protect itself from pain; he blanked out.
Harry had an iron-gripped hand on his arm the whole way, much the same as Ron was hauling Brian. It felt like hours and days, but also minutes and seconds. The time passage was torture and pain, and James barely was able to recognize the concerned faces of the portraits hanging on the walls, which somehow where the only things he could see clearly. He saw a woman in one of them, dressed in a Victorian era blue dress look at him with so much pity it pissed him off. He wanted to rage, he wanted to scream, he wanted to rip that intrusive, offensive, God-awful ugly dress off her body and choke her with it, her pity angered him so much. By the time he had come to that conclusion, however, her stupid, pitying face disappeared around a bend, and he dropped his homicidal fantasy.
After the shortest eternity James had ever faced, they were all led into the Hospital Wing, where the rows of beds lining the wide-open windows all the way presented themselves. James saw the victims in order of first to latest. Mrs. Norris, tail out straight and mouth open wide in abject feline terror. Colin Creevey, his hands held up to his face and mouth slacked open in awe and curiosity at what he had last seen. Justin Finch-Fletchley, the idiotic, cowardly dick who James had never liked, but had never wished any real harm upon, face wide and placed in an eternal, silent scream.
It had been easy for James to distance himself from their losses. He didn't know them, had no attachment to them. They were people, yes, but people he didn't see any need to live with and had found it easy to get by without their presence in his life. Now, seeing them like this, in this circumstance, he saw not the bane of his prank-pulling existence, or the pest who bothered him for autographs, or the coward he loathed and held little regard for. He saw the people they were, the loved ones they all had, and the impact their loss would be on their lives.
It had gotten real, before he even saw the mangled mess of Travis's body, frozen in time over Hermione's.
He didn't want to see it, didn't want to acknowledge it, as if refusing to see it would make it not real. He forced himself to anyway, for as his mother had said, 'The worst lies we tell are the ones to ourselves.' James's gut twisted and leapt into his throat at what he saw. Travis was still clad in his Ravenclaw Quidditch team robes, but his back had been ripped open by four distinct slash marks. Blood was everywhere, staining the fabric of his robes from neck to midthigh, and had splattered all over Hermione's face, the front of her clothes, and had pooled well below her back, soaking and matting her bushy hair. As they got nearer, he could see a small, hopeful smile on his brother's face, his tropical blue eyes now dull and almost dead looking.
Hermione's face was the complete opposite, being one of complete and absolute horror. Travis was above her, his knees straddling her hips with one arm slung around her neck in a loose hug, while she had one leg curled up into his chest and the other sprawled out in a weird angle, as if she was trying to either escape his grasp or make herself as large a target as possible. Her butt was planted firmly on what had to have been the ground, while her torso was twisted, one arm reaching out in a T-pose, the other slung over Travis's shoulder, a makeup clip held firmly in one hand, the broken mirror inside pointed halfway between behind Travis and her face.
Travis himself had a broken makeup mirror clutched in one hand, right beside Hermione's, as if they both had used them to be petrified on purpose. James and Brian and Harry and Ron all just stood there awkwardly, as stone still as their friend and brother, staring at the horror movie scene before them. That's what this had to be, right? It wasn't real, it was just a stunt, a prank. Make them think they were in the next Friday the 13th movie or something. That's what this had to be. There was no other explanation for it.
He forced himself, inch by inch, to sit beside their shared bed. He idly noticed a small, crumpled piece of paper in Hermione's hand, and instinctively wrapped his hand around hers, stealthily slipping the paper up his sleeve with little forethought. He stared at his brother's face grimly, unable to process fully what was going on, but filling with a white hot rage regardless. His mind wandered to the fantasy of ripping that painted woman's dress off, but instead of her, it was some nameless, formless beast he was asphyxiating.
James was brought back to the reality of the situation when a hand, warm and soft, grabbed his. He didn't react at first, thinking it was Harry's until he realized it was too soft, too dainty, too feminine to be his twin's. No, it felt like-
"Mom," James croaked.
"I'm here, Jamie," she said softly, taking his hand in both of hers and squeezing while a pair of strong, hard arms wrapped him up from behind, and the familiar, comforting scent of his father's after shave hit his nose. "It's going to be alright. Pomfrey says they're both just like the others- he's going to be just fine, baby."
…
"All students will return to their House common rooms by six o'clock in the evening," McGonagall's voice echoed over the school's intercom system. "No student is to leave the dormitories after that time. You will continue to be escorted to each lesson by a teacher. No student is to use a bathroom unaccompanied by a teacher. All further Quidditch training and matches are to be postponed. There will be no more evening activities. Each morning, your Head of House will await to escort your entire House to the Grand Hall for breakfast at seven a.m., sharp."
James heard the words, absorbed them, but could barely register them in his head as they played over and over. He was curled up on their favorite couch, in the darkest corner of the Ravenclaw commons, Kiara holding both him and Brian to her shoulders as they both stared off into space. Brian was leaving a massive trail of tears down the right side of Kiara's blouse, though she didn't complain, just massaged his back and let him sob. James, on the other hand, stared angrily at the far wall, having a bottled-up rage that filled him to the point of wanting to kill something, but have nobody as a valid enough target to warrant his brewing wrath.
In his mind's eye, his vision flickered back and forth between the sight of Travis and Hermione wrapped up together in a macabre embrace, and him, brutally and viciously tearing whoever did it apart piece by bloody piece. These were thoughts that people kept to themselves, the dark and twisted fantasies one played out in their mind when things like this happened to them. He still remembered the day his mother told him not to fear these dark feelings.
"They're a part of you, part of your psyche. It is important, despite being unpleasant, that you have them. It grounds you, supports you, gives you a measure of control over your situation that you feel has been robbed from you. It is natural to feel that way sometimes, Jamie. As long as you never, ever act on them, never bring those dark fantasies into reality, then it is completely healthy for you to feel that way."
They had been given an hour to sit with their parents in the hospital wing before they were forced to say their goodbyes. By then, Pomfrey had done the best she could to clean Travis and Hermione up, but there was still just too much petrified blood to get rid of, and much of it had been frozen in place with Travis.
After being dragged from the infirmary, Flitwick all but locked them up here in Ravenclaw Tower afterwards, warning them to stay put and let the teachers handle everything. His words fell on deaf ears, but it wasn't like James had anywhere to go, so the professor had nothing to worry about. James didn't have a name, a body, a person to target, and the foreboding feeling of helplessness that had started after the first attack overcame his psyche.
James hated it. He hated this feeling with every fiber of his mortal being. He hated being told there was nothing he could do. He hated being limited, being barred, being shackled. It infuriated him, being capped at gold when he wanted to go higher. There was something at this school that had it in for him, his family, his friends. Hell, he was even willing to include his schoolmates and professors into those groups. This thing had made the mistake of wanting to go after him and his people, and that was something he couldn't abide.
But what was he to do about it? It was well established that he didn't have a name, a person, or even remotely close to a location to start looking. The only thing he had was the accusation of a specter, a ghost haunting a stupid journal, who was pointing its ghostly finger at one Rubeus Hagrid, the Groundskeeper of Hogwarts and close, personal family friend of the Potter family.
"Has nobody else noticed that the targets of these attacks exclude any Slytherins?" a quiet voice asked across the common room. "There's been Filch's cat, two Gryffindors, a Hufflepuff, and a Ravenclaw, but no Slytherins…"
"I have," Samhain al-Fulani's voice replied back. "The Heir is supposed to be a descendant of Slytherin, so I guess it makes sense."
"I was just walking down that hallway not two minutes sooner," Penelope Clearwater replied with a shiver in her voice. "If they hadn't had been there…"
"Don't think like that," the first, unfamiliar voice said soothingly. "This isn't your fault."
"But they were just second years," Penelope insisted with a sob. "I- I could've protected them! I should have! I heard Barker's scream, and instead of running to help them, I ran away like a scared little girl!"
A ripping sound was heard, then a bronze and blue prefect's badge flew over Kiara, James, and Brian's head. They hardly reacted as it impacted the wall and fell to the floor with a solid THUD. Penelope erupted into a wave of sobs as survivor's guilt wracked her. James looked around the commons to see the rest of his assembled housemates actively trying to ignore Penelope's wracking cries. He made eye contact with Bem, who was sitting at a desk opposite of Michael Corner, and the bigger boy shook his head and then canted it in Penelope's direction.
James weighed his options. He could stay here, wrapped in the comfort of Kiara's arms and stew until his rage boiled over until he did something he'd regret, or he could go and try to make Penelope feel better, the way Bem was suggesting. He wanted nothing more than to rip something's throat out, but a higher calling was pressing into the back of his head. After all, if Penelope hadn't have been where she was, Travis and Hermione might've suffered a far worse fate than petrification…
Taking a deep, steadying breath, he pulled himself from Kiara's embrace and stood. Kiara looked at him in surprise, but he shook his head and squeezed her hand slightly before letting go. Penelope's sobs only got louder and louder, so he knelt to pick up Penelope's prefect badge as he approached and found her wrapped up in al-Fulani's arms, crying on his shoulder as another girl, Leanne, if he remembered correctly, rubbed her back. He stalked around the couch they were on and ignored the death glare he was getting from Samhain, kneeling in front of her and forcing her badge back into her hands.
"Penelope."
His voice must've startled her, as she hadn't reacted to him until he spoke her name. She jerked and looked up suddenly in shock. Her pale skin and tear-streaked face glimmered in the faint glow of the fireplace, and her green eyes were misted over to the point where their colors were washed out. She slung an errant strand of pale blonde hair away from her face and sat up slightly, trying to wipe her tears when James gripped her hands and held them firm in front of both of them, pressing her badge in her palms.
"James?"
"You were the one who found them," he said simply, looking down at the floor and trying to find the right words to say to convey his appreciation, while also making her feel better.
He wished Travis was here. Despite all of James's supposed charisma, it was all a front. He knew what to say and when to say it when he had a logical course of thought to follow. Travis was the one whose brain and heart were in synch with each other, and he was the one who knew how to approach this sort of situation with the grace and dignity one such as Penelope deserved.
"Y-yeah," Penelope finally stammered, clearing her throat of the phlegm and backlogged tears.
"If… if you hadn't have been there, if you… if you hadn't have done what you did, this might have been a terribly different story. You… got the help that scared that demon away. You saved my brother's life, Penelope. You saved my best friend's life. I… dammit all, Pennie, thank you."
"Thank you?" Penelope asked stupidly, shocked. "But I- could have-"
James silenced her by squeezing her shoulder and shaking his head. "Whoever- or whatever did this can freeze people in time, Penelope. You are a student at Hogwarts, not Big Bubba Badass. You did the right thing, at the right time, and you saved their lives. You're a big, sloppy, warm-hearted goddamn hero, and you will never be able to comprehend the depths of my gratitude that you did that."
Penelope's jaw just about hit the floor and she looked away, incapable of processing what he just told her. Over her shoulder, Leanne mouthed, "Thank you," to which he nodded and made to stand when Penelope's arm shot out and grabbed his wrist. Before he could react, he was smashed face first into her chest and hugged with an iron-clad grip he was sure he couldn't escape from if he had wanted to. Slowly, he wrangled his arms free enough to half-ass return the embrace and let Penelope finish sobbing her fears and regrets away.
He even kept his face buried in her shirt. He didn't want anyone else to see the tears he was now leaving behind.
…
It was well past midnight, and James couldn't sleep. Brian, who was given little choice but to share his bed with the overtly motherly Kiara, had cried himself to sleep in her arms, and the others, too, had fallen asleep. Bem was snoring lightly, and Michael Corner had his bed placed in front of the door in an attempt to prevent any intruders from breaking in. Terry Boot was curled into the fetal position, terrified as he was due to his blood status, and had fallen into a restless doze.
James was the only one awake. He was the only one conscious, and he had only one thought left on his mind. Rubeus Hagrid was the only lead he had. Rubeus Hagrid was the only man ever linked, no matter how circumstantially, to the Chamber of Secrets, albeit fifty years ago. Sleep was elusive, rage was building, and the only logical leap James had to find answers lied a few hundred feet below, huddled in the hut at the base of the castle. He needed. To talk. To Hagrid.
James quietly slipped out of bed and opened his trunk. He had upgraded his sneaky time gear from last year, swapping out the faded Metallica t-shirt, black jeans, and hoodie with a more wizardly matte black hooded robe, long sleeved Henley, and cargo pants. They flowed around him and were easy to move in without getting snagged on things and was secured by a pair of belts he had salvaged from his dad's old work gear, hobbled together with makeshift pouches and the like for thieves tools and potions bottles. It came with a wide, deep hood that could hide his face, as well as a neck gaiter he had haphazardly sown into the hem of the shirt to cover his mouth and nose. It had little embellishment, as he had designed it to be as nonreflective as possible, and he quickly shucked his pajamas and got dressed in his new gear quickly.
He had never used it yet, to date. He had kinda been hoping to use it to sneak out and gather rare herbs and other potions ingredients from the Black Forest, but after everything that had happened over the year, he never had a chance to put it through its paces. Now he was clad head to toe, pulling a pair of combat boots on over his feet and giving the ensemble a few test stretches. Yanking the gaiter over his face and drawing the hood up, he slipped his old broom out of the trunk and opened the window. With no more preamble, he stepped as quietly as he could onto the ledge, whispered the window closed, and dove.
He let freefall take him for a minute, letting the wind whip past his face as the ground raced towards him. Adrenaline surging through his veins but yet he waited until the last possible second to finally activate his broom and slammed it forward, breaking the freefall with forward momentum before streaking upwards into the cool, late spring night air. He drifted over the grounds for a while as his heart beat came down to an acceptable level, finding peace in the comedown from the adrenaline high.
He really needed that high.
Once he had his heart and mind in order, he banked to the left and circled around the darkened castle and set a course to land just behind Hagrid's hut. He took it slow, nice, and easy, keeping an eye out for anyone or anything skulking the grounds before committing to his landing. Confident that he wasn't seen or followed, he softly came to a running landing behind Hagrid's abode and stashed his broom under his wood stack. Pulling his hood back, James walked to the door and did his best impersonation of his own father's Cop-Knock, 100% guaranteed to wake even the dead in the heat of the night.
Barely two seconds after he finished his rapping, the shabby wooden door was yanked open, and James found himself face-to-crossbow bolt as Hagrid shoved the locked and loaded weapon in his face.
"What do you want?" Hagrid asked gruffly.
"Huh?" James asked stupidly, before realizing Hagrid didn't recognize him with the mask over his face. He yanked it down to reveal his nose and mouth with a sheepish grin. "Sorry, 'Grid. It's me."
"Oh, James," Hagrid breathed a sigh of relief, lowering his bow and deflating. "Thought you were that ruddy Black Forest Guardian the centaurs are all on abou'… Wait, what are ya doin' here?!"
"I need answers, Hagrid," James mumbled as he shoved past the big man and into his hut. Hagrid shut the door after looking out into the night, and James settled himself into one of his oversized dinner chairs. "I need them now."
"Abou' wha'?"
"The Chamber of Secrets."
Hagrid's face darkened and he snarled, his upper lip curling up to expose his teeth. "Who the bloody 'ell tol' ya 'bou' tha'?"
"No one," James shrugged nonchalantly, pulling out a pocketknife and cutting a spilt cuticle from his nail. "A student who attended school here fifty years ago left behind a diary enchanted with his own memories. He seemed to believe you are the Heir to Salazar Slytherin."
"Well I'm bloody well not!"
James held his hands up placatingly, face remaining stoic. "I know."
"I tell you wah', I'm- wait, you do?"
"Yes," James laughed dryly, humorlessly, and stood, walking over to Hagrid and patting his arm affectionately. "I have it on good authority that you are the man I know you are. Fact remains, Hagrid, that you are in a world of trouble, and I want to keep everyone I care about from harm."
"James, yer only twelve," Hagrid shook his head back and forth slowly, less as a negative motion and more as a contemplative one. "Yer cannae save the world or anyone, yer just a kid."
"A kid with a certain set of skills good enough to be properly recognized by the centaurs as 'The Black Forest Guardian.'"
"I dunno wha' yer on abou', but I dunllike it."
James chuckled wrlyly. "It was me who saved Harry and Draco last year in the forest, Hagrid."
Hagrid's eyes bulged and he pointed an accusatory finger at James. "That li'l act of yers nearly had the centaurs in an uproar! Yer lucky Bane n' Firenze were there to vouch fer ya!"
"Calm down," James scoffed and crossed his arms. "I never did any harm to them, they have literally no reason to get mad."
"They ruddy well do! You trespassed on their land and incited the potential wrath of a dark wizard huntin' unicorns and Harry Bloody Potter on their land! They're gassed, James! They dinnae who yer are or where ya came from! They dinnae call ya the Black Forest Guardian as a bloody sign of respect, it's a damned insult!"
"Prideful creatures," James shook his head and rolled his eyes. "That is neither here nor there, now. We are going off on a tangent. I need answers, Hagrid. Do you know who really opened the Chamber?"
"If I knew tha', der ya really think we'd be in our current situation?"
"Guess not," James shrugged. "But maybe you do, and don't realize it. Tell me your story, Hagrid."
"I… I can', its…"
James narrowed his eyes at the half giant and scoffed, a dam inside his mind starting to break as his patience wore thin. Travis was up there in that castle, blood pooling from his back and stuck frozen in time protecting Hermione, and Hagrid was down here wallowing in pity and hurt feelings!
"Strong until pressed, eh?" James spat, taking a step towards his friend. "You can meet a friend at the door with a loaded crossbow, but can't bring yourself to talk to them anything about a situation from fifty years ago?"
"That's differen' and ya know i'," Hagrid spat back. "Those were the wors' days of me life. You expec' me to just tell you abou' 'em o'er a spot a tea?"
"Yes," James stood firm. "I do, because that isn't the sort of thing you should keep a secret when there are lives at stake!"
"And why the bloody 'ell no'?
James snapped, his eyes going from stoic and neutral to blazing pits of whiskey-colored fire as he jabbed his finger into Hagrid's gut and his New York accent came in full bore. "Because that's my brothuh up dere, Hagrid! Stuck in limbo with his back carved open like Thanksgiving GODDAMNED TURKEY! Your friend! The boy you are supposed to help protect, coopa! While you stay tucked away down here in your safe little hut, tending to your hurt feelings and safeguarding your secrets and your pwecious wittle cwossbow, he, a freaking twelve-year-old boy, has done more to try and figure out this mess den you have!"
"No," Hagrid shook his head in angry denial. "This- this ain' you. Yer upset, yer angry, and ya just need someone to take this ou' on-"
"Do not psychoanalyze me, Rubeus Hagrid," James seethed, his New York accent getting thicker the angrier he got as he pointed his finger down to the floor. "You ain't my mothuh. Ah faced death and hardship long before Ah ever came to this mudpit of a country, and Ah ain't opposed to facing it again. Don't underestimate duh lengths Ah would go to save my family, my friends, or even you."
"So, wha'," Hagrid stomped forward angrily. "I don't coun' as one a those no more?"
"At dis point its looking sketchy," James sneered. "You ain't making dis as easy as it could be!"
"I owe you nothing, James."
"You owe me a helluva lot," James fired back. "When we all found out how you got canned, Ron and some of duh others were ready to crusade on yer hairy ass! Ah was duh one who talked dem down, Ah was duh one who vouched for your innocence, and duh way you're acting right now is really making me doubt dose actions!"
Hagrid looked like he'd been smacked. "You… don't mean tha'…"
"Den gimme something to go on, Hagrid," James's face softened as his face wagged back and forth, pleading. "Gimme something to help you. It's too late to do dis the 'adult way,' we need action, and we need it now. Ah need to know what you know!"
"I… alright," Hagrid said after a long pause. His head drooped in shame, as did James's. His cheeks burned as he looked back at what he had just yelled at Hagrid, but it was too late to take them back. "I guess we should star' a' ther beginning…"
"We have all night," James held his hands out and sat back down, his voice finally returning to 'Normal.'
"Righ', righ," Hagrid nodded and mumbled to himself as he busied himself with a kettle. He started boiling water and setting out a pair of cups and nervously pulling down some teabags. "S'pose I was wha', yer age when it happened? Maybe a year er two older? I was already a pretty large lad, Bein' halg gian' an' all… hard time fittin' in wi' everyone. Bullying and the like was a lo' more common those days… Anywho, I di'n' have many friends, so I found them in animals, creatures and such. That's when I found Aragog."
"Aragog?" James asked.
"The 'beast' Riddle said was the one from the Chamber. Buncha nonsense, Aragog wouldn't hurt nothin'."
"What exactly was Aragog?"
"He is an acromantula," Hagrid boasted proudly. "after the Professor gave me this job, I set him up in tha' forest, got him a lady friend and every'ing."
"I have no idea what that is," James said nervously, grimacing. "But it sounds like a giant spider."
"That's roight."
"Hagrid, you didn't."
"I did, and I regre' nothin'. Aragog is a good friend. A good friend."
"He's a spider."
"A good spider. He's brave and helps keep the peace in the fores' and the only thing he's ever feared was snakes-"
"He's a spider-" James emphasized, but stopped short as his mind kicked into gear at Hagrid's last statement. Harry being the only one to hear the Heir's monster. Harry is a Parseltongue. Only Parseltongues were able to hear snakes. Brian's vision of the monster squeezing through pipes and feeling claustrophobic… Hermione and Travis putting the pieces to the puzzle… "That's it! Hagrid, you are right! You're innocent, brah!"
"Well, I know that',' Hagrid said with consternation and confusion. "But how do you know?"
"Because Aragog's a spider!" James laughed happily, now starting to pace around the hut. "Don't you get it, it couldn't have been Aragog because Aragog's not a snake, he's a spider!"
"Oh, yeah, yeah," Hagrid agreed, looking at James like he was a madman and going to pour some tea. "That makes… sense, yeah?"
There came a knocking at the door, then, and James Hagrid both froze, James midstep, Hagrid midpour. Hagrid looked towards James, but by then, James was already halfway out the window and on his way to hide in Hagrid's garden. Heaving a sigh, Hagrid stood and grabbed his crossbow, and went to answer the door for his second visitor that night. James was already crouched and peeking through the window when Hagrid greeted the new visitors the way he greeted James.
"Oh," he said, lowering the weapon and staring at them. "What're you two doin' here?"
"What's that for?" said Harry, pointing at the crossbow as they stepped inside.
"Nothin', nothin'…" Hagrid muttered. "I've bin expectin'- well, it doesn' matter. Sit down, sit down, I'll make tea ."
Hagrid now hardly seemed to know what he was doing, he was so nervous. He nearly extinguished the fire in his hearth, spilling water from the kettle on it, and then smashed the teapot with a nervous jerk of his massive hand into the side of his table as the two Gryffindors sat at it, clobbering the two mugs on the table over.
"Are you okay, Hagrid?" said Harry, seeming confused on why there were already two mugs out. "Did you hear about Hermione?"
"Oh, I heard, all righ'," said Hagrid, a slight break in his voice as his gaze shifted to the window James was peeking through. He kept glancing nervously at him with questioning eyes, but James held a finger to his lips and shook his head, pulling his mask and hood back up. Hagrid poured them both large mugs of boiling water, forgetting to add tea bags and was just putting a slab of fruitcake on a plate when there was a loud knock on the door.
Hagrid, Ron, and Harry all froze in a comical rendition of earlier, and James rolled his eyes. Figures something like this would happen. Harry and Ron exchanged panic stricken looks, then threw the Invisibility Cloak back over themselves as they retreated into a corner. Hagrid checked that they were hidden, seized his crossbow, and flung open his door once more.
"Good evening, Hagrid," It was Dumbledore. He entered, looking deadly serious, and was followed by a second, very odd looking man. The stranger had rumpled gray hair and an anxious expression, wearing a strange mixture of clothes: a pinstriped suit, a scarlet tie, a long black cloak, and pointed purple boots. He carried a lime-green, old school mobster hat under his arm and dabbed at growing beads of sweat pouring down his face with a silken handkerchief.
"That's Dad's boss!" James could hear Ron whisper, making him roll his eyes at his lack of stealth. "Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic!"
Hagrid had gone pale and sweaty. He dropped into one of his chairs and looked from Dumbledore to Cornelius Fudge. "Well, get on wi' it, then."
"Bad business, Hagrid," said Fudge in rather clipped tones. "Very bad business. Had to come. Four attacks on Muggleborns? Things've gone far enough. You know the Ministry's got to act."
"I never," said Hagrid, looking imploringly at Dumbledore. "Yer know I never, Professor Dumbledore, sir…"
"I want it understood, Cornelius, that Hagrid has my full confidence," said Dumbledore, frowning at Fudge.
"Look, Albus," said Fudge, uncomfortably. "Hagrid's record is running against him. The Ministry has got to do something, and the school governors have been in touch!"
"Yet again, Cornelius, I tell you that taking Hagrid away will not help matters," said Dumbledore. His blue eyes were full of a fire Harry had never seen before. "I told you before when Hagrid was first hired, and I'm telling you again now; Rubeus Hagrid is an innocent man!"
"Look at it from my point of view, old friend," said Fudge, fidgeting with his bowler. "I'm under a lot of pressure. Got to be seen to be doing something. If it turns out it wasn't Hagrid, he'll be back and no more will be said. But I've got to take him. I have to. I wouldn't be doing my duty-"
"Take me?" said Hagrid, who was trembling. "Take me where?"
"For a short stretch only," said Fudge placatingly, but refusing to meet Hagrid's eyes with his own. "Not a punishment, Mr. Hagrid, more a precaution. If someone else is caught, you'll be let out with a full apology-"
"Not Azkaban?!" croaked Hagrid, now full-on crying. Before Fudge could answer, there was another loud rap on the door, and considering the state Hagrid was in Dumbledore humbly answered it. Into the hut walked a tall, pale, silvery-blonde haired man James remembered all too well. He heard a short, strangled gasp from where Harry and Ron were hidden, and he knew they remembered the man as well. It was Lucius Malfoy, looking as smug and disgusted as ever, gripping his custom cane-wand combo in black gloved hands and dressed in fine, silky, midnight black robes. He stepped inside, smiling a cold and satisfied smile that made the snoozing Fang wake up and start to growl.
"Already here, Minster Fudge?" he asked approvingly. "Most excellent…"
"What're you doin' here?" said Hagrid furiously, his tears stopping as he stood and adopted a menacing stance towards Malfoy. "Get outta my house!"
"My dear man, please believe me, I have no pleasure at all in being inside your… did you call this a house?" said Lucius Malfoy, sneering as he looked around the small cabin. "I simply called at the school and was told that the headmaster was here."
"And what exactly did you want with me, Lucius?" said Dumbledore. He spoke politely, but a fire was still blazing in his blue eyes.
"Dreadful thing, Professor Dumbledore," said Malfoy lazily, taking out a long roll of parchment, "But the governors feel it's time for you to step aside. This is an Order of Suspension. You'll find all twelve signatures on it. I'm afraid we feel you're… losing your touch, in a sense. How many attacks have there been now? Two more this afternoon, wasn't it? And not a single word has been spoken to the public! At this rate, there'll be no Muggleborns left at Hogwarts, and we all know what an awful loss that would be to the school."
James Dean's eyes narrowed. He knew how full of crap Lucious was. Based on what Draco had said, the eldest Malfoy knew a great deal about the previous incident revolving around the Chamber of Secrets, and James wouldn't have put it past the man to be involved in the current circumstances, either. Everyone knew the Malfoy's were outspoken Blood Supremacists and according to Draco, would go to extremes to enact their beliefs. He was a school governor, as well, and being in that position of power gave him ample means and opportunity to at the very least set the stage for the Heir to do their thing…
"Oh, now, see here, Lucius," said Fudge, looking alarmed, "Dumbledore, suspended? No, no, that's the last thing we want now!"
"The appointment or suspension of the headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry is a matter for the governors to decide, Minster Fudge," said Mr. Malfoy smoothly. "And as Dumbledore has failed to stop these attacks…"
"See here, Malfoy, if Dumbledore can't stop them," said Fudge, whose upper lip was sweating now, "I mean to say, who can?"
"That remains to be seen," said Mr. Malfoy with a nasty smile. "But as all twelve of us have voted-"
Hagrid leapt to his feet, his shaggy black head grazing the ceiling. "An' how many did yeh have ter threaten an' blackmail before they agreed, Malfoy?" he roared.
"My dear man, you know that temper of yours will lead you into trouble one of these days," Malfoy sneered at him. "I would advise you not to shout at the Azkaban guards like that. They won't like it at all."
"Yeh can' take Dumbledore!" yelled Hagrid, making Fang the boarhound cower and whimper in his basket. "Take him away, an' the Muggle-borns won' stand a chance! There'll be killin's next!"
"Calm yourself, Hagrid," said Dumbledore sharply. He looked at Malfoy. "If the governors want my removal, Lucius, I shall of course step aside."
"But-" stuttered Fudge.
"No!" growled Hagrid. Dumbledore had not taken his bright blue eyes off Lucius Malfoy's cold gray ones.
"However," said Dumbledore with an upheld, speaking very slowly and clearly so that none of them could miss a word. His eyes glanced towards the two mugs on Hagrid's table, then flickered at the cloaked Harry and Ron, before moving to the hidden James Dean, giving a sly wink at the shadows he was hidden in. "You will find that I will only truly have left this school when none here are loyal to me… Help will always be given at Hogwarts to those who ask for it, whether from me, or the Guardians who would dream to defend it."
James slowly nodded at Dumbledore, understanding his meaning and connotations. Seemed Dumbledore understrood what James had already come to understand himself…
"Admirable sentiments," said Malfoy, bowing but casting a suspicious glare at the shadows James was hidden in. He gave no indication he actually saw James there, so James assumed he had no idea he was even there. "We shall all miss your highly individual way of running things, Albus, and only hope your successor will manage to prevent any more… killings."
He strode to the cabin door, opened it, and bowed Dumbledore out. Fudge, fiddling with his bowler and dabbing at his face even more, waited for Hagrid to go ahead of him, but Hagrid stood his ground, took a deep breath, and said carefully, "If anyone wanted to find out some stuff, all they'd have to do would be to follow the spiders. That'd lead 'em right. That's all I'm sayin'."
Fudge stared at him in confusion. "All right, I'm comin'," said Hagrid, pulling on his moleskin overcoat. But as he was about to follow Fudge through the door, he stopped again and said loudly, "An' it'd be really nice if someone'll feed Fang while I'm away, maybe another Guardian to defend him on rainy nigh's?"
The door banged shut and Ron pulled off the Invisibility Cloak.
"We're in trouble now," Ron said hoarsely. "No Dumbledore! They might as well close the school tonight. There'll be an attack a day with him gone." Fang started howling, scratching at the closed door with the broken heart of a dog who didn't understand why their master would leave them behind.
The puzzle pieces started to click into place in James's mind as Ron and Harry held their own conference. Ron made a good amount of sense, really, in his own ignorant way. Why would Lucius put his own son, Draco, on the warpath and threaten his own power base when all he to do was set the stage for someone else? It was all too convenient that Lucius would make a power play like this now, in the eleventh hour, if the governor's were only now getting worried about Dumbledore's abilities as a leader. No, it was the Governor's who had instructed Dumbledore to stay quiet about the attacks, and the Governors were now diverting blame onto Dumbledore, whether to save their hides from the public or from Hagrid's allegations of Malfoy's threats. It was too perfect, too clean, too much of a setup. James's hypothesis started clicking in his head, making more and more connections as he went down the rabbit hole.
Draco had openly admitted to the entirety of the Slytherin Common Room that his father knew everything about the previous Chamber incident from fifty years ago. That meant he had to know, at the bare minimum, what was in there or how to get in. He was at the highest seat of power in the school, giving him unlimited access to both the school's facilities and its internal social-political workings, making him the perfect operative to assist from the sidelines. And who was the biggest threat to the Heir of Slytherin's stated goal?
Albus Dumbledore, the greatest wizard alive.
James was suspecting Lucius Malfoy had something to do with the Chamber, he was now damned certain. Sure, it read too much like a spy-thriller, power heist politico plot, but the evidence was there. The real question now was how did he do it? Was he helping them from the shadows? That would make the most sense, as it made him less liable to blowback if anything went wrong. Plausible deniability was tantamount to getting away with anything, as James well knew.
James rubbed his chin as he sat on an overturned barrel leaning against Hagrid's hut. He watched as dust from Ron and Harry's invisible footfalls lifted into the moonlit air as they trundled back to the castle, himself still deep in thought. What was it Hagrid said? Follow the spiders? James considered it. It didn't fit into anything else based on the evidence they found, except…
Brian mentioned seeing spiders fleeing the scene of Justin's attack. James narrowed his eyes and grinned. He was close to finding out what Travis and Hermione had figured out, he was sure of it. He would need to do research; he needed more time! He shook his head. No, there wasn't time left. He needed answers, he needed intelligence, and he needed it now, before the next attack happened Dumbledore's presence wasn't there to prevent the worst possible outcome.
He needed to channel his inner Hermione. He needed to go to the library.
…
The darkness of the library was cold and quiet as James slipped in. He had managed to avoid detection from four different prefect patrols and ten different professors to get here, so it had taken more time than usual. They weren't kidding around with the new heights of security, and he had to be extra cautious to avoid being seen, especially in his less-than-conspicuous getup.
After slipping the doors closed behind him as softly as possible, he beelined straight for the Magical Creatures section. He looked up at the shelves and shelves of books before him and blanched, as he realized he was not going to find the answer he was looking for as easily as he'd hoped. He walked up and pulled a book with a withered, faded spine that had its name rubbed off by the passage of time and the press of many a hand and flipped it open. The Life and Mating Habits of Grindylows. Nope. Another, with a cracked cover and moldy pages, How Mermaids Sing: an Adventure Into the Deep. Not it either…
He went through book after book looking for something, anything, even just a common encyclopedia or bestiary to no avail. Finally, after thirty minutes of looking, he slammed his fist onto the bottom shelf in annoyance when his hand hit not wood, but paper. He looked down and saw the holy grail. A book left wide open on the table with the page it was turned to ripped out. There was a page seventy-four and seventy-seven, but no seventy-five or six. James read the first passage at the top of page seventy-seven, and saw the name basilisk, just above an artistic rendering of a size comparison to the most common basilisk and an adult human man. The thing was massive, well over fifty feet in length and ten feet in diameter. Angry yellow eyes stared up at James from the page, as if the drawn creature were willing James to be frozen in time, to only become its next meal.
This was it, it had to be! Most of the important information on the beast had been ripped out of the tome already, but he wasn't worried. He had a full set of encyclopedias his mother had gotten for Christmas; he was sure he could make up for the lost intel. Snapping the Monsterium Beastiarium shut, he picked it up and held it vertically, watching it drift upwards as the auto-sorting enchantment on the bookshelves took hold of the book, but then, struck by realization, snagged it back down and tore through his pockets.
Finding what he was looking for, he pulled a crumpled, yellow piece of paper out and unfurled it. Bingo… page seventy-five and seventy-six. With a great deal of deference, he angled the sheaf to its torn book, matching the ripped edges to its left over counterpart just to make sure. Indeed it was from the very same book. He read the entire section thoroughly, ensuring to pay attention to every last detail describing the monster known as the basilisk so that it was burned into his memory. Once it was all finished, he tapped the book with his wand and whispered, "Reparo," making the page lose its crumpled wrinkles and rebind itself to its book.
James stared at the book as he put the various pieces together. The Chamber of Secrets had been opened by a Parseltongue, a direct descendant of Slytherin. That Parseltongue was capable of commanding a Basilisk, who had been hidden inside for over a thousand years. When it was freed and commanded to attack, it used massive plumbing system to navigate around the school to get to its victims. Why could Harry hear it, though? Was it talking to itself? Yeah, that could make sense. It spent so long alone in the Chamber it must have gone completely insane. That would explain its incompetence in its hunting, failing to kill or eat even a single one of its victims, who all managed to get away by not looking the thing directly in the eye. All that left was where the Chamber was, and who was actually opening it. He snapped the book closed again and held it up, letting the auto-sorting enchantment take it back to its rightful home.
This is the information Travis and Hermione risked life and limb for. This is what they were meant to tell him, to tell all of them. It was here, at this very spot, where they had shared their victory and put the pieces of the puzzle together. He was a bit jealous they figured it out before him, and he pondered on that irrational feeling for a moment to find out why. It didn't take long for him to realize he was jealous not because it hurt his pride, but because it hurt his sense of duty.
He had been so wrapped up in planning pranks, having fun, and playing quidditch that he unconsciously dehumanized the basilisk's victims so he could focus on his petty, childish desires. He grimaced as he came to that realization. If his mother was here to talk him through this, she'd tell him that it wasn't the job of a twelve-year-old to be thinking of duty or anything of the sort. He laughed a quiet, wry chuckle. She didn't get it.
James didn't like it, but it felt like Brian's Lady Fate had, for some cruel reason, chosen he and his twin for something other than a normal life. Dumbledore had proved he realized it, but his parents were still behind the take. This was the Twins' Potter's duty, their job, their destiny. They were to right the wrongs and fight the evil and save the day so normal kids their age could worry about hormones and puberty and test grades and the latest fashion trends. It was… it was their lot in life, wasn't it?
James turned and walked over to one of the tall, large paned windows that looked out across the Black Lake. Its placid waters rippled in the bright, silvery-gray-green moonlight. That was why he was jealous of Travis and Hermione. Hell, it wasn't even really jealousy, but self-hatred towards himself. He had disappointed himself for failing to do what he was supposed to do, leaving Travis and Hermione to go and do it for him. He was more worried about a stupid game he didn't even really like playing, while Travis, who held a real, true passion for it, abandoned it without a second thought to help Hermione find the answer that was under their nose all along. And he had taken that anger, that jealousy, out on Hagrid!
A feeling James had never felt before washed over him, leaving his heart heavy and his stomach sick, but hollow at the same time. What was this feeling? It was as awful as it was cruel, and it made him want to curl into a ball and cry himself to sleep in hopes of never feeling it again…
Was this… what regret felt like? True, unadulterated, raw, unfiltered shame?
James put a gloved hand to the window and sighed, wishing he could touch the moonlight and be purified of this awful sensation. He heaved a heavy sigh as tears pricked at the edge of his eyes.
He never wanted to feel like this ever again.