'Welcome, boys and girls, to your fifth year of magical education. The year most commonly referred to as the year from hell. Your OWL year.'

Professor Plye strode back and forth at the head of the classroom, his hands clasped firmly behind his back. There was complete silence among the Gryffindors who were looking on – those brave enough to try for a Transfiguration OWL. Rumoured to be the hardest of all to achieve under Professor Plye. To James' left, Clip was furiously taking notes, and had filled half a page of his notebook already.

'This year, you will bear witness to magic such as you have never seen it before. To spells, and combinations of spells that your juvenile minds would have thought impossible before today. You will be exposed to the complexity of magic on a hitherto unprecedented level. There will be sweat. There will be tears. For some of you, there will no doubt be blood. But what there will most certainly not be, is a wasting of my time. I give you this one opportunity now to excuse yourself from my class and reconsider, should you find yourselves having a change of heart.'

Nobody moved, though Clip was looking a little green. James and Fred shared a subtle what-have-we-gotten-ourselves-into glance. But credit to the stoutness of heart of the Gryffindors, not a one broke beneath Professor Plye's beady-eyed scrutiny that day.

'Very well, then. Witness.'

And with no further ado, Professor Plye produced his wand from a holster upon his hip. He gave a complex series of waves, his wrist moving lightning-quick. The top of his desk became bathed in a silver-blue glow, subtle enough that it all but disappeared beneath direct scrutiny. And without pause, he transitioned to a wiggly sort of slashing motion, and the tabletop rippled, life a lake surface stirred by a breeze. A flourishing twirl – seamlessly built in to the previous motion – and the wood itself lifted up, flowing like water, and formed into a perfect replica of Hogwarts castle. One final jab and it froze in place, solidifying with a soft, glassy sheen. The grain of the wood was left warped and distorted, but there was no denying that the replica model had been cast from the very flesh of the table itself.

Leah Ridley and Rosalie Gardner gasped and clapped dramatically. James couldn't help his raised eyebrows from showing off how impressed he was.

'I'm doomed,' Clip groaned, slinking down low in his chair.

'Such delicacy will be asked – nay, required – of you all come your OWL examinations. It is my task – and a significant one, at that – to prepare you all to face the challenge, and grasp the delicate and yet bold art of Sequencing your Transfigurations. Now, are there any questions?'

There were about a dozen, the answers to which only left James feeling more and more out of his depth for their impending OWLs. He wished someone would have had the decency to warn them.

Defence Against the Dark Arts was little better. At least there, James had the dual benefits of liking the professor, and being reasonably competent at the subject matter.

Or so he thought. The evil little smile that Zoe Meadows was wearing as the class filed in ought to have been warning that they were in for more of the same misery.

'Good mo-orning class,' Professor Meadows sing-songed menacingly.

'Good morning, Professor,' came thirty-odd suddenly hesitant replies.

Professor Meadows gave a girlish giggle. 'Oh, I can practically smell your fear! This year is going to be just excellent. Well, for one of us.'

It seemed to James that she was looking directly at him as she bared her teeth in a smile that could only be described as "predatory".

'I've got a bad feeling about this,' Clip whispered unnecessarily.

'Mister Wallace, something to share? Why don't you come join me at the front of the class?'

'Oh dear, I think a bit of wee just came out.' Clip began the death-march to the front of the room, to a relatively cleared spot next to the Professor's desk. It was where she would direct students that she was about to demonstrate spells on. It was usually a particularly uncomfortable Hex or Jinx, and the class had taken to calling it "Death Row".

'Now, Mister Wallace. Could you stun me?'

Credit to him, there was still a little Gryffindor left in Clip's tongue-in-cheek answer. 'Probably not.'

'Oh, yes, very witty.' Professor Meadows put her hands on hips, and turned to face him, wincing slightly as her weight settled on her wooden leg. 'Just for that, I'm not going to hold back. Now, try and stun me.'

Clip adjusted himself so he stood over a slightly less painful-looking stretch of flagstone floor and raised his wand with an exaggerated sigh of resignation. 'Stupe-'

Before he could even finish, a great many things happened at once. None of which were particularly beneficial for Clip's well-being. Zoe Meadows gave a flick of her wrist, and a wand appeared there – one that hadn't been there a heartbeat ago. She gave it a twirl, then pushed at Clip with both hands. This summoned a blossoming silvery shield that flew in Clip's direction upon her command like a giant, glistening bubble. She finished the motion by snapping her arms back in tight to her chest just as the bubble hit Clip with a deep, gong-like toll. Her free hand opened and caught Clip's wand as it spun end-over-end into her waiting grip. Sadly, nobody caught Clip as his dazed form fell backwards and landed hard on his bottom on the tiles, a painful wince evident on his face.

There was a little nervous laughter scattered about the room, but even the Gryffindors weren't brave enough to do anything too drastic and draw attention to themselves. That had been a clinical and, frankly, rather scary, display of magic from their professor, performed in a little more than the blink of an eye.

'Now, can anybody tell me which three spells I used to incapacitate young Mister Wallace?' Professor Meadows limped over to where Clip was still sat, rubbing his buttocks, and dragged him to his feet. 'Good manners would have earned you a cushioning charm,' she whispered, just loud enough for the class to hear.

In response to her question, James raised his hand. 'That was a Shield Charm – Protego – I recognised the sheen. And then, somehow an Expelliarmus was part of it – did that give it the bluish colour?'

'Well, would you look at that. Perhaps your head isn't filled up with broomstick twigs and flobberworms after all, Potter. Can you guess at how I projected it at Mister Wallace?'

James just shook his head. 'You asked it nicely?'

'Ugh, Well, five points to Gryffindor for your answer. And I'm docking five points for then being decidedly unfunny.'

Wisely, this time, James said nothing.

'The answer, is a spell with the incantation Depulsum. A variant on the banishing charm Depulso, it is used for non-physical subjects – magic, mostly. Useful for throwing shields, moving wards, setting traps. But if cast wrongly, it will unravel your spell and give you a rather nice little explosion for your efforts. Mister Wallace, you may sit back down.'

Clip ambled back to his seat next to James, where he slunk down sheepishly and immediately started furiously scribbling in his notebook.

'James was partly right – I combined multiple spells in quick succession to bring about the demise of Mister Wallace. A Protego shield was interwoven with an Expelliarmus variant and thrown using Depulsum so that when the shield collided with him, not only would it reflect his own spell – had he managed to cast one – it would disarm him and explode on contact, momentarily disorienting him and putting him on his arse on the flagstones. This interweaving of spells is a concept I believe Professor Plye has already addressed, and it is exceptionally relevant within Defence as well. Not just with our own Jinxes and Hexes, but with other disciplines: particularly Charms and Transfigurations. The skilled duellist and most able fighter will be able to seamlessly link spells of all disciplines into his or her repertoire, so that they aren't left simply flinging jets of light at one another like a bunch of angry first-years.'

This, James realised, had been what he'd seen at the Ministry, when his parents had stepped in to rescue them. A true mastery of magic, of multiple disciplines wielded together. The schools didn't exist in isolation, they were an interwoven and many-layered thing, and the bringing together of all of it was where the true power lay. Command of the very environment in which one existed. He shuddered as he recalled Uncle Ron bringing the stone floor to life, and encasing a Steelheart in a coffin of spikes. The blood that had seeped through the cracks had been testament to its efficacy.

This, then, was to be their goal. To master magic in its truest form. An appreciation that it was an organism of many parts, and to approach it as such, rather than scrabbling about the feet of each discipline like children playing in puddles, when the entirety of the ocean beckoned. James took up his quill as Professor Meadows outlined their curriculum for the year. This was something he looked forward to mastering.

But no amount of enthusiasm could properly curb the oppressive workload and daunting learning curve that had been laid out for them in their coming OWL year. The group flopped down into a table in a far corner of the library later that same night, coerced into at least the appearance of study by a particularly zealous Cassie, who started by handing them all neatly-ordered work planners.

Rain had had the foresight to head to bed early, claiming lingering headaches from the previous night's Sorting Hat incident. Tristan had been called away on some Prefect-ly duties of indeterminate nature.

'James, you'll have Transfiguration and Defence on Monday evenings, and then Runes and Herbology on Tuesdays… Fred, you're opposite so that you don't distract one another-'

'Hey!'

'-and Clip, I thought you and I, we could, er… spend Wednesdays going over Charms. Together. That's if you'd like.'

'Forget it, Cassie. I give up.'

From Clip – who'd spent the last half year so hung up on Cassie that even had she farted he'd still proclaim it smelled of roses – this was tantamount to a slap in the face. Cassie's expression certainly spoke to the fact that she regarded it as such. She was momentarily rendered speechless, and left gaping like a lost goldfish.

'Talk to us, Clip. What's the matter?' James slid across the table and interjected before any harsh words were exchanged, or anybody got slapped with a certain Dragon book. He slid in to the chair next to Clip and gestured for Cassie to take his previous spot.

'I'm going to fail,' Clip grumbled. 'There's no way I can do any of what the professors showed us today. I'm doomed. I'm going to get kicked out and have to go back to being a Muggle.'

'Nonsense,' James scoffed. 'Mate, you're one of the smartest blokes I know.'

'One of? Don't you mean the smartest? Heh. But seriously, it won't do me any good because I can't turn it into actual magic. I just- it doesn't work for me.'

'Mate, you practically know the entire year's coursework before we even start it,' Fred added. 'Cassie is probably the only person in the whole school who has read more books than you.'

Clip gave a bitter laugh. 'If only it were as simple as that. The one who reads the most books is the strongest wizard. It sounds childish even to say it aloud.'

'How does it work?' Fred asked. 'I've always just figured you're either magic or you're not.'

'It's something to do with magical cores, is it not?' Cassie probed. 'I must admit, the topic seemed entirely esoteric and it's not something I've looked into.'

'I don't think that's quite the right word for it,' James added, dredging gup what little information he had on the subject from past conversations. 'It's something to do with how susceptible we are to the Magical Flux.'

'Your Resonance,' Cat chimed in. Her tone was grave and expression serious, though it was somewhat ruined by the fact that she was sucking on the end of a sugar quill that Fred had secretly charmed to turn her lips and tongue purple. 'The Magical Flux is everywhere. It's everything. It's in the air we breathe, the water we drink, everything we see or do. But its distribution isn't ordered or regular. Living things, for example, are nuclei for the Flux – the greatest single concentration in any one place is within a living being – be they magical or Muggle. Plants, animals, everything. Mummy learned this from her studies. The difference between magical animals and regular animals is that, for the magical ones, the Flux is within them, as if a seed that they grew outwards from, but for a regular animal it simply covers them, like a fine coat of dust.'

'Is it the same, then, for humans?' Cassie asked. 'Is that why Muggles can't channel magic, but we can?'

'Mummy thinks it's different. 'She thinks all humans are the same. That everybody possesses the same affinity, the same Resonance with the Magical Flux. But in Muggles, they are unawares of it. It is entirely hidden from them. In Witches and Wizards, it is again, different for every single person. One's Resonance, or their ability to focus the Flux – essentially the power they have over it, and the strength of their magic – is as varied as a fingerprint, or the bond with your wand. For some it is strong, and for others, it is quite weak. For Squibs, it is almost non-existent. They can sense the magic, they know it is there, but any attempt to grasp it ultimately fails.

'This has been known about in some form for generations. Early Wizards thought that the proliferation of a line of strong magical power was done by breeding with a powerful Witch. That the passing on of a strong Magical Resonance was a genetic thing – thus began the earliest iterations of Blood Purity, the Sacred Families, and the Old Blood. This has been easily disproven, as some of the most powerful wizards – Dumbledore and Voldemort, for example, were not of particularly pure blood. Other theories exist; that it reflects strength of character, or a reflection of one's soul, or it takes a commingling of magical and muggle blood to bring out the strength, but none have been proven conclusively. I think at the end of the day, though, nobody really knows why, other than the fact that we weren't all created equal.'

The whole group was regarding Cat with impressed looks – none more so than Cassie, who had actually been taking notes.

'So, what I'm getting from this, is that I'm basically half-Squib and there's nothing I can do about it. Great.' Clip flopped forwards onto the desk with his head in his hands.

'No, silly,' Cat said brightly, flashing the top of Clip's head a purple-lipped smile. 'It means that you are very wonderful at very many things, and you should focus on them, rather than worrying about trying to change the things that you have no control over. It will make you much happier, overall.'

Clip actually looked up and met Cat's eye. 'Thanks, Cat. That was weirdly wise. And helpful, in a roundabout sort of way. I appreciate it.'

Cat beamed, giving everyone a good look at her purple-stained teeth. Fred was looking supremely pleased with himself.

'It still doesn't solve the problem of passing my OWLs, though,' Clip added. 'I can't feel-good my way through that.'

'Well we will help you, of course,' Cassie offered. She leaned over the table and took Clip's hand – an act that almost made the poor boy swallow his tongue. 'We don't have to be limited to only Wednesdays. We could do Fridays, and Saturday evenings, too.'

Clip flashed a wobbly smile. 'Thanks Cassie. And don't get me wrong, you are absolutely wonderful. But, erm… teaching really isn't your strong suit.'

Cassie snatched her hand back quicker than a flask. 'Not what?!'

'And didn't you lose to a second year in a duel last year?'

'He- he caught be by surprise. And- and that's not the point! I-'

'We'll all teach you, Clip,' James cut in before heads exploded or books were thrown. 'We'll all be studying it anyway, so we'll just find a quiet room and bring some books up and do a little extra practice with you while we study.'

'Excuse me,' Cassie said, clearly not done. 'We're going to be practicing magic in the same room as all these books?'

'Well, that was sort of the plan…'

'Unbelievable! I'll countenance no such thing.'

'We do it in class all the time.'

'A controlled environment-!'

'Well, why don't you come along to supervise them?' Cat asked diplomatically. 'To make sure nobody harms the books.'

Cassie shot the group at large a baleful glare. Clip, for the first time all day, was actually smiling. 'Fine then. I suppose I will allow it.'

James smiled. A sentiment that was reflected back at him across all of those gathered. Maybe, just maybe, there was a little hope for them yet.

But it wasn't to be found in any of their lessons over the next few days, as Herbology, Runes and Charms all piled on to make James' life increasingly miserable and his sleep increasingly precious and treasured. So exhausted was he, that by Thursday morning, he exited the Gryffindor common room out the portrait hole and just about walked smack into Odette without realising who it was.

'Mmm, sorry,' he mumbled, shuffling around her towards the staircase.

'James Sirius Potter is that how you are going to greet me?'

'Wha- Oh.'

In comparison to James' befuddled, sleep-tousled state, Odette looked as if she'd just finished preparing for some kind of pageant. She'd used some kind of spell to perfectly straighten her hair, and it fell delicately about her shoulders in an immaculate curtain of familiar, ashen blonde. Her eyes glowed beneath perfectly-plucked brows, there was not a blemish on her skin, and even her uniform was immaculately pressed and primped, albeit with a skirt far shorter than James was sure Renshaw would deem as regulation.

'James, just what have you been doing all morning? I've been standing here waiting for you for an age.'

'Sleeping,' James mumbled his grouchy reply. The nerve of her, to show up looking so damned perfect at this unholy hour.

'The sun's been up for well over an hour.'

'I know. I've been trying to avoid it.'

'You know how unbecoming I find sulking.'

James sighed, and made a visible effort to at least straighten his tie and stifle the jaw-cracking yawn that battled to overwhelm him. 'Alright, I'm awake. You're looking annoyingly gorgeous this morning. I can only assume you've marched all the way up here to tell me I've done something wrong.'

She cuffed him over the head. 'Well, you have now. That's the last time I'm going to any effort to visit you.'

Her huffiness was working in dragging James out of his foggy stupor. 'Alright, I'm sorry. It's just- fifth year is a nightmare. There's so much work, and we've already got homework enough for an entire term last year, and it's only the first week. I've hardly slept, I go to bed seeing notes and I swear I've started sleep-talking incantations. I'm worried my wand is going to go off on its own, it's gotten so bad!'

Odette sauntered closer, pinning James up against the balustrade on the seventh-floor landing. Her eyes suddenly danced with a pale light, and a playful smile tugged the corner of her lips. 'Well now, I'd hate to think of your wand going off all on its own with you alone up in this cold, dark tower. And me so very far away…'

James smirked, and leaned in to her embrace. 'Do you ever think about anything else?'

'You abandoned me for half of the holidays, James Potter, after building me up so mercilessly. Just think of all that… pressure that still needs a release.'

James didn't have to think for long. 'I make it twenty minutes until we need to show up for our first classes.'

'Judging on past performance, that should be ample time.'

James was cut short from what he told himself was about to be a brilliantly witty comeback by the portrait swinging open and a gaggle of Gryffindor first-years shuffling out. They were wide-eyed and skittish and clustered in a tight little group. They looked small and timid and – James thought a little cruelly – not particularly Gryffindor-looking. Add to that a great deal of surprise at stumbling over himself and Odette locked in an amorous embrace right outside their common room. James removed his hand as stealthily as possible from Odette's skirt.

'Good morning,' he said, a little too brightly.

The group just stared back up at him, blinking owlishly.

'After you,' Odette offered, favouring the one in the front with a sickly-sweet smile.

They shuffled around a little bit, but none moved forwards. A few were eyeing the stairs as if they had suddenly grown scales and started breathing fire. He saw that there was a missing step that flashed in and out of existence, seemingly at random. Of course, it was the first Thursday of a month containing the letter "E". Missing stair day.

'It's easy to avoid,' James told them kindly, stepping forward and squatting down next to the one at the head of the group. She was a tall girl with a severe blonde ponytail and skin so fair she almost looked ethereal. She took a hesitant step backwards at his sudden proximity.

'W-what if we fall?' she stammered. 'It looks far.'

'You won't fall. I'll tell you the secret trick, okay? What's your name?'

'S-Safia.'

'Well, Safia, watch the disappearing step with me closely.' James leaned in and pointed to where the lowermost step suddenly blinked out of existence. Then, without warning, it returned, and another disappeared in its stead. 'It follows a pattern. The disappearing stair, in order, will be one, four, seven, three, nine, four, twelve. Can you remember that?'

Safia repeated the numbers back to him. 'The human mind is capable of comfortably memorising a series of seven digits without assistance.'

'That's a… fun little fact, Safia.'

'Not really, but it's relevant.'

James' eyebrows rose. Safia turned back to her little group and they huddled together, discussing quietly and fervently. Presently, she turned back to him and visibly steeled herself, with hands on hips.

'We've calculated that if we leave after the first disappearance of the fourth step, then we can run down without hitting any missing steps in our path.'

Turning to look back at the weedy little group behind Safia, all glasses and books and oversized satchels, James didn't doubt that they had.

'Watch this,' she said firmly, and then bolted. She hurtled down the steps, and James looked on, impressed, as she missed not a one. It was just as she had said.

From then, each time the fourth step vanished, another member of the group stepped up, introduced themselves to James, and then bolted down the stairs. He watched with growing amusement as young Dennis, and Lawrence, and Elena, and Clara, and even a little Harry sprinted down flat-tack in succession, only to gather in a milling group upon the landing below.

When they had all safely navigated the dangers of the missing stair, Safia turned and waved back up to James. 'Thank you for saving us, Sir!'

'No worries – and it's James,' he replied.

'Thank you, Sir James!'

James waved them farewell, bemused by what appeared to have been a bunch of miniature Ravenclaws in Gryffindor ties. Just how had they been Sorted, exactly?

'I don't know what it is about watching you deal with children, James Potter, but I'm a soft kiss away from tearing the shirt off your back right here and now.'

James' smile returned. He found himself enjoying this game. 'We've only ten minutes left. Come, I'll walk you to class.'

She stamped her foot petulantly. 'And now how am I to concentrate with my heart a-flutter and my mind running wild?'

'I'm sure you'll find a way.'

They set out down the stairs together, with Odette in an overplayed sullen mood. She periodically pointed out abandoned classrooms and disused broom closets as they descended, but James paid her no heed.

'So your friend is back,' she eventually ventured, somewhere around the fourth floor landing. James didn't need to ask which friend she was referencing.

'She is. Thank you again for what you did last year. I don't know if we'd have made it out without you. Holly can be…'

'A bitch?'

'Difficult, is how I was going to put it.'

Odette clasped his hand suddenly, and paused in her descent, bringing them to a stop in the middle of the staircase. A low, grinding noise sounded and they began to shift directions to a corridor James knew to be a dead end, but she ignored it, her eyes fixed firmly on his own.

'You won't make me regret it, will you James?' her voice was soft, hesitant and lacked any of her usual confident bluster. Had James not known her any better, he would have said she sounded scared.

'Rain is my friend, and I mean it when I say I'll do anything to help her get her life back. But the part of my life that you occupy, Odette, is entirely your own. Nobody comes close.'

'I won't be second, James. Not for anyone. I won't have you make a fool of me.'

'I wouldn't dare.'

'See that you don't.' And with that not so subtle warning hanging in the air between them, Odette left James with a chaste little kiss on the cheek and fled down the dead-end corridor to her classroom, leaving James waiting for the staircase to right itself, pondering all the while just what sort of juggling act he was going to have to maintain to keep his promises to everyone.