A notice went up on the noticeboards outside the Great Hall on the first Saturday of term that made James' heart sink.

Quidditch Captains please schedule tryouts for no later than the following Sunday, and provide team lists to your head of house by Monday afternoon.

In all the maelstrom of their hectic first week, the prospect of Quidditch had actually slipped from his mind – something that he never thought would happen. But he'd not heard a word from Professor Longbottom, or anybody on Quidditch. The cold, sinking sensation in his gut made him aware of just how much he'd been holding out for a Captain's badge this year.

He wondered briefly if he'd even be allowed on the team – his lifetime ban handed down from Calantha Merriweather had never been formally rescinded, after all.

Though bright sun streamed in through the open doors, and the Enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall revealed not a cloud in the sky, James' own mood was gloomy and depressing. He pushed a bit of bacon around his plate with a fork, his appetite abandoning him, and he hardly even stirred when Fred announced he was going to take advantage of the weather and get in a few hours of practice.

The others similarly came and went, none eager to spend too long under the clouds of James' temperament. Cat invited him down to the fringes of the Forbidden Forest to hunt for mushrooms, Clip and Cassie were already neck-deep in books. James took some small amusement, at least, from the way they had perfected the ability of bickering like an old married couple despite their not actually being together. His own theory was that they were both just too scared to ask.

This left him alone with his thoughts, as the Great Hall slowly cleared out around him. The sun climbed steadily higher, the plates up and down the table began to vanish as students abandoned them, and soon, some time around mid-morning, James found himself the only one in the hall.

Or so he'd thought.

'Hello James Potter!'

'Argh- Merlin, Rain! You scared the life out of me. How did you do that, I thought nobody else was in here?'

Rain plopped down onto the bench seat opposite, an annoyingly bright smile on her face. 'Miss Renshaw says that sometimes it is best to see but not be seen. I was practicing.'

'Lovely.'

'And besides, you haven't looked up in about ten minutes. Is your bacon really that interesting?'

'Not particularly.'

He caught a glimmer in her eye about a half-second before her hand darted out and snatched it off of his place. She popped it whole into her mouth with a playful wink that soon turned into a frown.

'Ew, it's cold.'

'It's been sitting there a while.'

'You are very mopey today.'

James looked up from his plate and across the table. Her hair shone red in the morning light that streamed in through the window and bathed them from the ceiling above. It was held back from her face with a blue silk ribbon that matched the flowers on her dress. Her fingers were tapping rapidly on the tabletop. James could hear the steady tap-tap-tap of her feet on the floor under the table. She was all but bouncing up and down with excitement.

'And you are decidedly… bubbly.'

This was a Rain that James was unaccustomed to. So openly wearing her emotions. So lively and energetic. It both reminded him of what they had lost and so made him sad, but also simultaneously gave him joy to see her happier. Her life simpler now.

'What is making you sad?'

'I think that my ban from last year means I'm still kicked off the Quidditch team.'

A flicker of uncertainty skittered across Rain's features. 'D-did I get you kicked off?'

'No, Rain, you weren't here, remember?'

'Oh. Right. Sorry, I forget.' It was her turn to look a little sad.

'Quidditch trials are due to start this week, and I haven't heard a thing about the team. And I'm one of the longest-standing members on it.'

'I know Quidditch,' Rain said. 'Renshaw told me.' And she spun sideways to straddle her seat, ducking and weaving as if she were riding a broom. She mimed scoring a goal, cheering, and then something that looked like a mid-air fistfight.

'That pretty much sums it up,' James said with a wry smile.

Suddenly, Rain sprung up to her feet. She splayed her hands on the table and leaned in to face James. He made to flinch backwards, but the wave of nausea he expected never came. That, at least, would take some getting used to.

'Come,' Rain commanded. And there was a hint of previous imperiousness in it, just a shadow of the regal regard of the old Rain that still lingered.

'You don't want to hang out with me, I'm too depressed. Go find someone to be happy with.'

Confusion marred her smile. 'We are friends, yes? You are sad, and I am happy. I will help you. I have forgotten many things, James, but this I remember. Friends help. Friends share. Friends sacrifice.'

James gave a heavy sigh. He couldn't very well argue with his own words. He stood up, and allowed Rain to lead the way. She happily did so, skipping out of the Great Hall and down the steps the courtyard outside. They turned off the path that led down towards the castle grounds and instead headed over to the greenhouses.

A thought flittered through his mind – a recollection of his earlier conversation with Odette. Would she consider this private audience a betrayal of her trust? There was nothing in it, obviously, but when had James ever been able to get that message through to her? He shrugged it off – she'd said she was to spend the day down on the pitch, working through practice drills with some of the Slytherin team hopefuls. Many of their older players had left, and so she was faced with recruiting new and inexperienced members to fill the gaps left behind.

'What are you thinking of?' Rain asked, frowning quizzically at James' distant expression.

They were walking a narrow path between two of the greenhouses. Gravel crunched beneath their feet. The sun shone brightly off the panes of glass to either side, and the rich, earthy smell of the Greenhouses wafted out through the opened windows along with drooping, verdant foliage that occasionally would shiver and retract as they passed.

'Nothing,' James lied. Then, after he became uncomfortable in the silence that followed, 'So, tell me about your summer. You mentioned Renshaw helped you recall some memories. How… how much did you lose?'

Now it was Rain's turn for quiet introspection. The light in her eyes sputtered as her gaze retreated inward. She looked down at her feet, and started plucking at an invisible thread on her dress.

'I lost everything, James,' she whispered. 'Every single memory that I had. Everything that made me who I was… gone. I know that that is terrible, but I also cannot know just what it is that I have lost. I am sad for something I do not know, nor understand. But when I see you all… my friends… it must have been a happy time, and I grieve that I cannot recall what we shared. Were we… happy, James?'

James took along time to answer, prefacing his response with a long, slow exhale. He ran a hand through his hair. How to answer such a vast, all-consuming question?

'We were… unstoppable.'

She seemed content with James' answer, and favoured him with a wistful smile. 'I learned something, throughout all of this. I learned that people are made up of accretions of thousands upon thousands of memories, experiences, sensations and feelings. That is what we are. Perhaps it is what they call our soul. It is certainly our individuality. Like a tapestry, where every thread adds colour and life to the image – one that will only be completed at the end of our lifetimes. That is what makes us who we are.

'But for me… all that is gone. Stolen away, the tapestry torn from the wall, so that all that was left was the ugly stone of the wall that held it, and no needle and thread will ever leave a mark there.'

James had stopped walking as Rain spoke, and could only stare back at her, perhaps only now was he beginning to appreciate the enormity of her loss.

'Some things returned easily. Things of intuition. I can speak and walk. I know a flower from the river from the sky. I did not return as a babbling child. But anything that made me who I was… I fear it is forever gone.'

Appalled though he was, James forced himself to scramble for something encouraging to say.

'Maybe the tapestry is gone, but we'll see if we can't still paint a pretty picture on your stretch of wall.' He felt foolish even as he spoke the words, but the bright smile that illuminated Rain's face was sufficient reward.

'Thank-you James. That I am constantly in awe of the gift of your friendship leads me to believe that true friendship is not a thing I knew in my past life.'

James didn't know what to say to that. He hid the flicker of hurt that threatened to mar his features by turning to study a drooping plant that cascaded from a nearby open window. He took the rough foliage between his fingers, and they came free with a coating of fine, powdery substance. Greenthumb's Glitter, it was called. Useful as a remedy for sore throats, Professor Longbottom would tell them.

He continued walking, Rain falling in step beside him.

'So, there is nothing, then, that you recall from before?'

'I dream sometimes… that I'm a different girl. In a different… life? But here, this place, it is familiar to me. Hogwarts.'

'Memories from before you were taken, then? From our first years?'

'No. They are different. It feels… older. In all of them, when I come across a mirror, I see that I am faceless. And that always I am wearing yellow.'

'You were in Hufflepuff?' James didn't know why he said it, let alone with such sudden conviction. Something she'd said had stirred the dust that covered a memory somewhere, something he'd seen but was now buried. He reached out towards it, but could come up with nothing further.

'Perhaps, but I cannot be certain. These memories, they are plagued by feelings of deep loneliness. That much, I do recall.'

'Well, you've got us, now. There's no need for that.'

'Friends,' Rain agreed, nodding as if there was a great import to the word.

Their meandering path took them around to an area out the back of the greenhouses. Here, the small, paved square was bounded on one side by a sandstone wall, blocking out much of the sunlight. Unused pots and trays were stacked up against it, and great hessian sacks of earth gave off a rich, humus scent beneath the heat. A blackbird eyed them from above, tilting its head curiously as they intruded upon its solitude.

A sudden uncomfortable feeling stole over James as he realised that this was the spot behind the greenhouses where the older students came to… well, at least there hadn't been a rake across the path. That was the secret signal of the spot's occupancy. Allegedly. Odette would certainly not approve of their choice of environs for their morning stroll.

James jumped as hurried footfalls sounded on the gravel path they had just finished traversing. The little bird took flight with a startled shriek, and the pair turned to see an out-of-breath little Gryffindor first-year scramble around the corner. Momentary relief flashed upon his ruddy face before he doubled over hands on knees and started sucking in great lungfuls of air.

'Hello Lawrence,' James said, recognising his tousled, sandy hair and slightly buck teeth from their meeting on the seventh-floor stairwell earlier in the week.

'Hello… Sir James…' Lawrence panted, still catching his breath. 'Been trying… to find you…'

'You look exhausted!' Rain exclaimed, rushing towards him, her face a mask of concern. 'Would you like a seat?'

Lawrence's face went slack as Rain dragged over an upturned planting pot for a seat. 'You're pretty,' he gawked. He then turned to James. 'Is she your girlfriend?'

'No!' James hastened to say. At the same time that Rain cheerily exclaimed, 'Yes!'

James shot a horrified look at Rain. Rain spun to him, crushing hurt evident upon her face. For his part, Lawrence was looking as if the pair of them had suddenly morphed into a couple of hungry Lethifolds.

'B-but you said-' Rain began.

'I'm sorry!' squeaked Lawrence.

'It's not like that!' James tried to assure Lawrence.

Rain turned to leave.

'Rain wait!'

'Renshaw wants to see you both in her office now bye!' And with that, Lawrence was gone, fleeing off up the path.

James had to lunge and grab Rain's wrist to stop her from following. There were tears in her eyes. 'I thought… friends,' she whispered.

'We are,' James assured her. 'But girlfriend means something different.'

'Why? I am a girl. And a friend. Why is this thing different?'

And so James spent the entirety of their trip up to Renshaw's office trying to explain to Rain how girlfriends and boyfriends worked. He was shocked that Rain's missing memories ran this deep. His floundering explanations left her suitably wide-eyed and furiously blushing by the time they pushed open the door to Renshaw's office to see both her and Professor Longbottom awaiting them.

'Good morning Mister Potter,' Renshaw spoke seriously. 'Miss Rain – are you well?'

'Y-yes, Miss Renshaw. James was just telling me about girlfriends and boyfriends.'

James nearly swallowed his tongue.

'Mister Potter, this is most inappropriate. Miss Rain has been through-'

'It's not like that, headmistress!'

'It's okay, Miss Renshaw, we were just down behind the greenhouses-'

This time, it was Professor Longbottom's turn to start choking. 'James! How could you-'

'We weren't-'

'Mister Potter, are you not currently involved with Miss Mansfield?'

'Ooh, James you have another girlfriend?'

'Rain, you're not- Professors, please. Why did you want to see us?'

There was the faintest twinkle of mirth in Professor Longbottom's eyes that said he was enjoying this far too much. But he remained silent as the headmistress straightened in her chair and beckoned the pair closer.

'The two of you are familiar with what happened to the Sorting Hat, at the Opening Feast, I presume?'

James instantly went on the defensive. 'I swear, Headmistress, it wasn't me. I put a little bit of Sneezing Powder on the Hufflepuff's cutlery, and sure, maybe Fred and I had some involvement in the seal that got loose in the Slytherin common room last night, but I swear I never-'

'Silence, Mister Potter. I did not drag you up here to accuse you of the act.'

'Oh. Oh.' It dawned on James then, just what the calling of the two of them together might mean.

'From the tone of your voice, you have an inkling of just why I have called you here. Come closer, and have a look at this, if you will. Tell me if it looks familiar.'

James and Rain approached Renshaw's desk. Professor Longbottom took a step nearer, so that he was peering over shoulder. She produced from a locked draw a small, open-topped wooden box, which she levitated up and on to the table. James craned his neck to see what was inside.

The walls were coated in a patina of ashy dust. The neat grains of the wood were coated in sooty, grey smears. Tiny clusters of it, like dead snowflakes clung to the sides and gathered in little clumps across the bottom of the container, which seemed oddly uneven to James' eyes. It gave off a sharp, acrid smell that stung James' nose, and caught in the back of his throat.

Ah, this is true death.

James leapt at the suddenness and the needle-sharp clarity with which the voice sounded in his head. He glanced around to see if any of the others had heard it.

'Frightening, isn't it?' Renshaw nodded, clearly taking his shock as a visceral reaction to what she had shown them. For his part, James patted his pocket, where his wand was stowed securely away. To his touch, it felt… eager.

With a gesture of her wrist, the dust in the bottom of the box stirred aside, picked up on a miniature breeze and blown away to reveal the reason for the uneven base: a thick coating of some dark, purple-black ichor that painted the bottom of the wood like a stain on life itself.

'Does this look familiar to either of you?' Renshaw asked. There was a poised, coiled curiosity in her voice. An anxiousness awaiting their answers.

Rain shook her head vigorously, her short hair whipping back and forth. 'It looks… vile.'

'Indeed. Mister Potter?'

'This is what was damaging the Heart. It was what was left at the Flamel's tomb.'

A raised brow was all Renshaw gave him as a look of surprise. Suddenly, James felt as if he'd said too much, revealing his presence at the Flamel's tomb. But Renshaw moved onward with the conversation.

'This is now what is left of our dear Sorting Hat, I am afraid.'

James nodded. He'd gathered as much. Rain clapped hands to her mouth, shocked. 'Oh, no! He was so friendly.'

'You spoke with him?' This from Renshaw. It came out sharper, James was sure, than she intended.

'Y-yes. The castle is so boring. And the portraits just say the same thing over and over. The Hat was interesting, and he was so lovely.'

Renshaw looked as if she wanted to pursue this line of conversation, but Professor Longbottom subtly cleared his throat behind her. Briefly, James wondered at Rain living in the castle with Renshaw over the summer – did Renshaw not have a home of her own to go to, or – after her incarceration the year prior, did she not feel safe in returning to it?

'Very well. So, we have a common link between these attacks-'

'The Desecrator,' James spoke out of turn, letting his thoughts run wild for a moment. All eyes turned to him. Renshaw was nodding slowly, gravely.

'The mark of the Desecrator. That which he, or she, or whatever monster that is doing this, leaves behind. An attack of which we haven't seen the like in over a year of relative peace. And now, it returns, within our very halls.'

True death.

There it was again. This time, less of the actual words, more of a sense, a series of emotions and feelings that conveyed the message. It left James chilled, and wiping his clammy palms nervously on his trousers.

'There is another link, as well. The original sacking of the Flamel's tomb four years ago generated three suspects – all of whom were found to have had their memories removed, and replaced with fake ones. Ones so real that they would have gone to the grave swearing that they did it. Not even Veritaserum would have saved them. But that is not what is of interest. It is the clinical precision of the removal which is of note. There was not a hint of what was left. Our best magical Cerebral Architects could not rebuild what had been lost-'

'Oh.'

Rain's exclamation was soft and sad, but the agony in it was enough to derail Renshaw's monologue. A flicker of irritation crossed her features, followed by confusion, and then, for the briefest of moments, something that might be akin to empathy. As good a proof as any that there was no hope for Rain in getting her memories back. Delivered with the cold, indifferent precision of someone acutely unaware of the loss. James reached out to take her hand beneath the table, and gave it a reassuring squeeze. The tears welling in the corner of Rain's eyes made a fire stir in his chest. Not for the first time, he swore vengeance on the Desecrator, for what he'd taken from them.

'As Miss Rain as surmised – this is eerily similar to what has befallen her. A further link between the two. When one adds in the fact that this destruction, this desolation and desecration is similar to what has been seen at magical sites across Britain and Europe, one cannot help but infer that the Desecrator is back, and active once more. And that they are closer to striking our heart than ever.'

Rain gasped. James ground his teeth fiercely.

'This destruction – including that which has befallen our dear sorting hat – is something so utterly complete that it is nigh on unprecedented in its severity. It is not a simple physical destruction, no, it goes far beyond that. This is a removal – a complete purging – of these objects from magical existence, as well as physical. A scrubbing of their presence from the Magical Flux, an unpicking of the unseen threads that is their magical fingerprint. It is an… an unmaking like nothing I have ever seen before.'

The wrongness, James surmised, that uneasy feeling that he got when he looked at this destruction – perhaps that was the magical part of him instinctively flinching back from what he was witnessing. Perhaps Cassie might know more about it. It explained why he felt nauseous the longer he considered the remnants of the Sorting Hat, and, certainly, Rain appeared to be feeling the same, if the sickly green pallor to her cheeks was any indication.

'We think this thick, purple ichor is a manifestation of the destroyed magic. It is, essentially, Magical Flux that has been burned out. I strongly discouraging you from attempting to touch it.'

James looked up from the box to face Renshaw. His mind was racing with what all of this could mean for them. But for all the esoteric implications that burned-out Flux and utter Unmaking might have, he couldn't get past the fact that the Desecrator was back. And had the ability to attack within the Hogwarts walls. They'd driven him off once already – and it had cost them dear. Could they really afford to pay the price to do it again? Rain's memories – and likely most of her magical ability – gone, Renshaw, weakened after her incarceration abroad, and still hounded by old enemies. Holly, gone, perhaps never to speak to them again. And James left feeling like he was bailing out a sinking ship using only a sieve. He wasn't beginning to feel out of his depth – he was already under and losing sight of the surface above.

Professor Longbottom stepped forward and placed his hands on the desk, leaning over to meet both of the students' eyes. James felt his gaze like a physical presence, a steadying hand on his shoulder.

'We speak of this to you, because there are no others in this school, perhaps in the entire country, who are as close to the matter. The three of us were there in the Department of Mysteries last year. We saw what happened. We fought, and bled, to keep Rain safe. But now there's a greater threat, and the bastards may be inside the very walls. So, you must needs know the gravity of the situation. You must prepare, and you must be cautious. As a wily old man once used to say, you need to exercise constant vigilance.'

James and Rain nodded in unison, both suitably cowed.

'Very well,' Renshaw announced, clapping her hands firmly. The noise startled Rain, and she visibly flinched. 'Miss Rain, you may leave us. Professor Longbottom has one more thing to discuss with Mister Potter, in his capacity as head of Gryffindor house – it needn't concern you.'

Rain nodded hesitantly, and shot James a final, timid glance before she turned and scurried off down the steps. The sound of her hasty footfalls faded slowly, and it wasn't until the distant grating of the gargoyle stature returning to its place that Renshaw spoke again.

'Mister Potter, I must warn you about becoming too involved with young Miss Rain. She-'

'Headmistress, I swear there was no funny business. She just asked. We're not-'

'That is not what I meant. Though I likewise would discourage you from that path should you choose to take it. What I mean is that you must take a caution as to what you reveal before her. Do not let her into your deepest confidences. Do not, Mister Potter, make yourself overly vulnerable in her presence.'

The words were like a blow to James' gut, and delivered as flippantly as if Renshaw discussed tomorrow's weather.

'You don't trust her?' James let his anger raise the tone of his voice. 'After all she's been through? After what she's lost? You think she's somehow behind it all? I-'

Renshaw raised a hand, but it was enough to cut James off cleanly.

'Perhaps her involvement is not voluntary, but something that she is inherently vulnerable to, considering her murky past. It was not without suspicion that the Steelhearts were ordered to capture her for the Ministry, after all. She has been far too close to the centre of all that has occurred for far too long for even one as tactless as yourself to not suspect intimate involvement on a level we don't yet understand.'

The insult stung, but not as much as the distrust of Rain did. James wanted to rail against it, to argue and convince Renshaw she was wrong, but he had enough tact at least to realise that that would be a lost cause. So he just gritted his teeth until his jaw ached, and nodded his head. He turned to Professor Longbottom and spoke stiffly, formally.

'There is something you wished to speak to me about, sir?' The words sounded false even to James' own ears.

'Yes. Something of a lighter topic. Reports reached me of a particularly helpful older student assisting some first-years in navigating the tricky disappearing step on the seventh floor.'

James frowned, taken off-guard and unsure where this was going. 'They were scared of it. Not very Gryffindor, if you ask me.' He didn't even bother to hide the accusatory tone in his voice. Let Renshaw know she'd made a mistake in Sorting the students herself – just like James was sure she'd made one in not trusting Rain.

'It wouldn't kill you to speak a little more kindly of your house-mates, James. Nonetheless, that was very responsible of you, and I'd like to take the opportunity to award you twenty points to Gryffindor.'

'Right, thanks.' How this warranted a special audience with Renshaw involved, James failed to see.

'Such character traits are well suited to a leader, wouldn't you think?'

A noncommittal shrug. 'I guess so.'

'Perhaps, a captain…'

'Professor, where are you going with this?' It was only now that James perked up. He tried to still the racing of his heart, to push down on the excitement that threatened to bubble over. He couldn't deal with the disappointment if he was denied yet again.

'Well, it's taken a while to arrange, what with you being eternally banned from stepping foot on the Quidditch Pitch and all, but there is a reason that the Gryffindor Quidditch Captain has yet to be announced.'

Renshaw cleared her throat. 'I'm afraid the dalliance was mine, Mister Potter. But I have no hesitations now in clearing you of your lifetime ban – an edict I am in full position to make as once-again-Headmistress of this school.'

The dam finally broke, and genuine excitement flowed forth onto James' features. 'I can play?'

'I should hope so,' Professor Longbottom grinned, fishing from his pocket a shining, silver badge. 'And you'd better get to building your team, too, Captain. Slytherin and Hufflepuff already have a few days' advantage on us.'

James accepted the badge reverently, the glinting and gleaming of the silver crossed broomsticks catching the sunlight and setting the figure alive in his hands. He made no hesitation in pinning it to the breast of his shirt. In his mind, he was already writing the letter to let his father know.

And the wave of ill will that had been building towards Renshaw evaporated, just like that. Perhaps there wasn't so much harm in what she said, after all. It would be an easy thing to let Cassie take over looking out for Rain…

But such thoughts were pushed from his head in favour of formations, team combinations, strategies and tactics as he made his way gleefully down the stone steps leading from the Headmistress' office with only the most cursory of farewells.

Back up in the Headmistress' office, Professor Longbottom crossed his arms and pursed his lips as an exuberant James Potter practically skipped from the office.

'Don't think I don't see what you're doing,' he muttered darkly. 'I'll not be used thus. And you won't be able to buy the boy's loyalty forever.'

'Life is an exchange, Professor. A give and take. Push and pull, all the way down.'

Professor Longbottom's frown deepened. 'Then why is it that I feel like all I'm getting is pushes. And somewhere up ahead there's a cliff waiting for me.'

'I suggest that's because you haven't yet worked out the game.' There was a clear dismissal in her tone, Professor Longbottom didn't need telling twice. He stalked from the room.

Renshaw was far better suited to care for the children than an inept Ministry, but her little games could be infuriating. Professor Longbottom let the door slam on his way out, and muttered darkly to himself. 'When I find that edge, woman, I'll make damned sure I pull you over it with me.'