'Welcome, James Potter, to our oasis. Our little piece of paradise.'
James studied the room with his mouth agape. It was large and high-ceilinged. Delicate archways of intricate masonry embraced the cavernous space high overhead. Floor-to-ceiling stained-glass windows overlooked a panoramic view of the lake and the mountains beyond. A large fireplace ran almost the entire length of one wall, though the late summer warmth rendered it dormant this particular evening.
Grandiose though it was, there was a definite sense of wear. A thin coating of grime concealed something of the lustre of the place. The archways were chipped and bore spiderwebbing cracks that spoke to magic, rather than engineering holding them upright. The ceiling had once been painted in a fresco, but was now faded and peeling and largely indistinguishable. Multiple panes of glass were shattered, covered over with greying, warped boards. And the flagstones underfoot were coated in a thin film of sticky grease that caught James' feet unsettlingly every time he took a step.
Not that any of this had stopped the older students from all of the houses banding together in secret and turning the disused room into a space that couldn't be described as anything other than a party house. Couches and comfortable seating crowded one end of the room. Old, unused sofas and faded plush pouffes, with varying assortments of rips and tears and dubious, dark stains. Even the disused fireplace was filled with cushions, and decorated with a pair of sprawling Hufflepuffs. Low tables were crowded with bottles of myriad colours – mostly full of dark, bubbling liquids. Banners and streamers hung haphazardly from the archways above, all the house emblems coming together in a chaotic riot of colours and various wildlife.
And it was currently packed with a host of students, fifth year and up.
'This room is amazing,' James breathed. 'How come I've never heard of it before?'
'Because it's supposed to be a secret,' Odette replied as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. 'The last thing we want is a bunch of snot-nosed fourth-years running around here and getting underfoot.'
'Hey- I was a fourth-year last year.'
'And I've made you a man since then, James Potter. Now, come. Let's get a drink.'
It really was amazing what the houses could do when the co-operated. No amount of coaxing and cajoling from the professors could manage it, but dangle a bit of alcohol and the intrigue of a shared secret and the teamwork was mind-blowing.
There must have been close to a hundred students packed in to the space, lounging on the sofas, sharing private conversations in secluded corners, laughing uproariously as the drink added humour to some joke or other, and generally having a good time, whilst upholding the greatest Hogwarts secret James had ever discovered. He'd considered himself something of an aficionado when it came to secret passages and unused classrooms, but this was on a whole new level. It begged the question: What else was out there, still left to be uncovered?
James helped himself to a butterbeer from a nearby table. Odette gave him a long-suffering look before pouring herself something rich and dark and filled with pink bubbles from the next table over.
'So, this is just free to help yourself?' James asked, admiring the veritable wealth of intoxicants at their disposal.
'There's a tax. All the older students pay into a fund. The Lenders manage it. About time they did something useful. They take a cut that amounts to daylight robbery, but such is the price of debauchery.'
And with that, Odette tipped back her glass and downed the contents in one go. An uncomfortable expression stole across her face for a moment, and nightmares raced through James' mind of poisons or potions, but she held up a steadying finger, gave a gigantic hiccup, and giggled in a most girlish and rather un-Odette-like fashion as a stream of pink bubbles shot out both of her ears.
'Merlin's jockstrap,' she gasped. 'But I do so love the headrush this stuff gives you.' As if to emphasise her point, she took a staggering step forwards, and had to clutch to the back of a nearby sofa to keep upright, a dreamy expression on her face.
James took a tentative sip of his butterbeer. As he gazed around the room, he noticed that there were a few of the older students that were in a far worse state than had overcome Odette. He checked his watch, it was barely past curfew. He remembered some of the wilder Gryffindor house parties he'd attended, usually post Quidditch matches. This gathering was shaping up to put all of them to shame.
Odette helped herself to another butterbeer and took James' hand, leading him into the room properly. They wove their way together through the maze of bodies, waves of conversation lapping at them and gone again as they passed by. There was bragging, there was joking, and there was no shortage of hearts being spilled, if the amount of "I love you" exclamations was anything to go by. James made sure to keep an eye on what he was drinking.
The lighting for the room came from up above them, and dozens of tiny spheres, glowing with a soft, warm light winked in and out of existence. It leant adequate light to the room while also managing to capture a close, personal, almost conspiratorial tone to the night-time gathering.
Their twisting path ended as Odette spied some friends. Without warning, she pulled James over to a sofa and introduced him to Ciara Beaumont and Genie Montague. Ciara was short and slim and wore a gleaming silver Prefect's badge affixed to her dark green dress. Apparently, it afforded her extra drinks and other special privileges, she told James with a wink. Genie, with her startling green eyes and intricate blonde braids, was – even to James' biased eye – breathtakingly gorgeous, although she did spend the majority of their introduction struggling to unscrew the top off of a butterbeer bottle before gasping with sudden realisation that she had been trying to turn it the wrong way. Odette and Ciara gave identical knowing eyerolls that told James this might not be the first time that had happened.
No sooner had James finished perching himself on the arm of the sofa the friends occupied, than Ciara had drawn the three girls in to some piece of gossip that had them all listening fervently, heads crowded together over what James assumed was some scandalous secret. James allowed his mind to wander, and contented himself with people-watching for the moment, feeling the comfortable, subtle contact of Odette's hand resting upon his knee.
He studied the seething, sweaty organism that was the product of the debauchery all around him. As the night wore on, he knew, things would only trend downhill. It had only been some five hours since their Friday classes finished, but judging by the comatose bodies draped over some of the sofas, it appeared a few of the more eager among them had put every minute of that time to good use. The ebb and flow of the students moved around them, always shifting. A slow, steady process like the flow of a viscous mud, interspersed by flashes of light as an earring caught a reflection, or a sequined dress came alive.
Since his arrival, somebody had started up some music, and the deep, heavy bass thudded rhythmically, deep in James chest. A heartbeat to join them all together, in the way it reached right into their ribcages, through to their very core. Individual, and yet a sensation shared by all.
'What are you thinking of, dearest James?'
Odette's voice yanked James back to the present. Her tone held a giddy edge. A stream of pink bubbles attested to the fact that she'd found herself another glass of the beverage James had overheard to be called Windrush Wine.
'Chests,' James replied, somewhat distractedly.
'Oh, do tell,' Odette purred invitingly. From his position up on the arm of the sofa, James was momentarily afforded a glimpse down into a place of shadowed curves and salacious portent as she thrust out her own suggestively. The act punched all thought of witty reply clean from James' mind.
'Ooh, I love this game!' Genie piped up, shattering the moment as she made to unfasten one of the straps to her dress.
'No!' Odette and Ciara roared together, lunging to their friend as one. Again, it struck James as an act they were practiced in.
'Not that game, Genie,' Ciara continued patiently.
'Oh. Oh well,' Genie shrugged, as if she'd been genuinely disappointed.
'But, who do you think does, you know, have the best,' Ciara leaned in once more, dragging the three girls in to another round of gossip.
For his part, James decided that this was a conversation he was destined to lose should he provide any input whatsoever, so he sagely stayed quiet, and focused instead on finishing the last of his butterbeer, and scouting around for another.
Mercifully, though, Odette's friends didn't stay much longer, Genie eventually begging Ciara to take her for a dance. When Odette stood up behind them, James' heart skipped a little beat. He'd not had nearly enough Butterbeer to countenance the thought of dancing.
'Relax, James. I'm just going to find us some more drinks,' Odette laughed, seeing the look on his face.
She disappeared, and left James alone on the couch. A state of existence that didn't last for long at all.
'James Potter! How luv-er-lee to see you! Congratulay-shins on being Quidditch captain – isn't it the best-est?'
'H-hey, Ava, thanks. Nice to see you.'
Ava Adams? The Ava Adams, Hufflepuff Chaser extraordinaire, the nicest, bubbliest, friendliest, most rule-abiding-est person James knew, was a mess. Lipstick smeared, hair frayed, eyes unfocused. She was holding a glass of some dark, amber liquid askance, and it was steadily trickling out over the lip.
'Lissssten James, I need to talk to you,' she slurred. 'But issa secret, okay?'
James eyed her suspiciously.
'Shhhh, don't say nnnothing.'
He hadn't.
'Juss meet me in the broom closet outside this room. Second door on the right. In… an hour. I'm not wearing a watch! Hee!'
James' look went from standoffish to scandalised in about two seconds flat. But he was saved the awkwardness of a reply by Odette materialising at his elbow and cursing at Ava.
'Sod off, Adams!' Odette snarled. 'Go drink your problems away somewhere else.
Ava giggled, hiccupped, gave a rather impressive burp, and then shot James a parting wink. She pressed a finger vaguely near her lips and hissed a final 'Shhhh,' as she staggered off into the crowds.
'What was that all about?' James asked, accepting two bottles of some dark butterbeer variant and a large glass of Windrush Wine from Odette.
'Meet the secret Ava Adams,' Odette replied with obvious glee. She slid into a seat on the sofa. Despite the fact that they had the whole thing to themselves, she practically ended up on James' lap. 'A couple of times a year, usually before the Quidditch season starts, she gets like this. Absolutely out of control. There must be something she's covering up, but not even Ciara the Gossip Queen has managed to figure it out. Cutting someone else's lunch though… that's not usually her game. Normally she'll drink herself into oblivion in peace. Strange…'
James cast a glance at where Ava had disappeared. He checked his watch. There had been a definite sense of urgency, even through all of the… haze. What could be so important? Like Odette, James had his doubts it had been a purely social call.
But it was forced from James' mind as Odette bade him drink. The Windrush Wine lived up to its name, giving James a light-headed, reeling sensation that was actually rather exhilarating. Odette nearly fell off the couch laughing when he tried to stand while the bubbles still streamed from his ears and fell flat on his face into the cushioned arm of the sofa.
They settled in together, and talked quietly as the night wore on. It wasn't the ostentatious flirtation that made up their usual jab-and-riposte, but an earnest, honest conversation that was all the more pleasurable for its rarity. Ava's deadline came and went, neither recalled or acknowledge by the pair so enraptured with one another. Some time much later, when their words came more ponderously, and their minds were somewhat more clouded, Odette sighed deeply, and rested her head on James' shoulder.
'Do you ever feel… bigger than all of this, James?'
'I've had the same pair of jocks for three years. I've hardly grown outwards at all.'
She slapped him.
'Gross. And you know what I mean. Take Ciara, she's bright enough, and the professors love her. But her single biggest concern most days is who's been caught snogging behind greenhouse three. And Genie, most days I can't decide if I'm jealous or turned on by how good looking she is, but she struggles with which way to point a wand, let alone studying for N.E. next year. Doesn't it all just seem so… small?'
'And what is in store, then, for the great Odette Mansfield? What glories and triumphs await her?'
'Don't mock, James.'
'Fine, I'm serious. What is in your future?'
'Would that I'd paid attention in Divination. I'm not sure what it is, James, but I hope it's something far away from here. Quidditch, maybe. I know the French teams recruit young. But the gossip will be about me, James, not by me. I will be the one everybody is talking about.'
James smiled. 'It was ever thus,' he intoned dramatically.
'If you're just going to poke fun-'
'You're right, I'm sorry.'
And James thought about what Odette had said. Really thought about it. Though holding to a steady stream of consciousness left him feeling like a twig floating downriver, tossed this way and that, unable to maintain a course. James needed more practice at this drinking thing.
He'd been where Odette so desired to be. Almost on a yearly basis, he was the one around whom so much gravitated. It was only a small conceit to say his decisions moved worlds – those of his friends, at the very least. He thought back to hiding in his home last year, locked away following their escape from the Department of Mysteries, and ready for the Ministry to blast down his door at any moment. Racked with fear and guilt that they might do the same to all of his friends. He remembered the hurts his friends had suffered when they'd fought the Atlanteans – at his behest, no less. About Rain's battered and bruised body laying prone on a steel stretcher as a mysterious witch funnelled dark power into her supine form-
'James?'
He realised he'd been staring at nothing. He shook his head slowly.
'You don't want that, Odette. It's more trouble than it's worth. The more influence your decisions hold, the more people try and force you to change them. Have you ever seen a pack of dogs fight over a dead animal? It's not pretty, but that's what it feels like. A dozen different people, a dozen directions. Each one pulling as hard as the others. Sooner or later, something's got to give, and it's not usually the dogs.'
'I'm no stranger to people trying to make me do things,' Odette bristled.
James held his hands up defensively. He forgot one was still holding a butterbeer, and managed to spill a little onto Odette's lap. He laughed and leaned forwards, opening his mouth with a witticism ready-
'Don't even think about it,' Odette said. 'Serious conversation.'
'Fine. I just don't think it's something to reach for before you're ready. You'll miss the time when you were a nobody.'
'When I was seven, James, my father told me I would never play Quidditch. He told me it was a sport for boys, and that as much as he'd wished for a son, he had me instead, and he'd not see me flying around with the rest of the boys in our street. He confiscated the broom that Mother had got me for Christmas, and that was the end of it. By the time he left us, when I was ten, I was flying circles around every girl and boy in my street, and he knew nothing about it. I thought about giving it up, after that. There was no longer anyone to prove wrong. But I realised that I'd found something that I loved. Something that made me truly happy. And in a weird, twisted way, it was all thanks to him. I'd never have tried so hard had he not forbade me from doing it.
'It's a strange feeling, to find so much joy, and yet be so angry about it all at once. But I do what I do for me, James. Not for anyone else. And that'll never change.'
James nodded. The gravity of what Odette had divulged was not lost on him. She had never spoken about her private life so openly before, let alone any troubles she'd had when she was younger. Even through the butterbeer-stained lens, he knew there was portent in this moment. He chose and discarded several replies, before he softly spoke. He raised his bottle in a toast.
'Onwards, then. To fame together. And may I always be at your side to keep the dogs at bay.'
Odette clinked her glass softly against the bottle. Her reply was a whisper. 'Careful, now, James. When you say things like that, you hold my heart in your hands. It's a precious thing.'
The warmth of the tender exchanged stayed with the pair of them well into the night, though the mood became considerably more light and cheery from that point on. Helped in no small part by the copious amounts of drink Odette insisted that they consume. One of James' last coherent thoughts of the night – and this was some time well past midnight – was that he felt, judging by Odette's reactions, that he'd passed some kind of test.
And after his sixth glass of Windrush Wine and his don't-even-want-to-know'th bottle of butterbeer, when Odette grabbed him by the hand and they slipped together from the party, his suspicions were all but confirmed.
Their laughter and slurred conversation preceded them up the hall. A trail of high-heeled shoes, socks, and other items of clothing was left littered in their wake, and they tumbled in through the first unlocked door they found, James at least having the sense to slam it shut behind them and try for a hasty Colloportus. He was practically positive it hadn't worked.
Some hours later, as a false dawn greyed the clouds, and the first of the birds began to sing, Odette burst from the door and fell to her knees in the corridor. James, flushed and tousled and shirtless, followed behind.
'Good God,' Odette gasped. 'I don't think I can feel me legs.' James watched as she staggered off down the corridor. He'd been feeling decidedly… energetic after all of that Windrush Wine. He checked his watch as Odette turned from view and made her way down the staircase, leaning heavily on the bannister for support. If he hurried, he'd manage to get to the top of the Gryffindor tower just in time to watch the sunrise.
'Kill me. Please, end it all.'
It was ten o'clock the following morning. James lay upon a pile of cushions in an unused classroom on the fifth floor. Sunlight poured in through the great, arched windows, searing his eyes with its aggressive brilliance. Earlier in the week, he'd foolishly committed to helping Clip work on his Blasting Hexes, and the noise was a knife through James' skull every single time.
'I wish Cassie were here,' Fred mused. 'She would blast you with such a lecture right now…'
'Oh, Cassie does give the best lectures,' Cat chimed in.
'Her lecturing face is gorgeous,' Clip added unhelpfully.
James rolled over and flung a pillow in their general direction. No, that was worse. Now the sun was in his face.
His head pounded. His throat was dry and raspy no matter how much he drank, and there was a strange, unsettling feeling that his skull was empty, and the light breeze that permeated the room was whistling clean through between his ears. Perhaps this was why it was called Windrush Wine, after all. He was certain that he'd never before been so miserable.
'I hate you all,' he mumbled into a cushion, as if they hadn't guessed the sentiment already.
'Serves you right for buggering off to a party and not bringing any of us,' Fred pointed out.
'Confringo!' Clip cried.
Crash! Went the glass jug he was targeting.
'Ugh,' groaned James.
'Oh, you're getting better!' Cat cried, waving her wand and uttering a Reparo to mend the damage.
It was no use. James was not going to get any rest, and he had sort of promised Clip he'd help him out. He rolled up into a sitting position, informing the entire room he was doing so with a series of dramatic groans and grunts.
'It lives!' Fred cried in mock-alarm.
James offered him a particularly heartfelt two-fingered salute, as he shuffled by to where Clip stood.
'Show us what you've got, Clip,' James mumbled. He kept one hand out to steady himself against the wall. He hadn't entirely regained full use of his legs yet, and the room seemed to have acquired a nasty habit of periodically tilting to one side, which was playing havoc with his sense of balance.
Clip lined up the spell again. 'Confringo!' The glass jug of water shattered, sending an array of shards skittering about the room. Cat swooped in once more and fixed up the damage.
'Not bad. Let's try on that table with the wobbly leg. Watch me. Confringo!'
The table splintered with the loudest crack yet. James winced, but his work was nothing if not effective. It had been cleaved in two, both halves little more than a pile of splintered mess.
'I'm not so good at repairing tables.' Cat chose this moment to tell them, and set about with a few more complicated spells, her tongue sticking out between her teeth.
'I'm not sure I'm ready for that yet,' Clip said, eyeing the table uncertainly.
'Let's give it a try. The homework was to link a Banishing Charm and a Blasting Hex. So you can explode something in a certain location. I think Professor Meadows will have us using something a bit smaller, but if you can banish a table, you can definitely banish whatever it is that she chooses.'
'I'm not sure I follow that logic.'
'Don't need to, just try.'
Cat had managed to repair the table, except now the leg wasn't wobbly at all. Clip screwed up his face. 'Confringo!'
The table jumped, as if it had been kicked. There was a sound as if something heavy had been dropped upon it, but no visible damage befell it. Aside from the fact that, when tested, the leg appeared to be wobbly again.
'Oh,' Cat sulked.
'See,' Clip sighed. 'I'm useless.' His frustration was evident.
'Nonsense,' James assured him. 'You're just too tentative. Wandwork is a large part of spellcasting. Clean lines and purposeful movements with your wand is half the work. Your finishing flourish has no edge. It's as if you're asking the table to break for you, rather than ordering it. Give it a little more purpose. Like this. Confringo!'
Cat sighed heavily, as the table split asunder. She bent down to pick up the pieces as Clip readied his stance. James adjusted his feet a little, and pushed Clip's shoulders back a fraction. It was more a dueller's stance than anything, but this was a spell for duelling, he figured it fit.
Clip tried again, but this time, he over-flourished, and his spell went awry. It struck the table in the dodgy leg, knocking it askew but achieving little more.
Cat threw up her arms in despair. 'I'd just straightened that.'
'Think of the wand movement as one fluid motion, not a series of smaller jerks and jabs. It should all flow together. Diagonally left, an upright "S", and then flourish.'
Clip tried again. With no appreciable improvement. James could see, in the set of his shoulders, and his downcast gaze, that the failure was really getting to him. They switched to the Banishing Charm component of the combination. Clip had always been slightly more proficient at Charms that the other branches of wanded magic.
They used the table once more to practice on. As James pushed it all around the room with his charms, Cat realised that it was the floor that was uneven, not the table. She abandoned their cause entirely and started charming the grout and tiles into a more level configuration. Apparently she'd also spent some time erecting magical masonry over the holidays, and was quite proficient at it. At least, she was, when Fred wasn't amusing himself by Transfiguring the grout to water, or shooting her in the back with Unbalancing Hexes causing her to re-make everything on a drunken lean.
Though James tried everything he could to help Clip, their progress by the end of their session was minimal. Clip could crack the legs of the table one by one (much to Cat's annoyance), and he could make it sort of judder and shiver when he hit it with a Banishing Charm, but there was no hope at all of joining the two spells together as they'd been tasked with.
There was a bit of an air of disappointment hanging over the group when they finally departed for a late lunch. They scrambled up the incline Cat had constructed towards the door, and made their way down towards the kitchens in sullen silence. Without the need to focus on helping Clip to distract him, James' head started pounding once more.
'I'm going to find Odette,' he grumbled to the group. 'And find whatever tonic or potion she uses to make her so bright and chirpy all the time. This is a bloody nightmare.'
Clip thanked him again, though there wasn't much heart in it, and James split off from the group. He was building up quite the head of steam as he descended the castle, picking a few choice words to have with Odette about not warning him just how potent that Windrush Wine was…
'Where are you marching off to in such a hurry?' His huff was interrupted by Professor Longbottom. He stood square in the middle of the corridor with his arms folded. He turned a stern and slightly suspicious countenance upon James.
'I'm on my way to exact vengeance with righteous fury,' James replied, deliberately obtuse.
'Like hell you are. You're coming with me. Remember that… training you were doing with Zoe Meadows and I last year? Well I've just decided we're going to get back on that particular horse. The way things are shaping up around here, I've a feeling you'll need it before year's end. I hope your head's in good shape, boy, because you'll have a headache by the time we're done with you.'
James groaned audibly, and could do nothing else but fall into step behind Professor Longbottom, his feet dragging along the carpeted corridor as if he were engaged in a death-march.
