James awoke the next morning where he had been left, on the cold, hard flagstones of the sixth-floor corridor. As out of the way as it was, nobody had stumbled across him, though light was well and truly streaming in through the high, arch windows. It was this – a beam splaying across his face – that had woken him. He rolled over and groaned. Everything hurt. He cursed and grunted as he managed to work himself up into a sitting position. A sheen of sweat broke out across his forehead from the exertion. When he finally made it, he leaned his head back against the rough wood of the traitorous locked door and breathed deeply of the fresh morning air.
James felt gingerly at his ribs, poking and prodding and checking for damage. To breathe did not pain him too much, so he assumed nothing was broken. He slid his shirt off over his head to take stock of the purple and blue blossoms that mottled his torso. Barely an inch of his skin was spared. He winced as his fingers found a particularly sore spot high on his left side. Most of the pain was radiating from there, though it looked to his untrained eye no more or less badly beaten that the rest of him.
His tongue he ran across his teeth, feeling for any that were loose, or, worse, missing. But all were intact. His lip had been split, and the effort cracked open barely-healed scabs, sending a trickle of steely blood into his mouth. He spat it out, uncaring, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. His nose felt three times the size it usually was, but appeared to still be straight and intact. It seemed after Caspar's initial punch, they'd mostly stayed away from his face.
Slowly, and with much cursing, James levered himself to his feet. His knees wobbled and threatened to give way beneath him, but a good minute of steadying breaths while leaned up against the solid door righted him enough to make the aching journey across the corridor to retrieve his wand. Relief flooded him as he turned it over in his hands to find it undamaged. Not a mark on it, in fact. He hadn't realised how much it meant to him, but the knowledge that his wand was safe, that this secret, at least, was still secure, was something of a balm to his myriad wounds. He clutched the ash and bone wand tightly to his chest, feeling an icy, determined cold radiating out from between his fingers. A sudden breeze stirred the hairs on his bared arms, and he felt himself bristle as an ethereal death-rattle of a voice brushed past his ear. 'Revenge…' it whispered.
James hurriedly stowed his wand back into his pocket.
The journey back to his dormitory was an agonising one. James struggled not to show any sign of hurt or discomfort. He didn't know if Caspar or his cronies, or if the Hufflepuff Council themselves were watching. But if they were, he stubbornly refused to give them the satisfaction of seeing a job well done. His steps were slow and ginger. He leaned heavily on the bannister when climbing the stairs up to the seventh floor, and when he finally made it into the privacy of his dormitory, he flopped face down on the bed and lay there a long moment, collecting his thoughts and letting the pain wash over him, feeling all the aches pulse together as one, like a second, malicious heartbeat at counterpoint to his own.
Eventually he rose, and slowly began dressing for the day. He knew he was late – all the others were already at breakfast. Class was due to start any moment, but he had Care of Magical Creatures first up, and Hagrid would surely be lenient if he arrived a little late.
He had guessed correctly, though in the end, James was more than a little late. The lesson had well and truly begun. The class was milling about, dividing up into pairs to carry out the task that they were to be assigned for the day. Before James could even find his bearings, Tristan emerged from the press and grabbed James by the upper arm.
James couldn't hide the wince, nor the hiss of pain that escaped through his teeth. He noted, as well, Tristan's grimace as James yanked his arm free, as if the movement had hurt him, too.
'The bastards,' James growled in a low voice. The pair separated themselves a way, letting the ruling chaos lend them cover while Hagrid dithered around the back of his hut, fetching the subject of their lesson.
'You, too, then?' Tristan asked, though his eyes said he already knew the answer.
'Ava sold us out,' James hissed. It was the only answer he could come up with. Nobody else had known about their scheduled meeting. 'When I see her…'
But Tristan was shaking his head. 'I've already seen her this morning, from across the common room. She wouldn't look at me, but her arm was in a sling. Her throwing arm. If she did spill, I don't think it was voluntary.'
'How can they get away with that?' James spat. 'She's their poster child.'
'She's telling everyone she fell out of bed in the night. Stupid, but they're believing it. Nobody would suspect it of a bunch of Hufflepuffs, that's half the problem.'
'Don't they see how stupid this all is? All to keep you off the Quidditch team…'
'All to protect Hufflepuff's legacy,' Tristan corrected.
'Even worse! Have they no sense of irony? This violence is the least Hufflepuff thing imaginable.'
'Which means, that every time they up the stakes, they are going to me ever more… vigorous in ensuring their dirty little secret doesn't get out.'
'I hope you're not planning on giving in to them,' James whispered, as Hagrid reappeared, clapping his gigantic hands together and drawing a blanket of silence across the class.
Tristan's reply was a whispered one, as they re-joined the group near the back. 'Mate, I've fought ice-demons and Steelhearts. I've been in to the Department of Mysteries and back again. You can bet your last Knut that when it comes to these bullies, I am not going to yield.'
James smiled to himself. The cuts and bruises he wore were a little easier to carry when he could dull the edge of their pain with thoughts of revenge and retribution.
The lesson itself provided an additional, much-needed, if tiresome, distraction. Hagrid had sought for them all a flock – a herd? James wasn't quite sure of the collective noun – of small, excitable little critters called Snufflings. They looked like miniature, garishly-coloured, feathered piglets, with paws in place of hooves, a double row of gleaming, sharp teeth, and beady golden eyes. Each one fit comfortably in the palm of James' hand. Needless to say, every single female in the class adored them.
'Oh, they're so cute!' Squealed Leah Ridley.
'I'm naming mine Buttons!' Rosalie Gardner added with a squeak.
When she thought nobody was looking, Cat was surreptitiously stuffing handfuls of the little, mewling things down her shirt to smuggle out of class. By this point, she appeared to have roughly six writhing breasts, and something was clearly biting her, if the watering eyes and twitching cheek was anything to go by.
'Now, now, don't let's get too carried away over there,' Hagrid said, waving his hands above his head.' Leah clutched her Snuffling to her chest protectively, as if Hagrid were about to steal it back from her.
The little things were busily scurrying about on a small makeshift bench Hagrid had set up on two trestles out the front of his hut. Their brightly coloured feathers shone with a metallic hue beneath the early morning sun. They gave off little, high-pitched hiccupping sounds as they scurried about, bumping in to one another and feeding on an assortment of seeds, nuts, and what looked to be a few dead mice.
'These Snuffling's have been gifted us by the Department of Regulation of Magical Creatures,' Hagrid explained, deftly ducking to save one as it happily scurried off the edge of the bench, apparently oblivious as to its peril. 'Was a time they used ter be a common sight in the forests and fields of Britain, but their numbers have been declinin' over the last few years. They've been harvested, see, for their feathers. They've got magical properties. And their saliva goes in to most healing salves. And their liver helps re-knit flesh. And their blood… well, you get the picture. Right useful little critters to have around, they are. Only problem is, Ministry's getting' worried we're runnin' out of 'em, so they sent me a crateful. We're going to conduct us a bit of a breeding' program for the wee critters.'
The girls all squee -ed together. James and Tristan shared a dubious look.
'How come we're running out of them?' Fred piped up from the other side of the group.
'Over-explotin', fer the most part,' Hagrid explained. 'But they're also none too bright. Not much of a survival instinct, in the wild.'
As if to punctuate this, another of the little Snufflings bolted towards the edge of the bench and tried to fling itself off the precipice. Leah and Rosie gasped together, but Hagrid made yet another diving save.
James looked on, impressed. Hagrid might have made a good Keeper. If they could manufacture a broom his size. Likely, they'd need half a sapling to manage it.
'This is goin' ter be a year-long project,' Hagrid continued, juggling the squirming, squealing Snuffling in his hands. 'With a good portion of yer grades going towards your OWL in Care of Magical Creatures. You'll be graded on how you care for 'em, how you feed 'em, how happy they are, and, o' course, how many babies yeh've got come the end of the year.'
Leah and Rosie were now jumping up and down on the spot in glee, clapping excitedly and exchanging exuberant glances.
James and Tristan shared another perplexed look. The little Snufflings running around on the bench just didn't seem very… Hagrid, to James. He raised his hand.
'Er, Hagrid. They don't seem particularly… exciting.'
'You mean life-threatening,' Tristan muttered.
'Oh, no they're plenty excitin',' Hagrid assured them. 'Yeh've got to watch out, because if yer get them over-stimulated, they're like as not to catch fire. Doesn't hurt them, they're immune, but it can be a nasty little inferno if you get a few together.'
'What?!' gasped half the class in unison.
'Uh-oh,' groaned Cat, whose newly-acquired breasts had reached a fever-pitch in squealing and writhing.
There was a final, piercing squeak, a whoosh of rushing air, and a sudden bright green inferno engulfed Cat from the waist up. This promptly ended Cat's Care of Magical Creatures lesson, and she was carried off to the Hospital Wing covered in angry red blisters and welts. She seemed far more concerned, however, with the loss of all of her hair. At least this time, James mused, it wasn't his fault.
Hagrid – who had departed with Cat – assigned James and Tristan the task of keeping the little Snuffling safely upon the benchtop. The rest of the class was tasked with rounding up the – now naked and featherless – Snufflings that had escaped from Cat's shirt. It was one of the more ridiculous lessons in James' recent memory, and involved no few singed robes, plenty of the acrid stench of burnt hair, and a black eye for Fred after Rosalie Gardner caught him trying to sneak a Snuffling into her back pocket. The end of the lesson and the reprieve of lunchtime was the most welcome event so far in James' day.
On his way back up to the castle, James lagged back from the rest of the group. It wasn't difficult, his injuries made walking up the hill a taxing labour. But it wasn't entirely because of the pain it caused him; he'd seen a familiar face making her way back from the Quidditch stands.
'Hello Ava,' James said, falling in to step beside her. Her arm was no longer in the sling as Tristan had seen it, but she was wearing a Hufflepuff Quidditch singlet, and heavy strapping covered her from elbow to shoulder. James watched her bright expression wink out like a candle as he approached.
'H-hi, James.' Her eyes began darting up and across the grounds, though there was nobody to be seen. Even a chance glance from the windows of the castle would only show two shapeless figures making the trek back up the hillside.
'How was your workout?'
'G-good… I had a free period, so…' she trailed off, clearly uncomfortable.
'Look, I know it wasn't you. Or, rather, it was, but it wasn't your choice to tell. I don't blame you.'
Some of the tensions released from her shoulders, and she gave an audible sigh. 'Did they-? Are you-?'
In answer, James pulled up the bottom of his shirt, to show the purple-and-blue tapestry that was his ribs.
Ava gasped. 'Oh, James-'
'It's fine. That's not what I came to talk about. We need to make a plan to get back at them.'
Ava's face went slack. She looked at James as if not understanding the words he was saying. They'd paused along the path, in the shade of a single, sprawling oak tree, whose verdant foliage and broad, colossal trunk offered shade from sun and prying eyes both. James stepped closer to her. He saw Ava's recognition of the intensity of his own gaze.
'James, I- We can't. Look at what they did to us. They could have seriously hurt us. And I… I can't risk getting hurt. Sixth year is when the professional teams send scouts to watch your games, if you're good enough. I've already received two owls this year. I really need to focus on Quidditch this year, before NEWTs take over and kick my butt in seventh year.'
'We can't let them do this to us, Ava. You know we have to stand up to them.'
Her bright red hair danced about her face as she shook her head. 'That's not my way, James. I'm not a Gryffindor like you. I'm a Hufflepuff, we just buckle down and weather the storm… I wasn't cut out for conflict.'
'No, but you were cut out for looking after your friends. Nobody in this entire school is as kind and caring as you are, Ava. Let me worry about the conflict. I just need you on my side in this, that's all. Can I count on you?'
James reached up to take Ava by the shoulders. He withdrew his grip as she flinched with the pain in her right shoulder. She must have been testing it out down on the pitch. Their first match was coming up that very weekend.
'Fine, James. I'm in. You can be very convincing, you know that?'
James just shrugged. 'I'll get a note to you for when we should next meet up. And about your shoulder, I might know where to find some feathery piglet spit that could help you by this Saturday.'
Ava screwed up her face. 'Uhm. Ew.'
James stepped back and smiled. 'Let me head back down and talk to Hagrid. I'll be in touch. Look out for a little blonde Gryffindor first-year who carries around too many books. She'll get in touch when I have a plan.'
Ava looked more puzzled than anything, but James was already turning to leave. It was time to see if "Sir James" could cash in on some of those favours he must have earned himself from young Lawrence, Safia, and the rest of the cowardly Gryffindor first-years.
But the rest of the week passed without further incident, at least as far as the mysterious and ominous Hufflepuff Council of Elders was concerned. James' bruises healed – thanks in no small part to some of the Snuffling saliva he had managed to procure from Hagrid. Ava had been most gracious when he had smuggled her a small phial of it courtesy of young Safia Higgins. Who, it turned out, was only too eager to help, and had to beat little Lawrence back for the honour by winning a series of games called rock-paper-scissors-Niffler-dragon.
That Friday night, when most of the rest of his friends were relaxing, or, in the case of Clip and Cassie, furiously studying in a secluded corner of the library (or at least, they told everyone they were going to study), James found himself locked away in an empty fifth floor classroom with Professors Longbottom and Meadows. He found himself shaking, and drenched in cold sweat. He found himself frustrated, angry, and no small bit confused. He also found himself with an absolutely splitting headache.
'This isn't working!' he growled for what felt like the hundredth time, as he fell back into his seat, pressing the heels of his palms into his eye sockets. It did little to halt the dagger-like pain driving into his temples.
'It will if you focus, James,' Professor Longbottom encouraged.
'It isn't supposed to be easy, Potter, and it sure as hell isn't supposed to work on the first go around.' There was a forced calm in Professor Meadows' voice. James could sense her own flighty temper threatening to bubble over.
'But we're not on the first try, we're on the thousandth!'
'This is your first real attempt at Occlumency, James,' Professor Longbottom stepped in once more. He, at least, seemed to have boundless patience. 'All of those mind exercises from last year, they were little more than mental preparation. Stretching your brain-muscles, if you will. I trust that you kept them up over the summer?'
'Er…' In truth, James had been glad to be rid of what he had thought to be largely pointless exercises meant to frustrate him.
'Idiot,' Professor Meadows muttered. James glowered at her, a little sullen.
'It's no worry, James. You will practice them each night, before bed. As well as the ones we have covered tonight. You will clear your mind of all thoughts. Focus on the nothingness that comes with the silence. Fall asleep in that void, and your dreams will be protected as best you are able at this early stage. Am I understood?''
'Yes, professor.' James knew he'd try, but he also knew for a fact that he would fail. There was no way he could silence his mind, not with everything that he was already juggling. Between Odette and Rain, Rain and her memories, Rain and the Desecrator, Clip and his OWLs, Ava and the Hufflepuffs… the list went on. James hardly felt as if he had a moment to think for himself, let alone search for some imaginary nothingness that supposedly lurked in a corner of his mind.
'One last time, then,' Professor Longbottom suggested. 'It's getting late, and curfew approaches.'
James sighed. 'Fine.'
He sat upright in his chair and faced Professor Meadows a small way away. The room was lit only by a few glowing spheres of light, hovering about their head and lending a soft, buttery glow. The tables and chairs had been Banished to the edges of the room upon entry, and waited patiently to be returned to their rightful position in neat, orderly rows. Tapestries hung on three of the four walls, depicting witches and wizards in apparently uncomfortable phases of self-Transfigurations, if their expressions were anything to go by. They looked on gloomily as James' misery played out before them. Spitefully happy, he would bet, that someone else was as clearly feeling as wretched as they.
Professor Meadows reached out her hands, and James placed his own within them. The contact helped her, so she said. He stared up into her pale, blue eyes, and dully registered the apologetic smile she flashed him before muttering 'Legilimens,' and the assault began.
Walls, James desperately though. I need walls! But it was as if Professor Meadows drove a railroad spike into his brain. All thought of self-defence fled as he curled up mentally around the breach, feeling himself whimper internally as the pain consumed him, bleeding out into every aspect of his being, leaving him surrendering himself unwillingly to the attack. Memories flashed to the fore, unbidden. Things he wanted kept secret. Scenes from the Department of Mysteries, private conversations with Rain – before and after her memories. Ava's face, fearful and flighty, Tristan's bruised chest to match his own. Odette-
'Woah, James! Keep a lid on that, at least! That's far more of Miss Mansfield than I ever wanted to see!'
Professor Meadows tore free from James' mind. He felt her presence rip away like an arrow torn out of his flesh. The gaping, ragged-edge wound she left fluttered free for a moment, before James' thoughts rushed in to fill the void, healing over the damage and returning him to full consciousness, leaving a layer of scarification in the form of his splitting headache and disorientation that had been plaguing him all night.
'I can't… help it,' he ground out between clenched teeth. 'You're in there… everywhere.'
'Those are the types of memories that you should be protecting,' she continued, a little more kindly. Though she still wouldn't quite meet his eye, and there was a dusting of colour high on her cheeks.
'I can't,' James repeated. 'It's… it's like telling me to count to ten without thinking of rabbits. Once you're in there, the first thing that I think of are the private memories. I can't… it's too much.'
A thought suddenly came to James. Perhaps because he was on the topic of secret memories. He had been running through the scant few he hadn't revealed to Professor Meadows, thinking of the beating he'd received at the hands of Caspar Helstrom and his cronies.
'The sixth floor corridor on the western side – the narrow one that links up to the seventh floor via the back staircase. How long has that been sealed off?'
Both professors looked at him, perplexed. 'It hasn't,' Professor Longbottom replied. 'At least not to my knowledge. And that's something I'd certainly be informed of.'
'It has,' James insisted. 'I was up there the other night-'
'Don't tell us!' Professor Meadows burst in, red-faced. James rolled his eyes.
'I was not doing… that. It was locked. Sealed off. I couldn't open it with any spell.'
'I'll have a look into it,' Professor Longbottom assured James, though there was a subtle undertone that hinted that perhaps he thought this the babbling of someone who was mentally exhausted. The professor walked over and lay a hand on James' shoulder. 'But for now, I think that's enough for tonight, James. Rest up, we'll try again next week.'
'I can hardly wait,' James muttered darkly, easing himself up onto unsteady feet and tottering off towards the door. The professors stayed for a private conversation as he waved them goodbye. No doubt to talk about what a failure he was, he thought darkly to himself.
His mood was somewhat buoyed, however, when he stepped out into the corridor and saw a familiar face leaning up against the wall opposite.
'Hello James Potter.'
'Rain- how did you know I was here? Nice jumper.'
The article of clothing in question must have been at least a dozen sizes too large. It hung down as far as her knees, and her hands were well and truly lost in the folds of sleeves that dangled empty and loose well past her thighs.
'Thank you,' she responded brightly, holding up her hands and trailing a good foot of sleeve behind. 'Miss Renshaw gave it to me. It seems that while I was… away, somebody took all of my clothes. But I was allowed to take anything I wanted from the lost and found. This one is so comfy.'
'Erm… indeed.' James was still having a hard time grasping how un-Rain-like the new Rain was.
'I followed you after dinner to this room. And then you went inside. So I waited here for you to return.'
'Okay…' James shot her a look. He'd been in there at least two hours.
There must have been something in his glance, for she suddenly looked stricken. 'I-is that not… normal?'
'No, no, no, it's fine!' James hastened to add, holding out his hands. Try as he might, he still couldn't get accustomed to this new, strange Rain. 'Shall we walk?'
Rain nodded happily, clearly appeased. She practically skipped down the corridor next to James, her hair bouncing and dancing upon her shoulders as they made their meandering way through the castle.
'So… how was your day?' James eventually asked into the silence that was stretching beyond the bounds of companionable and into the realms of awkwardness. He'd imagined she had something of import to tell him. Or else why would she have waited for two hours outside the classroom he was sequestered away in?
'Oh, it was okay, I guess. I accidentally flooded one of the girls' bathrooms earlier, when a sneeze caught me surprise. Did you know there's a ghost in there? She gave me such a fright I set all the taps to running again! Well, except for this one that must be broken…'
'Yea,' James agreed. 'I wouldn't get too close to that one, if I were you.'
'I couldn't turn any of them off so I just sort of… fled. The ghost was yelling at me. She's so angry.'
'So I've heard,' James nodded. 'Not sure what my dad saw in her.'
Rain gave a small, shy giggle, and then fell silent again. She'd stopped her skipping, and now walked normally, with her hands folded at her waist before her, trailing the ends of the sleeves down to her knees. Every so often, James caught her gaze flitting upwards to catch his own, and then away again. Alighting with the softest touch, like a skittish young bird.
James waited patiently for her to speak up. It was clear to him that she was building up for something; likely the reason she had cornered him this night. He allowed them to continue in silence for a while longer. The candles around them dimmed as curfew approached, leaving shifting, morphing shadows in between the pools of warm, golden light that spilled across the hallway ahead of them. The high arch windows that made up one side of the corridor showed an expansive vista of a starry sky. Without a moon to be seen, they shone all the brighter, picking out the rugged shape of the distant mountains by their obvious absence above the horizon.
They had been making their way steadily downwards – though James had been ambling without real purpose. He paused on a first-floor landing when he heard Rain make an intake of breath, and sensed her turn to face him, her face hardened in steely resolve.
'I've been hearing voices,' she eventually said.
James breathed out heavily. Around them, in the enclosing darkness, there was barely a sound to answer back. The sputtering of a dying candle. The shuffling and rustling susurrations of portraits shifting in their frames. He ran a hand through his hair and tentatively ventured back, 'What kind of voices?'
'Well, just one, really. Just a single phrase, over and over.'
James' heart was still as he breathed his reply. 'What does it say?'
'She. She says: "I'm going to find you."'
James took an involuntary step backwards, shaking his head as he did. 'No. No that can't be right. Are you sure, Rain?'
James' reaction had clearly fanned the sparks of Rain's fear, and it ran wild across her face. She reached out to James, grabbing a fistful of his shirt and thrusting her face into his own. 'She's looking for me, James. The one who did this. I know it. I can feel her, out there… She's coming.'
'Who is coming? And by the Founders, girl, it had best not be you.'
At the sound of the intruding voice, James sprung away from Rain, breaking her grip on his shirt. He looked wide-eyed at Odette, who had rounded the corner behind him and now stood, leaning up against the wall with her arms folded, sharing half a death-stare each between himself and Rain.
'It's nothing, Odette.' James fumbled for an explanation. He told the truth – it was nothing. At least, in terms of what she was thinking.
'James, who is this?' Rain whispered loudly in his ear.
'Are you kidding me?' Odette yelled. 'She doesn't- You haven't told her about me?'
James closed his eyes, wishing fervently he was tucked away in his bed. His head was pounding far too much to be dealing with this at the moment.
'This one is your girl-friend?' Rain eventually asked, genuinely curious. She put odd emphasis on the word.
'Yes, Rain. Odette is my girlfriend.'
'I see. I just guessed. Fred has said that she is an angry Slytherin in a tiny skirt. So…'
'Zip it, scar-tits,' Odette snarled. 'Unless you've got a damned good explanation as to why the two of you are wandering the corridors alone together past curfew.'
'I needed to speak to James,' Rain shrugged, as if that were a perfectly reasonable explanation.
'Odette, this is Rain,' James said, mostly to himself. 'Rain, meet Odette.'
'I'll get to you in a minute,' Odette glared.
'Hello!' Rain said brightly, extending a hand.
'Are you-' Odette's glanced flicked to James, the first hint of uncertainty dancing across her features. She continued in a poorly-concealed whisper. 'Has she turned… simple?'
'She lost all of her memories,' James explained with a shrug.
'All of them,' Rain supplied, nodding seriously.
'I see.' A great deal of the wind had clearly been taken from Odette's sails. She was now looking more confused than anything. But credit to her, she didn't give up that easily. 'Well… here's something to stick in that empty old head of yours: You don't go wandering around the castle at night with other people's boyfriends. Especially not mine.'
Rain was biting her lower lip, and nodding away as if concentrating hard to commit the lesson to memory. James might have found it comical, if he hadn't thought he was a few wrong words away from castration.
'Come on, James,' Odette continued. 'There are no prefects on the ground floor. We can slip in to that broom closet with the mirror that you like and I'll show you a trick I've been working on with a rope, two feathers, and an empty Butterbeer bottle…'
'Can I catch you up?' James asked. 'I need to finish with Rain, first.'
'Unbelievable!' Odette threw her hands in the air and wheeled away. She turned at a bend in the corridor to look back at the pair of them. 'You'll damned well be finishing all on your own tonight.'
James sighed.
'What a harlot,' Rain said.
'Rain!'
'Oh, I'm sorry. Is that a bad word? It's just what Cassie calls her when you're not around.'
James put his head in his hands in exasperation.
'Fred calls her lots of names, but I don't think I should say them out loud. They make me blush.'
With his mood well and truly soured, James turned back to Rain and gripped her by the shoulders.
'Look, about what you were saying earlier. I was there when… when it happened to you. I saw what that witch did to you to make you lose your memories. I tried to save you, but… I failed. But she died, Rain. There was nobody else there. She can't be coming for you, I saw her body myself.'
James had pushed that body off of Rain's unconscious form himself. He recalled it seeming to shift before his eyes… an illusion of the magic around them, no doubt. That whirling vortex spawned from the Veil had been taking up most of his attention.
'Y-you don't believe me?' Rain asked, clearly hurt.
'No it's not that. I just… we need to be careful before we jump to any conclusions, that's all.'
James' mind was racing, doing exactly what he'd told Rain to avoid, and arriving at frightening answers to many of the questions he asked himself.
'For now, we should head back up to bed, before anyone else catches us, and gets the wrong idea.'
Rain nodded, but looked clearly reluctant.
'Is something else the matter?' James probed.
'No. It's just… that's when it happens most often, James. She comes for me in my dreams.'
James' mouth became suddenly dry, and a helpless, sinking sensation washed over him. There was nothing he could do to offer protection. It seemed, that for Rain, even in her own mind, she would never be safe.
