'James, do you have the notes from yesterday's Arithmancy lesson?'

'James, was it phases of the moon that affect the strength of magical bondings, or was it distance from the sun?'

'James, what was the incantation for the Knee-Twisting Hex?'

'Oi, James, Professor Meadows just walked through the common room, naked!'

'What-? Where?'

'Hah! I knew you fancied her.' Fred was grinning triumphantly, with a balled-up piece of parchment clutched in his fist, clearly the next step on his endless mission to gain James' attention.

'Who doesn't have a thing for her?' Cat sighed wistfully, gazing out the window of the common room. 'She's gorgeous.'

James leaned back in his chair, letting the conversation once more drift uninterrupted over his head. He, Fred, Cat and Clip had been spending the afternoon studying in the common room for a grand total of three upcoming tests the following week. But James couldn't even recall if it had been an effective session, let alone which subjects they were currently working on, as his mind had been distracted – as it had been for the past fortnight – on his fateful early-morning meeting with Holly Brooks.

She's changed. It was the single argument that James could resurrect in Rain's defence. In his own defence. Whatever happened to her when she was taken from them last year had changed her entirely. Everybody could see that she was a completely different person. It was more than just the loss of her memories; even as she regained a shadow of her former self, the person she was becoming was someone entirely different from the Rain that James had known prior.

And so he clung to this fact. Like a drowning man clutched at a piece of flotsam. Even though the waves of his doubt assailed him, and threatened to drag him down. For the fact remained that this belief did nothing to exonerate her past actions. That it didn't excuse anything she'd done. Anything that James had helped her to do.

Could she have been in league with the Desecrator? Could she have been the Desecrator? But no – the attacks were still happening, and Rain remained within Hogwarts. But James had scrawled the timeline of the past four years as best he could on a collection of parchment, and there were several glaring concerns, several suspicious coincidences…

He didn't know what to do, only that he couldn't – wouldn't – tell the others just yet. She's changed, he told himself. She'd show her innocence, he was certain of it. He just needed to give her time.

'Earth to James, hello-o.' Cat's face was barely an inch from James' own. Her wide, blue eyes were studying him curiously. 'I bet your head is full of Wrackspurts right now. I can practically taste them in the air.'

'Erm… gross?'

'They taste like batteries, actually.'

'Batteries?'

'A muggle thing.'

'Guys, I think we're getting a touch distracted here,' Clip piped up from the chair opposite James.

'Oh, right.' Cat shot a furtive glance over her shoulder, quickly leaned in and licked James' forehead, and then shot back down to her seat. For his part, James just accepted it with a shrug.

'Have you got the piece on moon phases, James?' Clip prompted again.

'Er, yea, it's here somewhere…' James riffled through the messy stack of notes he'd discarded in front of himself. 'Got it. "The strength of any magical bond is strongly dependent on the phase of the moon at the time of casting of the spell." Is that it?'

'Keep going,' Clip urged, scribbling away furiously on his own parchment. Fred, looking beyond bored, was trying to charm his quill to write rude words on his parchment which he had stealthily affixed to Cat's back.

'Erm, right… "Phases where the moon is more dominant, particularly waxing gibbous and Full Moons, are thought to be best to create magical bonds. Of course, this stands for malign as well as benign bondings, and this created much consternation among Aurors at these times of the month, when attempting to curtail the waves of Imperius curses cast by Death Eaters in both Wizarding wars."'

'It's because the moon erodes our sense of self,' Cat added airily. 'The light of the moon is entirely reflected from the sun. It has no true life of its own, and so its influence is similar on our magical beings. It removes some of our independence, some of the walls which keep us in. They say that the Blue Moon is the most dangerous time, and we are at our most vulnerable.'

'Blue moon?' Fred asked. 'I've never seen the moon blue.'

'It's not the colour,' Clip explained. 'It means two full moons in a single calendar month. It's supposedly a powerful magical occurrence. We covered in Astronomy last week.'

'Oh, well that explains it. I always fall asleep during Astronomy…'

With the others no longer calling him to action, James slipped back into the dark, twisting reverie that seemed his constant companion nowadays, and let their words drift by, unheeded.

'C'mon,' Fred eventually announced. 'Let's go get some dinner. Maybe that will cheer James up.'

'I'm fine,' James mumbled, fooling nobody.

'You have been rather mopey lately,' Cat added, scrutinising him with narrowed eyes.

'It's just all this schoolwork,' James lied. 'I'm feeling snowed under, that's it.'

'Rubbish,' Fred continued to probe. 'You barely said a word at Quidditch practice all last week. Just grunted and threw rocks at us.'

'I'm fine, alright? Let it go! Can you lot not leave me in peace for five minutes without badgering me?'

James shoved himself up out of his armchair and stormed from the common room, not waiting for his friends to join him on the way down to dinner. He heard a mumble from Fred as he departed, something about Odette. James hesitated for a moment, but it was better that they thought him sulking over his relationship – or what was left of it – than find out the real reason, he told himself.

The portrait hole was shoved open rather rudely, and he ignored the protestations and reprimands that chased him all the way down to the sixth-floor landing from the Fat Lady. He wrapped his anger around himself. Making of it a cloak, one fit to ward off any passers-by, any who thought to trouble him with the burden of their presence. Any who–

'Hello James!'

'Aii! Merlin, Rain, stop that!'

'Ooh, I'm getting good, aren't I?'

'No! You can't go around sneaking up and goosing people. You're likely to get Hexed.'

A flicker of uncertainty skittered across Rain's face. James had done little to take the anger out of his words. Truth was, Rain's newfound love of sneaking around and stalking him had fallen into ominous light, indeed. James had been doing his best to ignore her, the past couple of weeks.

'I- is it not normal?' she asked again, in a quavering voice. Her earnest worry calmed James somewhat, even as a part of him wondered if she was using some sort of spell to manipulate his thoughts.

'It's fine, Rain. I'm just on edge, that's all.'

They continued down the staircase, falling into step with the steady trickle of students heeding the call of their collective stomachs and making their way down to dinner.

'I'm going exploring tonight,' Rain suddenly said, after a protracted silence.

'You're what?' again, too sharply. Enough to make Rain flinch involuntarily away. James' internal strife redoubled. How could this scared little girl be what Holly told him she was?

'E-exploring. I wanted to practise my sneaking. I am having trouble sleeping at the moment, so I was going to sneak out after hours. Cassandra tells me that you're the best at sneaking around the castle of anybody. I thought you might like to come along.'

'I- I can't, Rain. I've got to study, tonight.'

'Oh. I see.'

There was obvious disappointment in her voice, and James was beginning to worry that he'd been too harsh, when she spoke up once more.

'Is it a girl-friend think? Like before?'

'What-? No, it's an I'm busy thing. That's all. Anyway, I just remembered I left my wand in the common room. I'm going to go back and get it.'

'That's fine. I'll wait for you!'

'Don't. I'll see you later, Rain.'

'Oh. Bye, James.'

James didn't see the sad little look on her face, or the single hand half-raised in farewell as he spun and tore off back up the stairs, eager to find a spot to hide out and avoid all of his friends for the rest of the night.

But his plan worked for less than a day, as the follow morning – a bright and crisp Saturday – saw he and Fred making their way down to the Quidditch Pitch together to get in one final practice before their first match of the season, against Ravenclaw. The sun was already well above the distant mountains, and the pale, watery light of its morning glow was glimmering coyly atop the surface of the lake. A wintry breeze was blowing down from the mountains, dragging its fingers through the Forbidden Forest and pervading the air with a rich, earthy scent of pine and humus. Though it was barely strong enough to stir the hairs on James' arm, it nonetheless brought chill promise of the colder months to come.

'Why don't you play Carissa as the sole Enabler, and Preston and yourself both play as Finishers?' Fred asked, referring to the different roles within the Chaser position.

James rubbed his jaw, squinting up at the stadium ahead of them as he ran through the situation in his mind. He wouldn't admit it, but the presence of Quidditch looming suddenly so close was giving him a much-needed distraction from all of the gloomy moping of the past couple weeks.

'Wouldn't work,' he finally said. 'Carissa's arm strength is too weak. We'd be severely limiting the number of manoeuvres we could perform if all of the play was funnelled through her alone.'

Fred gave a noncommittal grunt. 'Are you sure she was the right decision? It feels a bit like we're limiting ourselves.'

'It was the right decision,' James replied flatly.

'All I'm saying, is that I saw Gen Sweeting practicing the other night…

'Not happening, Fred.'

'We don't have to like her–'

'But that's where you're wrong. There's seven of us on a team. That's it. We spend more time with each other throughout the year than almost anybody else in the school. It's like a little family. At least, that's the way I see it. Maybe I don't have to think she's the best thing since the Cheering Charm, but I need to at least respect her, Fred. And you saw what she was like at the trial. The case is closed, Fred. Drop it.'

Fred shrugged, and adjusted the way he carried his broom on his shoulder. 'You're the boss. Tell me, then, O Fearless Leader, how do you plan to turn this weakness into a strength?'

Up ahead, the entrance to the Quidditch stadium gaped open and inviting, the stretch of charmed, manicured grass a perfect, verdant green, the goal hoops a rich, burnished gold. Home. James simply smiled. 'You're just going to have to wait and see.'

Three hours later, and James had called an end to the session. The teams' stomachs, more than anything, had signalled that time was up, for lunch time was upon them, and James had pushed them hard enough so that they'd worked up quite some appetite. The end of practice found himself and Fred, walking side-by-side once more, but this time leaving the towering stadium spires in their wake, as they meandered back up towards the castle, following the intermittent scents of mouth-watering fresh bread that would waft their way on a stray eddy of the breeze every so often.

'I must admit, James, I'm impressed. Colour me confident for next week's match.'

The practice had been even more of a success than James had hoped for, and Fred hadn't been the only one to utter similar sentiments about the upcoming game.

'Told you I had a plan,' James said, allowing himself just a touch of smugness.

'I'll admit, I didn't think you had it in you. I didn't think Carissa had it in her.'

'James Potter was inside of who, exactly?'

The voice came from behind them, back toward the pitch. There was no need for James to turn around to see who it was. He'd recognise that haughty, degrading tone anywhere.

'Odette Mansfield,' Fred growled. 'Should have known you'd be lurking somewhere to spy on us. Tell me, do you actually get around on your belly when nobody's watching, or does the snake in you only go as far as those beady little eyes?'

'Careful, Weasley, anything more out of you and you'd be in danger of slipping out from James' shadow.'

Fred bristled. Odette sneered. James ran a hand through his hair in despair.

'Take my broom, Fred. I'll meet you up at the castle for lunch.'

James proffered the broom, and Fred took it alongside his own, but not before shooting a final, dark look in Odette's direction.

'Yes, run along little Weasley,' Odette sniped. 'The adults need to have a talk.'

'I'll save you a seat, James,' Fred said, ignoring Odette entirely. 'I'm sure that this won't take long.'

And with that Fred wheeled about and left them, forsaking the meandering gravel path for a direct beeline right up to the castle doors. He didn't look back once.

Odette watched him leave with an amused little smirk on her face. For some reason, James was finding it more irritating than usual.

'Do you always have to try and pick fights with my friends?' James asked snappishly.

Odette looked offended. 'I think you'll find he started it this time, Potter.'

'Because he's probably fed up of you constantly talking down to him.'

'Come now, James, let's not bicker. After all, little Freddy's heart was in the right place. He's only standing up for his poor, lovesick little buddy.'

'What are you talking about?'

'Oh, not just me, darling. Everyone has been talking about how sad and miserable you've been lately. And we all know there's only one reason why that could be, don't we?'

'What… are you talking about?'

'I knew you'd see sense James! We're just too perfect together, aren't we?' And with that, Odette threw her arms wide, as if waiting for James to run into them. Ideally blubbering a few heartfelt apologies along the way, if he knew how she thought.

But James didn't move. Instead, he just ran a hand through his hair and exhaled heavily, filling the space between them with nothing but heavy silence.

That it was making Odette uncomfortable was obvious. To cover her discomfort, she ended up striding forwards and taking it upon herself to envelope James in a gigantic hug, which he returned only very cautiously.

'See, isn't that better,' she said into his shoulder. 'You can relax now, James. I'll take you back. I'll forgive you. Of course, there's a few things you'll have to do for me, first. Like apologise, obviously. And tell me that you're fine with me leaving school next year to join the Magpies. And of course, you're going to have to take me on a date to make up for all of this palaver. I was thinking Madam Puddifoots. I can get us an evening reservation in a private booth. And then for after… well do you recall that time you showed me how you could unwrap a stick of gum with just your tongue? I think it's time–'

'Enough, Odette.' James stepped back, expecting to break free of her embrace. What he hadn't been prepared for was the rushed, almost panicked tensing of her arms when he made to break contact. He eventually pried her free, but was surprised to see she wasn't meeting his eye.

It was all too much, James had decided. Although, he wasn't entirely sure when he had decided. Perhaps it had been just now, upon seeing the way Odette treated Fred. Perhaps it had been some time over the past couple of weeks, in the depths of his fretting and frustration, and Odette's actions just now had given him the courage to come to grips with the decision his subconscious had made.

It was the sheer predictability of it, James realised. The same old, mean Odette. The same dismissive tone. The same sudden, salacious flirting. The same quicksilver flashing between infatuated and irate. Not one thing had changed. And nor was it likely to, James was beginning to understand.

'There's no need to be all embarrassed, James,' Odette purred. She reached out a hand to rest it on James' shoulder, but he made a purposeful step backwards. For the first time, he saw a flicker of uncertainty skitter across Odette's features.

'Honestly, Odette, I didn't even know if we had broken up, or not. But now that we evidently have, or had, I've decided I'm happy for it to stay that way.'

'I- what? James, you must be joking.'

'I wouldn't joke about this, Odette. Surely, we owe each other that, at least.'

'We owe each other plenty! That's why you can't–'

'I can, Odette. My friends need me. Now, more than ever. I just don't have the energy for… this anymore.' James waved his hand loosely back and forth between them. 'I can't spend half of my life spiralling with you, Odette. This gravitating around one another, clashing, and spinning away again. The ferocity of the fights rivalled only by the fierceness of the affection, as if there can be no existence without turbulence. I have enough mayhem in my life, Odette, without you adding to it.'

To her credit, Odette had stood silent and stoic while James spoke. He searched for any glimmer of expression or sentiment on her face, but came up empty-handed. For once, Odette Mansfield – who so famously wore her heart on her sleeve – had become guarded.

'You're making a mistake, James,' she finally said. She'd folded her arms across her chest, finally taking a step back and looking at James as if she'd never even seen him before. 'I won't offer you another chance. Especially not- not after this.'

James smiled softly. Not unkindly. Trying to make tender a moment so fraught and edged that it felt as if they danced back and forth amidst a field of broken glass. 'I always thought it would end in a blaze of glory, you know. Crockery flying. Screaming and yelling. A crowd to watch. Who knows, perhaps we'd even cross wands. For us, this seems almost… mature.'

Odette looked away, back out over the Lake and across the Quidditch pitch. One hand lifted up towards her face, but some remnant of self-control jerked it back down again. 'That's the difference, see,' she whispered. 'I didn't think about it ending at all.'

And with those words sitting heavy and leaden in James' chest, Odette turned her back on him and walked away. Away from the castle, back down towards the pitch. To clear her head. James knew come the evening, she may well still be up in the air, practicing her manoeuvres, circling the pitch in that graceful way she had, darting in and out of the stands with a breathtaking speed he couldn't tear his eyes away from…

James had to forcibly turn himself around and face back up towards the castle. He hadn't realised he'd taken half a step in Odette's direction, as if to call her back. Some things were best not to dwell on, particularly when they were still so raw.

But James found, among the sadness, that there was a sort of catharsis in the break-up. A sense of release. Truth was, James hadn't wanted to admit how much of a cloud the whole ordeal had left hanging over him. Now, painful though his decision had been, it had a sense of cleanness, a wound that would heal, not the festering, debilitating uncertainty that had been lingering between them.

James could focus now on Rain. On unravelling the myriad mysteries that still clung to her. And so the misery of the knowledge that Holly had imparted onto him could become a balm. Rather than the cause for distress it had been, it could now be something to throw himself into. A welcome distraction from dwelling overlong on Odette.

For the first time in a long time, James was looking forward to it.

He marched into the Entrance Hall borne upon the wings of great relief. But his stride faltered, and he stopped short no more than three steps in.

The doors to the Great Hall – where lunch should have been taking place – were shut. The few sounds that drifted out of the room were subdued and murmuring. Far from the raucous mayhem that it should have been. James drew his wand, feeling the comfortable familiarity of the cold wood sliding coolly into his palm. He kept it raised as he took a tentative step forward. Shadows fell around him, dropping over his shoulders like a midnight cape. The heavy thud of the outside door slamming shut drew a knife across already fraying nerves. James' heart hammered against his throat as he strained every sense for some indication of what was going on. A feeling of… wrongness pervaded the room.

Closer… get closer…

It wasn't words, so much, as it was a series of images and emotions conveying the sentiment, suddenly assaulting James' mind. But he had no doubt as to where they had originated from. The budding eagerness and bloodthirsty glee was radiating in waves from his wand. Death's Wand.

James moved closer. To his left, the Grand Staircase yawned open and empty towards the upper floors. But the wrongness was coming from closer at hand. Much closer at hand.

Sudden movement from shadows up ahead. James levelled his wand–

'Incarcer-oahh! Potter! What in the hell are you doing here?'

James bit down hard on his own Hex, staring in confusion instead at a harried-looking Professor Meadows, who bore dust-blackened features, ash-smeared clothing, and had her shock of bright blonde hair matted and snarled with sweat and soot.

'I was just- Quidditch practice- what- where is everybody?'

'In the Great Hall, being watched over by Professor Longbottom. Where you ought to be as well.'

'But what are you doing, out here?'

Bright white teeth flashed out from the smoky visage, making Professor Meadows smile all the more triumphant.

'I've found one, Potter.' She gestured vaguely behind her with one greasy hand.

'One…what?'

'One of those… those rooms. The disappearing ones. The sealed ones. Only now, it's not sealed, not yet at least. Come, look. Quickly, now.'

But looking was the last thing James wanted to do. His arm fell slack to his side, his jaw slipped agape, and a chill hand closed a death-grip around his spine. He knew the door that Professor Meadows was gesturing towards. He'd been in that very room, only a couple of weeks prior.

It was Rain's room. The room with the dancing vortex of lights. The room that he and Cassie had dragged her out of in the small hours of the morning.

And it had fallen victim to the Unmaking.