A/N: There's been a bit on at my end, hence the delay in posting. But we are back on track now.
One of the first things that James could recall learning about Hogwarts was the horror of O.W.L year. He was forewarned about how much of a shock it would be, and how much more difficult it was compared to anything that they had faced in a classroom prior. His parents had warned him about it from the day he had been old enough to understand what Hogwarts was. His Uncle Ron had warned him about it almost weekly, and offered a dozen or more suggestions to weasel out of exams – though chief among them seemed to be finding a Dark Lord to fight. His Aunt Hermione had warned him about them and bombarded him with endless reading lists, book suggestions, study notes, and useful spells to have under his belt – almost none of which he had actually bothered to learn.
The O.W.L year was said to be one of the most miserable in any Hogwarts student's life. And this was not a surprise to anybody. So James had nobody to blame but himself when he returned back to school for the new year and had his socks knocked clean off with almost nuclear force by the workload that was dumped on the wary fifth years.
'It's the most important year of your school life,' Professor Plye parroted as he burdened them with a gruelling three-foot-long essay on the topic of animated to non-animated Transfigurations.
'You'll thank me later,' said Professor Longbottom to the long-faced students as he set them the unenviable task of de-seeding an entire hedgerow of Belch-gas Buxus, which was every bit as smelly as it sounded.
'If you fail now, you may as well pack up and prepare for a life casting cleaning charms on toilets,' Professor Ellfrick warned them coldly, as the Gryffindor fifth-years cut a mountain of elfgrass stems to toss into steaming, hissing cauldrons on the exact stroke of the minute, every minute, for over three hours.
But it was Professor Meadows that had them working hardest of all, as her lessons took not only a mental toll, but a physical one. She had them out in the grounds every other day, practising Jinxes and Counter-Jinxes, lining students up to face off with one another to perfect the art of the draw, or had them line up one-by one and practise their aim by trying to hit a solitary tree at twenty paces, then thirty, then fifty. And it wasn't even a very big tree.
She kept a running tally, in the form of a board of floating letters that hovered around behind her through the duration of the class, which she had dubbed her 'Wall of Shame', and on it went the names of any student who failed to live up to her ever-increasing expectations throughout the course of the lesson. Addition to the Wall of Shame was worth negative five house points. A second black mark earned the unlucky student a lap around the castle at a brisk jog – 'a fighter must be fit, not fat, Potter! I could hit that gut of yours in my sleep, get moving!' – and the dreaded Third Mark was sufficient to volunteer the hapless youngster as target practice for his or her peers for the remainder of the lesson. A punishment that left the sting of embarrassment lingering long after the last ache of the Hexes and Jinxes had faded. During the first week alone, James racked up two Third Marks in the space of three lessons.
It should also be noted that during much of this time period, a persistent, drenching drizzle had set in over the valley in which Hogwarts Castle sat, and so on top of being laughed at, shot at, and the butt of almost every single one of Professor Meadows' jokes, James was almost always wet, and definitely always cold.
'You still fancy Professor Meadows after all of this then?' Fred asked that Friday evening as the Gryffindor fifth-years lay scattered about the common room, draped over furniture or even spread-eagled on the floor like corpses.
Fred was wrapped up in no fewer than a dozen blankets of varying thickness, and nursing a glass of something foul-smelling and steaming that Madam Petheridge had given him as Zoe Meadows' class had already run her out of Pepper-Up Potion. Cat was laying deathly still on the rug by the fireplace. So close to the crackling flames, in fact, that there was a very real concern that she may singe off her hair again. James, for his part, had constructed a miniature fort made of hot water bottles, courtesy of the House-Elves. Though even this, piled almost as high as the couch upon which he was laying, was not enough to shake the chill from another Three-Mark day in Zoe Meadows' class.
'Sod off,' James growled half-heartedly.
'She's got it in for you, mate. Nobody else in the class has racked up even half as many Marks as you have.'
'Ugh, tell me about it. As if I need reminding.'
'You know, when I was a little girl,' Cat spoke up. She was currently laying face-down in the plush rug, so her voice came out rather muffled. 'A little boy named Sigi used to tease me endlessly. He was ever so mean. One day I confronted him about it, and he confessed he was secretly in love with me. Then pulled my hair and ran away.'
'Oh, put a sock in it, you two,' James growled, hurling a cushion at Cat. It landed on her back with a whump, and remained there. Cat didn't even bother to push it aside. 'Where's Clip gone? I need him to rearrange my hot water bottle castle again, the south wall is collapsing.'
'Studying with Cassie,' Fred said, making a face to show just how much "studying" he thought was actually going on.
'All this extra study time,' James said. 'And he's still struggling with his spells. If Zoe didn't feel sorry for him, he'd have at least as many Marks as me.'
'Oh, so it's Zoe, now?' Cat teased from the rug.
'Shut up.'
'Clip would be alright if Cassie had him practicing with the right wand,' Fred said with a grin. 'The one she's using only shoots one spell, doesn't it?'
This, at last, forced Cat to move, as she rolled onto her back and flung a wet sock at Fred, which she'd been drying by the fireside. It hit him square in the face.
The sudden burst of effort left Cat groaning in misery. James laughed for a moment at Fred's expense, and then started groaning at even that level of exertion. Fred just groaned, as muddy water trickled down his chin, and such was his exhaustion that he didn't even bother to wipe it off.
O. were hell.
And come Saturday morning, James thought he'd get a little bit of his own back, and vent his frustrations on the one he saw as the ringleader of the circus of misery that the fifth-years had suddenly found themselves in.
Zoe – Professor Meadows – he chided himself, had scheduled another meeting to work on his Occlumency, again under the guise of remedial studies, but James was of a mind to spend a good fifteen minutes at least letting her know just how her lesson planning was making him feel. He worked on just what he was going to say as he stormed downwards through the castle towards the classroom they would be using. He worked on the trick of shouting his displeasure both mentally and verbally, just in case she was using what skill she had in Legilimency to try and find him. He hoped it would give her a headache.
He arrived to find the classroom set up as if for a regular lesson. Desks were aligned in neat rows, spaced precisely apart so that it would be as obvious as a Niffler in your knickers if any of the students tried to lean over and whisper or pass notes. James knew that Professor Meadows liked to arrange the desks like this before every lesson, as it made it far more dramatic when she swept them to the side with a great, dramatic wave of her wand, in preparation for a practical demonstration.
And, speak of the she-devil, there she sat, perched up on the teacher's desk as if it were a throne. As she was leaning forwards and fiddling with something in the joint of her wooden leg, she hadn't yet noticed James' arrival. Grinning, James grabbed hold of the door, which currently stood ajar, and shoved it hard, causing it to slam against the wall and send a calamitous crash echoing around the room.
Put out only slightly by the fact that Professor Meadows didn't even flinch, James continued his dramatic entrance with an angry stride into the room. He enjoyed the way his footsteps echoed around the mostly-empty space, all the way up to the bare, arched ceiling, decorated with its faded plasterwork and chipped stone.
'You've been putting us through hell,' he growled, banging his fist on a nearby desk for impact as he spoke. This, at last, got the desired effect, as Professor Meadows slowly looked up and found his gaze, favouring him with an almost bored stare. 'Where do you get off, having us running around like idiots in the rain and the snow? Parading us through the castle like a bloody mud-soaked circus! Half the class is sick, the other half have spent more time in the Hospital Wing this week than out of it. Whatever spell Bixby hit Cat with yesterday has had her hiccupping pink bubbles all bloody morning, Madam Petheridge has stopped even handing out Pepper-up Potions – on your orders, no doubt! And those of us who can still stand are too bloody knackered to even think about studying, so we're bound to fail everything else, and it's all because of you!'
Here, James paused to take a breath, but he was not yet done.
'And what the hell kind of sick game have you been playing at my expense? Three Marks every single lesson. Making me into a target practice dummy like it's some sort of joke. Half of the class can't even cast the spells I can, and you still find some twisted, fucked-up way to punish me for it, as if you're holding me to an entirely different standard which isn't just unfair, it's cruel! But I've had enough. I'm sick to death of being treated like a laughingstock, so if you don't apologise and promise to stop it now, I'm leaving the class. I don't need you to get a passing grade, I'll manage on my own.'
Finally finished, James felt as if he'd just run a race. His chest was heaving, his hands were shaking, and his legs were jelly. He grabbed onto a nearby table to steady himself. His march to the front of the classroom had ended, and he was now face to face with Professor Meadows, glaring up at her as she only stared back impassively.
And then her mouth… twitched.
And she leaped forward off the table and hugged him.
'Oh, James,' she said. Her voiced was hitched and broken. Was she… laughing? 'Oh, James you absolute drama queen. You complete, utter princess. Neville was adamant you'd last at least two weeks. I told him no more than three days. We even had a couple of Galleons as a bet! So utterly, beautifully, brilliantly predictable. You are an endless font of entertainment, and I do not know where I'd be without you. Please, don't ever change.'
She stepped back and held James by the shoulders, appraising him as if she was a mother and he the son, ready to depart on his first day of school. There were even tears in her eyes, but these were clearly not tears of pride, but of mirth. And the fact that it was at James' expense did nothing but rankle him even further.
'What are you talking about?' he asked huffily, shrugging out of her grip and taking a step back. He thought to cross his arms in anger, but discarded the idea as too sulky, instead settling for a good solid frown, like Cassie would give him when she was at her most disapproving.
'I'm sorry, shall we do this your way, then?' Professor Meadows adjusted her dress and adopted a severe frown. She pursed her bright pink lips and placed hands on hips. 'Shall I yell and shout and throw a tantrum as well? Shall I puff out my chest and wave my arms? I'll tell you what, I'll even mess up my hair so it looks angry too. There, how's that?'
'Are you… ill?'
'Hah! Not a chance. I'm simply amused at how little time it took to break you. Tell me, Potter, who in the class could manage to hit the falling oak leaf with a Cutting Hex on Wednesday?'
James stood a little straighter. 'Only me. I hit three.'
'And who was able to summon a stone, jettison it half-way across the Black Lake, and explode it so that it sunk the little dinghy anchored out there?'
'Just me, again.'
'And in the joint class with Slytherin, who was able to trap half of the damned class with the Sinkhole Spell we were practising?'
'Me.'
'And…'
'Brooks. Me and Brooks.'
'Holly, James. Her name is Holly. Your collective ability to sulk in one another's directions never ceases to amaze me. Irrespective of your hurt feelings, do you see what I'm getting at here?'
'You're trying to punish me for being better?'
Thwack!
'You bloody–' Smack! 'Thick-skulled–' Crack! 'Pillock!'
Professor Meadows interspersed the vebral abuse with vigorous clips around James' ear.
'When you get your Third Mark and end up as cannon fodder, what are the rules?'
'No bloody wand. No spells. No nothing, all I can do is try and dodge.'
'And how successful is that for you.'
James gave a moody shrug. 'Fifty-fifty.'
'True enough. And every spell that misses, you have advice to offer the attacker. Footwork, enunciation, wand movements, posture. And what's more, they listen to you, as well. Do you see where I'm going with this?'
'I suppose…'
'Bullshit, I don't need Legilimency to see through that dopey look in your eyes. Now, don't let this swell that already-massive head of yours, Potter, but you're an ace student. You do almost as much teaching as I do in those lessons, walking around offering help and advice. And they listen to you like they never will to me. These days, I'm just the grumpy bitch who dragged them out in the rain. You, at least, are suffering as much as they are, so they're on your side. I dare say this has been the most productive week of the year so far, and it's no small thanks to you, Potter.'
'Well why the need to make me target practice all the time, then?'
'Two reasons – the first being that it's when you do your best work, and give the most practical advice. You have this remarkable ability to both correct the students' ability, and also do it without seeming like a smug arse. It probably helps that they get to Stun you every so often, I guess.'
'And the second reason?'
'It gives me endless joy.'
James threw up his hands. He glared at Professor Meadows and her stupid, smug smile. He glared at the wall clock. He glared out the window at the stupid blue sky.
'It still doesn't explain why you have to go so hard on me in the lessons,' he said.
'You Gryffindors really are as thick as everyone says. I make no secret of holding you to a different standard, James. You and Holly Brooks as well. You're both gifted beyond the abilities of many of your house-mates. So, do you think I'll just sit idly by and watch you coast through the lessons like a breeze? Nuh-uh. I'm a Hufflepuff, James. Things don't work like that for us. Hard work is what will lead you to success. And if what's hard for the rest of the class isn't hard for you, then I'll find something that is. And make sure that you feel it. Just like the rest of them are, struggling with the things you seem to find so easy.'
'I bet you're not this harsh on Holly,' James muttered, and this time, it sounded sulky even to his own ears.
'You're right,' Professor Meadows nodded, shocking James. 'I'm not. And it comes down to a single, fundamental, irreversible difference between the two of you. Do you know what that is?'
James just shook his head.
'I like Holly Brooks.'
'You're an arse. Did you know, when I started Hogwarts, a part of me hoped that I would have my own Dark Lord to fight, just like Dad did. Little did I know she'd wear flowery dresses, too much makeup, and teach Defence Against the Dark Arts.'
Zoe Meadows punched him in the arm, but she was smiling. 'That's the James I know and love. That's my boy. Now, you asked for a promise – I won't stop being hard on you, you can count on that. But I will stop marking your tests to N.E.W.T standards, instead of O.W.L. How's that sound?'
'You what?'
'I'll take that as a "yes".'
'So all of these tests I've been barely passing–?'
'Well… yea.'
'Holly, too?'
'Uh-huh.'
'And?'
'Flying colours.'
'I hate you both.'
'Excellent. Now that we've got that out of the way, shall we begin?'
'Oughtn't we wait for Professor Longbottom?'
'Oh, he'll be another ten minutes or so. I told him to hang back half an hour, as I was sure you'd pack your tantrum today. Though I thought it'd be a touch more dramatic. Some tears, perhaps. More things thrown about the room, surely. I even arranged the desks all neatly for you, so you could really do some damage.'
'You are Voldemort in a dress, I'm telling you.'
'Come now, my nose is far too perfect for that.'
'Ugh. Well, in that case, Professor Longbottom can catch up. I've wanted to talk all week. If I hadn't been so exhausted–'
'You mean sulky.'
'I'd have come by already. On the first night of term I saw Renshaw in the corridors, and I am adamant she was rattling around inside my head. It was… it felt completely different to what I've been learning with you and Professor Longbottom, but I was sure of it. I felt somebody else up there. Like a breath on the back of my neck, or a hand hovering just above my shoulder. I tried to block her out, but she knew I knew, I'm sure of it.'
'Oh, fuck,' Zoe Meadows whispered. She had gone deathly pale, her lips slightly parted. She wasn't even meeting James' eye, instead staring at a spot a few inches above his left shoulder, wide-eyed and quivering.
James frowned. 'It can't be that bad, can it?'
But she didn't respond, only spun James around by the shoulder and pointed him back towards the door, where the very Headmistress about whom they had just been speaking was in the process of striding into the room amidst a great sweeping of midnight gowns and hard-edged stares.
'Forgive my intrusion, you two. I heard voices, so in the interest of being polite I waited out the door for a break in conversation. Now, I seem to have found a most opportune one.'
Her tone and her words were bright, but her eyes were hard and cold as ice. Even Professor Meadows was at a loss for words. This didn't dissuade Headmistress Renshaw, as she stopped before them, surveying them both in turn.
'You know, it is most interesting what one will hear around the castle if one will simply cast their mind out to listen. Walls are no barrier to the mind, after all. Thoughts carry far indeed, when projected with anger.'
Zoe frowned. James swallowed, and it was his turn to go pale. The tirade he'd been trying to direct at Meadows on his way down…
'As for this conversation right here, I'm afraid, I couldn't help but overhear the odd snippet or two, and you'll have to correct me if I'm wrong, Professor Meadows, but it does appear that young Mister Potter is quite excelling in the subject of Defence Against the Dark Arts, is that correct?'
'Well, yes–'
'This is wonderful to hear. I am sure that James will be as relieved as I am. Such excellent performance as I chanced to hear you describe must, of course, end the necessity of remedial lessons, I should think?'
'But–'
'Effective immediately.'
'Yes, Headmistress.'
'And I should certainly hate to think that such a gifted individual was being unfairly graded for his most accomplished efforts, wouldn't you? Particularly if such a practice was entirely unsanctioned by myself, and could interfere with the results of a student's O.W.L examinations?'
'Of course, Headmistress.'
'Such an offense would almost certainly be punishable by termination of employment, I should imagine. O.W.L's are, after all, some of the most critical tests a student shall ever undertake.'
Any colour left in Zoe Meadows' face drained away. Even her lips looked ashen and pale. James caught her hand shaking before she took a white-knuckled grip on the edge of the table. Fifteen minutes prior, James would have loved to see her get such a dressing down, but right at that moment, he was far too busy being terrified himself.
'Very good,' Renshaw continued. The gaze she had used to pin the Professor against her desk was swung on to James, and he felt the full weight of it settle down upon him, cutting through him like broken glass and freezing him on the spot. 'Mister Potter, I'm sure that your relief upon learning of your vindication is immense, and I should encourage you, in the future, if you have any further questions regarding extra-curricular activities, to seek me out first. And if you do decide to do so, make sure you decide soon, as we both know that time is of the essence.'
With that, Renshaw wheeled and left. Her cloak flared. Her steps clicked all the way out the door, uninterrupted. James and Zoe just stood there, watching her leave, dumbstruck.
Finally, Professor Meadows eventually raised a shaking hand, gesturing at the door. She was still pale and sickly-looking, leaning heavily against the desk behind her. 'Y-you should go, James,' she croaked.
James nodded in agreement and scurried to the door.
Lying low for the remainder of the weekend, James exited the Gryffindor common room only to head down and watch the Quidditch match between Slytherin and Ravenclaw. It was a rain-soaked, wind-howling affair, with much of the match obscured from the spectators' view, but the clouds parted just enough to put on full display the embarrassment for Odette Mansfield as she bungled a dive for the snitch, ending up in a heap in the mud at midfield, and leaving her Ravenclaw counterpart wide open to make an easy catch and steal an unlikely win for the blue-and-silver.
It wasn't until much later that James learned Odette had broken her arm in three places, and popped her shoulder clean out of its joint. She'd spent the whole weekend confined to the Hospital Wing. Had James been aware, he might have… He didn't know what might have happened, but suffice to say, things might have turned out differently. As it was, the loss to Ravenclaw was to be the last game of Quidditch Odette played that season, and, indeed, in all of her Hogwarts career.
Come the following Monday, James had no choice but to leave the safety of the common room. He peered up and down every corridor he entered, he scanned every stairwell, and sent one of the others into every room, just to check and make sure Renshaw wasn't lurking there, waiting. He kept what shaky walls he could manage up around his thoughts at all time, leaving him distracted and distant towards his friends. He mumbled away their inquiries into his jumpy nature with half-formed excuses, and spent the entire journey from Gryffindor tower down to the castle grounds with his head on full swivel.
And Monday was an early start for the fifth years. At least, for those who took Care of Magical Creatures. They were out of bed with the sun, and arrived at Hagrid's Hut to be greeted by the man himself looking far too chipper, and a watery sunrise looking far too timid to hold off the rain that was, once again, threatening to make their morning even more miserable.
There was, however, some small respite, as Hagrid whipped a garish peach-and-pink tablecloth off of a large trestle table and revealed it laden with pancakes, bacon, sausages and a veritable mountain of eggs. Without any need for invitation, thirty-odd sixteen-year-olds descended on the table as if they hadn't eaten in weeks, and Hagrid chuckled to himself, using the ensuing silence brought on by ravenous eating to explain the reason for their early-morning lesson.
'Today's the day,' he boomed, clapping his gigantic hands together loud enough to make Leah Ridley give a little "squee!" and drop her fork. 'All of yer hard work an' efforts over the past few months is about to pay off. The wee Snuffling's yeh've been lookin' after are due to hatch today. And a flock always hatch together. They need the heat from the sun to warm 'em up a little, so by my guess, they'll start poppin' off in around fifteen minutes from now.
'The breeding pairs you've been lookin' after in yeh're small groups will want to do most o' the work. It's your job to help 'em clean the young-uns, bring them some food, make 'em comfortable, all o' that stuff we've been practisin' o'er the last few weeks an' months.
'A typical breedin' female will lay about six eggs. But here's the fun part – Snuffling's have plenty o' natural predators in the wild, so if they feel in danger, a few of the eggs will be decoys, with the hope that the predators will take those ones in place o' the real ones. The safer the Snuffling's feel, the fewer decoy eggs they'll lay, so those o' you who've best looked after yeh're charges the best will have the most young-uns – and score more marks. Then, all yeh've got to do is keep 'em alive 'til the end of the year to get your final grades.'
James, who was mopping up the last of a bit of egg yolk with some toast, was finally beginning to feel a touch more human. And a thought had occurred to him.
'Hagrid, how will we know which eggs are decoys? We could be waiting all day for the fake ones to hatch.'
'Good question, my boy!' Hagrid boomed. 'Nearly forgot to tell yer. The decoys won't hatch the same as the other eggs. They sort of… explode in a wee fireball. Nothing too dramatic, mind. But it's enough to toast eyebrows off, so yeh might want some gloves, just in case.'
Suddenly filled with a great deal more trepidation, James followed the class through Hagrid's pumpkin patch and around the back of his Hut to where the enclosure for the Snufflings was located. It was a small fenced area, about twenty paces square, with a variety of small mounds, ditches and low embankments – nothing too high, mind, as James watched no fewer than three of the idiot things fall off one after the other in the short span of time they had been watching. Dotted all about the enclosure were little dirt mounds, filled with clutches of bright, sapphire-blue eggs that gleamed in the early morning sunlight. Had James the inclinations of a fox or a ferret or any number of predators that might like the look of such grossly-conspicuous, unguarded delicacies, he could have simply reached down and plucked a handful off the ground, completely unguarded as they were, whist the brainless parents scurried around the enclosure in a frantic hurry to – it appeared – simply crash into one another and fall off ledges and into ditches. It really was little wonder these things were going extinct.
'Oh, they're so cute!' Leah Ridley squealed, watching a pair bump into one another three consecutive times before managing to find a way past.
'Yea, I see a lot of you in them, Leah,' Tristan added with a sly smile next to James.
'Aww, thanks, Tristan,' Leah crooned, serving only to cement the accuracy of the observation.
The class was then set the unenviable task of locating their respective breeding pairs of Snufflings, and subsequently using them to locate the correct nest of eggs. It was, in a word, mayhem.
'C'mere you feathered bacon sarnie,' Fred cursed, as he dove at a small cluster of them cowering in a corner of the enclosure. There was a grunt, a curse, and a puff of dust, and somehow, Fred came up empty-handed.
'The one bloody thing they're good at is running away,' James growled, as he limped after a bright purple feathered one – which looked familiar to his female he'd named Suzy. He was, himself, sporting a nasty twisted ankle after falling into one of the thrice-damned ditches that criss-crossed the enclosure.
Tristan was rather adept at herding the brainless little things, and managed to pen a dozen or so in a corner of the enclosure in no time. He was methodically lifting each one up and checking its underbelly before placing them down again and letting them run loose.
'What you doing?' James asked, limping over for a breather. He'd just completed what felt like eighteen laps of the enclosure chasing after his Suzy, and had not a whiff of luck.
'I drew an "X" in ink on the bottom of our ones during the last lesson," Tristan explained casually. 'Makes it easier to find them.'
'Well you might have bloody told us!' James gasped, heaving his arms in the air in exasperation.
'I might've,' Tristan smirked. 'But it was a bloody lark watching you chase all over the joint like a madman.'
James gave him a shove, just as he heard Fred's cry from the other end of the enclosure. 'I've got you now, you bloody feather duster!'
They turned to see Fred wrangling a squirming Snuffling who might have been Suzy, rolling about on the ground as if he were tangling with a crocodile, and not a foot-long ball of fluff and feathers. They told him about the "X", and, just as he had the little creature upside down to check, the inevitable occurred.
Whoosh!
'Argh!'
'Gloves, Weasley! Where are yer gloves?!'
Hagrid hurried over and snatched the still-smouldering Snuffling from Fred's hands, which were already turning an angry and blistered red.
'I told yer, did I not, that they catch fire if yer get 'em too excited?'
Fred just groaned, cradling his burned hands. Cat was surreptitiously stroking her hair, which still hadn't grown back to full length from the time it had happened to her.
Eventually, the chaos subsided and the class managed to locate their respective Snuffling charges, with no small help from Hagrid. Fred was told he was not to be excused to head to the Hospital Wing, as – according to Hagrid – there was 'no ruddy potion able to fix stupid,' so instead, he was offered a burn salve, and confined to sitting at the back of the group and scowling at a newly-bald Suzy, and her mate Dale.
'Stupid flaming chickens,' Fred muttered. 'Just you wait… bit of gravy and some apple sauce… then we'll see who's laughing.'
Cat had collected Suzy and Dale up in her arms and was hugging them next to their little nest of six eggs, whispering to them not to pay Fred any mind at all.
The excitement and combustion and general bedlam lessened after that, and the lesson became something of a waiting game, as the heat from the sun's rays slowly seeped into the little sapphire eggs and the first few among the class began to hatch, to an endless stream of "ooh's" and "aah's" from the girls.
James lay back on the grass and gazed up at the pale blue sky, watching a solitary cloud drift across the face of the full moon, which was stubbornly remaining aloft, low on the horizon to the north.
'Good day for Quidditch,' he announced to the heavens, his mind – as it usually did – arriving at his favourite pastime as his concentration waned.
'Yea, great if your hands aren't so burnt you can barely hold a broom,' Fred grumbled.
'Better hope they heal up,' Tristan added. 'Hufflepuff plays Gryffindor in two weeks. You'd better be ready.'
'Top of the table clash,' James nodded. 'Battle for first place, and your first match back. Excited?'
'Relieved. And glad to get one over on those Council bullies. But not near as excited as Ava is. It's all she can talk about. You're all she can talk about, James. You should hear her going on in the common rooms come evening… she's like a broken record.'
'Oh, sod off.'
Tristan put on a faux high-pitched voice. '"Oh, James said this, James did that, I can't wait to get him in a broom closet and–"'
James shoved Tristan. Tristan fell backwards into Cat – who was holding their Snufflings and all six eggs. Cat squealed. Suzy squealed. Dale spontaneously combusted. There was a whoosh, a squee, and a great tangle of legs and arms and feathers. When the dust finally settled, Cat's hair was on fire once more, Dale and Suzy had bolted for the hills, and four little baby Snufflings were mewling and cooing in Cat's lap.
James sheepishly slunk off to track down the parents, as the look Cat was giving him from beneath her newly-smouldering bangs was cold enough to freeze his blood.
He made sure that when he returned, dangling Dale and Suzy from each hand, he was suitably muddied and scuffed and particularly complementary to Cat's new, mostly-bald look.
'You can hardly even tell,' he heard himself saying in a strangled, high-pitched voice.
Mercifully, there was little more excitement that awaited them, other than what appeared to be some explosive purple diarrhoea by one of the new Snuffling babies – whom Tristan had named Henry – and they finished up the lesson as one of only three groups to have hatched four Snuffling babies. Hagrid was most complimentary, and – burned extremities aside – he suggested that they were on track for full marks. That, at least, put a little more of a smile on Cat's face as they headed back up towards the castle for some well-deserved lunch and a nice, long shower.
James got as far as the Entrance Hall.
Professor Longbottom was standing at the foot of the Grand Staircase, ushering all of the milling students in the direction of the Great Hall, where James could see not even a hint of lunch was awaiting them. His confusion was obviously shared by the greater populace, as over a hundred of his classmates were shuffling and pushing and making little progress at anything beyond treading on one another's' toes and generally making a nuisance out of themselves.
He saw a familiar black braid flash into vision up ahead, and pushed his way towards it. Holly. He'd been meaning to speak to her about Rain–
When he arrived at the spot, there was no sign of her. Only a few, scowling, Slytherin seventh-years, who sent him on his way with a few firm shoves and an elbow into his ribs. He spun, cursing, and brushed up against somebody again. There was the briefest moment where James caught the scent of mint and lavender, and then he was spat out near the door to the Great Hall, through which the students were slowly funnelling.
He suddenly realising he felt a pressure in the pocket of his jeans, and reached down to find a folded note tucked in there. He opened it slowly, trying to keep the contents hidden from the scores of shuffling students around him, knowing already from whom it would be.
You don't find me, I come to you.
'Bitch,' James muttered.
Haul your lazy arse out of bed tonight. Usual time. Usual place. Try and bring your least annoying face.
James scowled at the note and crumpled it back into his pocket, trying not to be relieved that he had finally heard from her. Damn her, but the least she could do was be civil. He scowled and glowered his way over to the Gryffindor table, with his empty stomach, his dark mood, and his muddied knees. To make matters worse, still no food appeared before them on the tables.
A sudden flurry of noise from around the room, and Headmistress Renshaw stepped up to the dais before the head table. She quelled the whispers with a stern look, and even somehow managed to subdue the last dozen or so students who were shuffling in, late, quietening them with little more than a firm gaze and her force of will.
'Children,' she began, in a terse tone. 'We have some guests from the Ministry come to visit us today. They will be staying for a short while, and helping us to get to the bottom of these issues that have been cropping up around the castle. It shan't interfere with your classes or your schedules, but I think you ought to be introduced, as they had expressed a desire to talk to a certain few of you throughout their stay.
'It is my great pleasure to introduce two of the Ministry's finest Esoterics Engineers – Master Alderton Buckthorn and Miss Amelia Millhart.'
There was a scattering of confused applause, and two figures stepped forwards to take the podium.
The man was impressively built – with a thick, broad chest and arms like James' thighs. He had a piercing glare that could have given Renshaw's a few pointers, and the faint dusting of stubble darkening is square jaw and sunken cheeks. He looked, to James, oddly familiar, in a way he couldn't quite put his finger on, but a way that instantly raised his hackles, as if, from appearances alone, James just knew he was bad news.
But the large man was nothing compared to the figure standing to his left. Tall and slender, Amelia Millhart wore a long, trailing black robe that hid her figure. Her hands were obscured by black gloves, a black scarf bunched underneath her chin, concealing the lower half of her face, and her hair was even tied back with a wide, black ribbon. But it was her eyes – the only feature that James could discern – that were the most unsettling – they were too bright, too vivid. They pierced through him like a hot poker and left the impression of a gaping hole in his chest. They quelled movement and warmth wherever they landed, bringing only wintry despair and fear.
Within only seconds of her approaching the dais, whisper-silence has descended upon the room. It took her only a few moments more to find James in the crowd, and his breath caught in his throat. That pang of fell familiarity threatened to overwhelm him. He saw the muscles of her face twitch, in what must have been a smile hidden behind that scarf. But it never reached those eyes. Those mismatched eyes. One, bright blue, and the other a verdant green.
