Just outside the tower, rain hissed and thunder crackled in the ensuing silence.
Brynne Walter stepped into the center of the tower, surveying her surroundings. This was certainly a more crowded situation than in which she expected to find herself. Trying to ignore the encroaching lightheadedness, she set her eyes first to her left, where Albus Potter stood guardedly in front of Sylvia Thomas. Albus was trying to keep a strong front, which wasn't common for him. Brynne had never seen Albus as weak; he just disguised his strength more thickly than his brother did. Sylvia was behind him a bit, out of his line of sight, giving Albus a look as if she had happened across a bag of a hundred Galleons in the middle of Knockturn Alley and couldn't believe what she was seeing was real.
Something flitted through Brynne's field of vision, accompanied by fast footfalls. Brynne averted her eyes in the direction of the runner.
Lilith stepped aside, almost evasively, and watched along with everyone else as small, black-haired Lena Urquhart threw herself into the chest of the platinum-haired boy, who seemed too shocked to react. After a moment, though, he put his arms around the girl, not looking all that comfortable. His eyes darted around him almost furtively, his fear at showing any level of tenderness very obvious.
Scorpius Malfoy was afraid of turning to evil – of proving his intolerant observers right – but also too scarred by experience to fully embrace his own goodness. Because goodness equaled vulnerability, and vulnerability was likely, in his estimation, an invitation for someone to put a knife into his back. That, she thought, was extremely sad – but not nearly as sad as the expression on the girl silently observing him.
They had not seen much of each other face-to-face outside of a couple of classes. But one thing had become painfully clear in the last several weeks; the Lilith Cross that disappeared from Hogwarts the spring before last was not the same Lilith Cross that had come back, or now stood before her today. Two years was enough to change people; Brynne knew that. But Brynne also knew, or at least heard, that Lilith Cross had seen some things. She spent a year in virtual isolation from other wizards and witches her own age. Her family literally fractured down the middle. She lost her sister, who had one point had been her closest friend. And it was that last awful trauma that was causing her reaction in this moment. Lena and Scorpius were as close as two family members could be for having only truly met each other a year ago. They were nearly like siblings themselves. And Brynne could only imagine how much this visual reminder of what Lilith had lost was tearing her heart out of her. Even from a short distance, Brynne could see Lilith's eyes glazing over and then watering.
"You!" Suddenly she brandished her wand and turned it in Brynne's direction. But she was not pointing at Brynne. Rather, she was pointing at Kadric Howell, who flinched a bit, obviously not keen on being attacked but also reluctant to pull his own wand to defend himself. "I know you. You've been following me. What, they've got Ambrose keeping tabs on me, too?"
"Ambrose didn't send him," Brynne said, concentrating on keeping her tone from shaking at all. If she was fated to be the voice of sanity in this mad situation, her voice could not afford to be anything but sane. "I did."
"Really?" asked Lilith, obviously not believing her. "And who sent you?"
Brynne looked around the room. "Three Slytherins… Three Gryffindors…" Her eyes found the small girl oddly slumped over in the corner. Briskly, she crossed the room and knelt next to her. "Finite Incantatem." She stood, followed soon after by the girl that had been hexed. She wasn't in Brynne's year and Brynne couldn't remember her name – only that she was a Hufflepuff and the younger sister of one of Professor Malcolm's Prefects. "Two Hufflepuffs. Right now, all of us simply being in this tower together is against the rules. Why is that?"
Brynne knew it would sound unbelievable. Maybe less unbelievable than if she were talking to the Professors, or Godric's Guard, or the Slytherin gang calling themselves the Progenies. But still, unbelievable. And perhaps dangerous – particularly if they knew where she had gotten her information. But then, they were already in danger if things didn't change soon. That made her decision easy.
"Everything that's happened at Hogwarts this year was based on the fact that Garrick Claudius, a Slytherin student, attempted to murder Professor Longbottom," she said. "So everything that's happened at Hogwarts this year has been based on a lie. Garrick Claudius was innocent. Someone assumed his identity, attacked Professor Longbottom, framed him, then used the Imperius Curse on the real Claudius to make him confess to the crime."
Scorpius and Lilith glanced at each other.
"Who would have done that?" Lilith asked breathlessly.
"The same person that did it to you, I'd bet," Brynne surmised. "And I would guess this was the same person that wanted you away from Hogwarts – the same person that sent your parents threatening letters saying you would die if you came back. You have holes in your memory, don't you? Places that you try to reach into… but you only find fog or empty space."
Lilith was shaking, her hands now balled into fists. Her face was twisted horribly, trying (and failing miserably) to hold back tears.
"You don't know anything about me," she choked.
"I know what you're looking for," Brynne answered. "And I know we can't find it the way things are now. That's why I'm asking you to help me."
Lilith appeared to contemplate it for a long moment. Her eyes glazed over and Brynne, for one wild moment, thought that maybe, just maybe, she had gotten through to her—
Lilith's lip curled. "It's all as long as I play by your rules, right? No… I don't think that'll work for me."
She glanced back at Scorpius, then glared at Brynne – and then began to walk through the middle of the room. Scorpius, though, called after her. "Wait—"
"Don't act like that," Lilith replied flatly – but she did as asked, and turned back to look at Scorpius. "You don't want to follow me where I'm going. It's not worth it for you."
She glanced at Lena, who was still next to Scorpius… and then toward Albus and Sylvia. (The latter tensed noticeably.) Last, she turned her eyes back on Scorpius, who had never looked away from her. Lilith opened her mouth, presumably to say something else… but whatever that 'something else' was, she bit it back behind her lip in the end, the corner of her mouth twitching upward into a split-second sad smile. Then she turned her back on him; but still he did not look away.
"You don't want to be friends, that's fine," Brynne said, just as Lilith was reaching the top of the stairs. She stopped. "That's your choice. You should be careful, though."
"Because of him?" Lilith queried. "I know that already."
"No – because of me," Brynne answered without looking at her.
"Is that a threat?" Lilith asked. "Are you threatening me?"
"We're not enemies," Brynne said. "I want you to know that. But I can't stop myself now, even if I wanted to. So if you end up between me and where I mean to go… I'll run right through you. It's that simple."
Lilith didn't respond. In fact, the very next thing Brynne heard was her footsteps. She had departed without so much as another word. Once she was well out of earshot, Kadric sourly summarized, "Well, this has been a waste of time."
"Not really," Brynne disagreed. "She knows where to find us if she wants to. Hopefully she does it before she does something completely stupid."
"Is that really worth much?" Kadric asked impatiently – but there was a touch of sadness in his voice.
Brynne grimaced. "We'll find out soon, I guess. We should get back to the library while we've still got a few hours."
She and Kadric started walking toward the stairs themselves. After a few paces, though, she noticed one among their number was not moving. She looked over at Lena, who was still standing in front of Scorpius – and, in fact, had grabbed each of his hands in one of her own.
"Why are you with Godric's Guard?" Lena asked him. "They're no good. You know that, right? Does being loyal to Gryffindor mean that much to you?"
"Hell, no. Half of the Guard can't stand me," replied Scorpius. "I wanted to keep you safe. But you've got to keep a low profile."
Lena frowned. "Steph is…"
"You need to forget about him… Lena." Scorpius tried to be firm but gentle in saying what Brynne had thought for months but hadn't had the heart to tell her. "Whatever he was when you were younger… he's not that now."
But here, Lena let go of Scorpius's hands. "I'm not like you, Scorpius. I can't just give up on people I care about that easily."
Scorpius looked wounded. He bit his lip and averted his gray eyes from her face. "I'm just trying to protect you."
"From him?" Lena asked. "Yes, 'him' – not 'that.' He's not some sort of… thing. He's a human being."
"He's bad for you," Scorpius contended, this time a bit more loudly.
"I don't care!" Lena snapped. "I can't give up on him. You don't get it."
She took a single, pronounced step back from Scorpius.
"You've had it worse than you deserve… but at least you can always go home," she said. She turned toward Brynne – but her green eyes widened a bit. Brynne tilted her head in confusion, and it took several seconds for her to realize that Lena was not looking at her but past her, to a spot on the wall behind Brynne and Kadric.
Brynne whirled around.
Albus Potter and Sylvia Thomas were standing in front of her, blocking her way to the stairwell.
"We're going," Kadric said by way of a warning.
"Oh, no, you're not," Sylvia answered sharply. But she was not the one concerning Brynne at the moment. Albus's green eyes were glittering, and he had an expression on his face Brynne had never seen before. It was the look of someone terrified of a decision he had made in the moment but not willing to back down from it, either.
"I get it," he said. Brynne heard a tremor in his voice that instantly put her on her guard a bit. "You and James knew this was coming months ago, didn't you? And you tried to tell people and warn them, but no one would listen and that's part of why everything's gone straight to hell lately. But James thought he could hide me from it… is that it?"
Brynne swallowed hard. "…He didn't want you involved."
"That's been going well, hasn't it?" Albus asked savagely, his eyes glinting. "You know, I saw my sister today. Lily. She said she knows you. I wouldn't have known that. I don't get to talk to her much nowadays, but she snuck across the stadium to see me during the game. She had to sneak and use a disguise and even then, Temple caught her and started giving us trouble."
Brynne sighed. "I warned her it wasn't a good idea—"
This, evidently, was not the right answer.
"That's beside the point!" Albus snapped, with a shout that rang against the stone walls of the tower. Sylvia's jaw unhinged.
Whatever had happened at today's Quidditch match had been the most likely final straw, but it was fairly obvious that Albus had been observing the goings-on at Hogwarts from afar for a while now.
"That's my sister," Albus said. The look on his face was heartbreaking; he looked at the same time enraged, trying to control his rage, and terrified at a level of rage he hadn't realized was inside of him. Blinking back tears, he repeated softly and shakily, "That's – my – sister. And the rules say I can't even talk to her when I see her in the halls, and that's just goddamn mental."
This was met with silence.
"It all goes back to the attack – Claudius or whoever the hell did it. I haven't seen or heard from Neville since then. To you lot he's just Professor Longbottom, the Herbology teacher. But to me, he's just Neville… my godfather."
Sylvia took a step back from Albus. The look he gave her in return indicated that he wasn't surprised by her reaction. "God," she uttered breathlessly. "Al… you never…"
"No, I didn't," Albus conceded. "Outside my family and the people that keep our family's records in the Ministry, not a lot of people know. It's not something we really wanted to announce to the world, even back when I was born. But I've known him since I was a baby. He's as good as family to me and I almost lost him and James in that room that day. And I'm not sure I didn't lose James, really. He hasn't been the same ever since. It's like that room took my brother and replaced him with…"
He trailed off, and couldn't finish the sentence. Sylvia watched him sadly, obviously at a loss as for what to do for him. Worry and hurt flooded Brynne's insides, like an electric shock or a sudden sensation of numbness coursing through her body. She had only ever seen James in passing this term, but he'd always looked more or less… alright. But if what Albus said was true….
What did he do to you? she thought sadly.
What was going to be waiting for her tomorrow? Would he show up at all? And if he did… if he did, which James Potter was going to greet her?
The one belonging to that man, who thought himself a monster, and took delight in making new monsters? His James Potter?
Or hers?
"What happened in there?" Albus asked. "I know you probably don't like talking about it, but… James and Murphy won't give me a straight answer. I need to know."
Brynne sighed. She wondered if James would hate her for this if he knew. But then, maybe he does already, she thought. Maybe Beal's twisted him that much. If so… this won't make much of a difference, will it? "The person that did it isn't here at Hogwarts. He's not in Azkaban, either."
"Where is he, then?" he asked, almost desperately.
"Your guess is as good as mine," Brynne answered. "In a lot of ways, it doesn't matter right now. We've got to deal with what he left behind before we can do anything else."
"I need to know what I can do," Albus requested. Brynne's answer was simple.
"Nothing."
But Albus misunderstood this, so it didn't have the desired effect. "Don't tell me 'nothing' – like I'm some little kid who'll just get in the way if I try," he said angrily. "Whoever, whatever this is, you and James are fighting it – and I'm every bit the wizard the two of you are. I'm not going to do 'nothing.'"
"Not even if it helps us do something?" Brynne asked.
"Why do I have to be the one to sit on the sidelines?" asked Albus, irritated.
"Because that's what everybody expects you to do," Brynne replied bluntly. "The moment you do anything out of the ordinary, you'll get everyone's attention."
"That's bad?" Albus questioned. "People need to know something's wrong."
"And they will," Brynne tried to reassure him. "But the right people – at the right time."
"And that's not now?" asked Albus, his impatience obvious.
Brynne sighed. "No," she said. "Not now… but soon. What you've got to understand about any sort of crisis... there are people who caused it, and then people who didn't but let it go on because they don't care or they have something to gain. They're the ones that get in the way the most in the end, so any sort of resistance has to be strong enough to deal with them when they push back – and they will. They will, as soon as someone or something steps out of line and catches their attention."
"What are you, then?" Albus asked.
"Me? I tilt at windmills," Brynne answered simply. "Or at least, that's what people think. I used to hate it, but it's useful. People think I'm odd. So if I do something out of the ordinary, hardly anyone bats an eyelid. And I'm fine with that."
Brynne wasn't sure which it was, but something she had said in all of those words prompted Albus to relent, and step aside. She glanced at Kadric, who followed her toward the stairwell. A quicker set of footfalls behind her signaled that Lena was following as well. She was right at the stairs (and Kadric and Lena were already descending them) when she realized she had one thing left to say.
"If you ever doubt if you should be in Gryffindor… don't," she said. "You've got more courage than most of them. It's easy to wave your wand around. Asking questions, demanding answers… that's what really takes courage. And if more people were like you and James, we wouldn't be in this situation."
Albus, though, no longer seemed to be in the mood for talking. He had run out of either patience or emotional energy, and was looking squarely away from Brynne. He'd heard her, though, and she hoped he'd been listening.
She opened her own eyes the next morning to near darkness, other than the ethereal green glows on the wall that served to light the room at night. If there was one thing Brynne did not enjoy about Slytherin Dungeon, it was the lack of natural light. Theirs was the lowest common room of the four, almost completely underground. During better times, it had been a joke among Slytherin peers, who called members of the other Houses "surface dwellers." Conversely, other Houses joked about Slytherin being vampires because of their dark common room and commonly reclusive nature. But those jokes were just jokes…
Incidentally, Brynne thought as she dressed, there had been part-vampire wizards in Britain. The few that attended Hogwarts as children, though, were typically sorted into Hufflepuff. Maybe Malcolm was part-vampire, she mused, and it made her smile a bit. He certainly looked the part with his black robes; although Brynne herself, observing her pale-skinned, not-yet-robed form in the mirror next to her bed, realized that she had no room to talk.
A low, slow, grinding sound rumbled from the other side of the room as she dressed. Marsha Flint was a snorer, to put it mildly. Brynne almost would have preferred to have her awake at the moment, than listen to that godawful noise. It wasn't as if she would have asked questions; she knew better than that. Although she and Amara were both part of the Progenies, and might have taken it upon themselves to follow her. That would have forced Brynne to treat them… unpleasantly. (Although maybe not quite as unpleasantly as Lilith treated that young Hufflepuff girl… Brynne wondered whether she was alright.)
The staircase down into the girls' dormitories was almost empty – well, except for the doorway into the common room, which was currently being occupied by a taller witch who was blocking it.
"Excuse me," Brynne said politely.
The girl turned around and Brynne found herself staring up at the scowling face of Amarilys Pucey.
"Walter," Pucey said, by way of a cold greeting. "Good morning. Not planning on venturing out into Hogwarts' halls by yourself, are you? Beside it being against the rules, you know it's not safe."
"I've noticed," Brynne answered coolly. "It's even less safe if you put a target on your back."
Pucey rolled her eyes. "Don't be naïve. We've all got targets on our backs. That's why the Progenies exist. Unfortunately. We shouldn't need to."
Brynne pursed her lips thoughtfully. "We agree on that much, at least."
Pucey had offered her – offered most of the Slytherins in her year, really. But anyone who knew her had to have known what the answer would be, even before approaching. Her class was unusually small – only six total students in her House and year.
Four were with the Progenies. The last two were herself, and Kadric Howell.
Maybe, she thought as Pucey let her by and she took a seat in front of the fire (it was very early Sunday morning and the common room was almost completely empty), Kadric would be the first to join her. He was an early riser, typically. Before the Crisis started, he was almost always first to leave the dungeon. Tellius Nott commented on that, back in happier times. Now, often, Kadric would wait for Brynne. They were each other's only available friend in the same year, after all.
It was a shame, Brynne thought; Tellius and Kadric should have gotten on well. Both were similarly reserved and thoughtful. The same was true for Lena, although she likely would have spent quite a bit of her time with Scorpius if things were not as they were. Yesterday had been overall a bit unpleasant, but at least that bit of good had come out of it. Lena saw him, knew that he did not hate her. Brynne couldn't have known for sure because the two didn't share a room, but she imagined Lena slept more soundly and more happily last night than she had done for the better part of a month.
Maybe, Brynne thought as she smiled to herself looking at the fire, that was why Lena wasn't out of bed yet, either.
CLACK. CLACK.
Brynne's eyes darted in the direction of what sounded like footsteps. A few paces in front of the door to the girls' dormitories, was Lily Potter, frozen in mid-stride wearing a bit of a cringe on her face like she'd snapped a twig in the woods in her effort to walk silently.
"You're up," Brynne called.
"Should I not be?" Lily asked, nonetheless walking over to the couch. She sat down next to Brynne, who didn't look at her for several moments.
"I heard you ran into a bit of trouble yesterday," Brynne remarked. "You didn't follow my advice."
"It's gonna sound insensitive and I'm sorry," Lily answered. "But if you had siblings, you'd get it."
"I don't not get it," Brynne answered, managing a small smile. "Why do you think I gave you that wig?"
"…Where'd you get that from anyway?" asked Lily.
"It was my mum's… when she was a little girl," Brynne replied, with a fond smile. "Actually, my mum and aunt shared it. They were identical twins… so one of them would wear it around the house and then they would switch when no one was looking to confuse my grandparents."
Lily laughed at this. "My family had a pair of twins. My Uncle George, who runs Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes… he had a twin."
"Had?" Brynne repeated as a query, tentatively.
"My uncle Fred. He died… back during the war, before I was born," Lily said. "He was the only one out of my mum's brothers who didn't make it. I couldn't imagine…"
She trailed off suddenly.
"I couldn't imagine losing one of my brothers," she muttered, as if struggling to get the words out. "Not even James. Especially not James. He teases Al and me all the time. Or at least, he used to. But he made everybody laugh, too. He hasn't been the same since he came back from Hogwarts last summer."
Brynne certainly wasn't about to tell Lily what had happened – either she knew already, Brynne thought, or she didn't know and was better off not knowing.
"He wrote a letter to you," Lily said quickly after a long silence, as if she'd just remembered. Brynne felt her heart trip over itself. "I mean… he never sent it. He threw it out. I don't think he knew how to get it to you. We don't own an owl. Which is sort of odd, actually. We can afford one… I think Dad's just worried about our owl getting spied on. You know, with him being the Head Auror and everything."
"Do you know what it said?" Brynne asked before she could stop herself.
But Lily shook her head. "Didn't take time to look. But… he hasn't written a letter since his first year. He used to write letters to me and Mum at least once a week. But… he grew up, I guess."
The sadness in Lily's voice made it clearer what she really thought – not just that he had grown up but that they had grown apart. That maybe, now that he was fourteen, that his parents and his baby sister embarrassed him just a bit. None of this could have been further from the truth, of course; and Brynne figured, if she could help Lily no other way right now, she could at least tell her that.
"He loves you – very much. You know that, right?" she said, wondering if it would ring hollow. She wondered, in fact, if it would make things worse. But Lily just nodded and smiled.
"I know," she said simply. "How…"
She clammed up, but Brynne was now interested in what question she'd meant to ask. "Hmm?" she uttered, trying to encourage her.
Lily hesitated. "How'd you two meet? Sorry, I'm just curious because… you're in different houses but different years, too, so you couldn't have had any classes together."
Brynne smiled. "He got into trouble."
Lily smiled again. "Sounds about right."
"So, Professor Longbottom sent him to live down here, to teach him a lesson," Brynne explained.
Lily's mouth rounded thoughtfully. But she grinned after a moment. "He can be really stubborn, though. Did he learn the lesson?"
Another fond smile crossed Brynne's face.
James
James wasn't sure why he'd bothered coming to the Great Hall. Now that he was here, he wasn't sure he could force anything down and keep it there. His guts were all over the place, in every direction except for right-side-up, to the point where he felt like he could be sick without eating as much as a morsel of food.
As such, he tried to distract himself by thinking. Which was, of course, completely ineffective; the thing his mind wandered to was the very source of his nerves and discomfort.
"Why the Come and Go Room?" he queried. "What does Brynne want there?"
"The history," another voice joined the conversation from somewhere behind James. James whirled around and focused his gaze further down the Gryffindor table. Approaching them, holding a quite stout-looking book under his arm, was a boy only a bit younger than James or Murphy. Rowan Lester's nearly shoulder-length waves of washed-out gold recalled the growing mane of a young lion. His glasses, however, softened his look and gave him the appearance of an intellectual. He took the seat next to James, placing his large book on the table with a dull thud. ("Careful, mate," Murphy drawled as he'd had to grab hold of his goblet to keep it from tipping over and spilling its contents onto the table)
"Maybe it's just the symbolism, maybe it's some sort of actual power, but… any time Hogwarts has been in crisis, the Come and Go Room has been instrumental in bringing peace back to the castle. Haven't you ever wondered why the Room exists?" Rowan asked.
"Well, no, honestly," replied Murphy, now between sips of his rescued drink. "Never thought about it."
"The Four Founders were the brightest witches and wizards of their age," explained Rowan, his eyes darting between the two other boys behind his spectacles. "I doubt that the magic they built in and around this castle was the product of accident. Like the staircases, for instance. A defence mechanism."
"You serious?" Murphy replied. The magicked stairwells were generally considered to be a useless annoyance by most Hogwarts students. For new students not familiar with their workings, they commonly caused inconvenience. To some rather less fortunate students, they caused injuries.
"Think about the era the Founders lived in," replied Rowan. "This castle wasn't always Unplottable. It would be decades before the Founders figured out how to do that properly. So what if Muggles happened upon the castle and attacked it? There had to be defenses both inside and outside of the castle to protect the students in case that happened. And in case the castle was overrun, there had to be ways for at least some of them to hide or escape. If not, wizards in Britain could be virtually wiped out."
"So the Come and Go Room was one of those hiding places?" James asked.
"Possibly. Possibly not. It's possible it didn't even exist at the time of the Founders, honestly," Rowan asked. "The castle has been exposed to so much magic over the centuries, it's almost become sentient – has a mind of its own, I mean. For example, no matter how few or how many students are at Hogwarts in a given year, we always have just enough space for them. Just enough beds. Never too few, but never too many, either. You ever noticed that? Secret passageways out of the castle that were destroyed during the War were replaced by others that seemed to appear out of nowhere."
James frowned. That's why Dad said the Marauders' Map may not be reliable anymore, he thought.
"Whatever 'soul' this castle has, though…" Rowan went on. "Whenever there's been a crisis here at Hogwarts, the castle itself has usually found ways to help its inhabitants resist. And many times, the Come and Go Room was part of that."
"So Brynne's looking to find the… 'soul' of Hogwarts?" Murphy asked.
"I can't be a hundred percent sure, but… you can't tell me that it sounds out of place for her," Rowan contended. "I mean… you both know her better than I do."
"How do you know her, anyway?" asked Murphy. Rowan made a face. "I mean… I just think it was weird. I never knew you two spoke to each other."
"We didn't," Rowan replied curtly, not looking James in the eye. "Up until this year, really. My Uncle Flynn travels and does odd jobs around Britain. I help him out. Long story short, we had an issue with a dragon and some poachers in Wales and crash-landed after escaping. As luck would have it, we went down in Morgana's Orchard, right in front of Brynne's place. And we… just… sorta never left after that."
"So you all live together?" Murphy asked. Rowan gave the quickest glance to James and winced.
"We did, for part of the summer," he answered, looking thoroughly uncomfortable. "But that's just because Uncle Flynn's leg was in pieces. He couldn't travel. Lucky we landed where we did, honestly – or else he might've lost the leg. Brynne's aunt, Flora… she nursed Uncle Flynn back to health, like I said. She'd started training as a Healer not long out of school, but then her sister died…"
"Was murdered, you mean," James corrected him. Rowan's face became grim.
"Yeah," he agreed. "So she took Brynne and went into hiding at the Orchard. I kind of wonder what kept her there. Your dad put Gladius Leo away, after all."
He glanced at James again, a bit nervously. James's heart sank. He knew what was happening.
Almost as if Rowan had read his mind, he then hastily said, "No, I don't like her. I mean, I like her, I care for her as a friend, but I don't fancy her." Then, almost as if he thought James would be offended by this, he added, "I mean, she's… I could definitely see where someone would, but… not me. We're… friends, and I'm alright with that. Plus, things would be weird."
"Weird?" Murphy queried.
"I mean…" Rowan went on uncertainly. "I guess, technically, there wouldn't be anything wrong with it, but it'd be weird…er. It's already weird."
"Ickle tyke," Murphy chuckled. Rowan glared at him for a moment. "So, nothing at all to worry about." He checked his watch. "Except for being late. It's ten before."
James's heart jumped into his throat. "Are you serious? We should've left five minutes ago."
"We're fine. It's ten minutes – eight if you hurry," Rowan answered casually.
"We should probably hurry, then," James answered, trying to make his space look somewhat organized. Why, he didn't know. The house-elves magicked all of the empty dishes down into the kitchens underneath the Great Hall anyway, so it didn't matter. Neither Murphy nor Rowan bothered with this show. James's heart was punching him in the ribs.
Turning on his heel only to narrowly avoid walking into the chest of Professor C.B. Malcolm didn't help matters.
Why was he showing up now? Did he know? He always looked like he knew.
James comforted himself in the moment with the thought that Malcolm probably knew slightly less than James himself did. And James himself knew nothing.
"In a hurry, Mr. Potter?" he asked.
"Professor?" Rowan emerged from behind James. Almost instantly, Malcolm's expression changed to something… softer. James had no idea why, but it was evident that the dislike Malcolm carried for him and for most Gryffindors didn't quite carry over to Rowan.
"Mr. Lester," Malcolm's voice remained impassive. "Not stirring up trouble, are we? Wouldn't want you running afoul of the wrong people…"
James couldn't help feeling like Malcolm had just made a very thinly veiled threat. At the same time… if he was asking, then clearly he didn't know anything. His icy blue eyes scanned the three boys, seemingly searching for anything untoward.
"You should cut your hair," Malcolm suggested. James was about to register how bizarre this was when he realized that Malcolm was talking to Rowan… which didn't make it that much less bizarre, honestly. "You're starting to look more like him than your father."
And he went on, no doubt straight for Professor Gladstone ("Afternoon, Mr. Albertine," he said to a slightly stout boy passing him in the other direction), who was at the staff table, speaking with the Ancient Runes teacher, Professor Halim.
As he and the other boys made the trek up toward the seventh floor, James mused on the fact that, aside from Neville (where the bloody hell was he? Was he just not coming back to the school at all?), Professor Ziad Halim was his favorite teacher. He probably could have made History of Magic interesting, James thought. In fact, James likely learned a fair bit more about magical history in Ancient Runes than he did in the History class itself. It was hard to talk about Ancient Runes – or anything ancient, really – without delving into history just a bit.
Almost before James realized how far they had walked, they rounded the nearest corner…
His footsteps echoed through the hallway. At a distance, a sandy-haired youth whirled around on the spot, raising a wand.
"Petrificus—"
"Expelliarmus!"
James barely perceived the flash of light in the distance. The sandy-haired boy flailed his arms, dropped his wand. James stood in place for a moment, his own wand still out – but it was not he that had cast the return jinx.
"If you're going to hex the first person that comes around the corner, mate," Murphy said loudly in the direction of the faraway figures. The sandy-haired boy that had fired upon them was accompanied by a girl. "…Make sure your wand's already up. That split-second it takes you to pull up and aim's gonna get you buggered."
"We're not with the Progenies," the sandy-haired boy loudly announced.
"We know that, Howell," Rowan answered for the group of Gryffindors. "We're on your side."
James noticed a very important absence. "Where's Brynne?"
"Potter?" Howell answered. "Is that you?"
James led his group closer. Howell's face – long, pensive, and with more apparent years on it than what should have been fourteen at most – relaxed in relief.
"I thought you were someone else," he sighed.
"Easy mistake to make," Murphy uttered. "He actually brushed his hair for this special occasion."
James glared at Murphy… but couldn't truly argue facts. A rush of heat went to his cheeks.
He investigated the two Slytherins. He recognized them both as being part of Brynne's circle.
"Where's Brynne?" asked James.
Howell looked to his own right. James glanced in that same direction and saw a rather large door – a door he could have sworn hadn't been there when he'd first arrived.
But then… that was more or less what the Come and Go Room did.
"She asked for you," Howell said. "…Just you. So we were standing out here, keeping watch."
"Why me?" James had the temerity to ask.
"She hasn't said. But I think it's obvious," he answered. "You're a Gryffindor she trusts. Your family's powerful."
"That's not the reason," Lena Urquhart, whose hair and eyes James had recognized immediately, piped up.
"What do you think it is, then?" Howell queried.
Lena shook her head. "I'm not going to say."
"Why not?" Howell asked.
"Even if I'm right, it's not my place," she answered. "If he's going to find out, it needs to be from her."
Howell grimaced, but conceded. "I guess you're right." Then, he glanced at James.
Brynne, James knew, had a gift for inspiring trust and loyalty. He wondered how aware she was that people were willing to do what she asked without putting up much fight. That was a unique power, associated with heroes and leaders – but also with people that had wrought heinous, horrible things. It was something he lacked – and in many ways, he was glad for that. He didn't want people throwing themselves onto swords for him. He'd tasted that bitter taste before, and it wasn't something he wished to see or experience again. He stepped toward the door, running his hand alongside it until he found a handle. Once again, he didn't remember the handle being there when he approached the door. Maybe, in this case, he'd just missed it. It was a very large door, after all.
The door, which looked impossibly huge, opened without much pulling effort from James. He took one final glance behind him at the threshold. He found Murphy's eyes, and his friend gave him a wordless raise of the eyebrows.
I think you've kept her waiting long enough.
James took a deep breath and stepped through.
He shut the door behind him. Almost predictably, the room he was now in bore no resemblance to Malcolm's dueling hall. In fact, it bore little resemblance to anything. The walls were white. The ceiling was white. The floor was white. Other than the door behind him, which seemed to stand in a frame by itself, James could not remotely tell where floor began, where ceiling ended, or where either met a wall. He wasn't even sure if the floor in front of him was floor or empty space. A bit gingerly, he took a step forward, his heart almost slamming through his chest as he half expected his step to become an interminable fall. But the emptiness and teetering lurch he anticipated never arrived. His foot came down, a bit uncomfortably, into something solid. This cost him his balance and he keeled over, shutting his eyes tight.
His knees thudded into the ground. They started to ache with the impact. A sudden rush of fear kept his eyes firmly shut, so he scrabbled around with his hands, feeling for something other than white nothingness. He took a deep breath, two, three…
His eyes snapped open.
The space before him had transformed – a hall full of golds, browns, and blues, an empty floor lined with carpets, a high ceiling, arcing and peaked as if inside a cathedral. Light shone in from either glass windows or lights made to look like windows. Hanging from the high ceiling was an ornate chandelier that flooded the top half of the room with warm, golden flickers of light. Beams came from the lower lights, cutting through what appeared to be clouds of dust. Whatever this place was, it seemed to have been a long while before it had been used or accessed.
Concentrating on the dust proved to be a mistake; it had probably always been there, but it was as if seeing and identifying it caused James's nose to twitch. Try as he might to avoid it—
His head throbbed. His throat burned. And for a second, his equilibrium failed him as if a fist or a Bludger had caught him in the face and knocked him for a loop. All the while, the echo of his loud sneeze reverberated through the hall.
And that was when he realized he was not alone.
Something black, something he had dismissed as part of the décor originally, rose from the ground, its mass unfurling into a shadow with two feet. The shadow turned around, lowering its hood.
James found himself frozen, fighting himself within his mind. He should have been running – maybe toward, maybe away, but somewhere. Yet, he could not, or for some reason would not, move. The drummer in his chest had abandoned its normal cadence as if replaced by someone far less skilled – skipping beats, accelerating then trying to slow down and even itself out. He found himself frustrated at these involuntary reactions. Who or what, he tried to reason with himself, had he been expecting to find here? And why was the revelation filling him with such… everything? Why was his vision blurring? Why was wetness crawling from the corners of his eyes to their undersides? Why were his lungs suddenly gasping in air as if he had run a full sprint, or as if they knew they were running out of chances? Why – why – why…
Before he could answer all of these questions – or even one of them, really – he watched the shadow in black raise a wand.
"Carpe retractum!"
James flinched as a rope of light found him and coiled itself around his middle. The shadow floated from its place, leaving the ground as it leapt toward him, robes whipping around shapelessly like a ghost (or rather like the Dementors he'd heard about in stories, he thought as a chill rose up his spine).
But this was no Dementor. This was something far more terrifying – and James knew his soul might well leave his body if they so much as met eyes…
Yet, here he was, staring into the rings of blue-gray, those coins of fair-weather sky dotted by black suns reflecting white light. And, blessed oblivion – it was all over. It had been before he ever knew what had happened. He never had a chance. He was a fool for ever wanting one.
"Brynne," he croaked.
Blinking furiously, she shook her head…
And she leapt upon him – a literal leap, all her limbs enclosing him as she left the ground entirely. Hanging on his neck, putting his torso into a vice that was all at the same time slightly painful and the best thing he had ever felt…
Then she leapt down, looked up at him with a faint disbelief in her eyes, took in a short, rattling breath… and buried her face into his chest.