James stood in stunned silence, feeling very unworthy of this sort of welcome. All of his rehearsals had been rendered feeble. Every witty quip, exultant greeting, pathetic excuse for an apology – they were all useless. It was as if it had occurred to James in the moment of truth that what he should have been saying in this moment, now that it was here, was something that wasn't any of those things.
Perhaps the only saving grace for the situation was that Brynne seemed equally at a loss for words. When she finally regained some measure of composure, she just looked at him – not quite a stare. In fact, she was blinking much more than what was usual, trying – failing miserably – to keep her eyes dry, then wiping them surreptitiously as if he was not standing right in front of her and could not see what she was doing.
A terrible thought occurred to James in that moment – what if it was seeing his face again that brought everything back? What if she was reliving all of that, just because he had shown up?
He backed away a step.
"NO, DON'T!"
James froze. He had only heard her scream like that one other time…
"Please don't," she replied, but this time her voice was small, barely audible, almost desperate-sounding. "You can't."
Finally, he arrived at what felt right to say – what felt like at least a big part of the truth. Ironically, it was only then that his heart caught him by the throat.
"You're right," he nonetheless choked out. "I can't."
So much more wanted to escape, but he didn't let it. In that moment, though, arrogance got the better of him and his mind wandered and wondered, whether she was holding something back as well…
Who was he? He had tried, failed, tried again, failed again… She always seemed to get hurt whenever he got too close. Yet he couldn't leave, and she couldn't seem to let him.
"Does your father ever talk about what it was like?" she asked. "Being him back then?"
James was taken aback by this question. They had known each other for well over two years and hardly ever talked about his father. It was something James appreciated, as it made her unlike most other people.
"I know he hated it," James answered soberly. "He still kind of hates it, but… he knows how much power being him has, so if using that power is going to make the world around him safer, he feels like that's his responsibility."
He paused.
"Neville – Professor Longbottom, I mean – told me once…" he remembered. "He told me that the time might come when I'd have to do the same thing."
Brynne's face fell. "Is that why you came?"
"If that's what's going to help," James replied.
"That's not why I asked you here," Brynne said firmly, looking away from him. Her fists were clenched at her side. "I don't need some sort of symbol or a name or something – I don't care what your name is. You've got to know that by now. I need your help. Not the Potter family. I…"
She trailed off, slackened, went quiet. If there was any more to say, she couldn't latch onto the words at the moment. He understood that much, at least.
"Rowan had a theory," James said, once he found his voice again in the silence. "He said you might be looking for power in here… sort of like the 'soul' of Hogwarts or something."
"No," Brynne answered. "I already know I'm not going to find that in any room. What did you see when you first walked in?"
"Nothing," James answered. "Literally just… nothing. It was terrifying, actually…"
"Until you asked it something really clearly, right?" Brynne queried.
"I asked… where you were," James admitted, not knowing why he was so hesitant to do so at this point. He heard her exhale.
"So that proves something, doesn't it? It's not the Room. It's never been the Room," Brynne answered. "It's who uses it. That's the Soul of Hogwarts. We are. But not just us – everyone that's been here before us. This room… I don't even think it's mine, really. It looks like it was used for something, by someone else, a while ago."
James had taken note of the dust (Don't sneeze, he told himself, as if that would actually work). He'd gotten the same impression. And, of course, he had only found this place after she did.
"But somebody's thoughts made this room what it was," James said. "So, you should be able to do the same thing, right?"
Brynne stood still and thought for a second. A long second. She had gone almost statuesque, not moving a muscle. Finally, she whirled around and drew her wand.
"Try to hex me," she said.
"What!?" James exclaimed. "Brynne – no. I'm not gonna do that."
"Do it," she said, and she wasn't asking. "I can take it. I've survived Cruciatus before. Whatever you come up with can't possibly be worse."
James cringed. He drew his wand, shut his eyes tight and aimed in the general direction, hoping he missed. "Expel—"
"No!" Brynne exclaimed urgently, and he opened his eyes again. "Not Disarming. Something that would actually hurt. At least a little bit."
James kept his wand aloft for a moment – then lowered it to his side, shaking his head. "Damn it. I can't."
Brynne looked annoyed for a second, but also touched. "James..."
But then she raised her wand.
"Everte Statum!"
James, who was going to make no effort to counter, braced for the pain when he heard an awful BANG. He knew the jinx Brynne had attempted well enough to know it did not work that way. His eyes snapped open.
And Brynne was lying motionless on the ground.
He swore, and sprinted toward her body – but stopped a moment later when she stirred with a painful sounding cough and wheeze. After taking some time to catch her breath, she looked up.
"Ow."
"What the hell were you thinking?" James groaned, approaching closer. But Brynne seemed to be unconcerned with his level of concern. It was only when he arrived at her side that he realized something completely mad – she was laughing.
"It worked," she breathed, wide-eyed. "James, it worked. I did it."
"Did… what?" James asked haltingly, utterly stuck and confused.
"You can't use magic to harm someone in here. That's what I told the Room I needed, and it worked," she said quickly. "That means it recognizes me."
He helped her to her feet.
"Recognizes you…" James repeated. "As its master, you mean?"
"I don't think 'master' is the right word," Brynne said thoughtfully. "I don't think you make rules for this Room… I think you sort of just… put them into effect. You… make the calls that need to be made. Kind of like an Arbiter in Quidditch."
That, of course, was something James could understand and relate to.
"That makes sense," he answered. "So… what's the plan? Your plan, I mean?"
"A safe place," she replied. "A place we could talk through any problems between the Houses without violence."
James paused, contemplated…
"What are you thinking?" she asked.
James didn't answer. Brynne waited… waited…
"It's not bad," he finally said. But then he shook his head. "I don't like it."
Brynne's face fell so cutely, it almost made James change his mind. He wasn't sure if she was laying it on because it was him, or if her face just did that naturally – but she looked like a child that had dropped her licorice wand. But James knew he was right; more importantly, he knew she would know he was right, once he explained himself. So he did.
"You're settling," he said bluntly. "The Brynne I met didn't dream that small."
Her eyes drifted away from him. There was a bit of shame in her face, but also a resignation that he hated to see. I know, but…
"You're settling for peace in here when you want it… when we need it… out there," James said.
"I know, but…" Brynne finally said it. Still not meeting his eye, she added haltingly, "I thought… I thought we were all going to die that day."
"But that's exactly why you can't stop," James replied. "You've risked too much. We all have. We can't bloody well leave without getting what we came for, right?"
She grimaced in acknowledgement.
"You said you were going to change Hogwarts. And at first I thought you were mad, but then I started believing it. I still do."
Brynne's mouth twitched, and she nearly dared to smile.
Meanwhile, outside…
"…So we called her a 'hothead' after that."
Rowan Lester glanced at Murphy for a moment and rolled his eyes, but a smirk flashed across his face, betraying his amusement. Then, a wistful look seized his features, intriguing Murphy.
"Must have been fun, growing up with wizard siblings," Rowan mused. "Or any siblings at all, really…"
"You're an only child, I'm guessing?" Kadric Howell asked.
"Yep," Rowan replied. "I wasn't even two yet when my dad died. Mum never remarried after that…"
"Might not be such a bad thing," Lena muttered distractedly, a dark tone to her voice.
"What was that?" asked Rowan – but Lena shook her head.
"Nothing."
"What's taking them?" asked Kadric, looking at his wristwatch. "They sure have been in there a long time."
"Maybe they can't find each other?" Lena theorized.
"Maybe they did find each other," Murphy said offhandedly, with an 'inside-joke-with-no-one-in-particular' sort of smirk. "Whatever they're doing, they'd better get done soon. I don't like this standing around."
"No, I'm sure you don't."
Murphy turned to look at one end of the hallway. Striding toward them were four Slytherins in their green-trimmed black school robes. One of them was an older bloke that looked vaguely familiar. The other three were younger – a boy and two girls. One of the girls was sour-faced and the exact opposite of dainty, whatever that word was. The second was brown-skinned, tall, a budding beauty whose face was marred mainly by an expression that suggested her view that the entire universe was beneath her.
The younger boy was very familiar, a copper-haired lad with an affectedly hard face that was presently breaking out into a smile that didn't quite suit him.
"This is a fun little party we've arrived to, isn't it?" he asked no one in particular, but looked around for some sort of response.
"You guys are stalking people now?" Murphy asked casually. "Shouldn't you be guarding Slytherin's dungeon with the rest of – what do you lot call yourselves? The Progenies?"
"Guarding the dungeon?" the older youth spoke, punctuating his question with a chuckle. "Why? We know even you lot wouldn't be stupid enough to actually launch an attack on our common room. You all talk a big game about dueling face-to-face, but we all know the real truth. You'll hide around corners or in suits of armor, waiting for some defenseless first year to come wandering along, lost. Then, next thing he knows, he's strung up by his pants on the castle battlements with a bag over his head."
Murphy's mouth twitched in spite of himself. Predictably, none of the Slytherin group found it nearly as amusing.
"Think that's funny, do you?" the copper-haired boy snarled. "Your smirk always did piss me off…"
He went to raise his wand, but to Murphy's great shock, the older boy talked him down.
"Bletchley. You remember what we agreed to," he warned. "Alright there, Howell?"
"Perfectly fine," Kadric answered, annoyance obvious in his whip-like delivery. "Or I was, until you came along and interrupted us. Murphy and I were having a nice conversation."
"You're not supposed to do that," one of the two girls said in an 'I'm-tattling' sort of voice. "You're not supposed to talk to them. It's against the rules."
"Oh, and you care about rules now. Sure," Lena piped in. "Bullying first years is against the rules, too, but you and Amara did it. Guess I shouldn't be surprised. Easy to see where you get it. My parents both said your father was an a—"
"You leave my father out of this!" snapped the stout girl, her tone suddenly threatening. Murphy recognized her as a Beater and the lone female from Slytherin's Quidditch team. Marsha Flint, if he remembered the name correctly… "I heard the Slytherin team went straight to hell once your dad took over—"
To Murphy's great shock, Lena went to make a move toward Marsha and the others. Kadric was between her and the Slytherin group, though, and held her back (with some difficulty). "Lena. Come on… she's trying to bait you – stop…"
"That's right," Marsha said. "Your friend's trying to spare you an arse-kicking. You should listen to him."
"Marsha, cut it out. You're embarrassing us," the brown-skinned girl (whom Murphy guessed was Amara) scoffed. Marsha turned around.
"Was I speaking to you?" Marsha asked cattily. "I don't think I was."
"You don't have to speak to be spoken to," Amara replied.
Bletchley rolled his eyes wearily.
"You never answered my question," Murphy replied. "What are you doing here?"
"Just checking for any Slytherins that might have lost their way," the oldest of the four answered.
"I don't see any of ours here, Hawes," Bletchley said pointedly, staring a hole through Kadric Howell and Lena Urquhart. He went to turn around, but a call from Kadric stopped him.
"The Hat put us both in the same place," he said. "That's no reason to raise your wand against anybody."
Bletchley audibly scoffed. "You sound like her. And you both sound like naïve little kids. You need to grow up."
"I'm not the kid here," Kadric replied. "I stopped blindly following tradition a long time ago."
"Tradition?" the next comment came from Amara Zabini. The tone of her voice sounded like what she looked like. "You've got some nerve."
"Amara—" The oldest Slytherin tried to cut in, but Amara decided she wasn't going to cooperate.
"Shut up, Hawes," she said flatly. Then, rounding on Kadric, she said, "That's part of your problem. You don't get the traditions because nobody taught you…"
"If you lot are what 'tradition' would turn me into, you can keep it," Kadric answered. "I think for myself just fine."
Amara sniffed. "I feel sorry for people like you. But, you know, I shouldn't. You can still be taught. You just won't listen because you're too bloody proud."
"No, I won't listen because it's stupid," Kadric deadpanned. "You think you're better because your house is Slytherin. That's stupid. That's even more stupid than… well, than you thinking you're better than me because both your parents were wizards."
Amara's jaw dropped into an appalled expression that Murphy (for what it was worth) thought was way overdone. "I never said that! What are you, a mind reader now?"
"Wouldn't need to be," Kadric answered distastefully. "You don't do a very good job of hiding it."
"You're wrong," Amara said breathlessly.
"Am I?" Kadric queried. His cheeks were flushed. "I know what you're thinking when you look at me, though. I've known it since our first year. 'I'll deal with him because I have to, but he's really nothing but a stupid Mudblood.'"
This earned a few looks, and a gasp or two. But not from Murphy. He kept his eyes firmly locked on Bletchley and Hawes, waiting for, inwardly daring either of them to make any sudden move—
"That's ridiculous!" Amara cried. She was now well and truly losing her previously unflappable composure and, in fact, looked close to tears. "I would never—"
"—say it out loud?" Kadric interrupted with a question and it was the final blow. Amara went silent, her face blank, and suddenly seemed much smaller than her physical height.
Hawes glanced back to Amara and stepped forward.
"I liked you a lot bet—no, that's a lie. I never liked you. Walking around with your head down all the time, ashamed of your house like you are," he said disdainfully. "But I disliked that bloke a lot less. He was quiet and kept to himself. Now, you talk way too much."
"I'm not coming along quietly," Kadric said simply.
"I know," Hawes answered matter-of-factly, but Murphy could hear the foreboding edge in his voice. "I'm done asking."
Then he drew his wand.
"HAWES!"
Murphy didn't turn around, but he recognized the voice that had bellowed. And if he hadn't, Rowan's reaction – a palming of his face and a quiet groan of, "Oh, God…" – would have been a clue that things had just gone, if only subtly, from bad to worse.
Bletchley's wand was out quickly. "Oh, alright. This is how it's going to go?" But then, he glanced at Hawes, and through his teeth Murphy could hear him muttering, "Somebody tipped them off. No way they could've just guessed we'd be up here."
Funnily, Murphy'd had the exact same idea about the Slytherins' presence. But as he was in the middle of the hallway, right between the Progenies party and a newly arrived group of fourfrom Godric's Guard (Eamonn Temple at their lead), he was not about to point this out.
"Not good," Rowan muttered, looking very unnerved as his bespectacled eyes darted between the groups on either side of himself and the others. "Where the hell are Potter and Brynne?"
"Not sure, but maybe they're better off there at the moment," Kadric Howell reasoned.
But Lena's eyes had focused squarely on Godric's Guard, Murphy observed. Temple was accompanied by Wren Audrey, both fellow sixth years. At opposite wings, though, were two third year boys, both blond; one with a short, almost militant haircut to where the blond was barely discernible, and the other with a shock of platinum that rolled and curled a bit at its ends.
"This seems like a lucky coincidence," Hawes was the first to speak aloud. "You Gryffindors are using spies now?"
"Spies? 'Course not. That's your game, innit?" Temple responded. "I just had a concerned young lad alert me to something he thought was off. We Prefects tell our students to let us know if they see anything… off. Can't be too careful nowadays. Never know who or what could be… slithering around."
"Funny. Bet you stayed up all weekend thinking of that one," Hawes chuckled. "And you brought Vaisey with you. How about that? You've changed a bit. Grown an inch or two, I daresay…"
Hawes wasn't taking this seriously; but maybe, Murphy thought, he should have been - because Stephan Vaisey was staring straight at him, and if the venom in his eyes had been literal, Hawes would have been dying a thousand deaths on the spot. "I'm curious to see how you'll do when the numbers are even, you bastard—"
Vaisey raised his wand, but Hawes (who already had his up) interrupted, "Whoa, now. Let's not do anything reckless. You'd better look more closely. That's two of yours here in the middle. Wouldn't want to hit them, would you?"
"Suppose I don't care – what then?" Vaisey snarled. Murphy muttered an oath to himself. Fortunately, Temple was more reasonable. Barely.
"Vaisey, cool it. Murphy, Lester – five points from Gryffindor," Temple said. "You're not supposed to be up here with this lot. Now come this way before this gets any worse."
Murphy took less than a split-second to contemplate this option. Then he shook his head.. "So you can hex my new friends? Not a chance in hell."
"Does it sound like I'm asking you?" Temple queried. "Because I'm not. I'm—"
"—A Prefect. Yes, you've said it a million times," Murphy cut him off. "Or at least what passes for a Prefect nowadays—"
"You watch yourself. I'm not afraid to force the respect out of you," Vaisey threatened, his wand aloft and pointing at him.
"Vaisey, no," Temple tried to dissuade him. "We shouldn't—"
"We should. They're helping the enemy," Vaisey answered, his expression growing more frenzied.
"Stephan…"
The voice was small, and yet it brought everything to a stop. Lena had broken from the group and started walking toward Vaisey.
"Lena," Kadric called warningly – but she wasn't listening.
"Steph… you remember me, right?" she asked. Murphy thought she was missing something obvious. The expression on Vaisey's face, which Lena must have been mistaking for misremembering, looked more to Murphy like revulsion. But still, she kept walking toward the Gryffindors. Vaisey took a step back.
"Stay back!" he snapped, brandishing his wand at her now.
"Vaisey…" a voice droned forebodingly from the other end of the line. Scorpius Malfoy was standing there, his gray eyes watching Vaisey like a hawk.
"You remember the tree, right?" Lena asked. "You went all the way up to the top, almost, but then you slipped and fell. I was so scared. I thought my best friend was going to die. But then you landed on your feet and survived. Maybe it was luck… maybe magic. But somehow… you survived. You always have…"
Vaisey seemed unmoved by any of this – and yet, he was not attacking for the moment, which was good.
"I couldn't figure it out," Lena said tearfully. "I was so stupid for not seeing it, and I'm so sorry…."
More silence.
And then, Lena asked a question. "It's Bole, isn't it?"
This got a reaction – a bad one.
"Don't – say – that – name," Vaisey grunted – and a murderous expression flashed across his face as his outstretched wand hand began to tremble alarmingly.
"We can get… get you help," Lena choked out, and by now, she was close enough to Vaisey to reach out and touch him. But then, she turned her head in Murphy's direction. "Murphy ever tell you about… his uncle? His uncle's a hit wizard in Ireland. We know the Potters, too. Maybe they can help you, but you've got to stop this. Please, Steph, I'm begging you…"
Vaisey's outstretched wand arm slackened just a bit. He closed his eyes and took a deep, rough breath.
"Get away from me."
Lena looked physically wounded by the words. "Steph—"
"I SAID GET AWAY!" Vaisey snapped. "I'm helping myself now."
And he raised his wand around Lena's ear and pointed it at the Progenies.
"Lena!" Kadric shouted with concern. "Move!"
She didn't. The movement happened elsewhere in the hallway, as a door appeared in its center and suddenly burst open.
"What the—" Temple uttered. Two of the Progenies, though, reacted with their wands, Bletchley leaping out to put himself between the two Slytherin girls and the new assailants—
"Expelliarmus!"
A red jet of light hit Hawes's wand hand, sending his wand flying. Bletchley dodged a second, similar-looking curse, and came up ready to return fire.
"Aculeo!"
"Protego!"
And as fast as the initial flurry of action had started, it came to a sudden, tense halt. When the silence was broken, it was by Phillip Bletchley. "Go on – do it! You hate me anyways, so do it!"
It took a moment for Murphy to realize to whom Bletchley was speaking. Brynne didn't respond right away. She had her wand pointed in Bletchley's direction but wasn't moving. Her eyes rolled, and Murphy thought this was an oddly sardonic expression for her until her balance teetered precariously. Bletchley flinched, but any motion he was going to make stopped when an arm wrapped around Brynne to steady her. She recovered her awareness, and seemed to be alright. She gave a blue-eyed glance to the person holding her up.
"Potter," Temple spat. "Potter, Potter, Potter. Of course. Should've known when I saw this idiot." He indicated Murphy with a jerk of his head.
But Murphy took it all in stride. "You don't have any friends – just followers. Otherwise, you'd get it."
James surveyed the scene, all of its parties, all of its players. In all of it, though, he took care never to loosen his left-arm grip. That was his job now; in a way, he guessed, it always had been. And as sad as the scene in front of him was, as much as it made him seethe inside, he couldn't help feeling this strange, incongruous… it wasn't quite happiness, but it was…
He felt alive – as alive than he'd been since that fateful afternoon, holding up his Quidditch cup with his teammates, right before the war drums sounded and everything came crashing down to hell around his ears.
He felt her struggle against his one-armed clutch – probably not visibly to those surrounding them, but perceptibly to him. It was a wordless, yet clear communication: She was going to be alright. Or, for now, alright enough. And, while there was a time and place to show vulnerability, now was not that time – and here was not that place. So he let her go.
"Phillip—" Brynne started, but Bletchley shook his head.
"You don't even have the guts, do you?" he asked. "Am I that pathetic to you?"
Brynne shook her head in reply.
"You chose the wrong side," she answered.
"I chose the only place I could go," Bletchley replied through his teeth. "What the hell do you want me to do?"
"The same thing I want for everybody else," Brynne answered. "Lower your wand and walk away."
Bletchley's lip curled – but it was Hawes who spoke. "It's that simple, is it? 'Lower your wand and walk away'? You act like we haven't been doing that for years. Centuries, even. Why should I – why should any of us – have to accept responsibility for a Voldemort? Someone created him, but it sure wasn't me."
"What a joke!" Temple shouted from the other end of the hall. "You think this is just about one madman that's been dead for decades? Of course not. But it's funny that just about everything that's gone wrong with Britain in the last fifty years or so has come from your side."
"Is that what Wenster's been telling you?" snapped Hawes. "I'll bet he left out the part where he tried to have our entire bloody house held hostage. This isn't the first time he's raised hell like this…"
"Oh, god, you're so deluded," Temple groaned. "We wouldn't be in this situation if it weren't for your mate Claudius trying to murder Professor Longbottom—"
"First of all, that wasn't Claudius. He was framed," Hawes snarled. James looked at Hawes very intently. He was right, of course… but how did Hawes know? Did Hawes know for sure? Or was it just something about which he felt very strongly? "But for Longbottom, Wenster, you lot… it was easy to punish a Slytherin because that's what everyone assumes. Gryffindors are always talking justice, chivalry… but you've got an innocent bloke locked up in Azkaban just because you hate us that much. Doesn't sound very chivalrous to me."
"You're raving," Temple said.
"You want to come a bit closer, then, Temple?" Hawes asked forebodingly. "Say that to my face and see what the hell I do to you."
"You're the only one that believes that story, Hawes," Temple deadpanned. "That's because people like you always have some sort of excuse as to why a crook isn't a crook. It's in your blood, I guess. When's your old man out again? Couple of years?"
"My father did some underhanded things, sure." Hawes puffed out his chest a bit, which, judging by Temple's expression, was not the reaction he'd been expecting. "We all might not be here if he hadn't. His knowledge of the underworld was essential in the war effort. Dumbledore and Minister Shacklebolt called on him directly for information. Where was your father, Temple? What was he doing during the war?"
Temple chuckled and smiled. It was terrifying.
"You lot never change, I guess," he said. "He was a Muggle – obviously you know that, or you wouldn't have brought him up. But unlike your dad, he stuck around. Of course, in your world, his being a Muggle with honor still makes him inferior to your wizard deadbeat crook."
"You lot always think it's about blood status," Hawes accused, shaking his head. "You all need to stop whinging all the damn time like you're the only ones with problems."
"I'm 'whinging' now, is it? People died because of their blood status," Temple recounted. "The Ministry of Magic chased my mother all around Britain because her parents had been Muggles and they said she had stolen her magic power. Like you can 'steal' the ability to do magic. How ridiculous is that? You can spin it any way you like – but Slytherins and their pure-blood mania almost ruined this country. People like Zabini's parents—"
"You shut up right now!" A scream rang from the side of the Progenies. James didn't look for its source but felt himself nudged sideways as someone broke through their line to run at Temple and his cohort.
"Amara, stop!" Bletchley's voice warned, very much in vain.
James watched. Temple hesitated. Vaisey slid in front of Temple and did neither. "Expelliarmus!"
Amara Zabini, with her taller-than-usual-for-a-thirteen-year-old-girl frame, seemed to take forever to fall backward. When she hit the ground, her wand clattered to the floor not far away. She scrabbled on the ground to grab hold of it, punctuating her effort with a tearful, almost feral snarl. Just as her fingers neared the stick, a foot – Vaisey's foot – intervened, kicking her wand out of her reach, toward one of the walls.
Vaisey let out a laugh. "That didn't turn out how you'd planned, did it?" Amara was trying to rise, but could truly do nothing, as Vaisey had the business end of his wand pointed at the soft under her chin.
Wren Audrey, who had been silent up to this point, could take no more. "Eamonn."
"Vaisey…" Temple warned hesitantly. "That's enough, mate. She can't defend herself."
"Yeah? Neither could I," Vaisey muttered. And he broke his gaze into Amara's scared eyes to glance in the direction of Hawes.
"Don't you dare…" Hawes' eyes were wide, his pupils narrow. "Don't do it."
Bletchley was not as calm. "This your idea of Gryffindor courage? Huh?!"
"Bletchley, shut up!" Hawes snapped, and for the first time, he sounded panicked. "Vaisey, you want me? I'm right here! Leave her out of it."
"Oh, no. Hell, no. You don't get to negotiate now," Vaisey snarled. "You did what you did last year because you thought I was weak and powerless. You never thought it'd come back on you – ever! God, I wish you could see your face right now."
James's eyes locked on Brynne, who was surveying the situation. He could practically feel the conflict radiating off of her from a few feet away. Amara Zabini, he knew, had a reputation for being a bully, and had even given Brynne herself a hard time their first year together. Her parents also had awful reputations in wizarding Britain.
Despite all of that, James could tell that Brynne knew Amara didn't deserve this. After all, Amara herself was simply a product of the less-than-stellar way her parents had raised her. But she, like most other sons and daughters, hardly saw what the rest of the world saw in her father and mother. She simply saw 'Mum' and 'Dad.' James himself, in a way, knew exactly what that was like. But this wasn't his call.
He leaned forward, trying not to move too suddenly, lest Vaisey notice and panic. When he was close enough that he thought Brynne could hear him, he whispered her name.
She didn't turn around, but there was a raising of her head and a slight stiffening of her posture that indicated that she had heard him.
"Whatever you do… I'm with you."
Her nod was barely perceptible, but the reassurance seemed to embolden her. Her fists clenched, and she appeared to swallow as she steeled herself.
She never had the chance to make a move.
A pair of arms gripped Vaisey around the middle. The reaction in Vaisey's eyes was equal parts murderous and confused. But whatever he had been planning on doing, it was brought once again to a halt.
Maybe the tense situation had wrought some sort of higher awareness from James's senses. Maybe it was because he had been conditioned to hear unfriendly noises, like the distinct whir of an oncoming Bludger in whipping winds. But there was a high-pitched hiss and crackle. It gave him just enough time to launch himself forward into Brynne and knock them both to the floor. A red jet of light sailed over their heads, slowly enough for both of them to watch. It hit Vaisey in the belly, where the pair of robed arms had been clutched around him.
Two distinct screams sounded, then more than a fair bit of yelling and colorful interjections ("That was a cheap shot, you f—"). Incantations, then bangs, yells, and thuds. Right in front of him, Vaisey was standing, his own hand over his stomach. Walking toward him gingerly, a few feet in front of them, was Lena Urquhart.
James saw her mouth move. But it only took one look at the eyes of Stephan Vaisey to realize that, if his ears had been open to conversation, they were no longer. He raised his wand.
James coughed as Brynne, in an effort to free herself from under his weight, elbowed him between the ribs. Wand in hand, she tore for the place Lena was standing, already shouting an incantation.
Brynne got to Lena's side just in time, but the dome of light that had erected itself around the two girls quickly shattered and both were thrown back immeasurably fast.
Even with James's Quidditch reflexes, the force of another human being colliding with him at such speed nearly upended him. He managed to grip one of the two and break her fall, though when he did it she began coughing horribly. Over that cough, though, he could hear Murphy's voice, incanting, "Aresto Momentum!"
"Concordia," the girl in his arms muttered between her coughs. Then, she repeated it with a delirious shout: "Concordia! Get to the room!"
No one else knew what she was talking about, but James did. He started pulling her backward, making sure not to take his eyes off either side of the sudden skirmish. On the Gryffindor end, he saw Vaisey suddenly forced to defend himself against a white-haired boy, barely able to block the constant onslaught of hex after hex. Then, though, a red jet of light struck Vaisey's assailant in the side, knocking him to the ground. Temple emerged from the shadows, set eyes on James and Brynne, and fired.
"Protego!" James yelled. He flinched as Temple's unfriendly curse approached, but the protective dome of light from his first successful Shield Charm held fast. Then, though, he realized he had heard another voice chorus with his…
Murphy staggered in front of James, deflecting a hex.
"Go!" shouted Murphy. "Get the hell outta here!"
Meanwhile, Rowan (ducking away from one of those unfriendly spells) darted past James, making a mad dash in the direction of Amara Zabini, who was seated against a wall, looking like a deer in headlights, not attempting to raise her wand for either side. James noticed at a point that he was no longer guiding Brynne back toward the wall, but dragging her. He glanced around her cheek to look at her face. She had a cut lip – but, more alarmingly, she was out cold.
He staggered to the wall and leaned against it. "Concordia," he muttered. Someone leapt in front of him. There was a flash of light, a shout. He felt and heard the wall rumble. Then, in a horrifying instant, his balance failed him. The wall seemed to open to swallow both of them whole. He felt the pain of unbraced impact against his shoulder, but the hard surface he hit gave way once again, and in an instant he realized he was toppling. His instinct gripped the lifeless body in his arms all the more tightly; but he had no spare hand to break his fall.
His shoulder took another beating as he hit the ground. And everything after that was quiet.
A momentary rush of fear prevented him from opening his eyes in the new, strangely quiet space. He fought it back, and saw that the empty, used-looking, high-ceilinged room was intact, just as they had left it moments ago.
"It worked," James muttered, forgetting himself for a moment. When the weight in his arms did not reply, it prompted a fresh wave of panic. He gently turned her onto her back, his stomach sinking immeasurably far and his heart leaping into his throat. "Brynne…?"
Silence. He cradled her. Hesitantly, he leaned his face down closer to hers to check for any sign of breath.
A gasp. Her blue eyes snapped open. They were trembling in their sockets as she took in and let out deep, rattling, uneven breaths. It was only instinct that told James what was happening – and it was only instinct that told him what to do next.
"Brynne," he called softly, lowering his face into her view. "Look at me. Look at me."
Her darting blue eyes stabilized on his. Her breathing slowed.
"You alright?" he asked.
She didn't speak – maybe she wasn't able yet – but reached a hand to his face again, and sat up to touch her forehead to his. Her eyes shut and open in rather forceful blinks, if such things existed. Her teeth grit in effort, as if she was physically struggling against her inability to focus.
"James," she slurred.
"It's me," he reassured her. At least, he hoped he was being reassuring. He felt her forehead rub vaguely against his brow. She was nodding – or trying to.
"I know," she whispered, locking eyes on his resolutely, as if they were her only lifeline between her and something awful happening.
Brynne gripped hard onto James's robes as she tried to stand. Slowly, James followed her, guiding her upward. When she reached her feet again, it was a bit unsteadily, and her need for either balance or comfort (perhaps both) prompted her to lean back against him.
"I'm sorry I dragged you into this, James," she said – but James would have none of it.
"Don't be," James said. Almost out of a newfound instinct, James clutched her closer to himself. "I'm here because I want to be."
THUMP.
The door at the entrance to the room shook. Instantly, James's senses went into overdrive. Brynne wrested herself free of him and raised her wand shakily. James jumped between her and the door.
"No," he said. "You don't have anything left. Stay behind me – and don't you dare think of using another Shield Charm."
THUMP.
"James…" Brynne called him.
"We're getting out of here," James said. "I don't know what happens after we do, and I don't care right now. But we're both leaving alive." He raised his wand toward the door. The tip glowed and crackled with golden light.
THUMP.
James grit his teeth. "Well, come on if you're coming!" he snarled at the rattling doors, his shout echoing off the cavernous walls and ceiling of the empty hall. "I don't have all bloody day!"
The door swung open. James's eyes flashed.
"BRACH—"
"HEEEEEEEEEEYYYY!"
A familiar voice caused James to pull up short.
"Calm down," the voice insisted, its owner emerging through the threshold with his hands up. "Breathe. Paranoid's not a good look on you, mate."
Slowly, James lowered his wand. Barely, he won the fight against his legs, which tried very hard to give out underneath him.
Whatever had happened out there had done Richard Murphy's face no favors. One of his eyes had gone an unpleasant indigo right under the socket. One of his lips was unevenly thick and when he showed his teeth in a grimace, most on that side seemed to be red as well. Lastly and most alarmingly, his hair was a shambles.
"You two alright?" he slurred. He seemed, to James's rather untrained eye, at least, to be fully conscious – it was just that half of his bottom lip was about three times larger than normal.
"Damn sight better than you, obviously," James answered breathlessly. Even in obvious discomfort, Murphy couldn't resist attempting to crack a smile. "How'd you find us here?"
"I heard the password, obviously," Murphy replied.
James felt a yank on his robes and nearly fell over.
"What about the others?" Brynne asked, now on her feet again.
Murphy replied, his face now a bit somber, "We got off pretty easy. Malfoy got whacked over the dome, Rowan Lester blew his ankle—" ("Oh, God," James heard Brynne mutter, clearly concerned) – "…and I think Lena's having an emotional breakdown, but other than that… nothing a quick trip to the Hospital Wing couldn't fix."
"Malfoy?" Brynne repeated. "I thought he was with…"
She looked at James – who had no answers.
Murphy frowned. "In any case, the Guard and the Progenies all ran off, but there's probably gonna be hell to pay at this point. We should get everyone in here where it's safe so we can talk about what happens next. The Ravenclaws, too."
"Ravenclaws?" James repeated in shock. "Wait – what?"
"I don't know, either," Murphy said, a bit distractedly. "I'll go invite them in. You two stay here and rest."
Murphy departed, leaving the two alone again in the large, silent space.
"Ravenclaws," James repeated again, a bit bemused. "Was that you?"
"No," Brynne said simply, sounding just as flummoxed as he was. She let out a sigh and he felt her grip around him release. She walked into view, staring silently at the door.
It was several moments before James dared ask, "What are you thinking about?"
"…How to solve the problem." There was an edge in Brynne's voice that said she thought James should have known the answer to that question already.
The snag with that, though, was the answer wasn't the one he was looking for. In fact, it was the one thing he didn't much want to hear. "Don't you ever think about anything else?"
"Of course I did," Brynne answered plaintively. "I thought a lot about… what happened that day. It seemed… it was… awful."
"Why?" James asked. "Why would you do that to yourself?"
And Brynne turned her entire body to face him.
"I'm tired, James," she said, and the look he saw on her face broke his heart into a hundred pieces. 'Tired' was not a strong enough word. Maybe it was because she had been bottling most of her stress until this moment, but suddenly she looked a century old. Her eyes were oddly shadowed, like she had been deprived of sleep for several days on end. She looked like a candle in a storm – like one more gust of wind would cause her light to go out. "I get so tired sometimes. I'm past where just my own will can keep me going."
You don't have to do this, then, James thought. He never said it aloud, though; he knew it would do no good.
"But the reason I keep going back is I remember something other than the pain. I remember you," she said. "I remember how you crawled on your hands and knees to try to save me…"
"I didn't get there," James reminded her. But then, Brynne reached out very quickly and took both of his hands.
"But you did," she answered insistently. "You did. Beal could have killed me if he wanted to. He didn't. He wanted… he wanted to break me. But when I saw you reaching out for me, I felt… safe. Like if I survived, or even if I didn't, I would be alright. And every time… every time I was burning out, or I started to feel like it's hopeless, I remembered that. I remembered you. It helps with feeling tired… and the fear."
"…Fear?" James repeated.
"Do you think I'm not scared of anything?" Brynne queried.
James shook his head reasonably. "Everyone's scared of something. What is it?"
"Losing," she replied simply. "I'm scared of us losing. What about you?"
James had never truly had her ask him directly. What, indeed, was his boggart in the wardrobe? What was the identity of the specter casting the largest shadow over his dreams? He had never found the words to put to it – but as he spoke them now, he knew them to be naked truth:
"Winning," James answered. This startled Brynne for a moment, but then he explained. "I'm scared that we'll win… and that I'll come looking for you and there won't be anything left."
An invisible vice gripped iron-strong around his throat. A burn flashed across his eyes like a struck match. He turned his head away from her and shut them tight, trying to dam a flash flood that had come out of nowhere. Even then, it teased the corners of his eyelids, tried to find a crevice or crack to escape.
But then something strange happened.
Unseen, unbidden, closeness and a foreign warmth came to rest on his lips. In the ensuing silence, it was only the sound and the sensation of breath other than his own that alerted him to what was happening. He pried his eyes open.
Twin skies with black suns stared up into and through him, and he had a chance to take in their details. From a distance, he had seen a beautiful blue. Now, he saw icy, silvery cracks and crevices in their minuteness.
Soon, though, they drifted shut, and his own followed. Their lips crossed and bumped clumsily, like a complex dance where both parties involved had a pair of left feet. It occurred to him that this probably wasn't what one would call 'textbook.' It occurred to him that he hadn't even ever read the textbook. He might have done if he'd known this was coming. Or if he ever could have found the damn textbook to begin with.
She threw her arms around the small of his back. Then he remembered that he had arms and hands, too, and it occurred to him that maybe he might consider doing something with them other than standing there with them dangling at his sides like a slow-brained baboon.
Shoulders? Hair? What would she like best?
He became acutely aware of his lankiness, his gawky, mid-teenage-incomplete-growth-spurt limbs, how his arms were an inch or maybe three out of proportion with the rest of his body. As he finally decided to reach up one hand and cup her cheek, he remembered with a pang of horror, just how abnormally bloody large his hands were. He'd always had 'good Quidditch hands' – or at least that was what his mum had called them when he was growing up. Good for catching Quaffles and Snitches – not great for caressing a face.
It was all wrong… God, it was all wrong…
And yet, it was perfect. Because it was her, and that fact made every other detail of the thing immaterial.
Her mouth finally closed around his bottom lip, pulled on it lightly, and then escaped.
When he got a good look at her face again, he was surprised – even a bit panicked – about her relative lack of expression. In fact, she wasn't even meeting his eyes. She had a blank, unreadable look on her face, a thousand-yard stare aimed somewhere else.
Then she looked at him again. "That's why I need you here," she said, at almost a whisper.
She strode forward to walk past him, but not before leaning her head on his shoulder silently for a long moment.
As she stepped out of view, he heard the almighty creak of the great doors at the head of the hall swinging open.