Author's note: Hello FPB readers!

Maybe it's just wishful thinking on my part, but I imagine several of you have been making a note of how long it's been since the last update, and perhaps even sadly wondering if I've abandoned the story altogether. Well, I can assure you that I have not. Life just happened. Not all of it bad. Most of it not bad, actually.

To make a long story short (even though that's not typically my forte as evidenced by my stories' rather gaudy word counts), I started a new full-time job in the summer, among other things. Funny thing, how having a forty-hour job leaves you with less time to daydream and create than you had before. I've been writing during that span, although I had a couple of chapters and parts of chapters come out of me that were a bit…

Well, let's be blunt. They were crap. I wasn't satisfied with them when I read them back. And if I don't like reading something of mine, I think it's unfair to expect any of you to like it any better.

The fairly important last scene from last chapter (I reaaaaaaally hope you didn't just skip ahead), for example. You don't want to know how many times I re-wrote that. Just suffice it to say I'd been planning that moment since about when I finished the first book, as well as its placement. So, a few years of meticulous tweaking, including scrapping the whole scene about a dozen times. Originally, it was going toward the end (bit of development trivia for any of you that care), but sometimes a story demands something in such a way that doing anything else would be doing the story a disservice. As the vision for the second half of TSR started to come together for me (which, admittedly, was only fairly recently), I realized a lot of what happened in Chapter 13 had to happen then and not later.

This really wasn't a short explanation, was it? Okay, the TL;DR version: I'm still alive, still writing, just been busy with life things and trying to make the story better. A million thanks to everyone that's hung in there and been patient.

Now, without any further ado – Chapter 14.

Chapter 14: An Assembly of Outlaws

"I'm sure they're fine, Al. Knowing him, he probably just went out for a ride on his broom or something."

Sylvia's voice was strangely distant, like a badly tuned wireless, with his thoughts themselves as the static between him and the words she was saying. Comfort seemed strange – in a way, almost ill-fitting – coming out of her mouth. It was sickly sweet, rather like far too much cake. She wasn't an unkind person at heart. Albus knew that. They wouldn't have been friends otherwise… but she seemed out of place trying to speak a language that was not her own. Usually, it was her wit and dry sense of humour that did the best job at bringing a needed smile to his face. But lately, she had been walking on eggshells, seemingly afraid of saying the wrong thing. Albus hated that. He hated that she obviously felt she needed to be overly sensitive for his sake. He hated that she no longer felt like she could be herself because she was worried about him.

But none of this is your fault, he thought to himself – reciting in his head something she had told him weeks ago. None of this is your fault.

I don't care whose fault it is. I just want it to stop. I want my brother and my sister back. And I want Rose back. And Scorpius, too.

That part was his fault, he thought. There was a point where he knew Scorpius better than anyone else did; he should have known Scorpius had some reason for his actions other than what seemed obvious. Albus could make all the excuses he wanted. He hadn't trusted his friend enough – enough, even, to ask him what was going on. And Scorpius likely would have told him, because Scorpius trusted him. And Albus would have said that he didn't know how good an idea it was, but that he understood.

That is, if he had it to do all over again, and if he'd known what the right thing was.

"Maybe Brynne and James were right," he murmured, mostly to himself. "Maybe I should've just minded my own business."

"How is it not your business?" Sylvia asked briskly. "This is your school, too. You've got to live here. More importantly, your family's involved. How's that not your business?"

Albus sighed heavily. "I don't know… it just seems like, every time I try to do something, I screw it up."

Sylvia had been sitting next to him on the floor near the fireplace – but now she jumped quickly to her feet with a huff. Albus looked up at her for a second and then cringed.

"I wish you didn't hate yourself so much," she said, her face turned pointedly away from him. Albus could hear a weariness in her voice that he'd never heard before, and that was what did it.

"Go on, then," Albus said. It came out angrier-sounding than he'd meant it – but maybe that was for the best. "If you're sick of me, just go."

"It's not that simple," Sylvia countered.

Albus stood, and tried not to be angry at her. His temper was always so close to the surface nowadays. Honestly, he couldn't name the one thing or person that was causing it, either. "It's never simple, is it?"

Something crossed Sylvia's face. Perhaps contemplation. She bit her lip. An abnormal, yet somehow familiar feeling bubbled up somewhere in the pit of Albus's stomach as he watched her in deep thought. It was almost like two dueling, opposite panics – fear of what would happen if he stayed there, and a fear, somewhat stronger, of what would happen if he left…

But finally, Sylvia spoke.

"The thing is…" she started, in a low murmur.

"POTTER!"

Whatever Sylvia had been planning on saying or doing, the sudden shout brought it to an abrupt halt. She and Albus both turned their heads toward the general direction of the noise, which was fortunate. Crossing the common room from the portrait hole that served as the entrance was (and it took Albus a moment to recognize him because of the bruises) Stephan Vaisey. His face was a shambles, like he'd been in a fight (another fight) and come off worse. One of his eyes was black and reduced to almost a slit, but one Albus could see somewhat clearly was trained on Albus and Sylvia as he made a beeline across the common room.

"Hey." A taller girl with shimmering white-blond hair interposed herself in between Vaisey and his two fellow third years. Albus's eyes darted around the room trying to figure out where the familiar newcomer had come from. He'd never even seen her. "I don't know what your problem is, but you'd better bring it down a notch. Now."

"Move, Weasley," another boy's voice joined the conversation, calm and cold. "We're on business from Professor Wenster."

Albus angled his head around the mass of bodies in front of him to see Eamonn Temple approaching. Maybe he'd never paid much attention to Temple's gait before and had thus never noticed, but it certainly looked like the sixth-year Prefect had a bit of a hitch going. It wasn't quite a full limp, but his strides were uneven and tentative, like he'd suffered some sort of injury and was trying very hard not to put much weight on one of his legs.

It didn't take long for Albus to put two and two together: Godric's Guard had been in a scrap somewhere, and it hadn't gone well. But what did that have to do with him?

"Go and get him, then." Temple, Albus thought, had clearly forgotten whom he was addressing. Weasleys, as a rule, didn't scare easily – and Dominique was no exception.

Temple's nostrils flared, as if unsurprised by Dominique's defiance but no less irritated. "In case you can't tell by looking at either of us, we've got a bit of a situation on our hands. We need to ask Potter some questions."

"You can ask them from right there," Dominique replied calmly, reaching a hand to wipe something off her cheek.

Temple's lip curled. "Potter… your brother has committed several serious infractions. We need your help to bring him to justice."

Almost out of nowhere, Albus found a seething hatred straightening his back as he laid his eyes on the Prefect. "Not sure what you're talking about. Even if I did, do you think I'd give my own brother up? On top of that… you threatened my sister yesterday. What if I'm not in a helpful mood?"

"Don't be an idiot," Temple said. "When we dig your brother and his friends out of their little hidey-hole on the seventh floor, they're all going before the Panel. And if you don't help us, you're going to join him."

This did make Albus's heart trip over itself for a second, but…

"That's ridiculous," Sylvia exclaimed. "He's been with me this entire time today. How would he have any idea what James was up to?"

"Shut your mouth," Vaisey snapped. "Nobody was asking you."

"First of all," Temple spoke firmly, "where's Hugo Weasley?"

"What do you want with Hugo?" Albus immediately questioned.

"He led us into a trap," Temple explained. "Hugo Weasley gave us a tip that the Progenies were going up to the seventh floor corridor to investigate the Come and Go Room."

"And when you got up there, they attacked you?" Sylvia asked. "What did you expect to happen?"

"Shut it," Vaisey interjected again.

"Sylvia…" Albus murmured in an attempt to dissuade her.

"That's stupid," Sylvia murmured in an aside to Albus like no one else was even there. "How's it a trap if someone tells you exactly what you're going to find up there?"

"Five points from Gryffindor – but you're welcome to keep explaining since you seem to know an awful lot about the situation for someone that wasn't there," Temple snarled.

"I invoke objection," Dominique said almost immediately. "You can't just take points from someone if they say something you don't like. Now we'll have to meet with Professor Wenster to get his ruling."

Temple grit his teeth and scoffed. "To hell with it. It's not worth the trouble. As I was saying – we expected to find the Progenies up there, of course. But not a group of mixed Gryffindors, Slytherins, and Ravenclaws – an illegal gathering, might I add – that I have reason to believe were put together by your brother to undermine the work of Godric's Guard. I believe Hugo Weasley knew they were there and used the opportunity to lead us into an unfavorable situation."

"Oh, and it gets worse," snarled Vaisey. Pointing to his black eye, he asked, "You see this?"

"Hard not to miss it," Sylvia remarked.

"This was given to me by Scorpius Malfoy," he growled, continuing to point at the black-and-indigo bruise on his face as if it wasn't cringeworthily obvious against his extremely pale skin. "He betrayed Godric's Guard."

"Our own fault, really," Temple scoffed in addition. "Should've seen it coming. Bad blood will out."

Albus wanted so badly to protest this line of thinking, but knew he'd be wasting his breath on these two. At the same time, he knew that only one thing – one person – would have prompted Scorpius to blow his cover so spectacularly. Temple and Vaisey meant to shake down Albus for information – but it was Albus who was learning and piecing things together.

"I've got something special for him if he decides to show his face in this tower again," Vaisey said bitterly. "Both him and Lester…"

"Don't waste your time," Temple sniffed. "They're all going to be expelled anyway."

Vaisey's nostrils flared. Then he looked up at Temple. "What if I don't think that's good enough?"

Temple grimaced. "You'll have to take it up with Wenster and the Headmaster, then. That's over our heads."

Vaisey scoffed. "That's half the problem," he muttered to himself.

Temple raised his eyebrows. "I'm more curious to why James Potter would turn on us."

And he set his eyes on Albus again.

"You act like I'd know about everything James is doing," Albus said, not meeting either Gryffindor's eye. "He hardly ever tells me anything."

"You expect me to believe that?" Temple snarled.

"Of course I don't – but it's the truth," Albus replied, unable to avoid betraying a hint of sadness in his voice. Maybe, just maybe, if James hadn't locked Albus out of the loop, he would have been able to help somehow. Maybe this wouldn't be happening…

"We're wasting our time with this one," Vaisey said after several moments of silence.

"I'll be the judge of that," Temple reprimanded him.

"Because you know him so well, right?" Vaisey's response was bitingly sarcastic. "Trust me on this. We've slept under the same roof for almost three years now. No one tells Albus Potter the truth about anything important because his ears are too fragile to take it."

Albus felt a hot surge of anger run through his body and arms as his fists clenched together. This only elicited a chuckle from Vaisey.

"You see that?" he remarked to Temple. "He can't even take hearing about himself. Even with the name Potter, you're useless."

"You weren't so hard when those two Slytherins were pounding your face bloody, were you? Don't be jealous of his family just because your dad didn't love you," Sylvia piped in out of nowhere.

Everything went alarmingly still. Vaisey made one of those alarming facial expressions – a smile that wasn't quite a smile, on a face that trembled unsettlingly for several moments. He turned away and then walked several paces away, muttering something to himself. Meanwhile, Temple glared at Sylvia for several moments… but then he turned away and went toward Vaisey. With a gentler hand than anyone could have expected, he gripped the younger boy's shoulder and silently led him from the common room.

Dominique let out a ragged breath and then looked over her shoulder at Sylvia.

"You shouldn't have said that," she scolded her reluctantly. "You know his father's a sore point."

Albus expected Sylvia to bite back and say something about how Vaisey had deserved it. But instead, she let out a sigh and looked as remorseful as Albus had ever seen her look for anything. "I know," she admitted. "I just couldn't… I just couldn't listen to it anymore."

Dominique didn't seem to have anything else to say to Sylvia after that. Instead, probably seeing the look on Albus's face, she addressed him instead.

"This thing with James…" Dominique uttered very uncertainly. "I'm sure it's not nearly as bad as Temple's making it out to be. I hope not, anyway…"

And she walked off a bit distractedly, clearly troubled by what she had seen and heard. Meanwhile, Sylvia was looking away from Albus. He called her – but, for a moment, she didn't respond. She stared wordlessly at the fireplace, clenching and unclenching her hands.

When Sylvia finally spoke, she began by calling Vaisey something quite rude indeed. It even took Albus aback for a moment. Even though Sylvia wasn't exactly afraid to experiment with certain vocabulary, he'd never heard her use that word before. It got him to listen, more than usual – which might have been the point. "I don't believe a damn thing he says about you. And you shouldn't either."

She never looked at him when she said any of this – just stared at the fireplace, taking several deep breaths.

"You wonder why we didn't do anything to help him last year – that's why," she murmured to herself.

Albus swallowed. "I should have."

Sylvia whirled around. "What? Are you mad?"

"He saw us that day," Albus reasoned. "I know he did. That's why he hates me. Because I could have helped and I stood there and watched. What the hell am I doing?"

"Some people don't deserve your help," Sylvia said.

"It's not about who deserves it," Albus countered. "I just… maybe if I had done something… anything…"

"This isn't your fault," Sylvia repeated. He could tell she was getting tired of repeating it.

"I know it's not my fault," he answered. "I just wonder if I could have done something… better. Maybe it wouldn't have mattered… but at least I could say that I tried."

Sylvia sighed. "Are you going to try to solve everyone's problems?"

"I would if I could," Albus looked down absentmindedly at his hands. "But I can't. And I know I can't. But also… I know I'm sick of standing there and watching."

James

James Potter thought of some more words, then bit them back. Everyone, it seemed, had something to say – but no one truly wanted to be the first. Not now. Not with the horror of what had happened so fresh. This silence, this time for taking everything in and giving reverence to their reality… it was needed. Any loud words seemed almost profane, sacrilegious.

The muffled sounds of a single young girl sobbing gave apt voice to most of the room's thoughts. Across the empty hall, the pale pink of her face was buried in another set of robes, making her form appear from a distance to be a uniform mask of blackness. The only exception was the arm of her comforter, pale itself, draped furtively across her back as if uncertain it belonged there. The owner of the arm leaned against one of the hall's several pillars, blond hair shimmering almost pure white in the ambient light, save for a spot near his temple that was matted and discolored from a fresh head wound. His gaze was blank, unfocused, only breaking out of its doldrums to look down at the girl crying into his chest.

It was in those silent moments that James came to realize that he and Scorpius Malfoy truly were not all that different. He was similarly driven toward a singular purpose, similarly loving toward his family, and similarly fierce in that love. He was not bad at all. He never had been. In fact, he was better than many. Maybe better than James himself.

Someone crossed his point of view and, with a groaned swear, flumped down into a seated position next to him.

"Effing…" Richard Murphy snarled haltingly. "…Your mate Bletchley's a deceptively good shot. Got me right in my damn ribs."

He let out a breath and winced.

"How's it feel?" asked James.

"How do you think it feels?" Murphy asked, his pained expression giving way to a shadow of a smirk. "Hurts like hell."

A moment of silence. The question – and the answer – had been referring to more than one thing.

"Sorry, mate," James said.

But Murphy shook his head. "It was just a shock, is all. I should've expected it, really. Couldn't ask her to wait around on me. Not after what I did."

James frowned. "You're sure…?"

"As sure as I can be without asking her," Murphy replied. "Guess it's all a moot point. I'd bet five Galleons we're not going to be here when the sun comes up on Monday."

"You think they'd expel us?" James asked. "I doubt it. We'll probably be serving detention every weekend until we graduate. Weekends around here are bollocks now anyway."

"Say we are, though," Murphy argued solemnly. "What do we do then?"

"That's easy," James said. "We go after Beal. We find the bastard and stop him before he does any more damage."

"So we spend all our time combing Britain for one bloke?"

"Britain, Europe… the whole world, if I've got to," James replied bluntly.

At this, Murphy heaved a sigh.

"Honestly," Murphy said, "I'm not sure if I've got that in me. But maybe we won't need to. Our Aurors are strong enough, right?"

"What if I don't want the Aurors to handle it?"

Murphy seemed to need a moment for this question to sink in. When it finally did, he turned his head toward James. A grave expression was on his wounded face. "So… you want revenge."

"You're saying I shouldn't? Not even a little?" questioned James. "Look around you. Look at all the people that are hurting because of what he did last year. Even if this whole situation wasn't basically his fault… he tortured Brynne. He still is, in some ways. I couldn't forgive that if I wanted to."

"Maybe you're right," Murphy conceded, after a moment's contemplation. "Maybe that's your path. I don't know…" He looked down at the floor, as if ashamed. "…I don't know if it's mine."

James understood – because he'd been thinking the same thing for months. "It's not personal for you like it is for me. I get it. And, honestly, I'd rather not put anyone else at risk. So… what about you?"

"I'd probably help out at the apothecary or something. Mum could use the extra hands," Murphy answered. "Cole's not around anymore and the girl Mum hired last year moved to London and took a job at St. Mungo's…"

"Sounds boring," James admitted.

"You'd be surprised," replied Murphy, the faintest shadow of a smirk on his face.

Things went silent again – well, almost. A fresher, louder, wave of weeping overtook the girl leaning into Malfoy's chest.

"Bloody hell! That's not helping, alright?!" the voice of a boy called from elsewhere in the large room. James watched as Scorpius Malfoy's expression changed almost instantaneously, like a switch had been flipped.

"Matty—" another boy's faint voice called uncertainly from elsewhere in the large hall.

"We don't have time for this!" the first boy, who sounded a bit younger, retorted quite loudly. "If we don't leave here, someone's going to come to us. We need to be figuring out some sort of plan."

The boy walked into James's view, stopping not far from Malfoy. He was blond, bespectacled, a bit wide but not quite rotund. Malfoy, meanwhile, got to his feet and came face to face with the other boy.

"Who are you?" Malfoy asked.

The other boy frowned. "We've known each other almost three years, Malfoy. It's Matthias Albertine."

"I know your name. You didn't answer my question," Malfoy countered, his voice teetering shakily on the edge of calm. "Who are you?"

Matthias Albertine was silent.

"You think you've got the right to tell Lena to stop feeling because it makes you uncomfortable. Because 'we don't have time.' So I'm going to ask you again: Who are you?"

More silence.

Scorpius scoffed bitterly, and when he began speaking again, it was mostly through gritted teeth. "Just what I thought. Don't you ever – again – in your life – speak to her like that. If I hear it, or if I hear about it… I promise you will have a real reason to be afraid of me."

He turned his back on Matthias and started to walk away.

"We did just save your arse back there," Matthias said. "You could be a bit more grateful."

"You should be grateful I'm not knocking your damn teeth in," Scorpius answered.

"Don't puff up at me, Malfoy," Matthias said. "I'm not the least bit scared of you."

"I haven't given you a reason," Scorpius answered. "Yet."

"Well, give if a try if you think you're hard enough—"

"Both of you, shut up!"

The girl that had been seated in silent contemplation in front of the fireplace jumped to her feet. Perhaps more in shock than a desire to actually follow her instructions, both boys went silent. The look she gave both as she walked toward them was a veritable tome of information about her mood. She looked equal parts weary, desperate, angry. Even on her face, the expression was fearsome.

"Don't be fools," she said. "We're on the same side."

"You're making a lot of assumptions there," Scorpius said. "Just because I'm stuck in here with you lot doesn't mean I'm on your 'side' – wherever the hell that is."

"Well, clearly you're not with Godric's Guard anymore, if you ever were," said Matthias.

"Doesn't mean I'm with you," Scorpius said stubbornly, glancing at Matthias.

Brynne's eyes did an impatient flick. James could see the moment where she realized that arguing with Scorpius was no longer worth the trouble. She tried to glance around him. "Lena…"

In the next instant, she had Scorpius Malfoy's wand pointed at her eyes. "You stay back. You've done enough damage."

"Damage," Brynne repeated, not so much as flinching with the wand in her face. "How's that?"

"You're a liar," he answered acidly. "Or maybe you're just delusional."

Brynne hardly reacted. "You care for Lena a lot, don't you?"

"What kind of question is that?" Malfoy snarled. Clearly the answer was 'yes', James thought, and clearly Malfoy took the implication of anything else being true as an insult. "That's the only reason I'm in here with you all."

"But she's a Slytherin," Brynne said simply.

"What the hell does that matter?" Malfoy asked fiercely. A long moment later, though, he lowered his wand and his head. "…That's different, though. She's family. I don't… you're giving people false hope. You can't expect Gryffindors and Slytherins to be friends."

"What about fellow wizards?" asked Brynne. "What about fellow humans? What if we got to know people instead of assuming the worst about them?"

Malfoy sighed, and finally put his wand away. "It sounds nice. It really does. But people don't work that way."

"Some of them do," Brynne contended.

"Not enough," said Malfoy. "How many of you are there?" he queried, looking around the room. "Six in all?"

"Nine," Matthias Albertine corrected him. Malfoy whirled around to find, as James saw, that two more students were approaching to Matthias's side. Even Brynne seemed nonplussed. Matthias must have noticed her expression – an almost-smirk was on his face. "What, you thought we found you lot by some lucky accident?"

Brynne saw Matthias – and a taller boy that, to James, looked enough like Matthias that the two could have been related. The figure that drew the most attention, however, was that of a girl. She looked different yet clearly recognizable. Her hair, also blonde (James was starting to wonder if Ravenclaw favored blonde hair as a house trait), fell in a straight sheet down past her shoulders, and her bangs played above her bespectacled eyes. As usual, she had the vague smile characteristic of someone who knew something you did not.

"Serra," Brynne uttered, clearly taken aback.

"You look surprised to see me," Serra replied.

"Serra said you two knew each other," Matthias commented, more to Brynne than to Malfoy. "This is my brother, Mark."

Surprisingly, this seemed to ring a bell to Scorpius Malfoy. "Mark Albertine."

"That's me," the tallest Ravenclaw lad replied. James knew, from Serra bringing his name up in conversation before, that Mark Albertine was in fifth year.

"Heard an interesting rumor about you from Temple," Scorpius said. "He says you lost your badge."

Mark Albertine clicked his tongue a couple of times, shaking his head. "Not… quite accurate. More like I resigned."

"The first day of term?" Scorpius gave Mark an incredulous raised-eyebrow look.

"I'm sure you've all figured out by now, Prefects are supposed to enforce Headmaster Flitwick's new non-interaction rules." Mark Albertine had the air of someone going through the tedium of explaining something simple for the benefit of the less educated. "Boyd, the Head Boy, told me in our first meeting on the train. I didn't sign up for that. I told him this wasn't the school I grew up in. We never needed it before, so why should we need it now? Boyd said he'd report me to Flitwick for dereliction of duty – that I'd lose my badge. I put the badge in his hand myself and told him how and where to shove it."

"Good for you," Scorpius intoned – he couldn't quite get rid of the sneer in his voice.

"Let me guess – you think I could have done more good as a Prefect," Mark started.

"I think you could have stayed well out of it," Scorpius countered. "You're a Ravenclaw. It's not your fight."

"We'll be the judge of that, thanks," Mark parried.

"I hope it was worth it," Scorpius spat, sounding almost disdainful.

"A clear conscience – I can sleep at night and look at myself in the mirror in the morning," Mark answered. "So… yeah, I'd say so."

"Scorpius…"

Lena had stood to her feet. She approached Scorpius, but he met her halfway.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, barely audible, as he enveloped his younger cousin in a long-armed, almost smothering embrace. "This is my fault. I never should have let you near these people."

Surprisingly, Lena recoiled at this.

"Let me?" repeated Lena, sounding insulted. Her fists were clenched and she was no longer meeting Scorpius's eyes. "You don't understand anything, do you?"

"I don't understand why you keep getting hurt, and you keep going back," Scorpius replied. "Don't ask me to understand that."

"That's not Steph," Lena said very simply. "That's not the person I grew up with – but if he's in there somewhere, if there's just the tiniest chance that he's in there somewhere, and I can get to him if we end this, then I have to keep trying because…"

She trailed off.

Scorpius shook his head. "You have no plan. You don't have any power. You don't have any – anything."

It galled James to admit it to himself, but Scorpius was right. Never mind the Godric's Guard and the Progenies – they probably had enough to take those groups on if they absolutely needed to. The real problems were Headmaster Flitwick's edicts, and Professor Wenster's influence. The other Headteachers were younger, cowed somewhat by him. That political web was far too tangled for any one of them to be much help. If only there was someone who had no horse in the race, whose loyalty was firstly to Hogwarts and to its students…

"We have the Room," Brynne replied clearly. "And the Room – this one, at least – has a password. No one that doesn't know the password can get in."

"That's great, in theory," Serra pointed out. "But we can't really leave, either. They may not be able to get into the room but the location of it isn't a secret. Someone will be waiting for us on the other side of that door. Also, we don't have any food in here."

This revelation panicked Matthias, who whirled around and looked at Serra. "Are you joking?" Serra promptly and solemnly shook her head. Matthias deflated.

Mark grimaced, and glanced at his younger brother "Well, this should help with the diet."

"Sod off," Matthias deadpanned. "I don't think this is what Dad meant.'"

Mark frowned. "Good point."

"So they get to just post someone outside the door until they can starve us out? How does a Room of Requirement not account for food?" Scorpius asked.

"That's not the Room's fault. Even an exceptionally powerful magical artifact – or place, for that matter – is subject to certain rules of magic," explained Serra. "One of those rules is you can't conjure or Transfigure food out of something that wasn't already that food."

Scorpius tilted his head. Serra grimaced.

"Gamp's Law of… ugh, can't remember the whole name. I know it was Gamp, though. Madam McGonagall explained it to me once my first year—"

"Madam McGonagall."

Brynne repeated the name and brought everything to a screeching halt.

"Yes… she was Headmistress before Professor Flitwick took over," Serra explained. "She retired the year before—"

"I know that," Brynne interrupted, sounding needled the way she always did when she felt like Serra was being condescending. "What is she doing now?"

"Anyone's guess," Serra answered. "Why does it matter? Wherever she is, it's not here. She can't help us."

"She's one of the few Professors Flitwick will listen to," Brynne pointed out. "They've known each other for years. Maybe if we could get her an owl or something—"

"An owl?" Scorpius scoffed. "How's an owl going to fly out of here? We don't have any—"

Meanwhile, Brynne stepped away from the conversation (much to Scorpius's chagrin as he realized mid-sentence that she was no longer paying him any attention) and toward the hearth, fingers around her chin in contemplation.

"Can you mail a letter through a Floo Network?" she asked no one in particular.

"I wouldn't bet any Galleons on it," Murphy answered nonetheless. "I've never seen it done before."

…And then a hundred of these envelopes came flying out of the fireplace. I even managed to get my hands on one before Vernon took it away from me. In the end, though, I'm glad it happened the way it did. I might have never become friends with Hagrid otherwise.

It had been on the fifteenth of March, the better part of four years ago now, when James, as was the case for most wizard boys and girls turning eleven, received his official acceptance letter to Hogwarts. The owl was quite ugly and looked old, and nearly dropped the envelope right into James's cereal in the middle of breakfast. James's mum said the owl had reminded her of Errol, her own family owl growing up.

Of course, James had known since he could remember knowing much of anything that he was a wizard. The same had not been the case for his father. So, naturally, he had asked his father all about the day he received his own Hogwarts letter. Predictably, his being raised not only by Muggles, but by Muggles that knew of and feared the world of magic, made the process much more complicated.

"Yes, you can," James blurted out. "I think." Everyone turned to look at him – even Brynne.

"Really?" queried Murphy.

"Do you know how?" Brynne asked briskly.

James shook his head. "I don't know how. I just figure there might be a way."

"Through the fireplace?" Matthias questioned to his older brother. "Wouldn't that burn up the letter?"

"You've used a Floo Network before, Matty," Mark responded, a tinge of impatience in his voice. "We don't burn up in the Floo Network. 'Least not if you use regulation powder and don't jump in too early."

"But a letter's made out of parchment, not… well…" Matthias grimaced, apparently uncomfortable with the thought he was about to vocalize. "…wizard."

"Ah, but our letters are made of wizard parchment." Mark pointed out. Serra, oddly, put a hand to her mouth.

Scorpius looked around himself incredulously. "So – that's your grand strategy. Shoot a letter through the fireplace, hope it makes it, and then hope the person receiving the letter cares enough to read."

"You got any better ideas, Malfoy? If so, speak up."

Two people had remained separated from the discussion, but they were now approaching – rather slowly. Rowan Lester's arm was draped across the hunched shoulders of Kadric Howell. As Kadric walked slowly, Rowan hopped on his right foot very uncertainly. At one point, Kadric Howell stumbled. Then Rowan stumbled. He came down on the left foot and let out an inhuman snarl and an oath.

"Sorry, sorry," Kadric muttered.

"It's fine," Rowan gasped – but clearly he was lying. Something had happened with his left foot or ankle, and it was causing him tremendous pain. Nevertheless, he made to continue toward the others along with Kadric. "I tried the letter thing earlier this year – with the Headmaster."

"I remember that, come to think of it," remarked Scorpius. "How'd that go for you?"

"Well, that was back in September. It's November now. How do you think it went?" Rowan asked. At that point, out of nowhere, Brynne ran past James and to Rowan, holding two long metal objects that James only vaguely recognized.

"Where'd you find crutches?" Rowan questioned. James was wondering the same thing. Brynne didn't answer. Rowan nonetheless turned his head to Kadric and said, "I'm alright." Kadric Howell helped Rowan onto the crutches, then got out of the way. When Rowan spoke again, it was to everyone: "Headmaster Flitwick was very polite, as always. 'I appreciate your concern, but my decision was made with much thought and counsel and I believe that it is the best thing for Hogwarts at this time.' He hasn't got the spine to set things right."

"Or he really believes in what he's doing," speculated Brynne. "Which might be even more dangerous."

"He didn't ask for Gryffindor and Slytherin to go after each other in the halls," Mark Albertine pointed out. "That's exactly what he was trying to avoid."

"The Headmaster's not a bad person," Brynne opined. "I think he meant well. The truth never came out about what happened to Professor Longbottom. He never gave it a chance."

"We know what happened to Professor Longbottom," Mark answered. "Garrick Claudius tried to kill him. Still, that's no excuse for anybody to—"

"That's not what happened," Brynne interrupted vehemently.

"And you're sure about that, how?" asked Mark.

"Because she was there," James finally spoke up. "Along with Murphy and I. We were all in the room when it happened. A student did attack Professor Longbottom, sure – but it wasn't Claudius. Somebody disguised as him…"

"Morris Beal was his name," Brynne answered. "Everyone else saw just another Hufflepuff student – a talented wizard, sure, but nothing too out of the ordinary. But what he really was… what he really is… well, to tell you the truth, I'm not even sure what he is. I know he's twisted. I know he's power-hungry. I know he takes pleasure in breaking other people because someone once tried to break him."

James heard her voice flag. She paused for a moment.

"People like him, like my parents – what we saw outside – all that…" Brynne trailed off. "It's just the cycle of revenge. People feel slighted or hurt and they can't find justice. So they make other people hurt because it's the next best thing they can do. That's how they get their 'justice.' But it isn't. Not really. One wrong doesn't make up for another. You're just left with… two wrongs. And then three, then four, then however many it takes until somebody wakes up, and speaks up, and says, 'This isn't right.'"

Utter quiet. No one opened their mouth to argue, or even to agree.

"Hogwarts is more than just a school," Brynne went on. "Almost any wizard or witch you could name in Britain got their start here. Minister Shacklebolt studied here. Headmaster Flitwick studied here. Harry Potter studied here. Even the legendary Albus Dumbledore was once a student, like we are now. You could say that there's no single place in Britain that's more important to our society than Hogwarts. But more than that… more than that, this is where we are. For the better part of seven years, this is our home – your home and mine. We eat, drink, sleep, learn and grow on these grounds. And many of us go back to wizard families that love us and care for us – but not everyone's that lucky."

Kadric Howell's hands closed into fists.

"That's why," he finally said. Brynne and Lena both glanced at him. "My parents were both Muggles, but not me. I'm a wizard. Hogwarts is home for me. If I can't be safe and free in my own home, then where the hell can I—"

There was a whoosh sound. The lighting in the room changed subtly. Rowan was facing the source of the anomaly and was first to notice it.

"What the—?"

The crackling fireplace that had been at one side of the hall had seen its flames swell and change color from their normal golden-orange to a light emerald green. It was a color James recognized.

"That's Floo Powder!" he shouted, running to stand between the flame and the others with his wand drawn.

"What?" Brynne uttered, taken aback in a way James almost never heard. "How?"

"I don't know," James admitted. "But I've seen those flames before."

Several tense seconds passed as James waited for someone to emerge from the sparking greenish flames. But when something happened at last, it was not someone who emerged from the hearth – rather, it was something. A paper something, floating unscathed by fire through the air, where it landed roughly in front of James.

"What the hell was that?" queried Scorpius.

"Good question," James muttered. He knelt to pick it up—

"Accio parchment!" an incantation interrupted James's action. The paper shot from underneath James's grasping hand and zoomed through the air behind James, who whirled around to see it land in the grip of—

"Brynne?" James uttered. "What are you doing?"

"It might be cursed," Brynne said, fumbling with it.

"Then why are you holding it?" James asked, hearing more than a bit of panic creep into his voice.

Brynne ignored him and continued unfurling the scroll, an affectedly stony expression on her face, but a tinge of red visible on her cheeks.

"James Potter," she read aloud. "Your charade has ended. Surrender now and we will offer you and your band of miscreants fair Panel hearings."

"I'm almost a hundred percent sure they're stretching the definition of 'fair' to its limit," Murphy commented offhandedly. Then, noticing everyone's eyes trained on him, he added, "For what that's worth."

"Refuse to give yourself up and you risk much worse than your own expulsion." Brynne read haltingly.

As if Brynne's last words had been a cue, the parchment leapt from her hands, startling her. It hovered in the air, where it folded in on itself strangely, crumpling into a rough ball. The ball of paper glowed for a moment, and landed again in Brynne's hands. When its light faded after a few moments, what remained was not a scroll of parchment or even a crumpled ball of parchment – but something else entirely.

Serra approached closely to Brynne to look at the new object in her hands.

"Impressive bit of Transfiguration," Serra commented.

"It's a flower," confirmed Brynne.

"White petals…" Serra murmured. Then she gave a gasp. "Oh, no."

She exchanged a significant glance with Brynne, who seemed to realize what was happening a moment after she did. Now it was James who was left out of the loop. Most worrisome was the look on Brynne's face. It was an expression of pure fear and panic.

But it was Serra that looked up and in James's direction. She opened her mouth to speak, but then closed it.

"What?" James asked loudly. "What's going on?"

Of all people, it was Scorpius Malfoy who approached to look at the flower in Brynne's hands. His fists immediately clenched when he saw it.

"That's not just any flower," he said, whirling around to look James in the eye. "It's a lily."