“Look, James,” Rose said curtly, tromping into the shadow of the greenhouse. Sunlight shot blinding arrows from the glass walls. “It’s marvelous that you and Petra have this cosmic connection. Really, it is.
And I’m just honest enough to admit that, quite frankly, I’m dead jealous of the both of you. It’s all so bloody, tragically romantic that I can barely stand it. Worse, the fact that it’s wasted on an emotionally constipated, immature clod like you—”
“Rose,” James interrupted, “I kissed her.”
Rose stopped in her tracks, sliding a little in the slush. She turned around, eyes wide. In a tight whisper, she said, “You didn’t!”
“Well, actually no. I didn’t. She kissed me.” He blew out a hard sigh and squinted in the reflected afternoon sunlight. “It was the last thing I expected. It was…” He shook his head, speechless at the memory.
“But you kissed her back,” Rose confirmed, her eyes still wide.
“Of course. And then, I just held her for awhile. Or… that might have come first. To be honest, the whole thing is almost too big to remember. It takes up too much space in my memory.” He glanced quickly up at her again. “But that doesn’t mean it was only a dream.”
“No,” Rose breathed wistfully, an almost pitying look melting her features, “that’s the first thing you’ve said that convinces me it was actually real.”
Slowly, they continued on, rounding the greenhouse toward the entry. Mollified but suspicious, James said, “And why is that?”
“It’s simple,” Rose said, her tone wistful but condescending.
“You’ve been completely besotted with Petra for years now. Have you ever dreamed of kissing her before?”
James shook his head firmly. “Never.”
“Of course not,” Rose said, dropping her voice as they pushed into the relative warmth of the greenhouse and the chatter of gathering students. “Dreams may toy with granting our wishes sometimes, but they don’t tease us with the things we want most of all. If they did, we’d be too heartbroken by reality to ever wake up.”
James nodded a little uncertainly. They made their way to a collection of wooden folding chairs arranged before the potting table.
Behind this, Hagrid was bustling and humming to himself loudly.
“But it does leave a lot of unanswered questions,” Rose whispered as they settled into the front row. “Like, what will happen to Izzy when Petra leaves this dimension forever? And why would the last shred of Voldemort in her blood want her to go at all? And maybe most importantly, what does Judith have to do with any of it?”
“I… “ James began, then paused and mentally kicked himself. “I didn’t even ask her about Judith.”
Rose did a subtle but pointed double-take at him. She rasped, “You didn’t tell her that Judith cornered you on the lake outside Millie’s home and warned you to stay away from her?” James had told Rose about the encounter, if no one else, since Rose most seemed to understand the mad power and ongoing threat of the Lady of the Lake.
Most others, if they knew of her at all, assumed that Judith had been destroyed during the debacle of the Morrigan Web, over two years earlier.
“I was a little distracted,” James whispered defensively, “being zapped away to the gazebo in the first place, and learning that Petra’s been in contact with Al for months. And then there was the kiss…”
“James,” Rose sagged helplessly, “Zane Walker is right. You really are as dull as dishwater. You had a chance to ask the most important question of all, and you completely flubbed it!”
James blinked and frowned again. “Zane said I was dull as dishwater?”
“Not in so many words, but come on. He was whatever passed for the brains of you three before I came along. Now think: the only reason Judith warned you away from Petra is because she knows you don’t want her to carry out her plan. That means Judith does want her to. And apparently so does the ghost of Voldemort’s soul that lives in Petra’s blood, otherwise she wouldn’t be tapping into it for guidance and strength. So, the big question is obvious, isn’t it? Why would the two most evil entities in the whole wide world want Petra to go through with her mission?”
James shook his head and slumped back in his wooden chair. “It can’t be that. Petra says that assuming the role of the Crimson Thread in that other version of reality is the only way to fix everything here in this one. There must be some other reason why Judith wants me to stay out of it.”
“And another reason why the demented shred of Voldemort in Petra’s head wants her to go through with it?” Rose shook her head firmly. “You’re making the same mistake you always do, James.”
He glared back at her, suddenly perturbed. “And what’s that, you’re so smart?”
Rose hissed, “Trusting people who don’t always deserve to be trusted!”
“Like Petra,” James nodded, as if confirming a suspicion. “Look, you don’t know her like I do. Nobody does.”
“Petra isn’t a bad person,” Rose acknowledged, the spark in her eyes unwavering. “But that doesn’t mean that she’s always right, James.
She can be wrong, just like you and me. Worse, she can be lied to.”
James had no response to that. Not because Rose’s suggestion made him angry, but because he had honestly never even considered it.
Hagrid’s voice boomed through the greenhouse, interrupting their hushed conversation, “Settle down, yeh lot, and find a seat. We’ve got loads t’ cover today, so be ready with yer quills and parchments.”
A ripple of surprise swept over the students, and then came the shuffle of knapsacks and bags as parchments, books, and quills were produced, balanced precariously on knees in the absence of desks.
“Professor Hagrid,” Trenton Bloch said, raising a peremptory hand. “We don’t usually take notes in this class. Does this mean today’s subject will be on a test later?”
“Wouldn’t yeh like to know,” Hagrid answered cagily, his beetle-black eyes narrowing. Then, with a start, he straightened. “Erm. I mean… o’ course yeh’d like to know. So, yes. Why, certainly there’ll be a test. This is a class, init?”
Apparently emboldened by Trenton’s question, Ashley Doone spoke up from the back row, “Only, we’ve never had a test in this class before, Professor. Just practical examinations. I’ve stopped even bringing an ink and quill to the barn with me when I go.”
“Yeah,” Nolan Beetlebrick added, glancing around for encouragement from the rest of the class. “And why this sudden move to the greenhouses for the rest of term? There’s no magical creatures here at all. Just plants.”
Hagrid raised both of his huge hands as the class began to murmur. “Th’ barn menagerie is off-limits until further notice. Nothin’ t’ be done about it. The barn’s bein’… er… cleaned up. Again. With dangerous potions an’ elixirs this time. Highly potent stuff, straight from Perfessor Heretofore’s laboratory, don’cher know. So no one’s allowed in nor out until further notice, not unless yeh wanna grow yerself a third ear and a hinkypunk tail.”