Inside the Room of Requirement, James sat at a long wooden table, his brow furrowed in concentration. The only source of light was the soft glow from enchanted candles hovering above, casting flickering shadows across the room. The space had shifted to accommodate his needs, transforming into a personal laboratory lined with shelves of books, stacks of parchment, and an assortment of magical tools scattered about.
At the center of the table sat a small white mouse, twitching slightly under the effects of a light stasis charm. Its beady eyes darted around nervously, its whiskers quivering. James held a fine-tipped engraving quill, carefully etching delicate runic symbols onto the tiny creature's skin. The process was delicate—one mistake and the entire sequence could misfire.
His goal?
To test whether runes could be directly integrated into a living being without the use of external mediums like wands or objects. If successful, it would allow for permanent enchantments—self-reinforcing magic that a person, or in this case, a mouse, could carry like an inherent ability.
It was theoretical. Dangerous.
Exactly the kind of thing he shouldn't be doing without supervision.
But James wasn't one for playing it safe.
As he traced the final rune—a stabilizing sigil—something went wrong.
The symbols began to pulse in erratic rhythms, shifting and twisting unnaturally. His stomach dropped.
Shit.
He barely had time to move before the mouse suddenly jerked—its entire body vibrating violently before it catapulted off the table at an unnatural speed.
James instinctively dived backward, narrowly avoiding the projectile as it smashed into another mouse in a small cage across the table. The sickening crunch of tiny bones snapping filled the air as both creatures collapsed in a limp heap.
For a moment, there was silence.
Then a sharp, searing pain shot through James' arm.
He hissed, staggering slightly as he grabbed his left forearm. A fresh gash marred his skin—deep enough to sting, but not fatal. He glanced at the table and noticed a shard of bone protruding from where the runic mouse had burst apart.
It had literally exploded on impact.
"Brilliant," James muttered, shaking his head. "Absolutely brilliant. Bloody rodent kamikaze experiments—lovely idea, Dawson."
His fingers hovered over the wound, debating whether to just drink a healing potion. He had a few in his satchel—nothing fancy, just a standard blood-replenishing draught and a minor pain-reliever.
But no.
Madam Pomfrey would likely lecture him if she found out he had been treating himself instead of going to the hospital wing.
Might as well get it checked out properly.
Sighing, he packed away his runic notes, wiped down the table, and cast a quick Evanesco to clean up the unfortunate remains of his experiment.
Then, with his arm throbbing and a growing irritation at yet another failed attempt, James made his way toward the hospital wing.
James strolled towards the hospital wing, rolling his injured arm slightly as he walked. The pain wasn't unbearable, but it was definitely annoying. As he neared the infirmary doors, the sound of raised voices filtered through—muffled but clearly agitated.
He slowed his steps.
A hushed but heated conversation was taking place inside, mixed with the bustling movements of Madam Pomfrey, the distinct clipped tones of Professor McGonagall, and the unmistakable low drawl of Professor Snape.
Pushing open the door, James stepped inside and was met with a sight that made him pause.
A hospital bed was occupied by Angelica Wood—a Gryffindor upper-year and Quidditch player—her expression pale . She lay still while Percy Weasley stood stiffly beside her, his face taut with concern and something close to frustration. Madam Pomfrey was fussing over her, checking her , while McGonagall and Snape stood nearby, their presence casting a heavy atmosphere over the room.
Whatever had happened, it was serious.
McGonagall turned the moment she noticed him, her sharp eyes narrowing slightly before she briskly pulled the privacy curtain around Angelica's bed.
James raised an eyebrow but kept his mouth shut.
Snape, however, wasn't one to let his presence go unquestioned.
"Mr. Dawson," Snape drawled, turning to him with an expression of perpetual disdain. "What exactly are you doing here?"
James lifted his injured arm. "Would you believe I got into a fight with an exploding mouse?"
Silence.
McGonagall's lips pressed into a tight line.
Percy blinked.
Snape simply exhaled through his nose. "I sincerely hope that was not a literal statement."
James sighed. "I was working on a—" Do not say experiment. Do not say experiment. "—a project, and something went wrong. Thought I'd get it checked before it got worse."
Madam Pomfrey stepped forward with a tired huff. "Again?" She grabbed his arm, inspecting the wound with a practiced eye. "How many times have I told you, child, to be careful? You may not value your limbs, but I do, and I'd rather not have to reattach one because you couldn't leave well enough alone!"
James grinned sheepishly. "In my defense, this one wasn't on purpose."
Pomfrey shot him a look before she set to work, her wand glowing softly as she mended the wound with practiced ease.
McGonagall, meanwhile, was still watching him with scrutiny. "This does not concern you, Mr. Dawson," she said seeing him look toward bed .
James considered pushing for more information—after all, there weren't many things that got both McGonagall and Snape to hover over a student like this—but he also knew better than to pry when they weren't willing to talk.
"Fine," he said, flexing his now-healed arm as Pomfrey stepped back. "Am I good to go, then?"
Snape's gaze flickered towards him.
"Weasley," Snape said, his tone carrying an air of finality. "Take Dawson to the dormitory. Make sure he does not wander."
Percy, still standing beside Angelica's bed, straightened at the order. He turned towards James, not adjusting his prefect badge with unnecessary precision.
weird james thought .
"Come along, Dawson," he said in his usual authoritative tone. "I expect you to follow every rule on our way back."
James sighed dramatically. "Yes, sir."
As he turned to leave, he cast one last glance at the curtained-off bed.
Something was going on.
And he had a feeling he'd would want to find out sooner than later.
James walked beside Percy through the dimly lit corridors, his mind working through what he had just witnessed in the hospital wing. He knew something serious had happened, and Percy's stiff posture and silence only confirmed it.
Still, he had to try.
"So," James began casually, hands in his pockets. "Are we really going to pretend I didn't just walk into a crime scene back there?"
Percy didn't even glance at him. "It's none of your concern, Dawson."
James hummed. "See, that's where you're wrong. I was there, Percy. It's definitely my concern now."
"Just drop it," Percy snapped, his usual composed demeanor cracking for a brief moment.
James narrowed his eyes. The tension in Percy's voice wasn't just his usual rule-following strictness.
That was enough for James.
As they turned into an empty hallway, Percy briefly met his eyes in frustration as james keep pestering him . That brief moment was all James needed.
A flicker of thought—barely noticeable to the average wizard—was all it took for James to slip into Percy's mind.
Legilimency.
—A flash of stone corridors—
—The sound of hurried footsteps—
—A sharp inhale of shock—
James saw it.
Percy, patrolling the castle as usual, turning a corner… stopping dead in his tracks.
Angelica.
Lying on the cold corridor floor, her uniform torn, her robes thrown carelessly aside.
The sheer panic Percy felt surged through James like a crashing wave. The frantic way he had rushed forward, his mind immediately understanding what had happened. His hands trembled as he took off his cloak, draping it over her as he muttered desperate reassurances she couldn't even hear.
James saw Percy scoop her up, making a beeline for the hospital wing.
McGonagall's office—Percy standing there, rambling in a breathless voice about what he'd found.
McGonagall's expression darkening.
"Get the Headmaster. Now."
Percy running through the castle, reaching the Headmaster's office—only to find Snape there instead.
"Dumbledore isn't here," Snape had said, voice unreadable. "What happened?"
Percy told him everything.
James felt the cold dread settle into his own stomach as he experienced the moment from Percy's eyes.
Then—back to the hospital wing.
Angelica regaining consciousness for just a moment.
Her eyes unfocused.
She didn't remember anything.
James pulled out of Percy's mind so quickly it nearly gave him a headache.
But the moment he did—
"YOU!"
Percy's hands were on his collar in an instant, slamming James against the nearest wall. His face was twisted in anger, his usually composed expression shattered. "What the hell did you just do?!"
James could feel Percy's shaking grip.
Too much. It was too much for him right now.
James acted fast, his wand already out. "Obliviate."
Percy's grip loosened immediately. His eyes flickered with confusion before he blinked, taking a step back. He looked around the hallway, then at James.
"What… what were we doing?"
James smirked like nothing had happened. "I dunno, mate. You just stopped walking like you forgot something. Thought maybe your prefect badge was weighing you down."
Percy frowned but shook his head, rubbing his temple. "Must be the stress," he muttered. "Let's just go."
James nodded, but inside, his mind was a whirlwind.
What the hell is going on in this school?