staring at the fire, muttering Four months. Four bloody months of "oh, I've got to study," "oh, I promised McGonagall I'd help her with something," "oh, I'm just going for a walk."

looking up from his book, mildly amused You've been counting.

turning to him, indignant Of course I've been counting, Moony. Something's wrong. James doesn't just—he gestures vaguely—stop being annoying. It's unnatural.

cramming a biscuit into his mouth Maybe he's got a secret girlfriend.

snorting James? Secret? He couldn't keep a secret if his head depended on it. Remember third year when he tried to plan a surprise for Evans and told her about it within ten minutes?

He did say "surprise" right before he explained the whole thing.

draining the last of his butterbeer Exactly. So whatever he's doing, wherever he keeps sneaking off to—it's not a girl. It's something else. Something he doesn't want me to know about.

standing abruptly I'm going to find out where he goes.

raising an eyebrow Now? It's nearly midnight.

Exactly. Whatever he's doing, he's doing it now. You two coming or not?