James turned on his broom exultantly, holding the Snitch over his head. Far behind him, Harry and Ted threw their hands into the air. They were shouting at him. A second later, James realized they weren't celebrating. They were making warning signs. James hadn't stopped his broom. He whipped around to see where he was going just as the gnarled apple tree at the back of the pitch loomed over him. The breath socked out of him as a branch swept him from his broom. There was a sickly sensation of weightlessness, and then he thumped to the ground.
"Ooh," he moaned. Running footsteps approached and a moment later his mum was kneeling over him.
"James! Tell me you're all right!" she commanded. Lily peered in next to her, her eyes wide.
"He's all right, everybody," Ted said as he landed nearby, laughing. "He only dropped eight feet. Besides, all those rotten apples broke his fall."
James sat up and felt the sticky mush of a dozen rotten apples plastered to his back. He moaned and shook his head, flinging gobbets of apple pulp from his hair.
"Gah!" Lily cried, sputtering. "Warn me next time you do that, idiot!"
Suddenly, James remembered the Snitch. He glanced down at it in his hand, and then showed it to his mum. A huge grin broke out on his face.
Ginny smiled down at him crookedly. "Nicely done, son. Just don't expect to beat me twice."
"Did we win, then?" James asked as Ginny gave him her hand and pulled him to his feet.
"I hear Albus and your uncle arguing about it even as we speak, but I'd guess you did."
In the near distance, James heard Ron and Albus heatedly arguing the final score.
"Excellent grab, James," Harry said to his son, brushing rotten apple off the back of James' shirt as they returned to the Burrow.
"Yeah," Ted agreed happily, "great use of the old dodge and feint. I was sure your mum was gonna beat you to the gold, but you really took the biscuit, didn't you?"
"I'll say," George said sourly, turning and walking backwards so as to glare pointedly at Ginny, his broom slung over his shoulder. "In fact, if I recall correctly, I think it was a member of this very family that invented that maneuver."
Ginny looked innocently at her brother. "I haven't the faintest idea what you mean, George."
"No? Hmm! Well, if I remember right—and I do—the Harpies' announcers used to call it the 'Ginevra Gambit'. Funny thing, you falling for a maneuver named after you, isn't it? Right suspicious, in fact."
Ginny simply shrugged and smiled. George continued to walk backwards, fuming at her. Finally, Angelina tripped him.
"James, why don't you go gather your brother and cousins for dinner?" Harry said, ruffling his son's hair. "Your grandfather will be home soon and we all want to be there for the big surprise."
"Now look what you did, Dad," James said, trying to matt his hair back down. "I look like an old picture of you."
"That rotten apple's even better than Hermione's hair gel goo," Ted commented. "You should tell her about it. Ron says she spends more money on Muggle hair potions than she does on food."
"What?" Hermione shrilled, bumping Ron with her hip. "You did not!"
James didn't wait for the rest. He tossed his Thunderstreak to his dad and turned toward the sound of his cousins' voices.
"Hey, it's almost dinner, you lot," he called as he entered the shadow of the Weasley family's small stone garage. As always, the doors were thrown wide open. The cool, familiar smell of the dirt floor and dusty shelves surrounded him. He sighed happily.
"Nice grab, James!" the twins, Harold and Jules, called in unison as James approached.
"Thanks!"
"Too bad you spoiled it by getting intimate with an apple tree," Rose said from where she sat, kicking her legs idly. "What a downer."
"Hey," James said, ignoring Rose's remarks. "That's Merlin's car! What's it doing here?"
Rose glanced down at the bonnet of the car she was sitting on. The old Anglia had been meticulously cleaned and was half-repainted, but one headlight still hung askew from its socket. "This isn't Merlin's, you nitwit," Rose chided. "It's Grandfather's. Don't you remember the stories about the flying Ford? Your dad and my dad took it for a joyride back when they were in school. They ended up losing it in the Forbidden Forest. All Merlin did was find it. When he discovered whose it was, he arranged to have it returned here. Grandfather's been getting it back into shape over the summer."
"He's making some pretty keen modifications to it too!" Hugo announced, popping his head out the driver's side window. "Watch this!"
He disappeared again and the car rocked a bit as he and Albus moved around in the front seat.
"That's probably not a good idea—" James began, and then jumped back as a pair of wood and canvas wings shot out of the sides of the automobile, squeaking and ratcheting as they unfolded. They began to flap up and down violently, making the entire car bounce and rock. A moment later, they screeched to a stop.
"It's a good thing you know how to turn those off!" James exclaimed, his eyes wide.
"I didn't!" Albus answered, working buttons and levers on the car's dashboard. "They stopped on their own. Looks like they aren't quite finished yet. I hope we didn't break them. Hey, Hugo, climb back there and jump on them a little, why don't you?"
"No, let us!" the twins cried, scrambling toward the wings.
"No!" James called, throwing up his hands. "Nobody jump on anything! Granddad will leather you with a hex if you break his stuff!"
Hugo scowled, ignoring James. "Too bad Uncle Percy and Aunt Audrey aren't here. Lucy's the mechanical one. I bet she could get this thing in the air."
"I wonder why it needs the wings anyway," Rose commented. "I thought it flew on its own."
"Uncle Harry smashed it into the Whomping Willow at Hogwarts, remember?" Hugo called out. "Totally crippled it. That's why it ran off into the Forest and turned all feral."
"You've got it all wrong," Albus said. "Your dad was driving. If my dad had been behind the wheel, they'd have made a four-point landing."
"Yeah," Rose agreed, "probably right through the windows of the Great Hall."
The twins guffawed and ran around the car, pretending to fly and crash. Harold mimicked the Whomping Willow, thrashing at his brother, who feigned death and keeled over.
"Anyway," Hugo continued, "everybody knows about the Alma Alerons and their flying cars. I bet Granddad wanted to see if he could make this fly even better."
James grinned. "Come on, you lot. He'll be home soon. If we don't get inside, we'll miss the surprise."
"And the cake," Rose added.
That got their attention. Jules and Harold spun on their heels and darted past James, yelling and trying to push each other out of the way. Albus shrugged and followed Hugo out the driver's door of the car. Rose slid off the bonnet and brushed the dust from her bottom with her hands.
"Grandfather's quite peculiar, isn't he?" she said, glancing around at the Anglia and the collection of mismatched Muggle objects that filled the shelves nearby. James had seen them a hundred times, but there were always a few new things. He followed Rose as she approached the collection and ran her hand lightly over some of the items, drawing lines in the dust with her fingers. Alongside the assortment of batteries and electric can openers, extension cords and nose hair trimmers, James saw the newer additions. There was an old laptop computer, a video game controller, and a digital alarm clock in the shape of a cartoon character.
"Why do you suppose he loves all this stuff so much?" Rose asked.
"I don't know," James said. "I think part of it is because he grew up a wizard, not like us. My dad grew up with Muggles. Your mum too. They brought a bit of the Muggle world with them, so to us, it's no mystery. But for Granddad, the Muggle world is as foreign as aliens would be to us. He just loves figuring out how it all works, and what they use it for."
"He could just take a Muggle Studies course, nowadays, couldn't he?" Rose said as the two of them turned toward the door. "They didn't have classes l
ike that when he was a kid."
James shrugged. "I guess so. I don't think he wants to learn it like that though. That's not the point for him. I don't really know what he thinks the point is though."
Rose tilted her head. "He just loves the mystery of it, don't you think?"
"Well, what's the point of a mystery if you never find out?" James frowned.
"You're such a boy, James. The moment the mystery is solved, it's not a mystery anymore."
"Granddad's a boy too, you know."
"No, Grandfather's a man."
James rolled his eyes. "What's the difference, then?"
Rose sniffed. "Well, a man can catch the Snitch and not come out smelling like a rancid cider house."
James chased her the rest of the way to the back door.
Inside, Grandma Weasley was frantically arranging the final details as the family milled around, mostly trying to stay out of her way.
"Hugo! Dominique! You get your fingers away from that cake this moment!" she admonished as she passed by the table, her arms full of plates and cutlery. "Fleur, would you be a dear and help me with the pudding? It's Arthur's favorite and I want it right in the middle of the table. Oh, when did this family become so large that we can't eat indoors without sitting on each other's laps?"
"It's your fault entirely, Mum," George said reasonably. "You can't go having seven kids and not expect the lot of us to see it as a dare to have more."
"Don't you start," Angelina said, grimacing and throwing an arm around his neck.
"You knew what you were getting into when you got engaged to me," George replied airily. "The thing I love best about you is your childbearing hips."
Angelina tightened her grip around his neck, dragging him into the parlor where everyone was gathering.
"How'd the match go, James?" Bill asked from his seat next to his son Louis.
James shrugged and grinned. "Pretty good. Nobody got killed. I caught the Snitch."
Louis smiled crookedly. "Rose told us all about it already."
James rolled his eyes as Bill laughed and clapped him on the shoulder.
"Oh! Arthur will be here any moment!" Molly fretted, wringing her hands on her apron and glancing around at her gathered family. "I just know I'm forgetting something. He's so dreadfully hard to surprise. James! You didn't change your shirt! You're covered with rotten apple! No! Don't sit on the sofa! It's too late now to do anything about it, I suppose…"
"Mum," Charlie soothed, "calm down. It's a birthday party, not a military campaign."
She heaved a quick sigh, letting Charlie massage her shoulders for a moment. "All I can say is it's a good thing he agreed to that consultant position at the Ministry. At least it gets him away from the Burrow a few times a week. Otherwise, I'd never have got him out of the place long enough to arrange such a thing. Especially since that Merlin character returned that awful car… Oh! That's what I forgot! Ronald! Do you have the—"
"Socket wrench set," Ron nodded wearily. "Fresh from the Muggle hardware store. All wrapped and on the table along with everyone else's gifts. He'll love it, Mum. Calm down or George and I will have to break out the Firewhisky."
"Shh!" James' mum hissed, looking hard at the fireplace. "Here he comes!"
She leaned in, gripping Harry's arm and pulling him with her. The room fell silent as everyone drew their breath, preparing to shout.
The ash in the fieldstone fireplace swirled, and then suddenly erupted into flame. It flared, and a figure materialized out of it, plopping onto the floor in front of the grate with a practiced hop.
"Surprise--" everyone shouted, but the strength of the shout faded on the second syllable. The new arrival wasn't Arthur Weasley. There was a sudden, awkward silence as everyone stared at the unexpected form of Kingsley Shacklebolt.
Kingsley's face was grave. He looked over the room, scanning faces, until he saw Molly.
"Oh no," Molly said simply.
Kingsley's face didn't change. Together, both he and Molly looked aside, toward the Weasley family clock.
"Oh no!" Molly said again. She slowly raised her right hand to her mouth, her eyes wide, shining.
Everyone in the room looked toward the magical clock, the clock that showed every Weasley family member's whereabouts and well-being. Most of the family members' hands were pointed toward The Burrow: Parlor. Arthur Weasley's hand of the clock was pointed straight down, toward two small red words.
No More.
"Arthur Weasley was among the rarest and most honorable of men," Kingsley said in his calm, measured voice. "With those whom he loved, he was faultlessly gentle, loyal, and wise. With those who deserved his ire, he was fair, unflagging, and when necessary, fierce. Few who grew up with him would ever have guessed that this soft-spoken, even comical man would someday face the greatest enemies of his time. And yet he did, firmly, and with the kind of quiet courage that comes only from loving well, and being wellloved."
James sat in the second row, between Albus and Lily. He stared furiously at Kingsley's face as he spoke, concentrating on the words, trying very hard not to look at the shiny wooden box behind the big man. The lid was open, showing a snowy white, cushioned interior. Next to James, Lily sniffed quietly and leaned against her mother's shoulder. Albus sat ramrod straight, his face blank and pale. The tiny church at Ottery St. Catchpole was packed and hot.
"During Arthur's lifetime," Kingsley went on, "he saw both great and horrible things. In his family, he witnessed the purest of delights, and more importantly, was the sort of man who knew how to enjoy them. He also faced the most terrible of trials and endured the greatest sacrifices. And yet his heart was pure enough to not become embittered by them. Hatred had no foothold in this man. Viciousness knew him not. Corruption could not bend him."
Dimly, James was aware of the many family members and friends who'd travelled from far and wide to be present. He'd seen Hagrid come in, and even now he could hear the half-giant blowing his nose in the row behind him. Luna was there along with her skinny new beau, Rolf Scamander, who in his brown suit and huge glasses looked, to James, vaguely like a human version of one of those insects cleverly disguised by nature to resemble a dried stick. Neville Longbottom was present as well as the Diggorys, who lived nearby in the village. A surprising number of Granddad's co-workers from the Ministry had also come, most straight from London.
Directly in front of James sat his grandmother. Molly's shoulders shook, but she made no sound. Next to her, Bill put his arm around her. His eyes glistened. He frowned very slightly as Kingsley went on.
"There are men who devote their lives to fairness, who study, and campaign, and lead charges. There are men who seek power and influence, who arise to positions of great authority and make momentous decisions. And there are men who devote their lives to training for war, whose skills with the wand and the sword are legendary, who are the first into battle and the last to retreat. Arthur Weasley was not any of these men. He was better. His benevolence had no root in guilt. His position was not born of pride. And his fight was not for the sake of glory. In his steadfast heart, he was effortlessly what most of us try to be by sheer willpower. He was a man without guile. A man of duty and loyalty. A man with the strength of right, and love. But mostly, Arthur Weasley… was a father… and a husband… and a friend."
For the first time, Kingsley lowered his eyes. He pressed his lips together, and then removed his glasses. Still looking down at the small podium before him, he concluded:
"Arthur Weasley was the best of his kind. And we shall miss him."
In the silence that followed, James fought back his tears. It was so confusing. When he'd first understood what was happening that afternoon as they'd all stood in the parlor looking at Granddad's hand on the Weasley clock, he'd felt strangely numb. He'd known he should've felt sorrow, or anger, or fear, but instead, he'd felt just a strange, ringing emptiness. As the family had dissolved into confused conversation— demands of explanations, expressions of grief—Har
ry had taken Lily, Albus, and James upstairs to the bedroom they'd so often shared.
"Do you understand what this means?" he had asked them, looking each one in the eyes, his face serious and sad. Lily and Albus had nodded dumbly. James hadn't nodded. If he'd understood what had happened to Granddad, he'd have felt something, wouldn't he? Harry had gathered all three of them into an embrace, and James could feel his dad's cheek on his shoulder. It had felt hot.
Now, as James watched his grandma and Uncle Bill approach the casket, he could barely grope around the edges of this sudden, monumental grief. His throat ached from holding it in. His eyes burned and he blinked yet again, forcing back the tears. He was ashamed to let it all out, and yet it felt wrong to hold it in. He was torn in the middle.
Why did Granddad have to die of a stupid heart attack, of all things? Great wizards just didn't die of such things, did they? This was the man who'd faced Voldemort's snake and survived to tell of it. How could a man who'd fought the most vicious villains of all time, who'd made such terrible sacrifices, have died so stupidly in the end? The unfairness of it was like a weight of stones on James' heart. Hadn't Granddad earned a reprieve from something like this? Didn't he deserve at least a few more years to watch his grandchildren grow up? He was going to miss James' first year on the Gryffindor Quidditch team. He'd not attend George's and Angelina's wedding, nor know the names of their children. He'd never unwrap his Muggle socket wrench set, never use it to finish the homemade wings on his prize Ford Anglia. It would sit there in the garage, half-painted and with one headlight still hanging out, until it rusted and lost whatever soul Granddad had given it. Nobody else cared about it. Eventually, it would be towed away somewhere and disposed of. Buried.
At the end of the aisle, Harry stood up, helping Ginny to her feet. Lily and Albus stood as well, but James remained seated. He stared straight ahead, his cheeks burning. He simply couldn't do it. After a moment, Ginny led Albus and Lily up the aisle to the casket. James felt his dad sit back down next to him. Neither tried to talk to each other, but James felt a hand on his back. It comforted him a little. But just a little.
James Potter and the Curse of the Gatekeeper Page 3