The Curse of the GateKeeper (James Potter #2)

by G. Norman Lippert

  Spot on about this Gatekeeper business. Our researchers at the Ministry had already begun to piece together some details about it. We have old Dung Fletcher in protective custody, and he had an inkling that the people who orchestrated last year's conspiracy were working toward something big like this. We're quite confident that this whole 'Curse of the Gatekeeper' story is just a massive scare tactic. The P.E. is still at work trying to secretly destabilize the magical world, and what better way to do it than to invent a grave new threat that the Ministry isn't able to contain, eh? Don't worry. We've got the best people on it, including me. Still, be sure that we won't be taking any chances, all right? If there really is something behind this besides a load of rogue Dementors, we'll be on the lookout for it.

  Regarding the R. Stone, you can always ask me whatever you want, James. Tell your friend Cameron I remember his uncle well and that he's right about the stone. After I used it in the Forest that night, I dropped it. I didn't need it anymore, and it was best lost to the wizarding world forever. I'd guess it's still out there somewhere, but even I could probably never find it again. I strongly recommend that you not go looking for it. It'll only mean trouble. Let it stay lost, all right?

  Love, Your Father

  P.S. No, still no sign of what's gone missing, but honestly, I haven't had much time to look for them. Mum and Grandma say hello. Grandma is staying in Albus' room, so you don't have anything to worry about. See you in a few weeks!

  James arrived in the dim library and wandered through the aisles and shelves until he found Ralph and Rose, who were deep in conversation. He plunked his satchel onto the table and sat down next to Rose.

  "We spoke to Zane a little while ago," Ralph announced. "He popped up right here in the library. Made Professor Heretofore ten shades of mad. She refused to let us zap him with any spells to maintain his projection, but he did give us a quick message."

  James leaned in. "What was it?"

  "Apparently he went to see Madame Delacroix in person," Rose said in a low voice. "She's pretty dotty, but he got some useful information out of her about what the wrong people might be able to do with your voodoo doll."

  "What?" James asked fervently. "Tell me!"

  "Exactly bupkis," Ralph replied, curling his hand into the shape of a zero.

  "More or less," Rose added, glancing at Ralph. "Your dad was right, James, when he said that voodoo wasn't like what the Muggle films show. It's apparently mostly psychological. Pinning a voodoo doll in the heart doesn't kill the subject, but it might make them sad or lonely."

  "Or give them heartburn," Ralph quipped.

  Rose rolled her eyes. "The point is no one can physically hurt you with a voodoo doll. They may be able to make you believe you feel pain, or certain emotions, but that's all."

  James breathed a huge sigh. "Well, that's a big relief, I guess."

  "Still," Ralph asked, "who do you think might have it?"

  "Probably nobody," James answered. "It wasn't with the Cloak or the map. It was just on my mum's bedside table. It's probably just lost at home like my dad said."

  "Maybe Tabitha has it!" Rose whispered conspiratorially. "Maybe she doesn't know she can't hurt you with it! She's probably going mad wondering why it isn't working!"

  James shook his head. "That's daft, Rose. Tabitha wouldn't have any way of getting it even if she knew about it. I never told anyone other than you, Ralph, and Zane about it. Besides, Tabitha doesn't need a voodoo doll to get at me. She could've fought me that night in the hall. Obviously she's not meaning to attack us with magic or anything."

  "At least not yet," Ralph muttered. Suddenly, a low whistle pierced the air. It wasn't particularly loud, but it was noisy enough to disturb those studying nearby. At the next table, Ashley Doone glanced up curiously, looking for the source of the whistle.

  "What's that?" Rose rasped. "Ralph, I think it's coming from your bag!"

  Ralph scrambled around in his seat, retrieving his bag. As soon as he unzipped it, the noise grew louder.

  "It's Trenton's Sneakoscope!" Ralph said, pulling the instrument out of his bag. The noise was increasing both in pitch and volume.

  "Mr. Deedle!" a voice called stridently. James turned in his seat and saw Professor Heretofore approaching along the aisle, her sharp features pinched into a scowl. "How many times must you insist on disrupting this library?"

  "Sorry," Ralph said, still fiddling with the Sneakoscope. "It must be malfunctioning. I can't see how to turn it off!"

  Professor Heretofore shook her head in disdain. She produced her wand and flicked it deftly. The Sneakoscope emitted a sudden squawk and fell silent.

  "There," she said venomously. "It's off. Now please vacate yourselves from the library, the three of you. If I see you in here again for the rest of the day, there will be deducted House points, even if you are a member of my house, Mr. Deedle. Now off with you."

  "Stupid hunk of junk," Ralph muttered as they threaded toward the door. He stuffed the Sneakoscope in his bag and shouldered it.

  "It wasn't malfunctioning," a voice drawled. James glanced up as Scorpius fell in line with them, walking out of the library. "It was doing exactly what it was meant to do."

  "Getting us kicked out of the library?" Ralph asked derisively.

  Scorpius lowered his voice. "No, Deedle. Alerting you to the presence of untrustworthy people."

  James frowned at Scorpius. "What do you mean?"

  "Not here," Scorpius said. "Follow me. I'll tell you what I can along the way."

  For several minutes, Scorpius led James, Ralph, and Rose through the halls silently. Eventually, they came to an old part of the castle which was rarely used. It smelled vaguely moldy. They passed no one else in the halls.

  "I understand you had a rather illuminating conversation with 'Tabby'," Scorpius finally said, glancing at James as he walked.

  "How do you know about that?"

  "I hear things," Scorpius replied vaguely. "Tabitha has somehow come to believe that I am a Slytherin in disguise. She thinks that I detest the lot of you and am therefore on their side."

  "You had me fooled for awhile too, you know," James admitted. "My bed still has the words 'Whiny Potter Git' on it."

  "Where are we going, Scorpius?" Rose asked suspiciously. "It looks like we're headed to the same place where we found the Mirror of Erised."

  Scorpius nodded. "That's the spot, Weasley. Nothing gets past you."

  "Scorpius," James said, narrowing his eyes, "if I didn't know any better, I'd say you were nervous."

  Scorpius stopped suddenly in the hall. He turned to face the other three. "What I'm about to do, I do against my better judgment," he said in a low, serious voice. "If my grandfather knew what I was about to show you, he'd probably kill me, and that's not an exaggeration."

  "What, Scorpius?" James asked, lowering his own voice to match the pale boy's. "Do you know something?"

  Scorpius looked away. "Remember when I told you that I hadn't seen my grandfather for years? That he was in hiding, even from the rest of the family?"

  James and Rose nodded. James said, "It's not true? He's not in hiding?"

  "Yes, he's in hiding. But it isn't true that I haven't seen him. I've seen him plenty." Scorpius sighed and looked at James, Ralph, and Rose. "It started two years ago. I hated the way my father had turned his back on his upbringing. The reason he'd begun studying the founders was to find out the truth about Salazar Slytherin. He'd been raised to believe that Slytherin was a revolutionary thinker and a hero, but the more my father studied, the more he began to believe that Slytherin had simply been a vicious, power-hungry madman. When I was quite young, Father and Grandfather had a serious row about it. They ended up wand to wand, although neither actually cast a spell. It disgusted me that my father would deny his family heritage. Once Grandfather disowned my father and moved into hiding, I determined to join him and prove my loyalty. My mother helped me locate Grandfather Lucius. He was quite happy to have me visit him in secret. He
told me of his plans. Yes, I know about the Gatekeeper and how it came to descend into the world. I know that my grandfather believes he is carrying out the final solution of Salazar Slytherin, finally bringing about a world of pureblood perfection. But the more I listened to my grandfather, the more I realized he'd gone completely mad. Both he and his partner, Gregor Tyrranicus. Gregor was once wizarding royalty in Romania, but he lost power and was kicked out by his own family. Both he and my Grandfather Lucius will do anything to get that power back, and more. They truly mean to be rulers of a new pureblood kingdom with the Gatekeeper as their strong-arm."

  "So they really do think they can control it," Rose breathed. "They are mad!"

  "They're mad, yes," Scorpius answered. "But who's to say they can't control it? If they can possess both halves of the Beacon Stone, they may indeed be able to protect themselves and their kingdom from the Gatekeeper, although it will hate them all the more for it, and will destroy them all the quicker if they get careless."

  "So what is it you want to show us?" James asked, firming his jaw. "What does your grandfather not want us to know?"

  Scorpius seemed to be struggling with himself. His eyes were locked on James', his lips pressed together. Finally, the boy nodded slightly. "Come on," he said, and quickly turned.

  They walked a little way further until they came to a large, heavy door. Scorpius produced a tarnished brass key and turned it in the lock.

  "My father gave me this key so I could help you come back through the Mirror, Potter," Scorpius explained, pushing the heavy door open. "I don't know how he came to possess it, but I suspect it had something to do with one of the lesser known shops in the dark corners of Knockturn Alley. Still, I doubt even my father knew what this key would also give me access to."

  "What's the big deal?" Ralph asked as they entered the cramped storage room again. The Mirror of Erised showed their reflections in its dusty surface. All around it were crates, trunks, and locked cabinets.

  "Don't look too closely into the Mirror," Scorpius said, walking past it and approaching one of the cabinets. "Without its Focusing Book, it'll just show you distractions. The real surprise is over here."

  "Whose stuff is all this?" Rose asked, looking around slowly. "I thought it was just a bunch of stored junk when we were here last, but that was before I knew how powerful the Mirror was and where it came from. Nobody would just throw that in with a bunch of random crates."

  Scorpius wrenched a lock loose from one the cabinets and swung the door open. "All of this," he said, glancing back at Rose, "is the contents of Albus Dumbledore's office while he was Headmaster. He'd willed most of it to his brother, Aberforth, but when Aberforth died, he willed it right back to the school. It's all been stored here ever since, hidden even from the new headmasters according to Aberforth's instructions. Not the most trusting fellow, was old Aberforth. We'd never have found it at all if we hadn't used Ravenclaw's signal to locate the Mirror."

  "Wow," James breathed in awe. "I bet my dad would love to know about this place. He and Dumbledore were pretty close. Look! Is that Fawkes the phoenix's perch? I bet it is!"

  "This stuff is probably really valuable," Rose said, picking up a heavy book from a table. "Most of these books are one-of-a-kind. They're hand-printed and illustrated…"

  "That's all well and good," Scorpius said, stepping aside and gesturing at the open cabinet. "But this is why I brought you here."

  Ralph and James peered into the cabinet, confused at the display of dusty tools and ancient gadgets. A large bowl-shaped object on the top shelf emitted a pale glow. Rose gasped, her eyes going wide.

  "Is that the Pensieve?" she whispered. "Dumbledore's Pensieve?"

  Scorpius nodded. "I came here once on my own, the night before James' return. I sneaked out of the dorm and used Ravenclaw's signal to find this room. I wanted to be sure it really existed. When I found it, I explored a little and found the Pensieve. It contains many of Headmaster Dumbledore's memories, and Severus Snape's as well, since Snape apparently kept it in the Headmaster's office and used it after Dumbledore died. I knew the memories would be rather faded now that Dumbledore and Snape are both dead, but there was one set of memories in particular I was curious about. Grandfather Lucius had already told me his side of the story, but I wanted to see if Dumbledore's and Snape's version was any different. It was—a little."

  James asked in a low voice, "What's the memory about, Scorpius?"

  Scorpius looked James in the eye again. He didn't blink as he answered. "Something my grandfather and Gregor call 'the Bloodline'. It's about who the Bloodline of Voldemort is, and how they came to be."

  There was a long moment of perfect silence, and then, firmly, James said, "I want to see."

  Scorpius nodded. "I thought you might." He gestured at the gently glowing bowl.

  "How does it work?" Ralph asked, following reluctantly as James and Rose stepped forward. "Does it, like, make a film or something? How does it know what memory we want to see? Will it hurt?"

  "Shut up, Ralph," James said, not unkindly. "Just hold my hand. You too, Rose. I think we just have to look. That's all."

  Slowly, carefully, James, Rose, and Ralph leaned over the stone bowl. The surface of the liquid inside the Pensieve looked uncomfortably like the swirling mercury smoke in Merlin's Magic Mirror except that it glowed rather more. It lit the three student's faces. And then something began to swim up out of the depths of the Pensieve. It seemed to come from far deeper than the mere depth of the bowl. James held his breath as the light intensified. The swirling increased, becoming larger as the liquid in the bowl rose. It filled James' vision and then, swiftly and painlessly, it seemed to grab him. At once, James, Rose, and Ralph fell into the Pensieve as if it had grown to the size of a pool. It swallowed them completely, and for better or worse, there was no turning back. They were a part of the faded memories of Albus Dumbledore and Severus Snape.

  Each of the three experienced it uniquely and separately. When James landed in the middle of the first memory, neither Ralph nor Rose was anywhere in sight. As Scorpius had said, the memories were slightly faded; James felt more as if he was dreaming them than living them. As the world of the memory resolved around him, he found himself standing in the Headmaster's office, but not as he'd ever known it. It rippled and swam, like a scene witnessed underwater, but then it began to solidify. Fawkes the phoenix preened on his perch, proving to James that he was seeing the room as it had looked during Dumbledore's term as Headmaster.

  "We must be prepared for the eventuality, Severus," Dumbledore was saying, not looking at Snape, who stood by the window, looking out at a black sky. "It cannot be assumed that Voldemort will be too proud to resort to such a tactic. If he comes to fear that his plans—and therefore his life—are in jeopardy, we must assume he will prepare a successor of some kind."

  "The Dark Lord is not given to preparations for failure, Headmaster," Snape said. "His vanity will not admit the possibility of defeat. The sheer number of Horcruxes he has prepared are evidence of his assurance."

  "I disagree," Dumbledore said, steepling his fingers as he sat at his desk. James saw that one of the old headmaster's hands was rather horribly blackened and sickly. "One Horcrux would be enough for a confident villain. Voldemort's substantial collection of them proves quite the reverse. He lives in terror of death, believing nothing but the most extreme measures will ward it off. This is not the behavior of a man confident in his immortality. If, in time, he fears that even this collection will fail him, he will turn to even more desperate measures. You will know this when the time comes, and if it does, your duty will be clear."

  Snape turned away from the window and approached the desk. "It pains me to admit it, but this task is very nearly beyond me, Headmaster. You are far better equipped to manage it than am I."

  Dumbledore nodded slowly and smiled. "I will not argue that, Severus, but we both know it is unlikely that I should still be alive when the time comes. The task falls to you
by default. Nevertheless, I am quite confident in your ability to do what is necessary. Despite what you believe of yourself, you are rather uniquely qualified for this type of work…"

  As Dumbledore said this, the memory slowly dissolved. The room faded into obscurity and both Snape and Dumbledore vanished. An indeterminate amount of time seemed to pass, and then James found another memory solidifying around him. He was in a drawing room in a grand house, although it was apparent that the house was quite old and its best days were behind it. A large crystal chandelier lay shattered on the floor like a corpse. Bits of broken crystal lay everywhere, sparkling in the firelight.

  "Potter," a high, silky voice said. James turned to see a horrible cloaked figure standing in front of the hearth. It was like a man, but only just. Beneath the cowl, the face was so pale as to be nearly translucent. There was no nose, save for a pair of grotesquely flaring slits, and the red eyes glowed with thin vertical pupils. James' knees went weak with fear as the figure seemed to stare coldly at him, but then it turned its gaze away, looking askance at a woman huddled at the end of a nearby sofa.

  "I thought I was quite clear," the high, cold voice went on, and James now recognized the figure for who it was. This was Voldemort himself, in the flesh. "I was not to be disturbed for anything other than Harry Potter. Bellatrix here assures me I was, indeed, rather specific about that requirement. And yet she herself is the one responsible for interrupting my work without any Harry Potter to present me upon my return."

  Bellatrix sobbed and rolled off the sofa, throwing herself onto the floor at Voldemort's feet. "He was here, my Lord! I tell you: he was my prisoner when I summoned you; otherwise, I would never have dared! Lucius and Narcissa can attest to the fact! But we were betrayed at the last minute—" Bellatrix flung an arm toward a man James hadn't noticed yet. The man stood in the shadows, his face deathly pale and blank. His hair was long and white. "Tell him, Lucius!" Bellatrix implored. "Tell the Dark Lord that we had Potter in our grasp!" When the man didn't respond, Bellatrix's face contorted into desperate rage. "Then perhaps you should tell him how you were bested by the boy Potter! Tell him, Lucius, how you were Stunned unconscious mere moments after they burst upon us! Tell him!"