"Don't you dare try to kiss me, you little upstart," Josephina muttered as she leaned in, smiling mistily.
"Wouldn't dream of it," James growled through his own loving smile. "Just try not to fall on me, all right? You're still looking rather tipsy."
He made sure to miss Josephina's lips by a wide mark. A moment later, the lights extinguished and Tabitha called for a ten-minute break while the stage crew refilled the rain machine.
That night, James had the dream one more time, although this time he felt that it was a true dream and not a direct vision into someone else's reality. It began as always with the flash and whicker of blades and the rattle of old wood. The figure in the dream walked toward the rippling pool and looked in. As always, two faces swam up out of the depths, a young man and a young woman. This time, however, they looked different. He recognized them vaguely as his own long dead grandparents, his dad's mum and dad. They didn't seem to be looking at the girl with the long dark hair. Instead, they seemed to be looking directly at James, where he floated in the darkness next to her. Their faces seemed grave and worried, and although they couldn't speak, they communicated with their eyes: Beware, grandson; watch closely and step lightly. Beware…
The dark-haired girl turned away from the faces in the pool, and James looked up at her. Even now that he knew she was Tabitha Corsica, her face remained lost in shadow. James tried to speak, to tell her not to hide any more, that there was no point, but his lips felt as if they were sewn shut. He moved along with her as she passed the pool, and as she moved, the dream changed. The mossy, dark walls faded into distance and were replaced by cold wind on a grassy hilltop. A huge full moon burned overhead, yellow and bloated, as if it meant to fall on him. The Tabitha shape continued to walk, and James saw that they were in a graveyard. A leaning wrought-iron fence marched drunkenly on the right, embracing a collection of worn headstones and crypts.
"I've never been here before," a young man's voice said. James looked and could just make out a tall silhouette walking next to the Tabitha shape. Tabitha herself seemed taller as well, and her voice was rather different when she spoke.
"Why would you have come here before?"
"My grandparents are buried here," the young man's voice said somberly. "I've no memory of visiting their graves."
"How sad for you," the Tabitha shape said.
"If you say so."
They came upon a glow in a hollow. It emanated from a lantern hooked onto a post. Near it, a stooped man was scooping earth from a grave. He straightened as they approached, surveying them with a cold, appraising look, as if he'd been expecting them.
"Whose grave is this?" the Tabitha shape asked.
The young man sighed, and suddenly James recognized who it was. "It is mine," Albus answered, turning to the Tabitha shape. James finally got a good look at him in the lantern glow. He looked about seventeen or eighteen, handsome but sallow, gaunt, as if he hadn't eaten in days. "You knew this day was coming," he said, removing his wand from his robes. "All sides have been chosen. He senses you are here; he comes now, flying like the wind. But there is something you must do first."
And Albus handed the Tabitha shape his wand.
Even knowing this was a dream, James tried to cry out, to warn Albus, but his lips wouldn't obey him. He could do nothing but watch. The Tabitha shape raised Albus' wand, pointing it toward the sky. She sniffed, and her shoulders hitched as if she were crying. Then, without warning, there was a burst of green light and an awful hiss. The stooped man with the shovel looked up first, and then so did the Tabitha shape. Albus didn't raise his eyes. Finally, James found he could look up. Spreading overhead was a bright, shimmering shape. It was a huge green skull, its mouth open. Out of the skull's mouth poured a leering snake, its jaw unhinged and menacing. The eerie glow of the Dark Mark lit the entire graveyard. On one of the nearer headstones, James saw his and his sister's names. His blood chilled even though he knew these were the names of his dead grandparents.
There was a loud crack, and another figure appeared, wand already out and pointing.
"Stop!" the figure cried, and James thought the voice sounded oddly familiar. "Both of you! I know what you think you have to do, but it doesn't have to be this way! Albus, don't let it end like this!"
"Do it," Albus said, but James couldn't tell if he was speaking to the newcomer or the Tabitha shape.
"No!" the newcomer cried, and there was an edge of desperation in his voice. "The rest are coming, and they won't waste time on words! We only have a few seconds! Albus, don't be a fool!"
"I'm sorry," Albus said, still looking at the Tabitha shape. He nodded slowly to her. She lowered the wand, aiming it at him.
The newcomer stepped forward, crying the name of the Tabitha shape, appealing to her. "Please don't! This isn't who you really are!"
"You're right, James," the Tabitha shape said quietly, almost sadly. "As of tonight, I will be known by an entirely different name."
There was an ears-splitting cry and a blast of light, obliterating everything. James fell into that light, struggling to maintain the dream, but it broke apart like glass, like a scene glimpsed in a shattering mirror.
James woke up, panting and slick with sweat. He scrambled to a sitting position on his bed, his heart pounding. The phantom scar on his forehead throbbed so hard he thought it must split his skull open. He clapped a hand to it, hissing through his teeth. After a minute, the pain began to recede, but very slowly. When he could bring himself to do it, James turned to sit on the side of his bed. He opened his satchel in the darkness and rooted inside, searching for his quill and a bit of parchment. Finally, just as the sweat on his body began to cool in the midnight air of the dormitory, he leaned over his bedside table and scribbled three words. He stared at his own handwriting in the moonlight. It didn't make any sense. Probably it was meaningless. It had only been a dream, and not at all like the other dreams his phantom scar had induced. But it had been wrong in some fundamental, very worrying way. For reasons he couldn't bring himself to admit, he felt that it was important to remember it.
Finally, now shivering, James folded himself back into his covers. He had no idea what time it was. Tomorrow was the official performance of The Triumvirate, and after that, the last week of school. Somewhere out there, perhaps not far away, the Gatekeeper was lurking, waiting for its human host. And here, inside the very same walls, was that host, preparing herself for the task that would make her worthy. And somehow, in some way, James was meant to stop it all from happening. Your father's battle is over, the dryad had said, yours begins. They were not comforting words, but they were the words that rang over and over in his head, following him as he descended, slowly, into a fitful, dreamless sleep.
Nearby, Scorpius Malfoy lay awake, watching, not speaking or moving. When he was certain that James had finally drifted back into sleep, he slid out of his own bed. Tiptoeing, he crossed the room, passing before the window and casting his shadow over James. Scorpius leaned over carefully, squinting. He didn't have his glasses, but the moonlight was very bright and Scorpius could just make out James' handwritten words. He scowled at them for a long time, unmoving in the moonlight. Finally, Scorpius made his way back to his own bed.
Unlike James, Scorpius did not sleep for the rest of the night.
"Today's the big day!" Noah proclaimed, plopping into a seat next to James at the breakfast table. "Eat up, 'Treus'. Can't have you fainting onstage, can we? After all, you don't have an understudy."
James groaned. The tables seemed unusually crowded this morning since some of the families planning to attend the performance had arrived the evening before. Ralph's dad, Denniston Dolohov, sat with him at the Slytherin table, smiling uncertainly at the noisome throng. Noah's own parents sat at the head of the Gryffindor table with Steven, his brother.
"Shouldn't you be sitting with your family?" James asked grumpily.
"Bad luck, mate," Noah said wisely, tapping the side of his nose. "None of the famil
y are supposed to see you before the performance. S'tradition, isn't it?"
Sabrina shook her head, wobbling the quill that was stuck in her red hair. "You're thinking of weddings, you prat. Grooms and brides aren't supposed to see each other."
"Well, where do you think they got the idea?" Noah asked around a mouthful of toast. "After all, what's a wedding but a big real-life performance?"
"You're not nervous, are you, James?" Sabrina asked, ignoring Noah.
"I might be, a little," James admitted. "I mean, I never expected we'd be packing out the amphitheater. A lot more people are coming than I thought. Seems like everybody's family is going to be here, doesn't it?"
"My mum's coming," Sabrina said, nodding. "And my Uncle Hastur. He went to Hogwarts himself about a hundred years ago and this will be his first time back."
Graham piped up, "Both my parents are coming even though I'm just a page boy. I only have one line, but they act like I'm the star of the whole show."
"I wish you were the star of the whole show," James said, slumping onto his folded arms.
"Does somebody have a spot of stage fright?" Rose asked brightly, settling into a seat opposite James.
"He's got it bad," Noah said, nudging James with his elbow. "At this rate, he'll be useless by the time the curtains go up. I might have to play both parts! Fortunately, I'm up to it."
"Treus and Donovan's swordfight might be a bit of a challenge," Graham suggested, squinting thoughtfully.
In an effort to change the subject, James asked, "Where's Petra this morning? Are her parents coming?"
"I saw her in the common room this morning," Noah answered. "Looked like she was working on her lines still. She was studying something pretty hard. I didn't interrupt her. I assume her family is coming, but she hasn't talked much about it."
"I asked her yesterday if her parents were coming," Sabrina nodded. "She said she'd be seeing them both tonight. It'll be cool to meet everybody's families, don't you think? The only other time we see them is on platform nine and three-quarters, and that's always so rushed."
"Yeah," Graham said, rolling his eyes. "Nothing I like more than getting my cheeks pinched by everybody else's grandma."
"If only your cheeks weren't so ruddy cute," Noah said, reaching across the table. Graham batted him away, scowling.
James found it difficult to concentrate on any of his classes. In fact, with so many parents and family members arriving throughout the day, few professors seemed to expect much from their classes at any rate. Regardless, James was glad of the distractions. He tried very hard to take notes during Divination despite the fact that Professor Trelawney seemed to frown on anything other than practical demonstrations.
"Divination is an instinct, not a study, Mr. Potter," she trilled, stopping next to his desk and tapping his parchment with one long, purple fingernail. "Your work is to hone the latent ability inside the gifted witch and wizard, not merely to repeat techniques and theories. Let go of your boundaries and allow yourself to truly see, my boy. What fate do you divine for yourself in the octocards?"
James blinked up at Trelawney, then glanced down at the strew of octagonal cards on the table in front of him. "Oh, er, I see this one, which has a star on it," he said, pulling a card out at random. "Stars represent pain, and, er… Christmas. It means that I'm going to be run down by a lorry next holiday, but that I won't be killed, just really, really hurt," he looked up at Trelawney again, judging her response. "I'll probably die weeks later, in the hospital… er… right?"
Trelawney's face changed to a bemused smile and she ruffled his hair indulgently. "You are trying too hard, dear boy. You chose a star because that's what you shall be this night." Trelawney sighed mistily and drifted toward the front of the room. "Few people know it, but I was a rather gifted performer myself in my younger years. There are those today who still speak of my singing performance in the Hogsmeade Players production of The Amazing Ahazrial's Show of Shows. Alas, I submitted instead to the burdensome calling of Seer and teacher, thus curtailing my own storied career on the stage. I am fully assured, however, that your performance tonight, Mr. Potter, will be a delight both sublime and breathtaking. I have already foreseen it." She smiled back at James, her eyes magnified ridiculously in her enormous spectacles.
James glanced aside at Ralph, whose face was as pale and worried as James felt. Considering Professor Trelawney's track record with predictions, her assurances about tonight's performance were anything but comforting.
For the rest of the afternoon, James couldn't help reciting his lines over and over in his head. He was terrified that he would step onto the stage and completely forget every word. It didn't help that everyone seemed to think he should be enjoying the excitement. As he moved through the halls, even older students grinned and clapped him on the shoulder, wishing him good luck and telling him to 'break a wand'.
He saw his mum and sister fleetingly after dinner on his way to the amphitheater. They'd just arrived at the castle, having taken the train from London. Lily was wide-eyed, so enamored by the castle and the bustle of the students that she barely noticed her older brother. His mum, on the other hand, seemed almost impossibly proud of James.
"Oh, you've just become such a man," she said, brushing his shoulders and straightening his tie. "You'll be simply wonderful, James. You aren't nervous, are you?"
"Between people telling me how great I'm going to be and asking me if I'm nervous," James said, sighing, "I'm wondering why I ever signed up for this part to begin with."
Ginny clucked her tongue. "You signed up because you knew you could do it, and obviously, everyone agrees. Now just try to relax. You won't do yourself any favors by worrying about it."
"Easy for you to say," James grumped.
"It is, actually," Ginny agreed, smiling at her son. "Because unlike the rest of the people here, I know exactly what you are capable of, James. Relax, you'll remember this night for the rest of your life. Try to enjoy the moment."
James nodded. "Did you bring the Omnioculars?"
"Your Uncle Ron has them," Ginny replied, rolling her eyes. "He insists on recording the play himself. I told him he could do it so long as he let Hermione help. They stopped over in Hogsmeade to meet up with George, Angelina, and Ted. They should be here in half an hour or so, and they're bringing a little surprise for you."
James had forgotten how many of his own family and friends were going to be in attendance. He felt another pang of nervous fear but quelled it. Truthfully, now that the moment was nearly upon him, he felt a little better about the performance. One way or another, it would be over soon. After the production, Professor Curry had arranged for something called a 'wrap party' in the Great Hall, complete with punch and an array of sweets. All the cast and crew would be there along with their families. It was a great relief to know that in less than three hours, James would be there as well, eating cake and congratulating Petra, Noah, and the rest on their completed performance. Thinking that, James left his mum and sister, telling them he'd see them afterwards. Ginny smiled and nodded, shooing him on.
The ushers outside the amphitheater's main entry saw James coming. Hugo Paulson, resplendent in his red coat and pillbox cap, opened a door for him. "Curry was looking for you," he said as James passed. "They want to get you into your beard right away. Gennifer insists she could charm you to grow a real one for the night, but Curry isn't going for it. Looks like it's glue and goat hair for you after all."
James nodded, hardly hearing Hugo. As he came into the amphitheater he stopped and looked down at the stage. It bustled with activity as the crew manhandled the castle backdrop into place and Professor Curry marched around, testing spotlights and calling for last-minute adjustments. On the stage, Petra glanced up and saw James. She smiled and waved him down. James smiled back, and for the first time he felt a thrill of delight untainted by fear at being part of such an elaborate production. He ran down the main aisle, taking the stairs two at a time.
"Ther
e's our Treus," Curry acknowledged as James climbed onto the stage. "Your costume is in the dressing room. Get into it and then get down to make-up, Mr. Potter. Your beard awaits."
James looked around, but there was no sign of Tabitha Corsica. She was probably backstage overseeing the costuming and make-up. He hoped he wouldn't see her as he ducked behind the castle backdrop, heading for the makeshift changing rooms.
The boys' dressing room was crowded with bustling characters struggling into tight-fitting coats, leotards, and baggy pantaloons. Cameron Creevey stopped James as he passed.
"Is this hat on right?" he asked, turning the strange headwear this way and that. "It's a five-corner hat, right? But what corner goes in front? Does it matter?"
The Curse of the GateKeeper (James Potter #2) Page 49