James grabbed his wand back from Nastasia and joined Albus in attempting to Stun the great bird as it soared toward the enchanted ceiling, spraying fire and screaming terribly. Hundreds of the Great Hall's floating candles bashed and broke before the Jiskra as it circled, swooping low and setting the tablecloths aflame.
More spells joined James' and Albus', streaking overhead in jets of red, green and yellow, striking the rafters and spraying magical sparks like fireworks. The Jiskra's flight path, however, was too crazed and random to allow accurate aiming. It streaked low again, swooping over the head table. Professor Flitwick leapt atop the table and ran after the great red beast, peppering it with freezing charms. Behind him, Professors McGonagall and Debellows fired their own wands, sending protective spells over the fleeing, rioting students and putting out the many fires.
Amidst it all, the ghost of the Bloody Baron chased the Jiskra, swooping wildly and thrashing his phantasmic sword.
"I've got it!" Albus cried, leaping atop the detritus of the Slytherin table and waving his wand. "I've got it! One more shot!"
A shadow hurtled over him and a great red claw snatched the wand from his hand. With a sharp CRACK the Jiskra broke the wand in two, tossing the pieces across the Great Hall. With a vicious screech, it circled back, aiming for Albus with its twin snaking heads.
"It's got me!" Albus exclaimed, his eyes widening. "It's got me! Get out of the way!"
He made to leap off the table, but the crowd was too thick, milling and screaming and firing random spells into the air.
James made to grasp at his brother's robes, to pull him down and out of the Jiskra's reach, but a huge, dark figure suddenly moved in front of him, completely blocking his path. The figure smelled vaguely of barn and wet leather.
"Gotcha!" the figure bellowed jovially, grunting with sudden effort. A wash of gritty air and flying debris blasted over James as the Jiskra thrashed its wings, suddenly held in place by a pair of enormous, hamlike hands.
It was Hagrid, of course, smiling despite everything, his beetle-black eyes filled with twinkling joy. "Wellnow, who might you be my little pet?" he said, as if he had just caught a kitten by the paws rather than a monstrous firebeast by its thrashing wings. The Jiskra reared and spat a blast of flame at Hagrid's face, but Hagrid ducked, raising the bird overhead so that its torch billowed over the tables, melting more of the floating candles into a rain of wax.
"Yer a lively one, aincha?" Hagrid chided, laughing.
"Hagrid!" Professor McGonagall called, her voice cracked and shaking with rage. "Please take that creature out of the Great Hall immediately!"
"Yes ma'am, Professor," Hagrid agreed, still obviously beside himself with happiness. "I've got jus' the place for yeh, don't I then? I bet yeh'd like a nice hot bowl o' turpentine, wouldn't yeh? Why, yer prob'ly plum tapped out by now, aincha?"
The Jiskra screeched again, coughing a weak blast of flame and thrashing its wings in Hagrid's meaty fists. Hagrid seemed to take this as friendly enthusiasm. He was still chuckling and coddling the beast as he ducked through the Great Hall's entrance.
In the ringing silence that followed, James took in the state of the Hall. Night breeze blew merrily through several shattered windows, playing in the crackling fires that dotted the tables. Smashed crockery and scattered silverware littered the tables and floor. Broken candles spun and drifted in all directions. All around, muttering and swearing and cursing, students were getting to their feet and climbing from beneath tables. In the centre of it all, his eyes flaming with rage and his sallow cheeks pale as chalk, Argus Filch stood speechless, his cane gripped in a hard, white-knuckled fist.
Albus was still atop the Slytherin table, crouched with both hands over his head. Slowly he relaxed.
"Shame about your wand," Nastasia commented as he clambered down.
"Oh, well that's the least of our problems," he muttered shakily and offered a weak smile. "Besides," he added, "I was still using Rose's."
"Students," Professor McGonagall announced sternly. "All of you, the excitement is over. If any of you are hurt, please assist one another to the hospital wing. If you cannot, please speak up for yourselves and those around you."
James glanced around. Amazingly, despite the wreckage, no one seemed particular hurt.
"In that case," McGonagall went on, "please return to your common rooms and go about your business. We have quite a mess to attend to, it seems." This last she said with a pronounced frown, glaring down at James, Albus, Rose and Nastasia. "The four of you, in my office. Now."
"Professor," Filch wheezed, approaching the head table at a shambling run. "Leave them to me, if you please. I'll handle the appropriate punishments."
"Yes you shall, I am quite sure," McGonagall concurred. "But not until after I have interviewed them and ascertained precisely how this fiasco managed to occur. Please, step aside, Mr. Filch."
"Discipline is my responsibility, Professor," Filch insisted, nearly vibrating with rage. "And never in all my years have I witnessed students more in need of discipline!"
"Oh, I daresay your enthusiasm has gotten the better of you, Argus," McGonagall said, lowering her voice wearily. "I recall a certain swamp that occupied an entire corridor for many months, conjured by a pair of rather inspired young Weasleys. As remarkable as this is, it does bear the hallmark of an accident rather than a deliberate act."
"Carelessness is its own crime, Professor!" Filch exclaimed, spitting with vehemence. "Allow me to perform my duty!"
"Mr. Filch, your duty is to see that this Hall is restored to functioning condition by morning," McGonagall declared, rising to her full height. "Or have your forgotten what it is this school actually pays you for?"
Filch was undeterred, steady in his furious conviction. "But the Headmaster has--"
"The Headmaster is not currently here, as you can see, which leaves me quite capably in charge. You've had a long and storied career with this school, Mr. Filch. I would hate to be the one responsible for sacking you."
Filch gasped and took a step backward, his eyes narrowing. "You wouldn't dare. The Headmaster--"
"Would surely hire you back," she nodded tersely. "But you and I both know that headmasters do not always last long in this day and age. You would do well to remember who your long-term allies are, Argus. Some of us have very long memories indeed."
Filch glared at the Professor, his eyes still narrowed menacingly. Finally, he lowered his black cane, letting it clack to the floor. "As you wish, Professor," he growled. "But I will be awaiting these three, at least, when you are through with them." He eyed James, Rose and Albus beadily. "You daresn't deny me my duty. In the meantime… I shall attend to my other duties."
He nodded and backed away, letting his gaze sweep over the ruined hall.
McGonagall drew a great, deep breath, as if forcibly calming herself. "Whatever you four have to say for yourselves," she muttered darkly, "it had better be exceptionally impressive."
Students were still milling about in front of the staircase by the time Professor McGonagall led James, Albus and Rose out of the Great Hall, having sent Nastasia back to Alma Aleron with a curt warning that she would be speaking by Floo to Chancellor Franklyn within the hour. James was significantly disgruntled by this-- after what had happened at Durmstrang, he did not feel that Nastasia could be trusted at all, and was eager to demand some immediate answers from her-- but the look on Professor McGonagall's face brooked no argument. Thus, for now, James resigned himself to simply following her and, once they reached her office, telling her everything that had happened. McGonagall stalked past a snoring suit of armour and into the narrow corridor which led to the staff offices, maintaining her usual long, swift gait and leaving the students trotting to keep pace. As she reached a bend in the corridor, however, she stopped abruptly and looked back over her shoulder.
Albus, who had been following close behind the professor, skidded to a halt. Rose bumped into him, interrupting the half-whispered row they'd
been having about Rose's broken wand.
James looked up at Professor McGonagall, but she was not looking back at him. Rather, she peered over his head, at the receding corridor behind him. Apparently satisfied with what she saw, she turned toward a broad, closed door emblazoned with brass letters that spelled out the words TEACHER'S LOUNGE. The professor tapped the L with her wand, causing it to spin upside down, as if loose on its screw. Leaving it that way, she pocketed her wand and stalked onward again.
"Er," Rose ventured, pushing Albus aside and trotting to catch up to Professor McGonagall. "Isn't your office just back there, Professor? Across from the teacher's lounge?"
"Hush and keep up," McGonagall muttered sternly, offering no further explanation.
Nervously, Rose glanced back at James and Albus.
After yet another bend in the corridor, Professor McGonagall stopped once more. Without looking back this time, she stepped into a shallow alcove, shimmied behind a statue of a very fat wizard wearing a ruff the size of a lorry tire, and disappeared into a low, hidden doorway.
Albus paused for a moment, examining the secret doorway. He glanced back at the others, eyes wide, and then ducked behind the statue and into the doorway. Curious and intrigued, Rose and James followed.
The doorway led to a very narrow, very dark stairway angling up between blank stone walls. The glowing halo of Professor McGonagall's lit wand bobbed high above, following the sounds of her clacking footsteps.
"I never knew there was a secret passage here," Albus whispered, impressed.
McGonagall's voice echoed back, hushed in the darkness. "That is because there wasn't. Not until two months ago. I trust that I need not explain to any of you why its secrecy must remain intact."
The stairs went on much further and higher than James thought possible. Finally, the stairs stopped at a shallow landing and a blank wall. With her wand still lit, McGonagall tapped the wall in three places, leaving each brick glowing faintly. After a moment, a dull rumble of scraping stone echoed from the landing and the bricks folded apart, revealing a door. Hurriedly, McGonagall stepped through, leaving the door open behind her. The three students hastened in her wake.
As James emerged from the door, a wave of vertigo seized his stomach, weakening his knees for one brief, but tense moment. The doorway had opened into the throat of a very deep, circular chasm, lined with rickety wooden steps. Carefully, James leaned against the railing in front of him and peered up, observing the spiral of stairs that led higher into lofty darkness.
"Where is this?" Albus whispered, following the Professor as she marched heedlessly up the creaking stairs. "I've never seen this part of the castle before."
James knew where they were, but couldn't make any sense of it. "We're climbing up to the Sylvven Tower, I think."
"Oooh!" Rose enthused. "I've always wanted to see that! It's one of the oldest parts of the whole castle, you know! One of the few remaining bits from before it was even a school! But…" She paused and frowned. "Why are we going up there now?"
James shook his head worriedly. "Last time I was here," he said, almost to himself, "I was duelling Salazar Slytherin."
"Hiding while he duelled you, more like it," Albus rolled his eyes.
"Hurry, you three," McGonagall called down, still keeping her voice hushed. "We have very little time before everyone else arrives."
Rose's eyes widened. "'Everyone else'?" she repeated.
"Do as she says," James urged, pushing his cousin up the leaning, creaking staircase.
The inside of the tower grew darker and hotter as they climbed, until, after what seemed like several minutes, they reached a low room, surrounded by narrow windows. Set into the room's ceiling was a closed trapdoor. McGonagall approached this, unlocked it with her wand, and heaved it open. Finally, she climbed the last, steep stairway up into pale blue moonlight. One by one, James, Rose and Albus followed.
The Sylvven Tower looked the same as always, and yet, as always, exuded an air of solemnity and ancient purpose. It's circular, terraced steps led away and up to a low wall, beyond which stretched the seamless depths of the night sky, dusted with stars and studded with grey, drifting clouds. The moon was a high sickle, casting inky shadows beneath the twin stone thrones that faced each other across the Tower's floor. McGonagall approached one of the thrones, turned, and sat upon it, heaving a great, heavy sigh.
"This, as you can plainly see," she said briskly, "is not my office. I believe it shall come as no surprise to you that my office, indeed every office in this castle, is subject to eavesdropping. We have not yet learned how this is being accomplished, as no amount of counter-spying charms has alleviated the problem. We only know that when we convene here, atop the Sylvven Tower, our counsels do not seem to find their way into the wrong ears. We have tested and confirmed this to our satisfaction. So…" She paused, frowned, and raised her chin. "Mr. Potter--" she caught herself, remembering that there were two Potters present, "James Potter: if you please, explain yourself as briefly as possible. And might I add, if this was simply one of your Gremlins pranks gone awry, I swear I will turn you over to Mr. Filch and instruct him do his very worst."
James glanced briefly from Albus to Rose, and then turned his attention back to the Professor. "It all started at the beginning of the school term," he began, "when I started having some suspicions about one of the professors at Durmstrang…" As briefly as he could, he attempted to explain Professor Avior's connection to the long dead Albus Dumbledore, leading to his plan to attack the upcoming world summit of wizard and Muggle leaders. Albus and Rose interjected occasionally, adding details or backtracking to explain things he'd forgotten.
"It was him that killed Worlick," Rose supplied. "We saw somebody leaving the body, and James confirmed it was Avior when he saw him down by the White Tomb."
"And we found a newspaper clipping on Worlick's body," James added. "It was a Daily Prophet story about the big Quidditch Summit here at Hogwarts, with all the Muggle and wizarding leaders. That's where the attack is going to take place! Avior pretty much admitted it!"
"Not to mention the fact," Albus piped up, "that Avior and that Collector bloke are one and the same person. He can turn into him by transfiguration, just like you turn into a cat, Professor. He actually mentioned you as an example!"
"And the Collector is just another name for the man who's become the new American Vice President!" Rose interrupted. "He's no Muggle at all! He's planning to have the American president killed off at the Quidditch Summit so he can assume his place!"
As the three spoke, sometimes overriding each other in their urgency, Professor McGonagall merely watched, her expression tense and unreadable. Her eyes flicked from speaker to speaker until, finally, all three fell silent.
After a nervous pause, Rose asked, "You believe us, don't you Professor?"
McGonagall closed her eyes wearily. "Belief does not come into it, Ms. Weasley. These are monstrous allegations, not to mention a frankly preposterous tale about a legendary headmaster, and yet I've known too many Potters and Weasleys in my tenure to simply dismiss them. We shall investigate these matters in great detail, of that you can be sure."
A surge of relief welled in James, loosening the cords of worry and tension that had been cinched tightly around his chest ever since his interview with Avior. He suddenly felt very tired.
"Durmstrang Academy is a school which greatly values its secrets," McGonagall went on, frowning thoughtfully. "Very little is known about its practices and methods and especially its staff. It is, quite frankly, the perfect home for someone with much to hide. Still," she focussed on James again. "It is a far stretch to believe that Albus Dumbledore could not have found this individual had he a mind to. And more importantly, it was criminally irresponsible of you to approach this Professor Avior on your own."
"Professor," James began, but McGonagall overrode him, getting to her feet.
"After everything you've witnessed," she said sternly. "All three of you, to t
ake such a risk was perilously foolhardy. Have you no idea what is at stake?"
"We didn't think he was dangerous exactly," Rose explained. "We just thought he was dodgy. We didn't think he would try to hurt anyone."
"You didn't think at all," McGonagall scolded, her voice low and grave. "There may be a time for youthful expeditions of adventure. Believe it or not, I was young once myself, and am not yet old enough to forget my own flirtations with mischief. But this is no longer that time. It is more than your personal safety at stake. Some of the best teachers of this school-- and the strongest allies of its charges-- are already gone. The few who remain are rendered nearly powerless. You were with us all this past holiday, so you have no excuse. Your actions are no longer merely a risk to yourselves, but to all of us."
"The Order of the Phoenix," Albus sighed.
"Don't even say it aloud," McGonagall warned, lowering her head and covering her eyes with one thin, wrinkled hand. Suddenly, to James' eyes, the professor did not look like an imposing force of authority. She looked disconcertingly like an old, rather tired woman. "I have no choice but to turn you over to Mr. Filch for punishment."
"But Professor," James exclaimed again, and was once again overruled.
"You will accept your punishments without a word of complaint," she insisted, dropping her hand and glaring back at him. "It is the least of your concerns at the moment, regardless of how it may seem to you. Do I make myself quite clear?"
James deflated. "Yes Ma'am."
"Yes Ma'am," Rose concurred. Next to her, Albus merely fumed silently.
McGonagall softened. "I should have retired at the end of my time as Headmistress," she mused with a shake of her head. "Tend to my garden. Finish my memoirs. Smoke my pipe. Anything but this."
Rose spoke in a small voice, "We're sorry, Professor."
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