Hagrid stroked his beard. "This is no common Quidditch match, yeh know," he said. "Could be somebody will pull out some ancient traditional bit o' equipment, all special like. A Quaffle from some famous old world cup or the like. We jus' need to keep watchin' for anythin' unusual."
James' eyes widened suddenly as an idea struck him. It was so obvious, so perfectly plain, that for a long moment he could not force his mouth say it.
"What is it, James," his father asked, frowning aside at him. "You know something?"
James' mind raced, outpacing his tongue. Finally, he looked at Ralph, his eyes still bulging in their sockets. "The Crystal Chalice!" he rasped.
Ralph's eyes also widened as the realization struck him. Next to him, Scorpius finally sank to the grass, one hand rising to his forehead in amazement.
Ron glanced around the clearing in confusion. "What's the Crystal Chalice?"
"The new Quidditch tournament trophy," Flitwick said wonderingly. "Of course!"
Debellows smacked a fist into an open palm. "It's ancient. Likely belonged to some massively powerful old wizard king or queen, ruthless and tyrannical."
Hermione glanced at Harry, her eyes grave. "It'll be the centre of attention when they introduce it at the beginning of the match."
"Where did it come from?" Harry asked, turning to his son.
"Lance Vassar's parents," James answered spitefully. "They're explorers and teachers, spend all their time studying magical cultures and history and stuff. If they're anything like Lance, they're a pair of arrogant twits who think money and brains are the same thing."
"Be that as it may," McGonagall countered, shooting James a reproachful glance, "that doesn't make them enemies. This is a very serious accusation we are levelling against them."
"They need not even know of the plot," Revalvier suggested. "They may merely be willing dupes, unaware that the relic they've obliged to donate will be used for murderous purposes."
"Either way," Ron said, scanning the gathering for agreement, "this is the best lead we've got. Any disagreement?"
James looked around the fire, searching the circle of faces for dissent. When none appeared, McGonagall suggested, "Can we destroy the Chalice before the match?"
"Preferable but unlikely," Debellows sighed. "If it is indeed the source of the Web, it will be guarded extremely securely until the time of its use. We must be prepared to take it in the moments before it is triggered."
"To be safe," Flitwick said, his eyes flashing in the firelight, "I suggest we follow young Miss Weasley's counsel and attend the tournament wandless."
This was greeted with a circle of sober nods. Professor Debellows, James noticed, did not join in. The big man glared into the fire, his face stony, and James had an idea that it would be a cold day in hades before the old Harrier went anywhere without his wand.
"But we should keep them within reach," Harry said. "And let us hope that such precaution is unnecessary."
Hermione gave a fervent murmur of agreement. To James' ear, it almost sounded like a half-prayer. He glanced up at his father. "Does this mean you'll be there, Dad?"
Harry nodded sombrely. "Myself, your Uncle Ron and Aunt Hermione, yes. Hagrid will help us sneak in. That will be no small feat, considering that Titus is in charge of security."
"What will he do if he catches you?"
At that, Harry offered James a true smile. "Remember who's head Auror, son," he narrowed his eyes. "Trust me. We won't get caught."
"What are we to do, then?" Scorpius asked, glancing up.
"You've done your bit," Debellows answered firmly. "From here on out, your job is to be careful.
Stay out of Headmaster Grudje's way. Avoid Mr. Filch wherever you can."
"Pass your exams," Hermione offered with a half-hearted smile.
"And keep trying to get as many people as possible to go to the tournament wandless," Ron added seriously. "Just in case."
With that, the meeting seemed to break up. Professor McGonagall climbed to her feet with the assistance of Professor Revalvier. Debellows unsheathed his wand and snuffed the fire with a whispered command. "I shall wait for you to return first, professor," he said to Flitwick. "If you enter by the main courtyard, I will use the rotunda."
Flitwick nodded. Tugging his hat lower on his brow, he made off, tramping through the brush with surprisingly little noise.
"I'll escort yeh three back," Hagrid said, clapping James and Ralph on the shoulder. "Already got a nice collection of bursting mushrooms back at th' hut. Professor Heretofore will be right pleased with yer night's work."
"Good thinking, Hagrid," Hermione said, her voice still stitched with worry.
"Don' yeh fret now, Hermione," Hagrid soothed. "Everythin's gonna be jus' fine. Yeh wait and see."
Nearby, a pair of flat cracks struck the air. James recognized the sound of Professors McGonagall and Revalvier disapparating.
"Dad," James asked, "Where's Professor Longbottom? Why wasn't he here tonight?"
"Watching Professor Revalvier's flat," he replied, consulting his watch. "Minerva has been staying with her ever since the attack. As a result, we never leave the place deserted. Too easy for the wrong people to sneak in and lie in wait. Juliet will fill Neville in upon her return. Believe me, he is raring to get back to Hogwarts."
James nodded. "I bet he is. And I wouldn't want to be Filch when he does."
"I wouldn't want to be Filch even on his best day," Scorpius said meaningfully.
"Hear, hear!" Ron agreed.
"Off with the four of you," Hermione urged, pushing the boys toward Hagrid. "And be careful!"
"We will, Aunt Hermione," James replied, reluctant to say goodbye but knowing it was time.
"And tell Rose I said hello!" she added, lowering her voice. "Tell her we're sorry she couldn't come out with you, but I was worried about her. Tell her her mum and dad love her!"
"Hermione," Ron said, taking her by the shoulders. "Come. We have to get back."
"I'm coming," she snapped. James saw that his aunt was nearly trembling with worry. Uncle Ron seemed to realize this as well. His own face was pale in the darkness as he hugged his wife to him. He nodded at James.
"We'll see you lot in a few days," he said. "But if all goes well, you won't see us. Stay out of trouble."
"That's a fine thing for you to say, Uncle Ron," James said.
"He's right," Harry agreed soberly. "This is no time for heroics. Lay low. Get those wands stowed. And James…"
James sighed tiredly. "Yeah, Dad?"
"Good work," his father said, stepping alongside Ron and Hermione and shifting his gaze to Ralph and Scorpius. "All of you. You've done more than any of us thought possible." He frowned slightly. "I suppose, eventually, we'll have to punish you for a good bit of it, especially if James' mother has any say in the matter…"
Hermione laughed weakly. Ron smiled.
"But for now," Harry concluded, "I'm proud of you."
James nodded at his father, a surge of surprising happiness welling in his chest.
A moment later, Harry, Ron and Hermione vanished in a trio of echoing cracks.
Hagrid sniffed. "Jus' like old times," he said, producing a hanky. He blew noisily. "Well, we best be gettin' back, then. Evenin' Professor." This last he addressed to Professor Debellows, who James only now realized was still standing across the clearing, blending preternaturally into the trees, awaiting his chance to return unnoticed.
"Good evening, Professor Hagrid," his deep voice rumbled. "Students."
By the shifting moonlight, James, Ralph and Scorpius collected their metal pails and began to follow Hagrid back through the Forest. As before, Trife bounded ahead, tracing back and forth through the bushes, growling at the tiny, gruff voices of the occasional wild garden gnomes.
As he walked, James thought back on the remarkable meeting he had just witnessed, filled in equal parts with burgeoning hope and deep dread. For the first time in months, he was teased with the possibilit
y that everything might turn out all right after all. And yet, if it didn't, more than students and Muggle world leaders might die. His father would be there, along with his Uncle Ron and Aunt Hermione. If the Morrigan Web went off, would they have their wands safely stowed? Or would they, like Kendrick Debellows, be willing to sacrifice themselves for the cause of constant readiness?
"What's a witch or wizard without a wand?" he muttered fearfully to himself, his voice lost in the clanking of the bucket at his side.
The Forest brooded all around, thick with shadows, but empty of answers.
The last days of the term trickled by with infuriating lethargy. As final exams gradually finished, the overall school mood lightened, looking forward to the final Quidditch tournament and the beginning of summer break with increasing boisterousness.
"Finally," Deirdre Finnegan shook her head at breakfast on the day of the tournament. "We can get out of this prison. Unless Grudje finds some way to send rules home with us over break!"
"I wouldn't put it past him to try!" Aloysius Arnst declared, his eyes bulging beneath his furrowed brow. "The more things seem to fall apart out in the world, the more he tries to fill in the gaps! If he could follow us all home he totally would."
Devindar stabbed a piece of sausage fiercely with his fork. "Don't give him any ideas. He'll figure out a way."
"I don't know about the rest of you," Heth Thomas said in a low voice, "but I'm thinking about skipping next year."
Rose looked aghast. "But… you're a prefect!"
"And you can't just skip school," Graham rolled his eyes. "There's laws about that."
"Bugger the law," Heth said darkly. "And bugger being prefect, too. My dad grew up in Provence. My grandparents still live there. If I go live with them I can transfer to Beauxbatons."
"Now you're talking!" Graham announced, straightening in his seat. "Matter of fact, I'm coming to live with you!"
From further down the table, Lily set down her fork primly. "I don't know what you lot are being so grumpy about. I think this year has been perfectly lovely."
"Got Stockholm Syndrome, that one," Deirdre muttered, cocking a thumb toward Lily. "Fallen in love with her tormenters."
"I'm not in love with headmaster Grudje," Lily bristled. "And I totally hate Filch. But still. I had a good year, mostly, and can't wait to come back."
"That's because you don't know what it used to be like," Graham sighed. "And you're all googly-eyed about being an 'emissary of the magical world' at the Summit."
Lily sniffed as she climbed from her bench. "I'm proud to represent us all, if that's what you mean. And I'll do my best to gloss over certain bad-tempered people who insist on only seeing the negative."
"Yeah!" Chance Jackson agreed firmly, joining Lily. Together with Marcus Cobb and Stanton Ollivander, the group of first- and second-years threaded toward the double doors.
"Ah to be young and idealistic again," Heth commented wistfully. "We were never that naïve, were we?"
Aloysius scoffed. "You spent your whole first year leading the common room in the Hogwarts tribute every night before bed."
"Yeah, well things were different then, weren't they? McGonagall was headmistress, Gryffindor had a winning Quidditch team…"
"Oh, don't remind me!" Devindar interrupted, waving his hands in agitation. "I can't stand it! Have you seen that new trophy! Lance's parents and a pile of guards arrived with it last night! The thing's three feet tall if it's an inch, and glows like a rainbow in Antarctica!" He sighed sorrowfully. "It's so bloody beautiful it makes me want to totally punch someone!"
Heth leaned away from his friend. "Save it for Vassar," he suggested, nodding toward the head of the table. "He's so full of himself about that new trophy that his head's twice as big as normal. And that's saying something."
"He'll be out there on the pitch presenting it alongside his parents," Graham mourned, pushing away his half-eaten porridge.
James, who hadn't been able to eat a thing for the giant knot of anxiety worming in his stomach, followed Graham's annoyed gaze. At the head of the table, directly beneath the dais, Lance Vassar sat with his usual entourage of sixth- and seventh-years, all laughing breezily, as if they hadn't a care in the world. Lance's perfectly coiffed hair caught the sunbeams from the high rose window, forming a fine halo of pinkish morning light.
"I could bring myself to absolutely hate him if he wasn't so ridiculously dreamy," Willow Wisteria commented with an angry sigh.
Devindar could bear no more. He tossed his fork to the table with a clatter, stood up and stalked away.
A reverberating gong rang overhead, emanating from the monstrous clock. James glanced up at it and saw that all but the centre face had shut down. The Durmstrang, Beauxbatons, Alma Aleron and Yorke faces all pointed stiffly to noon. There would be few more trips through the vanishing cabinets now that the term was virtually over. James wondered if the clock would be gone next year. He fervently hoped it would. Of course, he reminded himself, there may not even be a next year. If his father, uncle, and aunt failed to stop the Morrigan Web…
But he couldn't think beyond that. It was too dreadful, and there was too much to do.
"Last exam of the term," Rose sighed briskly to no one in particular, getting to her feet. "Transfiguration with Professor Tofty. Shouldn't last long." She shot James a sidelong glance. "I'll see you all later this morning, then."
James gave a subtle nod. He knew what he had to do.
His first stop was the Gryffindor common room. Sunlight streamed from the high windows, suffusing the space with a golden haze and transforming the old sagging chairs and scarred tables into glowing tableaux. Unlike a typical mid-morning, the room was crowded with students, lounging and talking loudly or playing Winkles and Augers, biding their time until the tournament that evening.
Scorpius met James near the portrait hole, unslinging his book bag from his back.
"Got about half," he sighed, showing James the collection of wands hidden in his bag. "Everyone's too ruddy cheerful to think anything bad could happen."
"Half?" James repeated, dismayed. "That's all? We have to do better than that!"
"You try telling everyone that they're about to get killed at the Quidditch tournament," Scorpius whispered, challenging James with his eyes. "They think it's either a joke or you're mad. Soon enough one of them is going to run to Grudje with it. He already thinks you're one to spread stories for attention. He'll have us all locked up in the old dungeons."
James stared at the handful of wands in Scorpius' bag, fuming helplessly. "Fine," he shook his head. "Hand them over."
A minute later, accompanied by the skeletal sound of wands clinking in his bag, James made his way down the stairs to the Hufflepuff common room, marked by a large round door with an oversized copper handle. Julian Jackson was standing before the door, already wearing her Quidditch goggles and bobbing on the balls of her feet with impatience. A laundry sack, depressingly thin, was slung over her shoulder.
"Here," she said tersely, shoving the bag into James' hands. "I don't know what you're on about, but my sister says you're going to keep these safe for some reason."
"Thanks," James nodded, unslinging his book bag and stuffing the Hufflepuff wands into it.
"Don't thank me," Julian said. "I think you're daft. And as soon as we win we're going to want those back straightaway."
James agreed to this and was quickly on his way again. Five minutes later, Herman Potsdam and Ashley Doone met him outside Ravenclaw tower.
"What's all this about, James?" Ashley asked as Herman handed over an old hat stuffed with wands.
"I already told you," James replied. "Something bad is going to happen, maybe. I can't say more, except that if it does it's going to be super dangerous to have a wand on you."
Ashley narrowed her eyes. "It has to do with the Summit, doesn't it?"
"Of course it does," Herman said, rolling his eyes. "It's the perfect target if somebody wanted to attack. Just lik
e when that Muggle vice president got killed over the holiday."
"James?" Ashley prodded, ignoring Herman. "What do you know about this?"
James shook his head. "If I say more, no one will believe me. Scorpius is right. Most people already think I make stuff up just to hog attention. Grudje especially."
"I'm not one of those people," Ashley said impatiently. "Gennifer Tellus is my big sister's best friend and she says you're honest, even if you were a lousy Gremlin."
James frowned, taken aback. "Gennifer said I was a lousy Gremlin?"
Ashley rolled her eyes. "You're no Marauder, James. That was your grandfather. You're just a bit too responsible for your own good. Now Zane Walker…" She sighed and looked wistful.
"Good Beater," Herman agreed. "Could have used him this year. A shame those Yanks got him. They don't know beans about Quidditch."
Ashley shook her head, coming back to the point. "You can tell me, James. I know you're no liar."
James felt grudgingly gratified by Ashley's words. "Look," he said, dropping his voice to a whisper. "There is an attack planned on the Summit. If it happens, lots of people are going to be killed. It won't be wand-to-wand combat, either. More like a magical bomb. People are trying to stop it. But if they can't…" He shook his head, unwilling to elaborate.
"Wait a minute," Herman frowned, blinking. "That's why we're hiding our wands? I thought it was because Grudje was going to confiscate them?"
James rolled his eyes. "That's just a rumour. But who knows? Maybe it's even true. Either way, this is the best thing for all of us to do."
"Oh," Ashley countered, backing away. "My wand isn't in there."
James blinked at her. "What? Why not?"
"Like I said, James," she replied soberly. "I trust you. If you say there's going to be an attack, I'm inclined to think you're right. And no way am I going into a fight without my wand, magical bomb or not."
"But," James protested, shaking his head, "But that's the point! Your wand will be the thing that kills you!"
Ashley cocked her head. "I trust you, James," she said thoughtfully, "But that doesn't mean you're always right. I'll be keeping my wand handy. And who knows? Perhaps you'll thank me later."
James Potter and the Morrigan Web Page 67