Both Albus and Scorpius dashed forward, converging on Rose as Hermione and Ron bent over her.
"It's not as bad as it looks, Mum, really," Rose winced as they pulled her to her feet. "Petra helped me. She's good at that sort of thing, apparently."
"Shush" Hermione commanded, supporting her daughter on one side while her husband supported her on the other. "This is all your fault!" she exclaimed, glancing up at Ron. "She gets all her mischief from your side of the family!"
"Mum," Rose managed to roll her eyes.
"No," Ron shook his head, "it's true, love. And despite what your mum says, she wouldn't have it any other way. You'll tell us everything that happened on the way to hospital wing, right?"
"There are others," Harry said, meeting Albus and Scorpius and pointing toward the petal-covered debris of broken tables and statuary. "None hurt as bad as Rose, but they'll need some help getting to the hospital wing. You'll take them, won't you?"
"Aww, dad!" Albus complained, "I want to hear the story! I mean, look at this place! And you should have heard the noise!"
"Believe me, I did," Harry nodded curtly. "And you'll hear the story just as soon as I do. For now, you and Scorpius, I officially classify you junior Aurors, first class."
"What? Sincerely?" Albus brightened. "Wait, does that mean…" he glanced back toward the double doors, where Titus Hardcastle was conversing with Lucinda Lyon, their heads close together. "You know… you're, like, back in charge again?"
"Provisionally," Harry nodded. "I've only spoken briefly to the Minister-- he seems to have spent a large portion of the evening under a table-- but he formally dismissed the charges against your aunt, uncle and me in light of the evening's events. There'll be a hearing before the Wizengamot, but I don't expect to have any trouble with it after…" he glanced around the room and gestured vaguely, "all of this. Now off with you. Duty calls."
"Yes sir!" Albus saluted and dashed off, followed closely by Scorpius. Watching from nearby, still dazed at the evening's events, James could see that Scorpius was pleased with his temporary deputation, even if he didn't like to show it. Together, the boys began to lead limping and confused diplomats from the room, grilling them loudly about what had happened.
"I wanted to be a junior Auror," Zane sighed, plopping next to James in the drift of petals.
James glanced aside at his friend. "So what brought you here?"
Zane shrugged. "Nastasia left me a note. Said she was coming here tonight and that I would never see her again. She said not to follow her because she didn't want me to get hurt."
"So you followed her," James nodded.
"Immediately. The Alma Aleron cabinet was in the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom, lying on its back," Zane said, cocking his head curiously. "I mean, what's up with that? I had to crawl out of it like Dracula waking up from a nap."
"Oh," James said, "that was Ralph. He knocked it over."
"Sounds like Ralph," Zane agreed equably. "What about the Beauxbatons cabinet? Don't tell me that was his work, too?"
"Why?" James asked, his curiosity piqued. "What was wrong with it?"
Zane gave a low whistle. "Smashed all to bits. Looked like somebody had taken a sledgehammer to it."
"You're probably not far off," James nodded, thinking back to the Collector's unnatural, rage-fuelled strength. "So have you seen Nastasia, then?"
"No," Zane slumped. "You?"
James shrugged noncommittally. "Here and there. It's… complicated."
Zane gave a deep sigh. "I know. She's trouble. I'm sorry for the way I acted about it all. She weaves quite a spell, doesn't she?"
"James nodded again. "Petra was here," he commented, changing the subject.
"She was?" Zane exclaimed, sitting up. "Where'd she go?"
"Gone again," James admitted, making a flying away gesture with one hand. "She and that detective bloke. Marshall Parris. Said she'll be back, though, once she sees him back to his home in the states and pays him. She's bringing Izzy back with her when she comes."
"Cool," Zane relaxed.
Ralph approached, his hands still tacky with Rose's blood. "Come on, you two," he said, cocking a thumb over his shoulder. "You're dad's looking for some explanations, James." The big boy smiled down at Zane. "By the way, good to see you, mate!"
Zane squinted up at Ralph, meeting his smile. "You too, Ralphinator. Just like old times, eh?"
Ralph glanced around at the ruined Hall and nodded. "Yeah, I'd say pretty much exactly like old times. Shame you missed all the action."
"Hey," Zane said, climbing to his feet, his smile turning into a grin, "the night's still young!"
Ralph and Zane each took one of James' hands and tugged him to his feet. Together the three picked their way over to where Harry Potter stood talking to Professor Flitwick.
"The Professor here has given this curious object a quick examination," Harry said, holding up Magnussen's broken cane head. "Suffice it to say, it's nothing but a worthless hunk of iron, now. Whatever you did to it, James, you broke its powers."
"Ooo!" Zane exclaimed, his eyes brightening. "Can I have it then? It'd make a great addition to my dorm room! Give it that dark and brooding look that it's been missing for the last year or so!"
"I think not," Harry said with a half-smile, handing the cane back to Flitwick. "We'll be destroying it, just to be sure. But now," he glanced from Ralph to James. "You two, it seems, have a tale to tell…"
He invited the boys to join him on the dais, beneath the row of still-standing headmaster portraits (who, apart from the non-moving Merlinus Ambrosius, watched with great interest). James didn't want to describe the events of the night-- he felt weary to the bone and slightly punch-drunk-- but his father gently insisted, reminding them that their memories of events would be less clear even by tomorrow morning. Thus, with Ralph's help, they told the entire tale.
When it was over, Harry shook his head in wonder. "I can't believe it…" he mused darkly from his seat beneath the portraits.
"What?" James prodded, "that we tossed the whole universe around like a quaffle? Or that Rose poisoned Judith's mind with the Yuxa Baslatma plants?" He perked up, warming to the topic, "Or that I figured out the key to defeating the Morrigan Web with just a few seconds to spare?"
His father shook his head wryly. "No. I can't believe you didn't trust Tabitha enough to stop us from falling for the fake object. We destroyed the Vassar's Crystal Chalice for nothing…" His voice was scolding, but James could see that he was suppressing a smile.
"Yeah," James nodded, giving his father a shove. "Well you said you wouldn't use wands with the Morrigan Web about to go off! 'Oh, we'll all leave them at home just to be safe'! Big liar!"
"It wasn't a lie," Harry said, rising to his feet. "It was a last minute change of plan." He stretched his back and peered aside, at the portrait of Merlinus Ambrosius. Addressing Flitwick, he asked, "No luck bringing it to life, Professor?"
Flitwick came alongside and heaved a shallow sigh. "None at all, I'm afraid. And with his death almost exactly one year gone, I have little hope of ever finding success."
"You've tried everything?" Harry frowned curiously at the portrait.
"Well," Flitwick hedged, "everything within my power. The final option is unavailable to me, of course. A touch from the deceased's wand sometimes imparts the final spark of life. Unfortunately, Headmaster Merlinus left his staff buried immovably in New Amsterdam."
Harry continued to frown at the portrait, his face etched in deep thought. Suddenly, he glanced aside at Ralph. "Your wand," he said, "you never told the Professor that it's…?"
Ralph shuffled his feet uncomfortably. "No. I… don't tell a lot of people where I got it from. It's almost better that they think it's got a yeti whisker in it. Hard enough to get people to practice duelling with me as it is…"
Flitwick watched this exchange with mounting interest. "Well," he chimed in, "now my curiosity is most definitely piqued! What are you talking about? Where d
id you get your wand, Mr. Deedle? Do tell!"
"It might be best just to show you," Ralph sighed.
"Titus," Harry called suddenly, raising his chin. "A moment…"
James glanced back as Titus Hardcastle limped toward them, threading carefully through the detritus of the Great Hall, his feet kicking up puffs of petals. "What is it, Harry?"
"You still have Ralph's wand with you, yes?" Harry answered.
Hardcastle nodded as he approached. He reached into the depths of his robes and withdrew the oversized wand. He looked at it in his big hand for a moment, then, sighing, handed it over to Ralph.
"What you did," Hardcastle said, his voice low and rumbling, "I called it foolish. But I was wrong. I was wrong about quite a lot."
"You were doing your job, Titus," Harry said coolly. "No one can fault you for that."
"They can and they should," Hardcastle said, his voice becoming a growl of self-recrimination. "I followed orders, yeah. I thought that was my duty. Now…"
Harry regarded his long-time partner seriously. James knew there was very little anyone could say. Titus had betrayed a trust in the name of duty. The two men would probably be able to work it out in time. For now, however…
Harry opened his mouth to respond, but the words never came. Instead, a bolt of red exploded against Hardcastle's back. His hands jerked spasmodically, scrabbling for his wand, but the Stunning spell did its work. Like a tree falling in the forest, Hardcastle keeled forward. Harry lunged to catch him, throwing a shoulder under Hardcastle's chest.
Another red bolt struck Professor Flitwick, causing him to stumble and the ugly cane's head to drop from his hand with a clatter. "Oh dear," he said faintly, and fell to the floor.
James, Zane and Ralph scrambled, their eyes scanning the seemingly empty Great Hall for some sign of the attacker, but there was no one in sight.
Harry lowered Hardcastle to the dais as gently as he could. "Behind me!" he ordered, scrambling for his wand. Once it was in his hand, however, he let out a startled grunt. The wand popped out of his fist, floating in mid-air. A moment later, Harry's head jerked back as if kicked. He fell back onto Titus Hardcastle, raising a hand to cup his jaw.
A dry, rattling laugh came out of empty air right in front of James. He recognized it immediately and his eyes flew wide.
"I have to hand it to you, James," the laughing voice said, "you were right about my dear partner Judith. She could not be trusted. Fortunately, she went insane, chased away to who knows where. But I am still here, and this presents me with a bit of a problem. Fortunately, James Potter, my problems…" There was a flourish of suddenly visible fabric and Rechtor Grudje stood before him, Harry Potter's wand in one hand, his own wand and the invisibility cloak in the other. "Are your problems." He favoured James with a thin, angry smile.
"Headmaster Grudje," Harry said, climbing carefully to his feet, making no sudden movements. "We assumed you had vacated along with the others. There is a squad of Aurors seeking you at this very moment, in fact, all of them quite curious to speak to you."
"Yes," Grudje nodded, "and this is the crux of my problem. You see, the entire school has been locked down. The Floo network is being monitored vigilantly. Every entrance is shut and guarded. No matter what guise I take, I will not be allowed to leave the premises. And it is integral that I do so. You see, I've no intention to go to Azkaban. That's why I returned to my office, procuring this very useful object," he shook the cloak in his hand, "A gift, helpfully abandoned in my alter-ego's office at Durmstrang. With its help, you four are going to escort me from these premises. I shall be hidden beneath, and you shall insure that all of the necessary doors are opened, allowing me to pass…"
Zane piped up, "And why are we going to do that, Headmaster, er…" He cocked his head and frowned. "Sorry, forgot your name already. I'm Zane Walker, by the way. I don't go to Hogwarts anymore. American. Nice to meet you and all that..." He stuck out his hand as if he expected Grudje to shake it.
Grudje levelled his wand instead. "I really only need the elder Potter," he said threateningly. "The rest of you I have no qualms about killing right now. What shall it be, Harry Potter, Mr. Head Auror? Assist me? Or do I start uttering curses?"
"No, Ralph!" Harry commanded suddenly, his eyes darting to the side. Ralph, James saw, had been surreptitiously drawing out his wand. Harry went on urgently, "The Headmaster is quite serious. He will kill to get his way. Don't do anything foolish. Give it to me, Ralph…"
Ralph looked at Harry in surprise, frozen in the act of withdrawing his wand.
"Mr. Potter speaks wisely," Grudje said. "Obey your elders, boy. Pass the wand over to me before anyone else wanders into the Hall and becomes an unwitting hostage…" He stowed Harry's wand into an inner pocket, flung the invisibility cloak over his shoulder, and held out his free hand, palm up, still threatening them with his own wand.
Reluctantly, Ralph passed his wand to Harry. Harry took it carefully.
"To me, Mr. Potter," Grudje commanded in a low voice. "Slowly…"
Harry sighed deeply and turned. Still making no sudden movements, he held the wand out, extending it slowly toward Grudje's reaching hand. Just as the headmaster made to grab it, however, Harry pivoted, turning the wand away and touching it, with a dull thunk, to the unmoving canvas of Merlin's portrait.
There was no response.
"What are you doing?" Grudje demanded, growing impatient and angry. "Give me the wand! Give it to me or your son dies first!"
In answer to this, a tiny noise emanated from the portrait. Every eye turned toward it. Suddenly, for no apparent reason, the portrait had ripped. The tear emanated from the tip of Ralph's wand and stretched upward, crossing over the front of painted Merlin's chest, slashing his face, and stopping just past the top of his head. It looked, more than anything, as if the canvas had been stretched too tight and the pressure of the wand had caused it to split.
James' heart sank. Whatever his father had done, it hadn't made matters better.
"The wand!" Grudje ordered, raising his own wand to James' face. James cringed back.
"Here," Harry said, taking the wand away from the torn portrait and handing it over, his face grim.
Grudje reached for it.
Suddenly, soundlessly, light pierced the torn painting. Grudje startled so abruptly that he jumped back, leaving the wand in Harry's hand. James peered around his father's shoulder at the Merlin portrait. Inexplicably, the tear glowed like a bolt of lightning, sending out living, shifting beams of light. The rip widened, tearing the canvas further. The frame creaked and popped, its corners beginning to separate as the canvas bulged.
"Back away," Harry muttered, not taking his eyes from the splitting portrait, but pushing James, Ralph and Zane behind him, manoeuvring them away slowly, carefully.
Across from them, Grudje's face was frozen in a pained rictus, his lips pulled into a tight frown, his brow lowered over bulging, tense eyes. His wand was still raised in his hand, only now, slowly, he turned it toward the brightly glowing, splitting portrait.
The frame snapped and broke. The portrait fell forward, flipped off its easel, and dropped to the floor face up, so that the beams of light from its ruptured canvas cut straight up into the air, making the rest of the Great Hall seem positively dark by comparison. And still the rift widened, creaking, tearing the canvas apart with a soft, purring, ripping noise. A sound emanated from the lightning bolt-shaped rift. It was like wind, or like distant voices, echoing, indecipherable, blowing and overlapping and teasing at meaning. James found himself leaning forward to hear, to understand…
"Stop," his father said, softly but sternly. "I've heard that before…"
The portrait exploded apart. Bits of canvas and broken frame spun from the dais. But the glowing rift remained, bigger now, as if freed from its boundary. Light speared toward the Great Hall's dark, enchanted ceiling. James squinted into it, sure there was something moving inside that light-- a thin shadowy shape, growing wider, d
arker, more substantial, like a figure walking out of some brilliant, blindingly hot furnace. The haunting, whispering voices grew clearer, louder…
Grudje levelled his wand at the piercing beam of light. He was backing away from it, slowly, warily, his face a mask of restrained terror. What is he so afraid of? James thought. It's not frightening… if anything… it's beautiful…
Finally, with a blare of golden fire and a rush of gathering voices, a figure emerged from the light. The rift collapsed behind it, closing and vanishing with a sound of roaring wind.
James felt eerily ready for what he saw. It was is if he had been expecting something like this-- pining for it so deeply and so secretly that he'd not even been consciously aware of it. Only now, as it happened, did he realize that it was a fulfilment of his unspoken hopes.
"Merli-- !" he began, and then stopped suddenly, his breath catching in his throat.
The figure that resolved out of the blinding light, now standing before him as real as he himself, resplendent in a conical hat and rich purple robes, was not Merlinus Ambrosius. It was an old man with flowing white beard, a thin, kindly face with a long, crooked nose, and wearing, over his bright blue eyes, a pair of half-moon spectacles. The old man turned resolutely to Grudje, as if he'd been looking for him.
Grudje's face paled so quickly and completely that he appeared to transform into a ghost before James' eyes. His wand was still held out before him, but it trembled so violently that he could barely hold onto it. He seemed to have completely stopped breathing. He did not fire-- seemed suddenly completely incapable of firing.
The old man with the flowing white beard regarded him sadly. "Nephew," he said.
And Grudje ran. He leapt from the dais, stumbled in panic, and, righting himself, bolted toward the doors, leaving a trail of disturbed flower petals scattering in his wake.
"Accio wand!" Harry called, flicking Ralph's wand at the retreating figure.
Grudje stumbled again, turning on the spot as Harry's wand ripped from his robes, spiralling away through the air. Grudje barely seemed to notice. He pivoted back, ran into the door desperately, and clambered through.
James Potter and the Morrigan Web Page 77