“Me, on the other hand, I’m the sort of guy who wants to believe. It wasn’t the tone of the letter that got my attention, though. It was the little item the sender had included in the envelope. A little box containing something called a ‘Chocolate Frog’. I expected it might have some novelty spring-snakes in it, at best, so being a sport, I went ahead and opened it. Sure enough, there was a perfect little chocolate frog inside. I was just about to grab it and take a bite when the thing lifted its head and looked right at me. I just about dropped the box. Next thing I know, the frog leaps straight out of the box and onto my desk. It was a hot day, and the thing had just come in with the post. Good thing, too, cause the little bugger had gotten a little melty. Left little chocolaty frog footprints all over that night’s copy. Three good hops, then the frog just putters out. I was afraid to touch it, but five minutes later, it still hadn’t moved. I had time to determine that it had just been a normal frog covered in chocolate. Some joke. Thing probably had suffocated from the stuff, and from the heat of being in the box. So I went ahead and scooped it back up and sure enough, the thing was just chocolate. Good chocolate, too, I might add.
“I still might’ve forgotten all about it, to tell you the truth. No matter how open-minded a person might think they are, being confronted with something truly inexplicable still tends to shut down the old belief circuits. If it weren’t for those little chocolaty frog footprints on my papers, I might never have mustered the resolve to be here. I kept them in the bottom of my desk, and every time I looked at them, I remembered that little bugger hopping across my desk. I couldn’t get it out of my mind. So I emailed the guy who’d sent it. Nice trick, I told him. Got any more?
“He emails me back next day and says if I really want to see tricks, I just need to follow the signal he’d send me. Sure enough, the day after that, there’s another package from him. A little one. Contained everything I needed to lock onto the signal here. There was no way those faithless turds in management would equip me with a crew to investigate the origin of a jumping chocolate frog, even if I showed them the froggy footprints. Fortunately, I had some vacation time coming, so I decided to give it a go on my own. A little camping out would do me good. So I packed my own cameras and caught a train.
“Getting into the general vicinity was easy enough, of course. I spent the first night on the other side of the forest, knowing by the signal that I was within a few kilometers of the source. Next day, I was on foot by dawn. I followed the direction I knew I was supposed to go, but sure enough, every time, I’d find myself heading right back out the way I’d come. It never seemed like I’d turned around or even veered off my course. It was as if I had succeeded in getting to the opposite side of the forest, but somehow the planet had turned around right underneath me. I tried using a compass, and it’d tell me I was dead-on as well, until all of a sudden I’d be stepping right back out into my camp and the needle would spin away as if it’d forgotten what it was for.
“This went on for three solid days. I was getting frustrated, I’ll tell you that. But I was also getting determined, because I knew something was trying to keep me out. I wanted to know what. So the next day, I got out my little package and located the coordinates. This time, though, I kept it in front of me the whole time, watching that little flashing dot. Soon enough, the ground seemed to force me away. I’d run into an old creek bed with sides too steep to climb. I’d angle away only to run into a deadfall of trees or a low cliff. Everything seemed to be working to turn me off my course. I pushed on, though. I climbed and scurried. I pushed through thorns and the thickest undergrowth I’ve ever seen. Then, even gravity seemed to be working against me. I kept feeling as if the earth was tilting up beneath me, trying to throw me backwards off it. No such thing was happening, of course, but it was a dreadful sensation nonetheless. I became nauseous and unaccountably dizzy. But I followed my direction, crawling at the last.
“And then, suddenly, the sensations were gone. The forest seemed to snap back to normal, or at least what passes for normal in this neck of the woods. I had made it through. Ten minutes later, I came out for the first time on the edge of the clearing overlooking this very castle. I was stunned, needless to say. But what amazed me far more than the castle was the scene that I very nearly walked into the midst of.
“There, not twenty feet before me, was the largest man I had ever seen. He looked almost like a grizzly bear that’d been taught to walk upright. But then, standing next to him���” For the first time in his story, Martin paused. He swallowed, obviously shaken by the very memory. “There was something so monstrously huge that I at first thought it must be a kind of dinosaur. It had four legs, each the size of a pillar. I raised my eyes and saw that it was, in fact, two creatures standing near each other, and they were both human-shaped. The tallest one’s head was above the treetops. I couldn’t even see its face. I scrambled back into a hiding place, certain they’d heard me, but it seemed not to be so. The smallest one, the one that looked like a walking bear, talked to the other two, and they answered, sort of. Their voices vibrated the ground. Then, to my horror, they turned and headed towards me, into the forest. The largest one’s foot came down right next to me, shaking the earth like a bomb and leaving a footprint three inches deep. Then they were gone.”
Martin drew a huge sigh, obviously content with his telling of the tale. “And that was when I knew I had found it. The greatest story of my life. Possibly the greatest story of this century.” He looked around as if he expected applause.
“There is one small detail you have failed to explain to my satisfaction,” Headmistress McGonagall said coldly. “This device you mentioned. It was somehow able to point you to this school. I must know what it is and how it works.”
Martin raised his eyebrows, and then chuckled and sat up. “Oh, yes. That. It’s been acting pretty wonky ever since I got here, but at least it maintained the signal. A simple GPS device. Er, please forgive me. You are probably unfamiliar with the term. A global positioning system device. It allows me to locate any point on earth within a meter or so. Very helpful bit of, er, Muggle magic, if you will.”
James spoke for the first time since entering the room. “But how did you pinpoint the school? How would that device know where to find it? It’s unplottable. Not on any map.”
Martin turned to look at him, his brow furrowed, apparently uncertain whether he should even deign to answer James. Finally, seeing that everyone else in the room expected him to respond, Martin stood up. “Like I said, I was sent the coordinates. They were provided by someone on the inside. Really, very simple.”
Martin reached into the pocket of his jeans and pulled something out. James knew what it was even before he saw it. He had known it somehow even before he’d asked the question. His heart sank as if through the very floor.
Martin flourished a Gamedeck. It was a different color than Ralph’s, but of exactly the same make. He plunked it unceremoniously onto the Headmistress’ desk. “Wireless uplink for online competition, including chat capability. Pretty standard stuff. So anybody here go by the screen name ‘Austramaddux’?”
“You can’t do this to me!” Martin exclaimed as Neville led him unceremoniously into the Room of Requirement, which had arranged itself into a rather quaint turret-top prison cell, complete with a barred window, a cot, a bowl of water and a crust of bread on a plate. “This is unlawful imprisonment! It’s an outrage!”
“Think of it as field research,” Neville instructed politely. “We have much to discuss, and after your ordeals in the forest, we thought you might like a bit of a breather. Take a load off, friend.”
James, who was standing in the hall behind Neville, couldn’t help smiling a little. Martin saw him, scowled angrily, and made to shove past Neville. Neville whipped out his wand so fast that James barely saw his robes twitch. “I said,” Neville repeated with low emphasis, not quite pointing his wand at Martin, “take a load off. Friend.”
James’ smile falter
ed. He’d never seen Neville Longbottom so intense. Of course, James knew the stories of how Neville had cut off the head of Voldemort’s snake, Nagini, but that was before James had been born. In all his memory of the man, Neville had been a kindly figure, soft-spoken and a bit clumsy. Now Neville’s wand hand was so immobile and purposeful that it might have been carved out of marble. Martin blinked at Neville, saw something in the man’s posture and the set of his face that he didn’t like, and backed up. The back of his knees struck the cot and he sat down hard. Neville pocketed his wand and stepped back into the hall, pulling the door of the Room of Requirement shut behind him. Martin, seeing the wand put away, immediately jumped up and started to yell again, but his voice was cut off as the door slammed shut.
“You know, we do have dungeons, Madam Headmistress,” Neville said in his normal voice.
Seeing the door closed, Headmistress McGonagall turned on her heel and walked briskly down the corridor as the others followed. “We have some rather antique torture devices as well, Professor Longbottom, but I believe this will suffice for the moment. We only need to hold him until we receive word from the Ministry of Magic about whatever recourse we may or may not have against the dilemma Mr. Prescott has foisted upon us. In the meantime, Mr. Potter, I must ask you: do you know anything about the game device that has apparently led this��� person into our midst?”
James swallowed as he struggled to keep up the Headmistress’ pace. He opened his mouth to answer, but nothing came. “Er, well���”
Neville touched James on the shoulder as they walked. “We all saw your face turn as pale as the moon when Prescott produced the GameDeck device. You looked almost like you expected it. Is there something you know that might help us, James?”
James decided there was no point in trying to protect Ralph. It wasn’t his fault, anyway. “My friend has one. He’s a first year like me, but he’s Muggleborn. He didn’t know it might be dangerous to have here. None of us did, really. I was surprised it even worked here.”
“He used it to communicate with someone in the Muggle community?” Neville asked quickly.
“No! As far as I know, he never used it at all! As soon as he got here, his housemates saw it and gave him a load of trouble about it. They’re Slytherins, so they were all ragging on him about counterfeit magical devices, about how it was an insult to the purebloods and all that.”
The Headmistress turned a corner, heading back toward her office. “I assume you are speaking of Mr. Deedle? Yes. I am confident enough that he is not at the head of this particular conspiracy, although this device of his might be. Does it perhaps broadcast some sort of signal?”
James shrugged. “You’d be better off asking Ralph about that, or even my other friend, Zane. He seems to know a lot about how these things work. But I don’t think it sends out information on its own. Ralph says somebody else took his GameDeck and used it. Another Slytherin, we think. Zane was able to tell that somebody had spent some time on it, and that they’d used the name Austramaddux. They hadn’t played the game at all, though. They must have just been using it to send information. Probably the coordinates that that guy said he used to locate the school using his GPS thing.”
“You’re quite sure about this, are you, James?” Neville said, following the Headmistress back into her office. “Have you considered that Mr. Deedle might have used this device on school grounds and unwittingly shared information that he shouldn’t have? It is possible that this tale of the stolen GameDeck is a ruse.”
James shook his head firmly. “No way. Not Ralph. It never even occurred to him, or any of us, that the thing might be used to lead people here. He just knew it made his Slytherin mates angry.”
“We’re all forgetting one important thing,” McGonagall said, lowering herself tiredly into her chair. “Even if Mr. Deedle or this unknown borrower of the device did attempt to share information about this school with a Muggle, the Vow of Secrecy would prevent them.”
Professor Franklyn, who had remained in the Headmistress’ office to fiddle with the GameDeck, replaced the device on the desk and stared at it, apparently unable to make anything of it. “How does this vow work, precisely, Madam Headmistress?”
“It’s quite straightforward, Professor. Every student must sign the vow, proclaiming they will not knowingly reveal any information regarding the existence of Hogwarts to any Muggle individual or agency. If they do, the magical properties of the vow will engage, preventing any such communication. This might mean the Langlock jinx or any other curse that would disable the individual’s ability to share information. In this case, we might assume that the user of the device might experience a fusing of the fingers or paralysis of the hand, anything that would prevent them from entering any dangerous information into this device.”
Franklyn was thoughtful. “We use a similar means at Alma Aleron. The wording of the vow must be very specific, of course. No loopholes. Still, it does seem apparent that someone was indeed able to use such a device to communicate very specific information about this school. My guess is that each of these gaming devices is equipped with a tracker that corresponds to the global positioning mechanism Mr. Prescott spoke of. Whoever used Mr. Deedle’s device was apparently able to send the geographical coordinates of one GameDeck to another. Mr. Prescott merely needed to enter that information into his GPS device and follow it very carefully. Despite Mr. Prescott’s obvious Muggle nature, this made him a sort of haphazard SecretKeeper. He can, if he so wishes, share the secret of this school’s location with anyone else he wishes. Whether they are able to get past the school’s unplottability zone is another question, though. Not everyone is quite as persistent as he is. This might explain why he needs our help to bring in his entourage.”
“We cannot allow such a thing to happen, of course,” Neville said, looking to the Headmistress.
“I’m not entirely certain we can prevent it,” she said heavily. “Our Mr. Prescott is indeed an extremely tenacious individual. He knows enough already to do us great harm. Even if we were to discover the whereabouts of his crew, Obliviate them all and send them back, they would discover the recording that has been made of all Mr. Prescott has seen so far. He would inevitably return, and perhaps next time, it will occur to him to bring live cameras rather than just a telephone. I see no recourse but to allow him to go on with this investigation of his and hope to talk him out of broadcasting it.”
Neville shook his head. “I have more confidence that we could talk the merpeople out of living in the lake than that we could convince this sodding twit not to broadcast his prize story.”
Franklyn adjusted his tiny glasses and looked at the ceiling. “Of course, there are more, er, wholesale methods of dealing with this kind of thing, Madam Headmistress. We could simply place the Imperius Curse upon Mr. Prescott. That way we could arrange for him to send his crew away and even accompany him back to his offices to help him destroy any record of this visit. Once that was accomplished, we could feel free to Obliviate Mr. Prescott with no fear of a repeat performance.”
McGonagall sighed. “This is not the sort of decision we are exactly authorized to make, and frankly, I am glad of that. The Ministry of Magic has been notified of the situation and I am assured they will instruct us on the proper course within the hour. I expect to hear from your father directly, Mr. Potter, and at any moment.”
As if on cue, a woman’s voice spoke up from the fireplace. “Greetings and salutations. This is an official communication of the Ministry of Magic. Can we be assured that this is a secure assembly?”
McGonagall stood and moved around her desk to face the fireplace. “It is. These with me are the only persons on the grounds at present fully aware of what is happening, although by this point, the whole of the school must know that we have a Muggle individual among us. His entry was hardly subtle.”
The face in the banked coals of the Headmistress’ fireplace looked around at Neville, James, and Professor Franklyn. “I am the underse
cretary of Miss Brenda Sacarhina, Co-Chair of the Council of Ambassadorial Relations. Please stand by to be connected.” The face vanished.
James saw McGonagall’s face tighten just the tiniest bit when the undersecretary mentioned Miss Sacarhina. Only a few seconds passed before the face of the prim woman appeared in the fireplace. “Madam McGonagall, Professors Franklyn and Longbottom, greetings. And young Mr. Potter, of course.” An ingratiating smile appeared on Sacarhina’s lips when she spoke to James. The smile disappeared almost as suddenly as it had appeared, as if it was something she could turn on and off like a light. “We have conferred about the situation that has thrust itself upon you and have reached a conclusion. As you may guess, we have prepared contingencies for just such an occurrence. Please tell Mr. Prescott that he may contact his associates. We find that there is no recourse but to allow his investigation to proceed, however, no one other than Mr. Prescott is to be allowed onto Hogwarts grounds until a delegation from the Ministry arrives to oversee them. We will arrive no later than tomorrow evening, at which time, we will assume all negotiations with Mr. Prescott and his crew.”
“Miss Sacarhina,” McGonagall said, “are you suggesting that the Ministry may well allow this man to perform his investigation and broadcast it to the Muggle world?”
“I’m sorry, Madam McGonagall,” Sacarhina said sweetly, “I didn’t mean to imply that, or anything else. You may rest assured that we are prepared to deal with this situation, regardless of the method we choose. I’d hate to burden you with any more detail than you’ve already been forced to deal with.”
The Headmistress’ face became rather pink. “Burden away, Miss Sacarhina, for I can promise you that the future of this school and its students is hardly the sort of detail I’m likely to dismiss.”
James Potter and the Hall of the Elders' Crossing Page 41