James Potter and the Hall of the Elders' Crossing

by G. Norman Lippert

  James cleared his throat. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Jackson wasn’t paying him any attention. “It doesn’t matter, Potter. Whatever you think you know, whatever it is you are up to, after tonight, it won’t matter one iota.”

  James’ heart skipped a beat, and then began to pound hard in his chest. “Why?” he asked, his lips strangely numb. “What’s tonight?”

  Jackson ignored him. He opened one of the leaded glass doors into the hospital wing and held it for James. The room was long and high, lined with crisply made beds. Madam Curio, who for rather obvious reasons, was not a Quidditch fan, was seated at her desk in the rear corner listening to classical music on her wireless.

  “Madam Curio, you probably know Mr. Potter, here,” Jackson said, pressing James toward her. “He has somehow managed to break his arm at the Quidditch match despite the fact that he himself is not actually on either of the teams.”

  Madam Curio stood and approached James, shaking her head. “Hooligans. I’ll never understand what it is about that sport that turns otherwise proper individuals into Neanderthals. What do we have here, then?” She lifted James’ arm gingerly, feeling for the break. He hissed through his teeth when she found it. She clucked her tongue. “Nasty fracture, sure enough. Could have been worse, though, I’m sure. We’ll have you fixed up in no time.”

  “Also,” Jackson said, “I’ve been instructed by the Headmistress to ask you to keep Mr. Potter here for the evening, Madam.”

  Curio didn’t look up from her inspection of James’ arm. “The Skele-Gro will take at least until tomorrow morning to complete its work, anyway. Still, this is minor enough. I might have sent him to his rooms with a splint.”

  “The Headmistress wishes to question Mr. Potter, Madam. She desires that he be kept under supervision until then. It seems, I am afraid, that Mr. Potter is suspected to be involved in a very serious plot that could put this school at risk. I shouldn’t say more, but if you chose to post some sentries at the doors to keep visitors out and Mr. Potter in, at least until tomorrow morning, I wouldn’t think that was overdoing it.”

  “She didn’t say any such thing!” James exclaimed, but he knew that his protest wouldn’t help. In fact, the louder he protested, the worse it would probably look.

  Curio gasped and straightened up. “Does this have anything to do with the intrusion of that horrible man on the premises yesterday? I’ve heard that he’s some sort of Muggle newsperson, and that he’s still here! It does, doesn’t it?” She covered her mouth with her hand and looked from Jackson to James.

  “Again, I really shouldn’t say any more, Madam,” Jackson replied. “Besides, Mr. Potter may end up being entirely exonerated. We shall see in time. At any rate.” Jackson looked down at James and there was the faintest suggestion of a smile on one corner of his lips. “Until tomorrow morning, then, James.”

  He turned and stalked out of the room, closing the door carefully behind him.

  17. Night of the Returning

  To her credit, Madam Curio didn’t let Professor Jackson’s accusations influence her treatment of James. She examined the fracture for several minutes, poking and pinching, and then carefully splinted it. She fell into a harsh but pedantic diatribe about the woes of Quidditch injuries, but it sounded to James like something she’d said a hundred times before. Her mind was elsewhere, and James didn’t need to guess what was preoccupying her. The invasion of Martin Prescott into the school had caused a wave of speculation and anxiety. His identity as a Muggle news reporter, and the fact that he was being kept in the Alma Aleron’s quarters had fed a load of rumors. There was a cloud of unease over the entire school, not alleviated by the Headmistress’ announcement that Ministry officials were arriving to deal with Mr. Prescott. As Madam Curio measured the Skele-Gro dosage, James caught her glancing at him suspiciously, looking him up and down. Somebody had to have let the interloper in, after all. Why not this first-year son of the Head Auror? James knew that some people—those who believed the lies of the Progressive Element—would expect him to pull just such a stunt. Earlier that day, he’d heard a voice from a cluster of students saying, “It makes sense, doesn’t it? The whole Auror line is that the Law of Secrecy is our only protection from the supposed Muggle witch-hunters. So what do they do? They allow this guy to sneak in and scare us all into thinking Muggles are hiding out in the forest, behind every bush with a torch and a pyre, ready to burn us all at the stake. It’s preposterous. I say let him do his story. That’ll show those Ministry power-mongers what for.”

  “There,” Madam Curio said, straightening. “All finished. You’ll feel some tingling and itching overnight as the bone knits. That’s perfectly normal. Don’t fiddle with the splint. The last thing you’ll want is for the bones to knit crookedly. The only fix for that would be for me to re-break the bone and start all over, and we certainly wouldn’t want that. Now,” she gestured towards the row of beds, “pick whichever you like. I’ll see that breakfast is brought to you here in the morning. You may as well make yourself comfortable.”

  James slung his backpack onto one of the bedside tables and climbed up onto the unusually high bed. It was a very comfortable bed, and for good reason, since all the mattresses in the hospital wing had been infused with Relaxation Charms. The charms, however, had no effect on James’ thoughts, which were dark with frustration and anxiety. Professor Jackson had admitted that tonight was a night of ultimate importance. It wasn’t simply speculation anymore. And now here James was, stuck for the night in the hospital wing, neatly trapped by Professor Jackson’s crafty interpretation of Headmistress McGonagall’s instructions. Alone for the first time since the attempted broomstick caper, James felt the full impact of what had happened out on the Quidditch pitch. It had seemed like a crazy plan from the beginning, but no more so than the plan to capture Professor Jackson’s briefcase, and that had worked, hadn’t it? Everything had been a success so far, until now. It was as if an invisible brick wall had suddenly blocked them, halting their progress at the last, ultimate moment. Arguably, the Merlin staff was the most powerful element of the three relics. Even now, Corsica, Jackson, and Delacroix were probably preparing to bring the relics together, unaware that they were missing the robe, but with the two most important relics in their possession.

  In spite of his anxieties, James had begun to drift sleepily under the influence of the charmed mattress. Now he sat up, his heart beating hard in his chest. What would happen when Jackson opened his case and found Ralph’s dress robes instead of the relic robe of Merlin? The Visumineptio charm would break, then, wouldn’t it? Jackson would see the case for what it was. He’d recognize it, and remember that day in Technomancy class, when James, Ralph, and Zane had used the fake case to trick him. He had thought they’d failed, had even referred to it while taking James to the hospital wing. He would surely realize then that they hadn’t failed. Jackson was smart. He’d know which of the boys had the real robe. Not Zane or Ralph, but James. The boy he hadn’t ‘pegged’ yet. Would Jackson come to the hospital wing to demand the robe? No, even as James thought it, he knew Jackson wouldn’t. He’d go straight to James’ trunk in the Gryffindor boys’ quarters. He’d probably claim to be searching for clues about James’ involvement in the unnamed dangerous plot against Hogwarts. Jackson would surely get James’ trunk open, and then he’d retrieve the robe. Everything James, Ralph, and Zane, and even the Gremlins had risked would be in vain. It would indeed be over, and there was nothing James could do about it.

  James struck the bedside table with his fist in frustration. Madam Curio, seated at her desk in the corner, gasped and put a hand over her chest. She looked at James, but didn’t say anything. James pretended not to see her.

  His backpack had slipped sideways when he’d slammed his fist onto the table. Resolutely, he grabbed it and opened it. He took out his parchments and his ink and quill. He knew that, under normal conditions, Madam Curio would never allow a patient to have an open
ink bottle on her clean white sheets, but as far as she was concerned, she was harboring a potentially dangerous individual. Best not to provoke him. James bent over the parchment and wrote quickly, awkwardly, with his splinted arm, not even noticing the way his hand smeared the inky wet letters.

  Dear Dad,

  I’m sorry I took the M. Map and the I. Cloak. I know I shouldn’t

  have, but I needed them, and I thought it was what you would have done, so I

  hope you aren’t too mad. I know I don’t stand a chance with Mum, but put in

  a good word, will you?

  The reason I took them is because I’ve discovered something really sneaky and scary going on here at school. Some of the American teachers are in on it, though not Franklyn. He’s cool. Also, the P.E. here is in on it. I don’t want to tell you about it in a letter, but even if I am in big trouble with you and Mum, I need you to come. Can you be here tomorrow? Miss Sacarhina says you are on an important job and not to be interrupted, so maybe you can’t, but try, OK? It’s really important and I need your help.

  Love,

  James

  James folded the parchment and tied it with a bit of twine. He didn’t know how he’d send it, but he felt better just having written it. He remembered now that he’d intended to write his dad about the Merlin plot way back when they’d captured the robe, and he berated himself for not doing it then. He’d thought, at the time, that his reasons for not telling his dad were good ones, but now, trapped in the hospital wing on the ultimate night of the Merlin plot, and knowing that, despite everything, Jackson might very possibly capture the relic robe back from him, it seemed foolish and arrogant that he hadn’t written his dad about it earlier.

  An idea struck James and he dug in his backpack again. A moment later, he held his Weasley brand rubber duck in his hands. It still had Zane’s handwriting on the bottom: Laundry Room! James dipped his quill and drew a line through that, then, underneath it, he wrote: hospital wing: send Nobby to the east window. When he was finished, he gave the duck a sharp squeeze. “Manky barmpot!” it quacked.

  In the corner, Madam Curio once again startled and looked accusingly at James. Potential criminal or not, she clearly thought his behavior unaccountably rude.

  “Sorry, Madam,” James said, holding up the rubber duck. “It wasn’t me. It was my duck.”

  “I see,” she said with obvious disapproval. “Perhaps now would be a good time for me to retire for the evening. You won’t be, er, needing anything, will you?”

  James shook his head. “No, Madam. Thanks. My arm feels loads better, anyway.”

  “Don’t fiddle with it, like I said, and you’ll be fine by morning, I expect.” She stood and hurried past James toward the leaded-glass doors. Two figures could be seen through the milky glass, and James knew that they were Philia Goyle and Kevin Murdock, both kindly sent by Professor Jackson to watch the doors. Madam Curio unlocked the doors and went out, offering her good-evenings to the sentries. The door clicked shut behind her and James heard the bolt clack into place. He sighed in frustration, and then jumped as his rubber duck quacked a loud insult next to him. He raised it and looked at the bottom. Below his handwriting was a new line of black letters: open the window: ten minutes.

  James felt a little better. He hadn’t been sure that either Ralph or Zane would be in any position to hear or respond to their ducks. In fact, he’d had no word whatsoever about what had happened to the rest of the Gremlins. He felt cautiously confident that none had been caught, although Ralph’s predicament, left in the middle of the Slytherin holding pens, was probably worse than anyone else’s. Despite that, he figured that even Ralph had gotten out all right. Once everyone had seen James explode out of the holding pen riding Tabitha’s broom, attention had probably focused on his wild ride, and then Tabitha’s summoning of her broomstick, bringing both it and James back to the pitch. Most likely, Ralph had slipped out at that point and returned to the shed, along with the Gremlins.

  James watched the clock over Madam Curio’s desk as the minutes ticked away. He struggled with the impulse to go and open the window before the ten minutes had passed. If Madam Curio came back and saw him standing by an open window, she’d suspect treachery even though the window was at least thirty feet above the ground. Finally, as the minute hand ticked into place, announcing eight fifteen, James jumped off the bed. He grabbed the letter from the bedside table and ran lightly toward the far right window. The latch turned easily and James opened the window onto cool, misty night. The sky had finally cleared, revealing a dusting of silvery stars, but there was no sign of Nobby. James leaned over the sill, looking along the ledge, and a monstrous silent shape loomed out of the darkness toward him, blotting out the stars. It fell over him heavily, surrounded him, and yanked him bodily out the window before he had time to shout for help.

  The figure squeezed him so that James’ breath whooshed out of him. Far below, a voice called in a loud stage whisper, “Not so hard! You’ll grind his bones, already!” James was amazed to recognize Zane’s voice. The gigantic hand loosened a bit and James saw yards of female giant going past as he was lowered toward the ground.

  “Nicely done, Prechka!” Zane called, patting the giant on her shin. She grunted happily and opened her hand, unrolling James onto the ground between her massive feet.

  “I thought you were just bringing Nobby!” James gasped, clambering up.

  “It was Ted’s idea,” Ralph said, moving out of the shadow of a nearby shrubbery. “He knew you’d want to get out and see to this whole Merlin affair, especially now. He went off to find Grawp the moment you were taken off by Jackson. Grawp found Prechka, who’s tall enough to reach the hospital wing, and we were just trying to figure out how to get you to the window when you ducked at us. Worked out pretty neatly, we thought.”

  “I’ll say,” James said, rubbing his ribs with the heel of his left palm. “Good thing she’s left-handed or I’d probably need a whole new dose of Skele-Gro for my arm. She’s got a grip! So where is Ted, anyway?”

  “House arrest, along with the rest of the Gremlins,” Zane said, shrugging. “McGonagall knew they were involved in the broomstick thieving plot, even if she can’t prove it yet. She probably would have let it slide—she has bigger frogs to dissect with Recreant and Sacarhina here—but Jackson’s idea was to have all the Gremlins out of the way until tomorrow, when the whole thing with this Prescott dude was taken care of. Ted was sent off to the Gryffindor common room the moment he got back from the forest with Grawp. Everybody’s there except Sabrina, who took a pretty ugly Gigantism Curse from Corsica. Her nose is the size of a soccerball. Nothing for it but to sleep it off, apparently. I think we’d have been under guard, too, except that Jackson thinks Ralph’s too dim to be involved in the broomstick plot and I had the perfect alibi, being right there on the field the whole time. So here we are. What’s the plan, James?”

  James glanced from Zane to Ralph to Prechka, and then took a deep breath. “Same as before. We need to get out to the Grotto Keep to stop Jackson, Delacroix, and whoever else is involved. We still need to capture the Merlin staff, if we can, and most importantly, we need to escape so we can testify about whoever is involved.”

  “Hear, hear,” Ralph agreed.

  “But first,” James said, holding up the letter he’d written to his dad, “I need to send this. I should’ve sent it weeks ago, but better late than never. Ted was right. We need help. If we hadn’t asked the Gremlins to help us, I’d still be stuck up there in the hospital wing.”

  “If we hadn’t asked the Gremlins to help us, you might not have gotten thrown in there in the first place,” Ralph muttered, but without much feeling.

  “Zane,” James said, turning toward him and stuffing the letter into his pocket, “what time is the alignment supposed to happen?”

  “Nine fifty-five,” Zane answered. “We’ve only got an hour and a half.”

  James nodded. “Meet me at the edge of the forest near the lake i
n fifteen minutes. Bring Prechka if she’ll come.”

  Zane looked up the dark bulk of the giantess. “I don’t think we could get rid of her if we wanted to. She seems to like helping.”

  “Excellent. Ralph, you have your wand?”

  Ralph produced his ridiculously large wand from his back pocket. The lime-green painted tip glowed eerily in the darkness. “Don’t leave home without it,” he said.

  “All right, keep it handy. You’re on guard duty. Try to remember everything we learned in D.A.D.A. and be ready to put it to use. This is it, then. Let’s go.”

  James darted through the shadows of the corridors, trying to move both quickly and inconspicuously, which was rather a challenge. He arrived at the portrait hole just as Steven Metzker was coming out.

  “James!” Steven said, blinking in surprise. “What are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be���” He stopped, and then glanced around the darkened corridors. “Get inside before anyone sees you.”

  “Thanks, Steven,” James said, ducking into the portrait hole.

  “Don’t mention it,” Steven replied. “And I really mean that. I never saw you, and you never saw me. Don’t make me regret this.”

  “Regret what? Nothing happened.”

  Steven stepped into the hall as the portrait of the Fat Lady swung shut on James.

  The Gremlins, except for Sabrina, were gathered by the fireplace, looking sulky and agitated. Noah saw James and sat up. “I see Prechka found her man.” The others turned and grinned wickedly.

  “What are you doing here?” Ted said, growing serious. “Ralph and Zane just left to get you. It took us half the night to get your stuff sorted out after that disaster at the Quidditch pitch, so it’s getting pretty late. You should be heading out to the island. You want us to come along?”

  “No, you’re all in enough trouble. I just came to mail this.” He held up the letter. Ted nodded in approval, sensing who it was for. “I’m meeting Ralph and Zane by the forest in ten minutes.”