James Potter and the Hall of the Elders' Crossing

by G. Norman Lippert

  Prescott dropped his head forward and slumped a bit. “No, Mr. Hubert. It isn’t. Didn’t any of you tell him how this works? We record it, we edit it, we broadcast it. Miss Sacarhina, you understood all of this, am I correct?” He glanced aside at Sacarhina, who smiled and spread her arms. She mouthed a few words, and then gestured vaguely at her throat. Recreant cinched his grin a notch higher. His forehead was beaded with sweat. “Great,” Prescott muttered. “I see. Marvelous. Continuing.” He straightened and glared at Hubert again. “Yes, our viewers would very much like to see what happens in these so-called ‘classrooms’, Mr. Chancellor. Please lead the way.”

  Hubert turned to Delacroix. “What do you think, dear? Divination or Levitation?”

  “Dey are both equally impressive. Honey,” Delacroix said, forming the words rather awkwardly. She seemed to want to say more, but despite the workings of her jaw, her lips clamped tightly shut.

  “My wife is foreign, as you can see,” Hubert said apologetically. “But she does her best.”

  “The classrooms, please, Mr. Hubert,” Prescott insisted. “You can’t keep the press out, sir.”

  “No, no, of course not. We appreciate the publicity, in fact,” Hubert said, turning to lead the crew down a hall. “Prestigious as we are, sometimes, it’s hard to keep our heads above water. Magic is a, er, specialized study, to say the least. Only a certain kind of individual has the patience and grace to learn it. Ah, here we are then. Divination.”

  Prescott walked briskly into the open doorway of the classroom, followed by his camera crew and boom microphone operator, scrambling to keep up with him. Finney remained near the back of the group, staying as close to Headmistress McGonagall as he could. Harry and James, at the head of the crowd of curious students, leaned in through the door to watch.

  “Here, our students learn the ancient art of predicting the future,” Hubert said grandly. A dozen students were scattered around the room, staring grimly down at the objects on the desks in front of them. At the head of the class, as if on cue, Professor Trelawney raised her arms, producing a musical jingling from the assortment of bangles on her wrists.

  “Seek, students!” she cried in her mistiest voice. “Stare deep, deep into the face of the all-knowing cosmos, represented in the swirling patterns and designs of the infinite! Find your destinies!”

  “Tea leaves!” Finney said happily. “My own mam used to read fortunes in tea leaves for the tourists! Got us through some hard times, back in the day. How perfectly picturesque, keeping such traditions alive.”

  “‘Traditions’, pah!” Trelawney said, arising from her seat and swirling her gauzy robes dramatically. “We find the embedded nature of perfect truth in the leaves, sir. Past, present, future, all bound together for those who bear the eyes to see!”

  “That’s just what my mam used to say, too!” chuckled Finney.

  “This is how you tell the future?” Prescott said, staring disgustedly into one of the students’ cups. “This is ridiculous. Where’re the crystal balls? Where’s the swirling smoke and the ghostly visions?”

  “Well, er, we have those things, too, Mr. Prescott,” Hubert said. “Don’t we, dear?”

  “Advanced Divination. Second semester. Two hundred-pound lab fee,” Delacroix replied mechanically.

  “Covers the crystal balls,” Hubert said behind his raised hand. “Those things aren’t cheap. We have them special made in China. Real crystal and everything. Of course, the students get to take them home at the end of the school year. They’re kind of a memento.”

  “I believe you mentioned levitation!” Prescott said, marching out of the room. His entourage followed swiftly, clanking and unrolling more electrical cord.

  “Certainly, yes. A staple of the magical arts,” Hubert replied, following Prescott across the hall and into another classroom. “We combine that class with Basic Prestidigitation. Yes, right in here.”

  Zane stood in the center of the classroom with a wand in his hand. A few dozen other students sat along the wall, watching in amazement as the bust of Godric Gryffindor floated and bobbed around the room, apparently at the behest of Zane’s waving wand. There was a gasp and sigh of amazement from Prescott’s crew. The cameraman squatted slowly, zooming in on the action.

  “Aha!” Prescott said excitedly. “Real magic! Being performed by children!”

  “Just as promised,” Hubert said proudly. “Mr. Walker here is among the best in his class. Mr. Walker, what year are you, by the way?”

  “First year, sir,” Zane said, grinning happily.

  “Excellent form, my boy,” Hubert replied. “Try a loop, why don’t you?”

  The students applauded politely as the bust raised and spun slowly in the air. Then, suddenly, it dropped, falling onto a mattress which had been placed in the center of the floor.

  “Oh, too bad, Mr. Walker. So close,” Hubert chided.

  “It wasn’t my fault!” Zane yelled. “It was my backstage! Ted, you dolt, you yanked when you were supposed to swoop! How many times do I have to explain that!”

  “Hey!” Ted objected, bursting noisily out of a closet at the rear of the room. He held a handful of wires in his hand, all of which snaked up to a series of pulleys attached to the ceiling of the closet. “You want to try coming back here and working these controls in the dark? Huh? Besides, Noah is the one to blame. He was slow with the cross pulley.”

  A voice from the depths of the closet yelled angrily, “What? That’s it! I want to be on stage next time. I’ve had it with this ‘assistant’ role. I want to wear the hat!”

  “Nobody’s wearing the hat, Noah,” Zane said, rolling his eyes.

  “Well, somebody needs to wear the hat!” Noah cried, his face appearing around the doorway of the closet. “How does anybody know who’s the magician and who’s the assistant?”

  “Boys, boys,” Hubert placated, raising his hands. “We only have one hat per classroom, and Miss Morganstern is using it to practice the rabbit trick. Mr. Prescott, Mr. Finney, would you like to see the rabbit trick?”

  “Why, yes,” Finney said brightly.

  “No!” Prescott yelled.

  Tabitha Corsica had pushed herself to the front of the students crowding the doorway. Her face was red with anger. “Mr. Prescott,” she began, “you—”

  Hubert turned slowly to face Tabitha. “This is hardly the time for autographs, Miss Corsica.”

  “I’m not here to get his autograph, Chancellor���,” Tabitha spat, raising her arm to point at Hubert. There was a small notebook and a pen clutched in her hand. She stopped in mid-sentence, staring at the two items. The cover of the notebook was pink and had the word ‘autographs’ printed on it in white script.

  “There will be plenty of time later for such things, Miss Corsica. But I’m sure Mr. Prescott is flattered by your, er, interest.”

  “Chancellor Hubert?” Petra interjected, peering into a black top hat which was sitting atop a ridiculously glittery table. “I think something might be wrong with Mr. Wiffles. Do rabbits usually lie on their backs like that?”

  “Not now, Miss Morganstern,” Hubert said, flapping his hand dismissively. “Mr. Prescott, I believe you wanted to see our sawing-in-half room?”

  But Prescott was gone, stalking past the suddenly silent Tabitha Corsica and heading down the corridor behind her. The crew scrambled to chase him as he poked his head into each room. At the end of the hall, he gave a muffled shout of triumph and waved for his crew to join him in the furthest classroom.

  “Here!” Prescott yelled, gesturing wildly with his right arm. The crowd poured into the room, followed by the watching students, who were beginning to grin. “Right before your eyes! A ghost professor! Make sure you get plenty of footage of this, Vince! Proof of the afterlife!”

  There was no gasp of surprise this time. Vince moved in close, focusing carefully with one hand.

  “Ah, yes. Professor Binns,” Hubert said happily. “Say hello to the nice folks.”

&n
bsp; Professor Binns blinked owlishly and passed his gaze over the crowd. “Greetings,” he said in his thin, distant voice.

  “It’s just a projection on smoke,” Vince, the cameraman, announced.

  “Well,” Hubert said, a bit defensively, “he’s not meant to be seen quite so close to like that. The students are usually well back from him. Creates a nice sense of mystery and the supernatural, really.”

  Ralph was among the students seated in the classroom. He addressed the cameraman with a note of annoyance. “You’re ruining the effect, you know. You don’t have to go and spoil it for everybody.”

  “Greetings,” Binns said again, passing his gaze over the crowd.

  “Impossible!” Prescott shouted angrily, striding toward the front of the room. “It’s a ghost! I know it is!”

  “It’s a projection, Martin,” Vince said, lowering the camera. “I’ve seen these before. It’s not even a very good one. You can hear the projector running. It’s right there, under the desk. And see here? Dry ice machine. Makes the smoke.”

  Finney cleared his throat near the door. “This is getting rather embarrassing, Mr. Prescott.”

  “Greetings,” said Professor Binns.

  Prescott turned wildly. He was obviously coming rather unraveled. “No!” he shouted. “This is all a setup! It’s his fault! He’s trying to trick all of you!” He pointed at Hubert.

  “Well, that is what we do here,” Hubert said, smiling politely. “We’re in the business of tricks. Although we prefer the term ‘illusion’, if you don’t mind.”

  “It’s maaaaa-gic,” Delacroix suddenly said, a bit inanely. She gave a ghastly grin.

  “I see what you’re all trying to do here,” Prescott said, still pointing at Hubert, and then McGonagall and even Sacarhina and Recreant, who shook their heads vigorously. “You’re trying to make me look like a madman! Well, my public knows me better than that, and so do my associates. You can’t hide everything! What about the moving staircases? Or the giants? Hmm? Or���” Prescott stopped, his finger still in midpoint. His eyes went unfocussed for a moment, and then he grinned maliciously. “I know just the thing. Just the thing indeed. Vince, Eddie, the rest of you, come with me.”

  Hubert followed as the crew clanked and jostled through the crowd of students. “Where are you going, Mr. Prescott? I’m your guide, if you recall. I’ll show you whatever you wish.”

  “Yes?” Prescott said, spinning back toward Hubert. The curious students had parted for him and his crew, so that Prescott glared back between them, glancing from side to side. “Will you show me���,” he paused dramatically and tilted his head up, “the Garage?”

  “The���,” Hubert began. He blinked, and then looked aside at Professor McGonagall. James suddenly felt Harry’s hand tighten on his shoulder. Something was wrong. “The��� Garage?” Hubert repeated, as if he was unfamiliar with the word.

  Prescott’s grin grew predatory. “Aha! Weren’t prepared for that, were you? Yes, I had myself a good long look around the grounds while you were all busy this morning. Peeked here and there and got quite an eyeful! There is a garage,” he said, turning to face the camera, “that penetrates the very fabric of space and time, creating a magical portal between this place and another place thousands of kilometers away! America, if I may be so bold as to guess! I have seen it myself. I have been inside the structure, and smelled the air of that far-off place. I have seen the sunrise of that land, while the sun here was high above the horizon. It was no trick, no illusion. These people would have us believe that they are mere tricksters, while I maintain, as I have witnessed with my own eyes, that they are dabblers in a form of magic that is purely and simply supernatural. Now I will prove it!” With a flourish, Prescott turned and marched away, heading back to the Entrance Hall. Harry fell in line next to Hubert, but couldn’t get his attention.

  “Mr. Prescott!” Hubert yelled over the sound of the now agitated crowd. “I really must insist that you allow me��� Mr. Prescott! This is highly irregular!”

  Prescott led his crew out of the main entrance and across the courtyard. The crowd of students had grown considerably, and the noise of their passage had become quite loud. Everyone had seen the exterior of the Alma Aleron’s Garage, but very few had been inside or seen what it housed. The babble of worry and curiosity was a dull roar.

  “This could be bad, James,” Harry said, keeping his voice below the noise of the crowd.

  “What can we do?”

  Harry merely shook his head, watching Prescott turn the corner, leading the group toward the canvas structure overlooking the lake. He turned, framing himself before its canvas walls. His crew arranged themselves in position, lowering the boom microphone over him and adjusting huge white umbrellas to reflect the sunlight on his shadowed side. Prescott turned slightly, showing his best side to the camera as Vince squatted slowly, focusing. It was, James had to admit, a very dramatic moment.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” Prescott began, raising his natural orator’s voice, “my crew and I, and all of you, have been the victims of an elaborate hoax. This is no simple school of sleight of hand and card tricks. No, I have witnessed within these walls true magic of the most astounding and blood-chilling variety. I have seen ghosts and watched actual levitations. I have observed doors appearing magically in otherwise solid stone walls. I have seen beasts and giants that boggle the mind. Today, we have been played for fools, deceived by a pack of wizards and witches—yes, actual magical people—who believe they can fool us with parlor tricks. But now I will reveal the truth of this place. Behind this canvas is a form of uncanny magic that will shock and astound you. When this truth is revealed, Mr. Rudolph Finney, detective for the British Special Police, will be inclined to launch a full-scale, official investigation into this establishment, with the help of police agencies from all across Europe. After today, ladies and gentlemen, our lives will never be the same again. After today, we will be living in a world where we know, without a doubt, that witches and wizards are real, and that they walk among us.”

  Prescott paused, letting his words echo over the stunned crowd. Then he turned toward the area where McGonagall, Hubert, Sacarhina, and Recreant were gathered. Finney stood next to the Headmistress, frowning slightly, his eyes wide. “Mr. Hubert,” Prescott called out, “will you open these doors for us? This is your last chance to do the right thing.”

  Hubert’s expression was grave. He stared very directly at Prescott. “I have to advise you against this course of action, Mr. Prescott.”

  “You open it or I will.”

  “You’ll ruin everything, sir,” Hubert said. Next to him, Delacroix was grinning even more manically.

  “I’ll ruin nothing but your secret, Mr. Hubert. The world needs to know what is behind those canvas doors.”

  Hubert seemed frozen in place. It looked as if he wasn’t going to do it. And then he moved forward, lowering his head. There was a long, collective gasp from the crowd. Prescott stepped aside, glancing triumphantly at the camera as he did so. Hubert approached the tent and stood in front of it. He sighed deeply, and then reached up, grasping the knotted strips of canvas that held the tent’s wide flaps closed. He turned his head to look at Prescott. After a terrible pause, he pulled. The knot came undone and the flaps dropped open, unfurling like flags, slapping the poles at either side of the broad tent opening. The crowd gasped, and then there was a long, puzzled silence.

  James peered in. He couldn’t immediately make out what it was. The inside of the tent was rather dark, but he could see that the flying vehicles were gone. Most of the tent’s interior was obscured by a large, oblong shape. A few people near the front of the crowd began to giggle, and then a wave of laughter washed over the crowd.

  “Well, you’ve done it,” Hubert said, still staring at Prescott. “You’ve ruined the secret. And this was meant to be our big finish. I have to say, sir, you are no fun at all.” Hubert finally stepped back, getting out of the way of the tent
so that the camera crew could see directly inside. Tiny, colored Christmas lights flashed in sequence around the huge papier-m��ch�� flying saucer. Black letters were painted on the side, clearly visible in the flashing lights.

  “And I hate to say it, Mr. Lupin,” Hubert said, turning to Ted, “but you misspelled ‘rocket’. How dreadfully embarrassing.”

  20. Tale of the Traitor

  “But I saw them!” Prescott said insistently, his voice growing rather hoarse as he followed Vince between the Landrovers. “Giants! One of them was as tall as the trees! They made footprints the size of��� the size of���!” He gestured with his arms desperately. Ignoring him, Vince packed his camera into a foamlined suitcase.

  “You’ve made quite a fiasco for yourself, Mr. Prescott,” Detective Finney said, polishing his glasses on his tie. “Don’t make it any worse.”

  Prescott turned to the older man, his eyes wild. “You’ve got to investigate this establishment, Detective! It’s not right! They’ve tricked you all!”

  “If I spearhead any investigations, Mr. Prescott,” Finney said mildly, “they’ll be investigations of you and your methods. Did you have permission to trespass on these grounds in the first place?”

  “What, are you mad?” Prescott sputtered. He stopped and collected himself. “Of course. As I’ve already told you, I was tipped off about what was happening here. Someone on the inside led me here.”

  “And you checked the background of this person?”

  “Well,” Prescott said, “the chocolate frog was pretty convincing. I didn’t really���”

  “Excuse me. Did you just say ‘the chocolate frog’?” Finney asked, his eyes narrowing.

  “I��� er, well. The point is, yes, my source was quite certain that something strange was going on here���”

  “That they were, in fact, teaching magic?”

  “Yes. Er, no! Not tricks! Real magic! With monsters and giants and��� and��� vanishing doorways and flying cars!”