James Potter and the Hall of Elders' Crossing

by G. Norman Lippert

  As pleased as James was at his own tentative control of the broomstick, he still felt a shudder of jealousy when he saw Zane managing his broom through elaborate, effortless swoops and banks.

  “Let’s avoid showboating, Mr. Walker,” Ridcully called reproachfully, and James couldn’t help feeling a petty surge of gratification. “Save it for the match tonight, why don’t you?”

  Ralph’s entire body was tensed as he struggled to stay atop his broom. He’d gotten it to float about four feet off the ground and seemed to be stuck there. “How do I get it to swoop like that?” he asked, watching Zane.

  James shook his head. “I’d just worry about staying right-side up if I was you, Ralph.”

  The rest of the morning’s classes were far less interesting, with Basic Spellwork and Ancient Runes. At lunch, James explained to Ralph and Zane the happenings of the night before. He told them about Franklyn’s Daylight Savings Device, and the dinner conversation involving Madame Delacroix’s voodoo powers. Finally, he explained the conversation he had heard between his dad and Professor Franklyn, and how it fit in with the Austramaddux story about Merlin’s predicted return.

  “So,” Zane said, narrowing his eyes and staring thoughtfully at the wall behind James’ head, “I am to understand that your dad has a cloak… that makes anyone who wears it invisible.”

  James moaned, exasperated. “Yes! That’s hardly the point, though, is it?”

  “Speak for yourself. I mean, forget x-ray specs. Just think what a guy could do with an Invisibility Cloak. Is it steam-resistant, do you think?”

  James rolled his eyes. “I don’t think that the wizard who spent his lifetime creating the world’s most perfect invisible garment did it to sneak into the girls’ showers.”

  “But you don’t know that, do you?” Zane said, undeterred.

  Ralph chewed slowly, thinking. “So Franklyn told your dad that there were wizards in the States who were pushing for the same thing as the Progressive Element? Muggle and wizard equality and all that?”

  James nodded. “Yeah, but it’s all just a sham, isn’t it? I mean, since when have Slytherins really wanted anything nice for the Muggle world? All the old pureblood Slytherin houses have always been for going public, but just so they can take over the Muggle world and rule it. They think Muggles are an inferior species, not equals.”

  Ralph looked oddly troubled. “Well, maybe. I don’t know. Most of the people out in the courtyard the other day weren’t even Slytherins, though. Did you notice that?”

  James hadn’t, actually. “Doesn’t really matter. It was the Slytherins that got the whole thing started, with the Progressive Element slogans and badges and stuff. You said so yourself, Ralph. Tabitha Corsica was handing the badges out to all the Slytherins. She’s behind the whole thing.”

  “I don’t think she’s in on it like you think she is,” Ralph said, “with this whole bringing-Merlin-back-from-the-dead plot and all that. She just thinks we should be fair to everybody, Muggle and wizard alike. She’s not trying to start a war or anything stupid. I mean, really, it doesn’t seem fair that we shouldn’t be able to work in the Muggle world, does it? Or compete in Muggle games and sports? Just because we have magic on our side, doesn’t make us outcasts.”

  “You sound just like one of them,” James said angrily.

  “Well?” Ralph said suddenly, his face going red. “I am one of them, if you haven’t noticed. And I don’t appreciate the way you’re talking about my house. Things are a lot different now than they were when your dad went here. If you’re so worried about truth and history, you should be all for debate on the subject. Maybe Tabitha’s right about you.”

  James sat back, his mouth dropping open.

  Ralph lowered his eyes. “She wants me to be in the first school debate with Team A. I assume you know the topic. They’re calling it ‘Re-evaluating the Assumptions of the Past: Truth or Conspiracy’?”

  “And you’re going to be on the team, then? You’re going to argue that my dad and his chums made the whole Voldemort story up just to scare people into keeping the wizarding world a secret?”

  Ralph looked miserable. “Nobody believes your dad made it up, but…” He didn’t seem to know how to finish the sentence.

  “Well!” James cried, throwing up his hands. “Great argument, then! I’m speechless! Tabitha sure has a great partner in you, hasn’t she?”

  “But maybe your dad wasn’t on the right side after all!” Ralph said hotly. “Has that ever occurred to you? I mean, sure, people got killed. It was a war. But why is it that when your side killed people, it was a triumph of good, but when their side killed, it was an evil atrocity? The victors write the history books, you know. Maybe the truth of the whole affair has been skewed. How would you know? You weren’t even born yet.”

  James threw his fork down onto the table. “I know my dad!” he shouted. “He didn’t kill anyone! He was on the right side, because my dad is a good man! Voldemort was a bloodthirsty monster who just wanted power and was willing to kill anyone who got in his way, even his friends! You might want to remember that, since you seem to be choosing to side with people like him!”

  Ralph stared at James and swallowed. James knew, in some small, distant part of his mind, that he was overreacting. Ralph was Muggle-born: everything he knew about Voldemort and Harry Potter, he’d only read in the last two weeks. Besides, Ralph was being fed all this by his housemates, who he was desperate to get along with. Still, James was furious to the point of wanting to hit him, mostly because he didn’t dare hit any of the Slytherins who were directly responsible for the malicious, self-serving lies about his dad. James broke eye contact first. He heard Ralph gather his books and backpack.

  “Well,” Zane said tentatively, “I was going to see if you two wanted to meet after the match tonight for Butterbeers with the Gremlins, but maybe I’ll just take a rain check, eh?”

  Neither Ralph nor James spoke. After a moment, Ralph walked away.

  “You were pretty horrible to him, you know,” Zane said evenly.

  “Me?” James exclaimed.

  “Before you defend yourself,” Zane said, raising a hand in a conciliatory gesture, “just let me say, you’re right. Of course, it’s all a load of crap. But it’s Ralph. He’s just trying to get along. You know?”

  “No,” James said flatly, “not when ‘getting along’ means talking up a bunch of lies about my dad.”

  “He doesn’t know they’re lies,” Zane said reasonably. “He’s just a guy hearing all this for the first time. He wants to believe you, but he also wants to fit in with his house. Too bad for him they’re all a bunch of wacked-out, power-crazed lunatics.”

  James felt slightly mollified. He knew Zane was right, but he still couldn’t quite regret his outburst against Ralph. “So? You’re just a new guy hearing all this for the first time, too. Why aren’t you running off to join the Progressive Element and chant slogans?”

  “Because lucky for you,” Zane said, throwing an arm around James’ neck, “I got sorted into Ravenclaw, and they all hated Old Voldy just as much as you Gryffindors. Besides,” he looked slightly wistful, “I happen to think Petra Morganstern is, on the whole, just a little bit hotter than Tabitha Corsica.”

  James elbowed Zane away from him, groaning.

  They both went to the library for study period. Knossus Shert, the Ancient Runes professor, was monitoring the period, his thick glasses and long, skinny limbs in green robes making him look rather like a praying mantis seated behind the library head desk.

  Zane was copying Arithmancy theorems, frowning as he worked them out. James, not wanting to disturb him, but equally disinterested in embarking on his own homework, pulled the morning’s copy of the Daily Prophet out of his backpack, where he’d stuffed it at breakfast. He glanced at the lead articles again, pressing his lips together in disgust. Near the bottom of the front page, James was annoyed to see a picture of Tabitha Corsica. She looked like she always did: reasonable, th
oughtful, and polite. ‘Hogwarts Prefect Discusses Progressives Movement on Campus’, the headline next to her picture read. Knowing he shouldn’t read it, James glanced at a random couple of lines in the middle of the article.

  “Of course, my house doesn’t believe in disturbing the harmony of the school for these discussions, but we respect the members of other houses as they voice their concerns,” Miss Corsica explained, her eyes full of regret for the disruptions of the day, but obviously recognizing the validity of her fellow students’ motivations. “Despite the Headmistress’ reluctance to be clear about the debate schedule, I am confident that we will be allowed to forge ahead with our plan to foster a discussion about Auror practices and policies, and the assumptions those are based on, in an open and free-ranging debate format.”

  Miss Corsica, a fifth-year Slytherin, is also captain of her Quidditch team. “I had my broomstick fashioned by Muggle artisans,” she explains shyly. “They had no idea of the magical properties of the wood, and of course, I had it registered by the school as a Muggle artifact. But still, I just thought it would be nice to experience something handmade by our Muggle friends. It also happens to be one of the fastest brooms on the pitch,” she adds, biting her lip modestly, “but I credit that to the hands that made it, as much as to the spells that infuse the wood.”

  James picked up the paper and flipped it over angrily, slapping it onto the table and earning a loud hush from Professor Shert.

  He stared unseeingly at the back of the paper. How could anyone believe such obviously contrived drivel? Tabitha Corsica and her special-order Muggle-made broom were just the icing on the cake, and she knew it. When James had seen her in the courtyard, Tabitha had been giving her interview with Rita Skeeter. James remembered the breathless eagerness on Skeeter’s face as her quill danced across the parchment. Stupid, gullible woman, James thought. Still, apparently she was just being true to herself and her readership. James had been told about his dad’s first encounters with Skeeter, back during the Triwizard Tournament. Aunt Hermione had caught on to the secret that Rita Skeeter was an unregistered Animagus, her animal form being that of a beetle. Eventually, Hermione had captured Skeeter in her beetle form, preventing her, for a time, from continuing her assault on the truth via her articles in the Daily Prophet. This morning, however, Harry had told James that the way to fight for the truth was not to argue with people like Rita Skeeter. Frankly, James preferred Aunt Hermione’s methods to those his dad claimed to espouse these days.

  As he ruminated on this, James’ eye roamed unseeingly over the headlines and pictures on the back of the paper. Suddenly, however, one headline caught his attention. He leaned over it, his brow furrowing.

  Ministry Break-in Remains a Mystery

  LONDON: Last week’s burglary of the Ministry of Magic Headquarters leaves Aurors and officials alike baffled, as questions still surface about the burglars’ motives and the possibility of inside accomplices. As reported by this news organ early last week, three individuals of questionable backgrounds were arrested on the morning of Monday, August 31st, related to a break-in and ransacking of several departments of the Ministry of Magic. The three alleged burglars, two humans and a goblin, were found during a search of the surrounding area hours after the break-in was discovered.

  Upon the realization that the individuals had fallen under the Langlock jinx, rendering them incapable of responding to interrogation, all thr ee wer e sent under guard to St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. A search of the ransacked departments, which included the Department of International Magical Cooperation, the Currency Conversion Office, and the Department of Mysteries, however, revealed no apparently missing objects or moneys. The criminal charges were subsequently reduced to destruction of property and trespassing, and the story, while curious, was dismissed until late last week, when it became known that no amount of counter-curses or jinxes were having any effect on the Langlocked accused.

  “These are remarkably powerful curses, involving a not insubstantial degree of dark magic charm work,” said Dr. Horatio Flack, head of the counter-jinx facility at St. Mungo’s. “If we are unable to release the curse on these men by this weekend, I am afraid the spells may become permanent.”

  As it turns out, one of the accused, identified to this reporter as the goblin, a Mr. Fikklis Bistle of Sussex, did begin to respond to the counter-jinxes over the course of the weekend. “He was making sounds and grunts, getting rather close to actual words,” reported one of his nurses, who asked to remain anonymous. Shortly after dawn this morning, however, Mr. Bistle was found dead in his room, apparently the victim of a mislabeled medication. This has sparked a wide range of speculation, resulting in a renewed investigation into the break-in.

  Quorina Greene, lead investigator for the case, was quoted as saying, “We are now primarily concerned with ascertaining how, exactly, these three individuals were able to gain entry into Ministry of fices. These are small-time crooks, none having ever attempted something of this magnitude in the past. We cannot rule out the likelihood of outside help, or even a Ministry insider. The death of Mr. Bistle, however, while suspicious, is still being ruled as an accident. We can only be thankful,” Ms. Greene added, “that the thieves apparently failed in their efforts, seeing that nothing has apparently gone missing.”

  “Come on,” Zane whispered, startling James out of his reading. “I’m gonna sneak out early so I can get in some practice time on the broom. Want to come along? I could use a Potter for good luck.”

  James decided it would be good to swallow his pride and tag along with Zane. He even thought he might spend a little practice time on a broom himself. He folded the newspaper again and stuffed it into his backpack.

  “Think you can show me how to do that hard stop and spin I saw you pulling in Basic Broom class today?” James asked Zane as they pounded up the stairs to change out of their robes.

  “Sure, mate,” Zane agreed confidently. “Just don’t show it to Ralph until he can keep his broom under him while he’s floating still.”

  James felt an ugly pang at the mention of Ralph’s name, but he pushed it away. Minutes later, changed into jeans and tee shirts, the two of them ran exuberantly out into the sunlight of the afternoon, heading toward the Quidditch pitch.

  James spent the afternoon on the pitch with Zane, practicing his broom-handling a little, but mostly just watching the Ravenclaw and Gryffindor teams assemble and run drills. When Zane joined his team to grab some quick dinner and get into their gear, James accompanied Ted and the Gryffindors back to the common room as they changed and headed down to dinner themselves. The atmosphere before the first match of the season was always charged with excitement. The Great Hall was raucous with good-natured teasing, shouts and impromptu outbursts of House anthems. During dessert, Noah, Ted, Petra, and Sabrina, all dressed in their Quidditch jerseys, lined up along the front of the Gryffindor table, arms linked and grinning like they were about to perform a show tune. In unison, they stomped their feet on the stone floor, garnering the room’s attention, then launched into a roughly choreographed but enthusiastic Irish jig, singing a tune Damien had written for them earlier that day:

  Ohhh, we Gryffindors like

  to make jokes and have fun,

  But the Quidditch pitch with us

  will be overrun, And we hope that

  the Ravenclaws know that they’re done,

  When the lion team drops down

  on them like a ton.

  Ohhh, the game can be tough

  and the body checks harsh,

  And you might find your

  Seeker’s been tossed in the marsh,

  But we Gryffindors with our

  goodwill are not sparse,

  So we’ll warn you before

  we kick you in the—

  The last words were drowned out by the mingled roars and cheers of the Gryffindors and the boos and catcalls of the Ravenclaws. The Gremlins bowed deeply, grinning, obviously please
d with themselves, and then joined their teammates as they ran out to the Quidditch pitch for final preparations.

  The first and last matches of the Quidditch season, as James knew, were always the best attended. At the end of the year, during final tournaments, everyone knew that, whichever teams were playing, they’d be exciting matches. At the beginning of the year, though, people were excited and hopeful for their own House teams. Most matches saw the grandstands filled with students and teachers, decked out in their team colors and waving flags and banners. As James entered the pitch, he was delighted to see and hear the enthusiastic crowd. Students milled and shouted to each other as they filed into their seats. The teachers mostly sat at the tops of the sections dedicated to their houses. As James climbed the stairs into the Gryffindor section, he saw his dad seated near the press box, flanked by the Ministry officials on his right and the Alma Aleron delegation on his left. Harry saw James and waved him up, smiling broadly. As James reached him, Harry orchestrated a complicated rearrangement of the seating that, while only freeing a single seat for James, required nearly everyone in the group to move. James mumbled apologies, but didn’t really mind seeing the look of annoyance on Ms. Sacarhina’s face, masked thinly by her omnipresent plastic smile.