James Potter and the Hall of Elders' Crossing

by G. Norman Lippert

  He burst into the first classroom on his right, followed by a stream of confused, yelling students. The room was long and recessed. The students attending the class turned in their seats, seeking the source of the interruption.

  “Relatively normal, it seems, on the surface, at least,” Martin yelled over the growing din, scanning the room. “Students, textbooks, a teacher of some kind, who… who, who, whooo…”

  Again, Martin’s voice rose and he seemed to be losing control of it. His eyes boggled and he ran out of breath. His mouth continued to work, making hoarse raspy sounds. At the front of the class, the ghostly Professor Binns, whose grasp on the temporal realm was tentative at best, had not yet noticed the interruption. He droned on, his voice high and chiming, like wind in a bottle. The professor finally noticed the gasping form of Martin J. Prescott and stopped, frowning. “Who is this individual, might I ask?” Binns said, peering over his ghostly spectacles.

  Martin finally dragged a great gulp of air. “A ghooooossst!” he declared tremulously, pointing at Binns. He began to totter. Just as the students near the doorway were shoved roughly aside by the advancing figures of Professor Longbottom and Headmistress McGonagall, flanked by Ted and Sabrina, Martin fell over in a dead faint. He landed hard across two desks at the rear of the room. The students occupying the desks threw their hands up, lunging to get out of the way. A bottle of ink fell to the floor and shattered.

  Headmistress McGonagall approached the man swiftly and stopped a few feet away. “Can anyone please inform me who this man is,” she said in a strident voice, “and what he is doing fainting dead away in my school?”

  James Potter shouldered his way to the front of the crowd. He looked at the man collapsed across the desks. He sighed deeply and said, “I think I can, ma’am.”

  Fifteen minutes later, James, McGonagall, Neville Longbottom, and Benjamin Franklyn bustled into the Headmistress’ office, with Martin Prescott stumbling between them. Martin had regained consciousness halfway to the office, and had instantly shrieked in horror at the realization that he was being levitated along the corridor by Neville. Neville, in turn, had been so startled by Martin’s shriek that he’d nearly dropped him, but had recovered in time to lower the man fairly gently to the floor. Apart from James’ explanation that the intruder was the very same man he’d accidentally knocked through the stained-glass window and later seen on the Quidditch pitch, the trip to the Headmistress’ office had progressed with very little conversation. Once the door to her office had closed behind them, McGonagall spoke up.

  “I only want to know who you are, why you are here, and most importantly, how you managed to gain entry,” she said furiously, stalking behind her desk but remaining upright. “Once we have resolved that, you will be removed forthwith, and with nary a glimmer of any memory of what you have seen, I can promise you that. Now speak.”

  Martin swallowed and glanced around at the assembly. He saw James and grimaced, remembering the shattering glass and the sickly fall afterward. He took a deep breath. “First of all, my name is Martin J. Prescott. I work for a news program called Inside View. And second of all,” he said, returning his gaze to the Headmistress, “I have been injured upon these grounds. I don’t wish to make a legal matter of it, but you must be aware that it is entirely within my rights to pursue compensation for those injuries. And somehow, I don’t get the impression that this domicile is insured, exactly.”

  “How dare you?” McGonagall exclaimed, leaning over her desk and meeting Martin’s eyes. “You break into this castle, trespass where you have neither the right nor the understanding to carry yourself…” She shook her head, and then went on in a lower voice. “I will not be baited by threats. You are obviously of Muggle origin, so I will practice a modicum of patience with you. Answer my questions willingly or I will be more than happy to resort to more straightforward means of interrogation.”

  “Ah,” Martin said, trying to sound confident despite the fact that he was trembling visibly. “You must mean something along the lines of this.” He reached into his shirt pocket and produced a small vial. James recognized it as the one he had seen in this man’s hand when he’d encountered him in the Potions closet. “Yes. I see by your faces that you know what this is. Took me a time to figure it out. Veritaserum, indeed. I put two drops into a coworker’s tea and I couldn’t get him to shut up for an hour. I learned things about him I hope I live to forget, I’ll tell you.”

  “You tested an unknown potion on an unsuspecting person?” Franklyn interrupted.

  “Well, I had to know what it did, didn’t I? I figured two drops wouldn’t hurt anyone.” He shrugged and lifted the bottle again, looking at the light through it. “Truth serum. If it was dangerous, you’d hardly have kept it right there on the shelf where just anyone could get to it.”

  McGonagall’s face was white with fury. “In these halls, we rely on discipline and respect rather than cages and keys. Your friend is fortunate indeed that you didn’t happen upon a vial of Narglespike or tharff sap.”

  “Don’t try to intimidate me,” Martin said, obviously quite intimidated in spite of himself. “I just wanted to show you that I know your tricks. I’ve been watching and studying you for quite some time. You won’t be getting me to drink any of your potions or performing any brainwashing tricks on me. I’ll answer your questions, but only because I expect you to answer some of mine, as well.”

  Neville fingered his wand. “And why, pray tell, do you believe we won’t just bring in an Obliviator, have your mind wiped of all memory of this place, and drop you off at the nearest turnpike?”

  Martin tapped the tiny microphone clipped to his lapel. “This is why. My voice, and everything all of you are saying, is being sent through my phone to a computer at my office. Everything is being recorded. In a small town not three kilometers from here is a film crew and a group of experts in a variety of fields whom I have asked to assist me in my investigation--”

  “Investigation!” the Headmistress repeated incredulously. “Absolutely and unequivocally out of the question!”

  Martin overrode her. “One of those individuals is an agent of the British special police.”

  James felt a palpable silence descend over the room at the mention of the Muggle police. He knew from conversations he’d heard between his dad and other Ministry officials that it was one thing to Obliviate a single person or even a contained group, but things could get extremely complicated if any official Muggle investigative bureaus became involved.

  “It pays to be owed favors in high places,” Martin went on. “It took quite a lot to get a ranking agent out here, but I am confident that this is the sort of story one calls in large favors for. There is no official charge yet, of course. Merely curiosity, since there is no record of any establishment of this size in the area. The point is this: if they do not receive a phone call from me in the next two hours with directions for how to get their gear onto the grounds, they are to return immediately to the office, retrieve the recording of this conversation and everything that has occurred to me here so far, and broadcast it however they see fit. It may seem preposterous to most people, I grant. A school in a castle in the dead of nowhere teaching kids how to work real magic, wands and all. But your secret will be out, nevertheless. Your students may attend here, in this secret location, but they do sometimes go home, do they not? And I am willing to bet those homes are nowhere near as protected as this. There will be investigations. You will be revealed. One way or another.”

  Headmistress McGonagall’s face was as hard and white as a tombstone. She merely stared at the skinny man in the white shirt. Franklyn broke the silence.

  “My good sir, you cannot comprehend what you are asking.” He took off his glasses and stepped in front of Martin. “Your plan would undeniably result in the closing down of this school and possibly many others like it. All those present, and many, many more, would lose their livelihoods and educations. More importantly, what you are insisting upon is t
he re-introduction of the entire magical world into the world of Muggles, whether either is prepared for that or not. And to what end? Not for the betterment of mankind, I expect. No, I suspect that your aspirations are far more… myopic. Please, do think before you continue. There are forces at work here that you do not comprehend, although you may well be acting on behalf of some of them. I sense that you are not a bad man, or at least not yet a very bad man. Think, my friend, before you make a choice that will condemn you in the eyes of generations.”

  Martin listened to Franklyn’s words, and seemed to actually consider them. Then, as if snapping out of a daze, he said, “You’re Benjamin Franklin, aren’t you?” He grinned and waggled a finger at Franklyn. “I knew you looked familiar! That’s amazing. Look, I know you’re not in a position to discuss this right now, but I have two words for you: exclusive… interview. Think about it, right?”

  “Mr. Prescott,” the Headmistress said, her voice stony. “You cannot expect us to make a decision regarding this in a matter of minutes. We simply must discuss this.”

  “Indeed,” Neville added. “Even if we do agree to your conditions, you must conduct yourself upon our terms. How that can be of any benefit to us considering the sheer magnitude of what you are undertaking, I do not yet know. But regardless, we must have some time.”

  “As I said,” Martin replied, seeming far more comfortable now that he believed he had the upper hand, “you have two hours. Well, ninety-four minutes, actually.”

  “Answer me this, Mr. Prescott,” Franklyn said, sighing. “How did you get onto the school grounds? Before we go any further with this charade, we must know that.”

  Martin sighed lightly. “Got a chair? It’s rather a story.”

  Neville pointedly produced his wand. Never taking his eyes off Martin, he pointed the wand at a wooden chair in the corner and levitated it rather brusquely. The chair shot forward, nearly scooping Martin off his feet. The man plopped gracelessly onto the seat and the chair thunked to the floor.

  “Do continue,” Neville said, half sitting on a corner of the Headmistress’ desk. McGonagall settled into her chair, but remained ramrod straight. Franklyn and James continued to stand.

  “Well, I first got the letter telling me about this place in September of last year,” Martin said, leaning forward and rubbing his backside while staring angrily at Neville. “The View offers a hundred thousand pounds reward for proof of paranormal activity, and the gentleman that wrote the letter seemed to think that this Hogwarts place would offer such proof in spades. Honestly, we get thousands of letters a year from people hoping to collect the reward. They include everything from blurry pictures of tossed pie plates to actual slices of toast with the faces of saints burned onto them. The View never actually had any plans to reward the money. They like a nice dash of the inexplicable in the news from time to time, but when it comes to belief, most of them are the most cynical bunch of hardheads imaginable.

  “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.