James Potter and the Curse of the Gatekeeper

by G. Norman Lippert

  There was a sudden jerk and the carriage rolled forward. James looked and saw the ghostly Thestral trotting ahead, pulling the carriage. He squinted at it, trying to see it more clearly.

  Damien leaned toward him and asked in a quiet voice, "So who died?"

  "What?" James blurted, turning to look at the bigger boy. He lowered his own voice and asked, "How'd you know?"

  "My aunt died when I was in my third year," Damien replied. "It was silly, really. Broom accident on her way back from visiting my grandparents. Mum warned her not to fly with a storm coming on, but Aunt Aggie always thought she was indestructible. She stayed alive in St. Mungo's long enough for us all to get there and see her. She died while I was there, in the room. When I came back the next year, I saw the Thestrals for the first time. I thought I was going daft until Noah pulled me aside and told me about them. He said that they become visible to anyone who has witnessed and accepted a death. So who died?"

  James sat back in his seat and took a deep breath. "My Granddad Weasley," he said in a soft voice. "He had a heart attack."

  Damien raised his eyebrows. "Old Arthur Weasley?"

  "You knew him?"

  "Well, not in person," he replied, "but he was the father-in-law of your dad, and let's face it, your dad's a celebrity. Besides, Arthur Weasley faced Voldy's snake, didn't he? Not bad for a Ministry quillpusher! Lots of people know about that. They say that it proves courage is more important than magic when it comes to the sticking point."

  James looked at Damien, surprised. "Do they really?"

  "Sure they do," Damien said. "I mean, the people who say that are also the kind of people who buy Hair-growth Charms and read The Quibbler, but still, yeah, they say it all right."

  James looked back out at the hazy shape of the Thestral. It trotted along, pulling the carriage easily despite the fact that it looked skinny enough to break in half.

  "Why is it only partly visible?" James finally asked.

  "Is it?" Damien leaned forward. "Looks solid enough to me."

  "I can see the street right through it," James said, shuddering.

  "Well, like I said," Damien replied, settling back in his seat as the great castle rose over the nearby trees, "the Thestrals become visible to anyone who has seen and accepted a death. It doesn't sound like you saw your granddad die with your own eyes like I did with my aunt, but he meant enough to you for it to mean the same thing."

  "We were waiting for him to come home," James replied hollowly. "We were just waiting for him to come through the Floo. Somebody did, but it wasn't Granddad. It was the messenger telling us he'd died."

  "So you went from believing he was right there with you, to the knowledge of his death, all in a matter of seconds," Damien said, nodding. "That was close enough to give you a half-look at the Thestrals. But I don't think that's all there is to it. Sounds like you haven't quite accepted it yet either, have you?"

  James sighed, not answering. Instead, he looked up at the sprawling, monstrous shape of the castle as it loomed ahead. Its myriad windows were lit against the misty, cloudy evening. James thought he could see the Gryffindor Tower, where his bed was waiting for him. It was nice to be back even if things did feel very different. It had felt that way ever since the funeral, just knowing that Granddad was no longer out there somewhere, like he'd always been. No, James realized, he hadn't accepted Granddad's death. Not yet. And what was more, he didn't want to. It didn't feel fair to Granddad. Accepting his death felt like giving up on him.

  For a moment, James wondered if Albus felt the same way, and then he remembered how Albus had attacked Scorpius in the corridor of the train, tackling him and yelling "Take it back! Take it back right now!" Albus hadn't accepted Granddad's death either. It just looked different in him, mainly because Albus had now found someone at whom to point his anger and grief. It probably wasn't the healthiest way to manage things, but James couldn't think of anything better. To be sure, Scorpius made it rather easy for Albus to hate him. James had grown up with Albus, and he knew just how passionate the boy could be. Thinking that, James didn't know whether to despise Scorpius or pity him.

  James marveled at time's ability to alter one's perception. Merely one year earlier, he had entered the Great Hall for the first time, filled with apprehension and worry. Now he threw himself happily into the noise of the gathered students, greeting friends he hadn't seen all summer and being welcomed into the hearty fracas of the Gryffindor table. The floating candles filled the hall with warmth and light, forming an exciting contrast against the sullen grey clouds represented on the room's ceiling. Peeves swooped randomly throughout the candles, blowing raspberries on the tiny flames in an effort to put them out, but they simply relit themselves with small pops as he passed. James sat down at the Gryffindor table and grabbed a handful of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans from a nearby bowl. Bravely, he popped one into his mouth without checking the color. A moment later, he screwed up his face, not quite daring to spit the candy out.

  "You'll want to be especially careful with those, James," a fellow second-year, Graham Warton, called. "Those were provided free of charge by your pals at Weasleys'. They partnered with Bertie Bott's for a whole new line of novelty flavors, and we get to be the test market."

  "What is it?" James managed to say, swallowing the horrid bean and grabbing a pitcher of pumpkin juice.

  "Judging by the color of your tongue, I'd say that one was Lemon-Lima-Bean," Graham said, squinting studiously. "There's also Mint-Chocolate-Chipmunk and Peanut-Pickle-Brittle."

  "Damien just ate one of the Steak-and-Kidney-Stone beans!" Noah Metzker called from the end of the table, pointing. "Everybody, duck! I think he's going to blow!"

  James couldn't help laughing as Damien struggled to swallow the bean. Petra pounded him gravely on the back until Damien shoved her away, lunging for his goblet.

  A hush rippled over the rowdy students and James looked up to see Merlin approach the huge podium on the hall's dais. He had donned a blazing red robe with a high golden collar, and James recognized it as Merlin's rather ancient version of a dress robe. The sleeves and collar of the robe were encrusted with braided scrollwork that glittered with actual gold and jewels. The giant man's beard glistened with oil and he carried his staff with him, knocking it pointedly on the floor as he approached. He was so tall that he made the podium appear small. He leaned over it slightly, his eyes unreadable as they roamed over the silenced assembly.

  "Greetings, students and faculty of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry," he said slowly, his deep voice echoing all round. "My name is Merlinus Ambrosius, and if you have somehow managed not to learn of it on the wizarding wireless or in the newspapers, I am the new Headmaster of this institution. As such, I will expect to hear no more of the rather distressing verbal tendency of this age to use my name as an oath or an expression of amazement. You should know that neither I nor my underpants find it the least bit amusing."

  James knew that the comment would have been funny if Merlin hadn't said it with such pointed gravity. He glared out at the assembly of students, daring anyone to so much as chuckle. Apparently satisfied, he straightened and smiled disarmingly.

  "Very well, then. As Headmaster, I succeed Madam Minerva McGonagall, who, as you can see, has deigned to remain at the school to serve as my advisor and to continue in her duties as Professor of Transfiguration."

  There was a burst of applause, which seemed to take Merlin off guard. He blinked out over the crowd, and then smiled slightly. The applause grew to a sustained ovation and Merlin stepped back from the podium, acknowledging the former Headmistress. On the floor before the podium, the first-years were lining up behind Professor Longbottom. James saw Albus and Rose, both of whom were looking around the room in awe. Rose glanced up at the dais just as the newly retitled Professor McGonagall pushed her chair back. She stood and raised one hand, smiling tightly. On the floor, Rose elbowed Albus and pointed.

  "Thank you," McGonagall called over the sound
of the applause, trying to drown it out. "Thank you, this is all very kind, but I know you all too well not to know that at least some of you are applauding my long-awaited departure for your own reasons entirely. Still, the sentiment is quite appreciated."

  Laughter rounded out the applause as Professor McGonagall settled back into her chair. Merlin approached the podium again.

  "Besides finding yourselves with a new Headmaster, those of you who are returning this year will find several more changes. Not the least of these is the installation of our new Wizard Literature professor, Juliet Knowles Revalvier, who is herself an accomplished writer, as many of you may know. Additionally, allow me to introduce to you your new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Kendrick Debellows."

  A wave of awed whispering filled the hall as a large man half-rose from his seat on the dais. He smiled a huge, winning smile and raised his hand. James remembered him from the train. He was the man who'd passed him and Albus when they'd been looking for the Borley. James hadn't recognized him then, but he did now. His hair was going grey and cut severely short, and he had gained rather a lot of weight in the years since his famous exploits as leader of the Harriers, the wizarding world's elite special forces squadron. Across the room, at the Slytherin table, James saw Ralph looking puzzled. His friend Trenton was leaning over to him, apparently explaining who Kendrick Debellows was. On the floor below the dais, James saw Scorpius Malfoy turn away, his face vaguely disgusted.

  "I've got a whole collection of Debellows action figures at home," James heard Noah whisper meaningfully. "I collected them when I was little. I used to sic them on Steven's cat until one of them nearly tied its tail in a knot."

  "I see many of you are familiar with Professor Debellows," Merlin commented from the podium. "I trust you will therefore find his classes interesting as well as challenging. And now I believe we will witness one of this school's longest and most important traditions: the Sorting of our newest students into their houses. Professor McGonagall, if you would do us the honors."

  Exactly as last year, a wooden stool had been placed on the dais. Atop it, the worn and ancient Sorting Hat sat, looking like nothing more than a dusty cast-off from a forgotten wardrobe. James knew that in his parents' day, and for centuries before, the Hat had sung a song prior to each year's Sorting. Last year, however, the Hat had not produced a song. James hadn't thought about it much; he'd merely assumed that after all those centuries the Hat deserved the occasional break. Now, the ancient Hat stirred on its stool, apparently preparing to sing. The fold that formed the mouth seemed to open, to take a deep breath, and then the Hat's high, lilting voice filled the waiting silence.

  "A thousand years and more have I resided at my post

  And watched the tide of years forever ebb upon my host Fair Hogwarts alters not despite the weight of ages raging

  For Hogwarts knows that time revolves, while she is only aging The rise of villains coincides, to keep the balance rightly

  With dawning heroes in whose eyes good justice blazes brightly In recent past, dread Voldemort rose up with might so scary

  That fate did send a hero boy, the orphan Potter, Harry And thus unveiled the drama of time's everlasting scheme

  The players change, the venues shift, but constant is the theme The root of evil always finds a new and fertile garden

  But valor's heart is ever strong to bring us fate's good pardon And this, you see, brings us to me, the Hat that does the Sorting,

  For 'tis my task to keep the balance right for evil thwarting For witnessed I the dawn of that long battle that endures

  And long as that old struggle lasts, my duty hope ensures

  I see the seed that guarantees the role of every student

  And place them best into the House that grows that seed most prudent In Hufflepuff, the seed of loyalty and diligence

  For Ravenclaw, the vine of knowledge grows with common sense Brave Gryffindor breeds valor and courageousness of heart

  And Slytherin gives those who love ambition their good start They go there hence into their House as sign of their vocation

  But many sense it gives a hint of deeper motivation

  Make no mistake, judge not the one upon their house of Sorting

  But always look instead to gauge the way of their comporting

  For good can come of any House, regardless of its banner

  And evil, too, can spread its leaves within the finest manor Beneath my brim now come and sit to hear my declaration

  But be assured, you bring along your heart's own inclination It matters not what happens while you sit upon this chair

  The true judge of your character is what's beneath your hair."

  As the Sorting Hat finished its song, the Hall erupted into applause. James grinned, craning to look across the room toward Ralph, who smiled back a little sheepishly. If anyone needed to hear the Hat's most recent song, it was Ralph, whose assignment to Slytherin had been a source of rather constant consternation during the previous year. As the applause died away, Professor McGonagall approached the Hat, producing a long parchment from her robes. She unrolled it and studied it through her tiny spectacles. She nodded to herself, lowered the parchment, and picked up the Sorting Hat by its tip.

  "Cameron Creevey," she announced loudly. "Please join me on the dais."

  A very small, very nervous-looking boy climbed the steps and clambered onto the stool. There's no way I looked that young and scared when I sat on that stool, James thought to himself, smiling. He remembered it very well: the voice of the magical Hat in his head considering him, debating which house would best suit him. It had been a close call. Moments before he'd climbed the dais, as then-Headmistress McGonagall had called his name, the Slytherin table had broken out in applause. A beautiful, albeit severe-looking, darkhaired girl named Tabitha Violetus Corsica had led the applause, and as James looked back on the memory, he thought for the first time that the Slytherins' applause had merely been a ruse, intended to sway him into accepting an assignment to Slytherin. As scared as he'd been, as worried as he'd been about the responsibility of following in his famous father's footsteps, James had almost fallen for it. For a fleeting moment, under the brim of the Sorting Hat, James had considered becoming a Slytherin, and the Hat had concurred. Only at the last second had James firmed his resolve, proving that he meant to be a Gryffindor, like his parents before him.

  "Gryffindor!" the Sorting Hat proclaimed. Professor McGonagall lifted the Hat from Creevey's head as the Gryffindor table exploded into cheers. Cameron Creevey grinned in obvious relief as he ran down the steps. He crammed into the front of the table, sitting between Damien and a seventh-year named Hugo Paulson.

  "Thomas Danforth," Professor McGonagall called, reading from her parchment. A moment later, the Ravenclaw table cheered as the bespectacled boy smiled sheepishly, joining his new housemates. As the Sorting continued, James glanced around the hall, picking out all the faces he knew. There was Victoire, sitting resplendently amidst her seventh-year Hufflepuff friends. Gennifer Tellus and Horace Birch whispered to each other at the end of the Ravenclaw table, and James remembered Zane telling him that they had begun seeing each other over the summer. Across the room, Tabitha Corsica sat smiling politely, her hands folded neatly on the table in front of her. On her left sat Philia Goyle, whose bricklike face was as expressionless as ever. Tom Squallus sat on Tabitha's right, his blonde hair combed neatly and his eyes almost unnaturally bright and alert. It almost looked like the trio of Slytherins were up to something, but James reminded himself that they always looked like that. They were probably just waiting for the Sorting of their new mate—

  "Scorpius Malfoy," Professor McGonagall called, lowering her parchment and glancing down at the remaining first-years. Scorpius curled the corner of his mouth as he turned. He climbed the steps and sat jauntily on the stool, one leg kicked out in front of him. The Hat threw his face into shadow as Professor McGonagall lowered it.

  Several seconds wen
t by. The room had become rather restless as the older students got bored with the ceremony, but they silenced again as the pause grew longer. The Hat sat perfectly still on Scorpius' head. Scorpius himself didn't move. James looked around, surprised at the delay. Everybody knew that the Malfoys were Slytherins. Their family was known to have been among Voldemort's strongest supporters. Lucius Malfoy, Scorpius' grandfather, was said to still be in hiding for crimes he'd committed as a Death Eater, although James' dad had denied it. "He just likes to believe he's the most wanted man in the wizarding world," Harry had chuckled to Ginny one morning over breakfast. "His worst punishment is living in a world where his idol is dead." Still, there couldn't be any question about a Malfoy's house, could there? They nearly defined what it was to be a Slytherin. Perhaps something was wrong with the Hat. James nudged Graham, who glanced at him and shrugged curiously.

  "Gryffindor!" the Sorting Hat suddenly sang out, pointing its peak at the ceiling.

  Complete, stunned silence filled the hall as the Hat was lifted from Scorpius' head. His chin drooped and he closed his eyes. After a long moment, he climbed off the stool and clumped slowly down the stairs. The Gryffindor table remained absolutely silent as Scorpius approached it. He passed the head of the table, where most of the newly named Gryffindors sat staring, wide-eyed. James watched as Scorpius stalked the entire length of the table, not raising his eyes. When he reached the end, he stopped for a moment, apparently unwilling to actually sit down. Finally, he slumped onto a bench on the end. He raised his eyes, and James saw that they were tinged with red. Scorpius glared at James. After a long moment, he pressed his lips together and turned his gaze to the front of the hall.

  "Albus Potter," McGonagall called into the silence. James couldn't help glancing aside at the Slytherin table. Tabitha wasn't rising to applaud this time. Strangely though, she was still smiling her polite smile, apparently completely unperturbed by Malfoy's Sorting.