"Here they come," Rose said morosely.
James followed Rose's gaze and saw a cloud of dust approaching from the end of the drive.
The three stood and brushed themselves off as the vehicle neared. They walked slowly over to stand by their parents. Harry squinted and adjusted his glasses.
"They have a different car than the one they drove to the bank," he commented.
Ginny said, "You would notice that, Mr. Auror."
"Must be nice," Ron mumbled. "Buying a house and a new car all in the same week."
"Shh," Hermione said, but without much feeling.
Harry was frowning slightly. "That's not exactly a new car. In fact…" Suddenly, his face broke into a wondering grin. "I'll be a hinkypunk's uncle…"
"What?" Albus asked, standing on tiptoes and shielding his eyes from the sun.
James looked as well. As the vehicle rolled closer, he could see that it was certainly not a new car. It was, in fact, very old but carefully restored. It bounced and jogged on the uneven path, winking sunlight off its chrome bumper and huge windscreen.
"It's the Anglia!" Rose cried, jumping up and down, clapping her hands. "Granddad's Anglia! But how?"
Harry was shaking his head, smiling. Ron frowned, puzzled, as the car ground to a squeaky halt directly in front of them. The driver's door swung open and a large figure climbed out. James didn't recognize the man at first since he still wasn't accustomed to that suddenly aged face.
"Merlinus!" Hermione said, stepping forward to meet him. "What are you doing here? How did you get Arthur's automobile?"
"I am happy to say," Merlin replied, "that it came with the house. This is the correct address, is it not? I assume I'd not find the lot of you standing in front of anyone else's soon-to-be-reacquired home."
Ron laughed. "This is the place, I guess, but what do you mean? Where are the Templetons?"
"Happily negotiating the sale of a condominium in Kensington Knob, I believe," Merlin answered, carefully closing the door of the Anglia. "After the rather unseemly amount I paid them for this charming domicile, I suspect they were able to increase their home-buying budget rather a lot."
"You bought the Burrow?" James exclaimed, a grin spreading across his face.
"But why, Merlin?" Harry asked, shaking his head in wonderment.
Merlin looked surprised. "I would think the answer to that is quite obvious. I am still rather new to this age and in need of a home for myself. The offices at the school are quaint, but a wizard of my temperament desires room to spread out. I find this cottage to be perfectly suited to my needs, if perhaps a bit too large. That is why I was hoping I might persuade the previous owner to stay on, to keep me company and manage the place during the school terms."
"You want Grandma Weasley to come live here again?" Rose cried happily. "Hooray! That's wonderful!"
Ron asked, "Are you serious? You'd really want Mum to keep living here?"
Merlin nodded dismissively. "Perhaps she'd indulge me with a cup of tea now and then. I, on the other hand, can help her to magically support the place. Seems a fair trade, does it not?"
Hermione grinned happily. "You'd have to lock Molly in the attic to keep her from making tea for you. Really, Merlinus, this is more than we could have hoped for. But where did you get the money?"
Merlin narrowed his eyes conspiratorially. "Did you know that Gringotts bank is over twelve hundred years old? It's truly remarkable what a small investment can turn into over a thousand years. Let's just say that I will not be lacking for income for quite some time."
"You made a deposit before you zapped through time?" Ron exclaimed, his eyes going wide. "That's genius!"
"What fun is it being a sorcerer if you cannot manipulate temporal loopholes to your advantage?" Merlin agreed, matching Ron's grin.
"Let's go get Grandma and Lily!" Albus said excitedly. "Before she does anything stupid like renting some flat in the city! We can move her back in today, right? Right?"
"I don't see why not," Harry laughed. "If it's all right with Merlin."
"I'd not have it any other way," the big man replied. "In fact, we can take your grandfather's delightful vehicle. I believe we'll all fit inside if we don't mind getting rather close."
"The Anglia?" James asked as everyone began to clamber into the old car. "It'll take us forever to get into the city in that."
"I think you'll be surprised," Merlin answered, climbing into the driver's seat and smiling cryptically. "Hold on to something, everyone. This might be a little bumpy."
Carefully, Merlin pushed a large button on the car's dashboard. With a jerk and rattle, the huge canvas wings erupted from the car's sides, protruding from behind James' head where he sat in the backseat. Noisily, the wings began to flap up and down, assuming a steady rhythm.
"The wings work!" Albus laughed. "You got the wings working! Excellent!"
Slowly, accompanied by a rising cloud of windy dust, the car lifted off the drive. Ron whooped from the passenger's side window as Merlin steered the car in the air, aiming it toward the western horizon. To the sound of delighted laughter and Hermione's shriek of happy terror, Merlin stepped on the accelerator, pushing it to the floor. The wings buzzed, and the car nosed down, darting like a bumblebee over the yard of the Burrow and casting its shadow over the garage as it went.
For miles around, Muggle children looked up, wondering about the mysterious sound of laughter that passed quickly, fleetingly overhead.
The End
James Potter and the Curse of the Gatekeeper (the "Work") is Harry Potter series ("Series") fan fiction and was not created by Series author J.K. Rowling nor under her auspices. To the extent that trademarks of the Series (the "Proprietary Rights") are used in the Work, such use is incidental and not for purposes of source indication. Any such trademarks are and remain property of Ms. Rowling and her assigns. The author hereby disclaims any interest in said Proprietary Rights. The Work is © 2008 G. Norman Lippert.
More to Come (with your help)
Greetings, dear reader, and thanks for coming along for the ride thus far. I hope that you enjoyed "James Potter and the Curse of the Gatekeeper". These books have had quite a long and interesting story, most of which is detailed elsewhere, so I will suffice by offering a few quick words of thanks and offering you, the reader, some encouragement and a freebie. First, the thanks:
To Julianna So, who has edited nearly all of my books for the same reason that I wrote them: purely for love of the story; to my beta readers, particularly the endlessly encouraging, thoughtful and encouraging Hester, who is a big reason these stories exist at all; to Ms. Rowling and Warner Bros, who indulged my release of these stories despite the quirky troubles created for them when they were initially believed to be secretly responsible for them (a fact that I am still perversely proud of, despite the terror it instilled in me at the time); to my wife, who listens to everything I write as I write it and offers me that invaluable first reaction (not always positive); to Tom Grey and the longsuffering faithful who have been with me from the very beginning (I wish I could name you all!); to Dawn Bradley, who painstakingly created all the eBook versions of the JP books.
And now the freebie: before you hurry off to read "James Potter and the Vault of Destinies", allow me offer a little something of my own. As you know, I make no income from the release of James Potter books-- I am perfectly happy to write them purely out of affection for Ms. Rowling's Potter universe, and to share them for free with readers worldwide. However, it does take time and money for me to produce them. If you have enjoyed the stories thus far, allow me to humbly suggest a new story:
"Ruins of Camelot" is my second entirely original novel. It is a fantasy story, set at the end of the golden age of Camelot, and featuring appearances by a few familiar characters. In a sense, it is the ultimate prequel to the James Potter books, while still entirely new and original. If you enjoyed the JP story thus far, I suspect you will enjoy this tale as well (which I hope to develop in
to its own series). By purchasing it, you not only get a new story, you very kindly and actively support me, the author, as I work on the next JP book. It's a win-win, yes?
So. With that in mind, I hope you enjoy this little preview excerpt. If you like it, do consider procuring your own copy. It is available in paperback from amazon, as well as for your Kindle, Nook, iPad or iPhone.
Thanks for reading, and as always: onward and upward!
Ruins of Camelot (Excerpt)
The next day, Gabriella finally found Coalroot.
She had spent the morning (not that she could tell if it truly was morning or not) descending a long, straight shaft ever deeper into the earth. The walls of the tunnel had grown increasingly taller and narrower as she walked, so that she felt like a mouse crawling within the walls of a cottage. The air had become warmer as she progressed and was now quite hot. Sweat trickled into her eyes, and she swiped it away with the inside of her wrist.
There was light as well. Unlike every other glow that she had encountered in the caverns, however, this light was neither blue nor cold. It was a burnished red, growing gradually brighter as she progressed. The sparks of her torch streaked ahead, following the course of the tunnel as if in the teeth of a hard wind despite the perfect stillness of the air.
"Whatever you do," Gabriella repeated under her breath, "do not talk about treasure. That's the only rule. Do not so much as say the word. Can we do that, Featherbolt?"
Featherbolt stood on her shoulder, his feathers fluffed out in an effort to cool himself. His wing felt hot against her cheek.
"Get off," she whispered, flapping a hand at him. "You're making me even hotter."
The bird launched into the air and squawked in irritation. He circled her, apparently unwilling to get too far ahead.
A vertical bar of deep red became visible between the walls of the tunnel some unknown distance away. There was subtle motion within its depths, as though from a slowly shifting cloud.
"I think we are very nearly there," Gabriella said, swallowing. "According to Helena and Goodrik, Coalroot will tell us what we need to know. So long as we do not say the wrong thing."
The air had developed a whiff of sulphur. The goblinfire rippled and flared, leaping towards the reddish light ahead. The rift grew as they neared it.
There was a noise. Gabriella heard it and realised that it had been going on for some time just below the level of audibility. It was a dull rumble, a sort of groan, as if the earth itself were shifting very subtly around her.
Featherbolt landed upon her shoulder again. He clicked his beak and shivered his head violently, raising the tiny feathers of his forehead into hackles.
"I know," Gabriella replied nervously.
Finally, after what seemed like far too long a time, they reached the end of the tunnel. Beyond its high walls, red depths stirred massively, like storm clouds at sunset. The stench of sulphur was overwhelming. Gabriella stopped and drew a deep breath through her mouth. Then, steeling her nerve, she stepped out into the red light.
The cavern was monumental. Its floor was a shattered valley, broken and jagged, strewn with boulders. Smoke poured from the cracks, dimming the air, and yet red light filled the space, reaching even to the ragged cone of the ceiling hundreds of feet up.
In the centre of the space, dominating it, was a shape that Gabriella simply could not comprehend. It was something like a twisted tree, so enormous that it would have dwarfed the entire castle of Camelot. It was black as coal, wrinkled with deep crags, cracks, and fissures. Its branches jutted up and out in all directions, thick as highways and driven deep into the cavern's ceiling. Far below this, the tree's roots spread like rocky tentacles, laced with cracks. The cracks glowed orange, as if the core of each root was pure fire. Worst of all, the centre of the tree's trunk bore a gaping maw, burning bright red, as if lined with live coals. This was the source of the ruddy light that filled the cavern.
Featherbolt clung to Gabriella's shoulder, his talons scratching tightly on the edge of her armour. Slowly, staring wide-eyed up at the incredible shape, Gabriella walked out onto the broken plane of the floor.
GABRIELLA XAVIER.
The voice that spoke her name was not human. It was hardly even a voice. It seemed to be formed of the guttural rumblings of the earth itself, vibrating deep into her ears and thrumming in her bowels. It was simultaneously almost silent and massively deafening.
"Yes," she replied. Her own voice came out as a dry croak, but she could not seem to bring herself to speak any louder.
Gabriella Xavier… Xavier… Gabriella… avier… ella…
The voice rumbled onwards, breaking into echoes, dozens and hundreds of them. The echoes seemed to fade into great distance, and Gabriella had the eerie sense that they were being broadcast throughout every dark depth of the Barrens underground.
"Heh hee!" a much smaller voice suddenly called out. Coming on the heels of the diminishing monstrous echoes, this new voice was tiny and merry, like a jingle bell in the disastrous expanse of the cavern. Gabriella glanced around, seeking its source.
A small man was seated amongst the snaking roots of the tree shape. His back was bowed with age, and his bald head bobbled as he waved at her. Against all probability, he seemed to be sitting in an old rocking chair. He worked it gleefully, bobbing back and forth on its curved rails. Even through the distance, Gabriella could see that he was grinning at her merrily, beckoning her forwards.
"What in hell…," Gabriella muttered, her eyes still wide.
Carefully and warily, she began to move towards the wizened figure. It was slow work due to the disastrously broken floor and the rafts of noxious smoke that poured through the cracks. As she skirted these, Gabriella saw that the crevices glowed faintly in their depths, some as wide and deep as canyons. The rumble of the earth was still audible. She could feel it through the soles of her boots. Before her, the awful tree shape loomed ever larger. Waves of heat baked from its jagged surface, beating down on her. Featherbolt switched his head back and forth restlessly, still clinging to the lip of her breastplate.
"Hee hee! Come forth, Princess!" the tiny, old man called thinly, still waving. "Come and greet me. Let us speak! Oh my, yes." He cackled wheezily, gaily.
The floor around the snaking roots was shattered into sharp, uneven terraces, each one higher than the one before it. Gabriella climbed these cautiously as she neared the man. The enormous, black roots of the tree shape spread around her now, each one as charred and deeply cracked as embers. Where they sank into the ground, the rocks rippled with heat shimmers. The twisted trunk rose above her, scorched black and ribbed with deep, sharp crags.
"That's a girl," the old man laughed. His voice was nearly as cracked as the rocks around him. He smiled at her gummily, chewing his lips, but his eyes were brilliantly sharp, blue like the ice of a
winter millpond. "Come closer. Have a rest and visit awhile. Ask me your questions, Princess, and tell me your tales."
Gabriella was close enough to the old man now that he didn't have to raise his voice to speak. She neared him warily, and he simply looked up at her, his head bobbing on the stubbly stalk of his neck. He wore a rough, nondescript cowl, its hood pushed back between the knobs of his shoulders. Between his clasped hands was the head of a black cane apparently made of stone. Its tip was notched into the cracks before his bare feet. He rocked energetically, watching his visitor, apparently waiting for her to speak.
Gabriella studied him, frowning with consternation. Finally, she asked, "Are you… Coalroot?"
The old man grinned suddenly, stretching his wrinkled lips and showing his toothlessness. He rocked slightly faster. This, Gabriella figured, was answer enough.
"What was that voice I heard earlier? The one that sounded like the earth itself and spoke my name?"
"Hm-hmm!" the old man laughed secretively, his eyes dancing. He raised one hand and touched a finger to the side of his nose. He nodded and giggled.
Gabriella's frown
deepened. "I was sent here," she announced. "I was told that you could help me in my quest. Is this true?"
"Perhaps!" the old man replied, nodding. "It all depends, does it not?"
"On what does it depend?" Gabriella pressed evenly.
The old man's eyes cleared for a moment. "On whether you ask the right questions."
Gabriella drew a sigh. She didn't have time for riddles from demented, old men. She looked around the ruddy depths of the cavern.
"What is this place?" she asked, curiosity getting the better of her. "And who are you?"
"Ah-hah!" the old man brightened. "A question that I can answer! This is the restless grave of Chaorenvar, also known as Lord Vulcan, the undisputed ruler of the molten deep. These," the old man raised an arm, gesturing at the charred tree-shape overhead, "are his frozen bones!"
"Chaorenvar," Gabriella repeated slowly. "The ancient fire mountain?"
"Aye," the man rasped passionately, "ancient but never at rest. This cavern is the negative of the mountain peak that once framed him! Alas, the broken slopes of his mighty shoulders have fallen away, leaving only its shadow in this tomb of earth, but the bones of Chaorenvar's fiery core remain. Do not let his tree-like appearance fool you! His branches are the shafts that broke to the surface above, spilling rivers of rock. His roots are the conduits to the molten oceans of the earth's heart.
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