The Curse of the GateKeeper (James Potter #2)

by G. Norman Lippert

  A few minutes later, the room was almost entirely empty. James blinked and looked around. He'd barely noticed everyone trickling away, heading outside into the blinding summer sun. Harry still sat next to him. James glanced up at him, studying his dad's face for a moment, and then lowered his eyes. Together, they stood and walked up the aisle.

  James had never been to a funeral before, but he'd heard about one. Albus' namesake, Dumbledore the Headmaster, had meant a terrible lot to his dad. He'd heard about how, at Dumbledore's funeral, Fawkes the phoenix had suddenly flown overhead and the tomb had briefly, gloriously, burst into flames. As James approached his granddad's casket, he wished something like that would happen. James hadn't known Dumbledore, but how could that old man have been nobler than his granddad? Why wouldn't something glorious and beautiful like that happen for Arthur Weasley? And yet, sadly, James knew it wouldn't.

  He climbed the steps to the casket and looked in. He couldn't have done it if his dad hadn't been there with him, with his big hand on James' shoulder. Granddad looked the same, but different. His face was wrong, somehow. James couldn't see specifically what it was, and then he realized: Granddad was just dead. That's all. Suddenly, shockingly, a memory leapt into James' head. In it, he saw Granddad sitting on a stool out in the old family garage, holding a much younger James on his knee, showing him a toy aeroplane. He held it up in front of young James' wondering eyes and made it fly back and forth over the workbench, imitating jet noises. James hadn't known it at the time, but he saw it now in his memory: Granddad was making the plane fly backwards, tail-first. He smiled down at the boy James, his eyes twinkling. "It's like a broom with a hundred Muggles in it," he said, chuckling. "You know, I've never actually seen one fly. I hope to someday, James, my boy. I truly do."

  James closed his eyes as hard as he could, but it was no use. He sobbed a great, dry sob and leaned on the edge of the casket. Harry Potter put an arm around his son's shoulder and held him tightly, rocking him slowly while he cried, hopelessly and helplessly, like the child that he still was.

  "It wasn't really his birthday, of course," Molly was saying to Audrey, Percy's wife, as they stood in the sunlight of the Burrow's backyard, punch glasses in their hands. "He was actually born in February. This was going to be his seventy-eighth-and-a-half birthday party, more or less. Why, it was the only way we could surprise him! Of course, I should've known that he'd find a way to have the last laugh, God bless him. Oh Audrey."

  James ladled himself a glass of punch and moved away from the table, not wishing to hear any more. Hagrid was seated rather uncomfortably on one of the tiny lawn chairs, pressing it into the ground.

  "I knew Arthur back when he was still in school, yeh know," Hagrid said to Andromeda Tonks, who was seated at the table with him. "Never knew of a gentler soul, did I. Always ready with a smile an' a story. An' sharp in 'is own way. Sharp as a talon."

  James slipped past as inconspicuously as possible. He loved Hagrid, but he felt weary and washed out from his tears back at the church. He didn't think he could bear hearing any stories about his granddad as a young man just now. It was too sad.

  He saw Rose, Albus, and Louis seated at one of the portable tables at the edge of the lawn and went to join them.

  "I hear Grandmother might sell the Burrow," Louis said as James pulled over a chair.

  "She can't do that," Rose said, shocked. "It's been the Weasley home since… since… well, since I don't know how long, but since before our parents were even born! It's like a part of the family!"

  Louis shrugged. "Dad says it's too big for her to manage all alone. I mean, the place is seven stories tall, not even counting the attic and the cellar. Besides, it takes a lot of magic just to keep the place upright. Now that the kids are all moved out, and Grandfather gone, it's just too much work for her all by herself."

  "It just doesn't seem right," Rose insisted, kicking the table leg. She glanced up, widening her eyes. "So why shouldn't somebody just move back in with her? George could bring Angelina here when they get married, couldn't he?"

  James glanced out over the yard at the knot of family and friends milling morosely in the sun. "George can't stay at the Burrow," he said. "He has the shops to run. Besides, Angelina's taking a tutoring job in Hogsmeade. They're looking at renting a flat just down the street from the shop."

  "I hear Ted is going to live in the upstairs part," Louis said, brightening. "He wants to try out for the National Quidditch Team, so George said he could live with them and work at the shop while he trains."

  "He can't be serious," Rose grimaced. "Ted's all right, but does he really think he can make the national team?"

  Louis shrugged again. "Mum says it's a mistake for George to take him in. She says that Ted just doesn't know what to do with himself and that he should just buck up and find some regular work."

  "Aunt Fleur thinks that about pretty much everybody," Rose commented.

  "Are you two looking forward to starting school next week?" James said before Louis could reply.

  "Is the main ingredient of Halflinger Root potion Halflinger Root?" Rose said, sitting up excitedly.

  James blinked. "I assume the answer to that is 'yes'."

  "The new Headmaster's made some changes since last year, you know," Louis pointed out. "No more sharing dorms between different years. Much more regulated class schedules. No more putting off secondary classes until your last year. He pretty much completely wiped out the changes made by that guy that was Headmaster before McGonagall. Tyram Wossname."

  "I kind of liked having some of the other years in my dorm last year," James muttered.

  "Yeah, well, Mum says it was Tyram's 'forward-thinking' business that led to the Progressive Element and all this reforming Voldemort rubbish," Louis said wisely, raising his eyebrows.

  James didn't have a response to that. He wasn't surprised in the least, however, that Merlin had made some very conscious choices to take Hogwarts back to its pre-battle standards and procedures.

  "What house do you think we'll get into, James?" Rose asked. "Dad thinks I'll be a Gryffindor, but what would you expect from him? Personally, I hope I get into Ravenclaw."

  "I haven't the faintest idea what houses you'll be sorted to," James said. "The Sorting Hat itself doesn't even seem to know until it sits on your head. I wouldn't be surprised if it takes one look at you and throws eleven O.W.L.s at you."

  Rose arranged the napkin on the table in front of her. "Just because I'm my mum's daughter, doesn't mean I'm some unnatural genius, you know."

  "No," Louis agreed. "But the fact that you've read the entire Encyclopaedia of Magical Poisons and Antidotes and can actually remember the exact page number for Barglenarf salve… does."

  "That didn't actually happen!" Rose insisted, her cheeks going red. "Mum's been telling that story for months and it's pure rot. She bought me those encyclopaedias for my tenth birthday, for Merlin's sake. The only reason I read them at all is because I wanted to learn how to make the Draught of… er…"

  Louis smiled politely and raised his eyebrows. "The Draught of…?"

  "Well, it hardly matters," Rose said stiffly, still fiddling with her napkin. "But I simply can't help it if I have a mind for details. Besides, it was just a cure for poison ivy. And I didn't remember the exact page. Just the chapter it was in."

  "Well, that's different, then," Louis replied sardonically.

  "Don't try that expression on me," Rose said, throwing the napkin at him and hitting him in the face. "Nobody does it like Aunt Fleur. She was practically born with that look on her face."

  "Well, I expect to get into Hufflepuff," Louis said, tossing the napkin back to Rose and trying to look composed. "It's the house most known for diligence and hard work. I plan to take school very seriously."

  Rose rolled her eyes and soundlessly mimicked Louis' words. James smiled.

  "What about you, Albus?" Louis said, nudging James' brother.

  Albus sat back and glanced around. "What's
it matter, really?"

  "What does it matter?" Louis repeated incredulously. "It's only the single most defining thing about your school life. I mean, what if you get sorted into the wrong house?"

  "And what house would that be?" Albus asked pointedly.

  "Well, I don't know," Louis answered, throwing up his hands. "It's different for everybody, isn't it?"

  "Albus Severus Potter," Rose said meaningfully. "Louis hasn't figured it out, yet. So much for diligence and hard work."

  Louis frowned at Rose. "I figured out Albus' full name quite a few years ago, thanks."

  "It's his initials, you git," Rose said primly. "A. S. P. An asp is a kind of snake."

  "So what's that supposed to mean, then?"

  "Albus is afraid he'll get sent to the Slytherins," James said, rolling his eyes. "It's been a bit of a family joke for some time. First Potter to go to the snakes."

  "Oh shut up, why don't you?" Albus said dourly.

  "What?" James replied. "It's possible, you know. I almost got sent there myself."

  "Yeah, that's what you keep saying," Albus said quietly. "But then, glory be, you ended up in Gryffindor. The first-born son of Harry Potter goes to his dear old dad's house. Who'd've thought it?"

  "It's true, Al. But come on, Slytherin can't be all that bad anymore," James reasoned. "Ralph's there, and he's all right. Maybe you can join forces with him and turn the old Slytherin legends inside out, eh?"

  Albus scowled, leaned forward, and rested his chin on his forearm.

  "Green really is your color, Albus," Rose said thoughtfully. "Goes with your eyes and your darker hair."

  "Yeah," Louis chimed in, "and I hear their dormitories have hot and cold running dragon's blood."

  Albus suddenly stood and skulked away from the table as the others watched. Rose glanced aside at Louis, one eyebrow raised.

  "What?" he said defensively. "It was the best thing I could think of. Hot and cold running… you know, they say Slytherin families hunt dragons." He rolled his eyes. "Never mind, it's probably over your head."

  "It's unwise to believe everything you hear," a voice said from directly behind them. James turned and looked up into the face of a man with pale skin and sharp features. A dark-haired woman stood next to him.

  The man smiled tightly. "Please forgive the interruption. I was about to ask if this was the correct home, but I see the evidence right here in front of me. I cannot but assume I am speaking to Mr. James Potter, yes?"

  James nodded, looking back and forth between the man and the dark-haired woman. They were both good-looking in a rather cold way, and both were dressed in very tasteful black. James was suddenly sure that if Zane, his American friend, were present, he'd make some comment about how brave it was for them to be out in the daylight, or how they managed to comb their hair so nicely, not being able to see themselves in mirrors. Needless to say, he was quite glad Zane wasn't present.

  "Perhaps," the man went on, "you'd be kind enough to direct me to your father, James. My name is—"

  "Draco?"

  James glanced aside and saw his mum approaching slowly. She looked at the newcomer with a mixture of disbelief and caution.

  "Ginny," the man said. There was a long, uncomfortable pause, and then the dark-haired woman spoke.

  "We're very sorry for your loss, Mrs. Potter." She tried to smile, but it was a rather strained attempt.

  "Does Harry know you're…," Ginny asked, still looking at the man.

  "I think he does now," Draco said, raising his chin slightly and glancing past Ginny.

  Harry stepped next to his wife and looked the pale man up and down.

  "It's good to see you, Draco."

  Draco nodded slowly, not quite making eye contact with Harry. "Yes, it has been quite a long time. When we heard about Mr. Weasley's passing, I thought it would be… appropriate… for us to offer our condolences."

  James recognized the pale man now, even though he'd never seen him in person. He compared this grown man to the few pictures he'd seen of the young Draco Malfoy. The eyes were the same, and so was the white-blonde hair combed back from the temples. There was still the trace of a sneer there too, just like in the old school photos, but as James looked, he thought the sneer was no longer particularly mean, or even conscious. Draco had simply been doing it for so long that it was now just part of the topography of his face.

  Harry studied Draco for a long moment, and then smiled. James recognized it as his dad's polite smile.

  "Thank you, Draco. Ginny and I appreciate it. We really do. This must be your wife?"

  Draco put an arm around the thin woman's waist. "Of course, I apologize. This is Astoria."

  Harry bowed and Ginny shook the woman's hand lightly.

  Ginny brightened and said, "Would you like to come up to the house for some refreshments?"

  Astoria half turned to Draco, raising her eyebrows.

  "I'll have some of whatever he's having," Draco said, glancing toward James and smiling a small, crooked smile. "Thank you, darling."

  Ginny led the way between the tables and Astoria followed, glancing back once toward Harry and Draco.

  "So how are things at Gringotts, Draco?" Harry asked, making no effort to lead the pale man into the throng gathered near the house. "I understand humans are almost unheard of in the bank offices, and yet here you are, vice chairman of something or other, or so I've heard. We'd have had a good laugh back in our school days if someone had told us you'd end up a big wheel at the wizarding bank of England."

  "Back in our school days," Draco said quietly, still not looking directly at Harry, "we'd have had a good laugh if someone had told us we'd someday stand in the same yard without pointing wands at each other."

  Harry's smile faded. "Yes," he admitted in a lower voice. "There is that."

  There was a long pause. James could hear the babble of subdued voices closer to the house and the twittering of birds in the orchard. He glanced over toward Rose, who was also watching the scene with rapt interest. She raised her eyebrows and shook her head minutely.

  "You know," Draco said in a different tone of voice, laughing a little humorlessly, "to tell you the truth, there isn't a single thing about the way life looks today that I would have predicted during our last years at Hogwarts."

  Harry's smile had gone entirely. He stood and watched the pale man, his eyes unreadable.

  "We are all taught things, growing up," Draco went on. "And rarely do we have the sheer audacity to question them. We grow to take the shape of whatever our families define for us. The weight of generations of belief presses down, and makes us in their image. And most of the time that is a good thing." Draco finally looked Harry in the eye, and for the first time since his arrival, the sneer was gone from his face. "Most of the time, it really is a good thing, Harry. But sometimes we grow up, time passes, and long, long after any hope of rejecting those defining beliefs, we look back. And we wonder."

  James looked from Draco to his dad. His dad's face was still unreadable. After a long moment, Harry glanced back toward the house and sighed.

  "Look, Draco, whatever you have to say, whatever you think needs to happen here…"

  Draco shook his head. "Nothing needs to happen here. I didn't come here to ask your forgiveness, Harry. I just came to tell you and your family that I am sorry for your loss. Despite what you might expect, I know Arthur Weasley was a strong man. He was an honorable man. My father wouldn't tend to agree with me, but it's like I said. We get older. Some of us look back, and wonder."

  Harry nodded slightly. "Thank you, Draco."

  Draco took a step closer to Harry. "There was one other reason I came today though. I think I should admit that to you. I came to prove something to myself."

  Harry didn't blink. "What were you hoping to prove?"

  Draco smiled a little, not taking his eyes from Harry's. "I wanted to prove to myself that I could come and speak to you. And more importantly, that you'd hear me."

  Draco
extended his right hand. Without looking down, Harry slowly shook it. James could hardly believe what he was seeing, knowing the history of these two men. It was hardly a tearful reconciliation, and James had the distinct impression that if Draco knew anyone in his family could see it, he'd never have done it. But it was amazing, nonetheless. The handshake was over in seconds, and less than five minutes later, both Draco and Astoria had left, driving away in their very large, very black automobile. But the image of that handshake, somehow both daring and vulnerable, tenuous as a soap bubble, stuck in James' mind for a long time.

  Most of the immediate family stayed over that night at the Burrow, and James felt a particular sadness in knowing it might be the last time the family gathered in the old home. A palpable sense of loss and coldness filled the rooms despite the bustle of evening activity. It was almost as if everyone was mentally throwing dustcovers over the furniture, taking down the pictures, and dividing up the dishes. James felt a vague, aimless anger about it. It was bad enough that Granddad had died. Now it seemed that the Burrow was dying too. Nothing felt normal or comfortable. Even the bedroom he'd shared with Albus and Lily for so many years seemed cold and empty. It had never once crossed his mind that this room might someday belong to someone else, someone he didn't know. Worse, what if the new owners simply tore down the house and built a new one? What if they were Muggles, who wouldn't know how to maintain such a place? He couldn't bear the thought. Angrily, he slammed the door and began to put on his pyjamas.

  "Hrmm!" Lily muttered, rolling over in her bed and covering her head with a pillow.

  "Never mind us," Albus griped from the big bed in the corner. "We're just trying to sleep. Let us know if we're bothering you."

  "Sorry," James muttered, plopping onto the bed and kicking off his shoes.