The Curse of the GateKeeper (James Potter #2)

by G. Norman Lippert

"Maybe the person in your dream is meant to be the host of the Gatekeeper," Ralph said, his eyes wide. "It almost sounds like Merlin, doesn't it? I mean, he ended up killing the woman he loved most in all the world. You said he left his own time because he couldn't bear to live in it anymore, knowing what he'd done, right? Maybe coming to this time isn't any better for him! Maybe he'd be happy to let the Gatekeeper destroy everything and everyone, even himself!"

  Rose nodded slowly. "It does certainly sound like what he might be feeling. The Gatekeeper's host doesn't have to be its Ambassador, but there's nothing that says it couldn't."

  James was thinking hard, trying to remember his dreams. He shook his head. "It's not Merlin, though, in my dream. I've never seen the person's face, but I'm sure it isn't him. It just feels all wrong. It's someone younger. And different. Definitely not Merlin."

  Rose gasped and covered her mouth with both hands, her eyes going wide. Ralph jumped at her sudden movement. "What?" he exclaimed.

  "The Bloodline!" Rose said in a very high voice. "They even mentioned it in that scene in the Mirror, at Tom Riddle's grave, don't you remember? The Gatekeeper went looking for the best host it could find, and sensed Voldemort's body. It knows almost nothing about humans, so it didn't realize Voldemort was dead until it got there. Then it made the statue talk, somehow tapping into the ghost of Voldemort. The statue told the Gatekeeper that there was another host for it, one with Voldemort's blood in its veins. Remember? It's obvious! The Gatekeeper's host is to be the Bloodline of Voldemort!"

  "But who is it?" Ralph asked. "We don't know that, so we're right back where we started."

  "We don't know it yet," Rose said, smiling a little nervously. "But we have a way of finding out." She looked at James.

  James pressed his lips together and sighed. "My phantom scar. But we don't even know where it's coming from or if we can trust it."

  Rose shrugged. "It's all we have. All we can do is hope it's not a trick of some kind. Pay attention to your dreams, James. They're probably our only clue. Maybe you'll finally get a good look at whoever it is and we'll learn who the Bloodline is."

  "And who the mysterious speaking voice is too," Ralph added meaningfully.

  "Yes, that too," Rose agreed. "Good point, Ralph. Maybe it's Merlin himself, don't you think?"

  Ralph heaved a great sigh. "I don't know. I hope not. But the alternative could be worse, couldn't it? I mean, a known enemy is better than an unknown one, right?"

  After lunch, James hurried across the castle to the amphitheater where Muggle Studies would be meeting for the rest of the term. When he got to the archway leading outside to the terraced seating, he was quite surprised to feel warm air despite the snowflakes which fell like a curtain over the distant hills.

  Damien Damascus met James near the base of the stage. "Fortunately," he said, smiling, "Curry isn't such a slave to doing things like the Muggles that she isn't willing to magic a little atmosphere for us to work in. Nice, eh? Now I just have to get the hang of this thing." He held up a hammer and studied it at arm's length. "It's a bit brutish, don't you think?"

  The atmosphere around the stage was indeed strangely pleasant. James took off his cloak and flung it over a seat in the front row. He looked up, smiling in wonderment. The sky was thick with grey clouds and drifting, skirling snowflakes, but the snow seemed to vanish as it fell into the air over the amphitheater. The light near the stage even seemed brighter, as if an errant sunbeam had simply bypassed the cloud cover and jumped directly into the bowl of the amphitheater. James remembered his Technomancy classes from last year, and knew that somewhere, strangely, a small, dark pocket of snow was falling on a warm, sunny hillside.

  "Ah, James," Curry cried, walking briskly across the stage. "My little Treus, you're here after all. I trust you have your script. Do join us. We're simply blocking out scenes for now, but it helps to have you read through the lines for timing purposes."

  As James read aloud through his lines and walked through act one with the rest of the actors, he found he was truly enjoying himself despite his earlier worries about Merlin and the Gatekeeper. It felt a little strange acting out the parts amidst the clatter and shouts of Jason Smith's hardworking stage crew. As James read through a scripted conversation with Noah Metzker as Donovan, Damien and three other crew members were raising a gigantic wooden mock-up of a castle wall, complete with a rampart, a turret, and a balcony. Their shouts and grunts of effort nearly drowned out James and Noah's words.

  As they moved over the stage, Curry followed them with a roll of thick yellow tape. Occasionally, she'd move James by the shoulders, positioning him on the stage.

  "Hit this mark when you read that line," she'd instruct him, bending down to tape an 'X' on the stage floor. "We'll arrange a spotlight for this position. Mr. Metzker, do go ahead, and make sure you don't turn your back on the audience."

  "But James is over there," Noah said, gesturing. "I'm supposed to be talking to him, aren't I?"

  "You are an actor, Mr. Metzker," Curry trilled. "You are speaking to the audience first and foremost."

  Noah frowned and looked out over the mostly empty seats. "But they aren't the ones threatening to run off with Astra, are they?"

  Curry sighed. "Just read the lines, Mr. Metzker. We'll work out who's running off with whom later."

  As they prepared to read through act two, James realized he'd been feeling a dull throb in his forehead. He reminded himself not to rub it, but it was definitely getting worse. He glanced out over the amphitheater seating, squinting through the glare of the spotlights. There, sitting near the back, almost lost in the shadows, was Merlin. James couldn't make out his face, but he could easily see the large man's shape. Merlin seemed to realize James was looking at him. He raised a hand and tapped his forehead slowly, as if he were making a sign. James' eyes widened, and then, suddenly, his forehead burned. It was as if a hot poker had been pressed to it. James squeezed his eyes shut, turning away.

  He bumped into someone, nearly knocking them over.

  "James? What is it?" Curry called out. "You nearly knocked your leading lady off the stage."

  James looked up, the pain in his forehead receding again. Petra was looking at him with a concerned expression. "Are you all right, James?"

  "It's just the lights," James lied. "They're pretty hot. I'm fine now." He tried to grin and shrug.

  Curry turned and began calling for the rest of the performers for the second act. Petra moved close to James and lowered her voice. "I know what you mean about the lights," she said, smiling. "These Muggle electric spotlights are like death rays, aren't they? Too bad we didn't have one to use with the Wocket last year."

  James grinned and flushed. "Yeah," he said, and then didn't know what else to say. "Er, do you know all your lines yet?"

  "Not at all," Petra admitted. "Frankly, I feel a little bad about getting the role. Poor Josephina's been forced to work in the costume shop. She can't sew at all either. They just have her ripping seams when the others make mistakes. I hear the Vertigo Hex is still so strong that she can't even climb stairs. She's moved into the hospital wing until they can figure out a way to get her up to her dorm."

  Petra's voice sounded concerned, but James saw that she was smiling a little. James realized it was a little funny. Josephina had been rather insufferable about getting the part of Astra, and James felt very strongly that Petra would play the part better anyway. He decided to say so to Petra.

  "It is a shame about Josephina, I suppose," he said, "but I'm really glad you got the part. I'd much rather play Treus for you than for her."

  "Places, everyone!" Curry called. "Mr. Potter, Miss Morganstern, this way please."

  Petra glanced away at the sound of Curry's voice. "Come, James," she said, striding away, "our public awaits."

  James felt himself blush. He watched Petra walk across the stage and then ran to catch up.

  "Are you sure you don't want to come to Dad's flat with me for the holiday?" Ralph asked Ja
mes and Rose as the three lurked around the halls late Saturday morning. "I came to your Christmas last year, so it'd be a fair trade. Dad's going to cook a goose and everything. Of course, there won't be any singing elf heads or Winkles and Augers or anything,"

  "That's all right, Ralph," James answered. "I rather prefer a Christmas without singing elf heads, actually. But really, I think it'd be best for us to stay here."

  "It's all right not to have magic for Christmas. There's no shame in your father being a Squib," Rose said, putting her hand on Ralph's shoulder, which was rather a reach for her. "He's quite an important man in the wizarding world these days. Head of Security and Precautionary Interference for Hogwarts, Diagon Alley, even Gringotts Bank, isn't he? Nobody else but him could do that since nobody else understands both Muggle electronics and magic like he does."

  "Yeah, I know," Ralph said, grinning sheepishly. "And he's really good at it. He's helping the Ministry develop a new kind of Disillusionment Charm that only works on Muggle global positioning devices. I mean, the greatest flaw in the regular Disillusionment Charm is that a GPS device doesn't have a brain to fool. He's calling the new spell an 'Artificial Stupidity Hex'. He used to work on artificial intelligence software, so he says this is the next logical step. Once the hex is in place, it makes any Muggle positioning device see detours, roadblocks, heavy traffic, even cyclones and floods around any magical place. That way, both the Muggles and their technology will find those magical places invisible."

  "That's brilliant," Rose said. "I mean, older generations of wizards never could have predicted the development of things like satellites and GPS devices and GameDecks with online chat capability. The wizarding world really needs a man like your dad to develop magical protections against things like that. He really was a godsend."

  "Still," Ralph said, his face falling a little, "Dad has taken his old name again. Dolohov. He says he isn't going to let the selfishness of his father rob him of his magical heritage, but I know a little bit about that heritage, and it isn't all that great."

  "You father's right," Rose said firmly. "You aren't responsible for anything your distant relatives did. I think it's very cool that your dad is changing the way people see the name Dolohov."

  Ralph shrugged. "He's not changing it for everyone. Lots of people still hate the Dolohov name. Some of them are right here in school. Everybody knows what happened here. I mean, my uncle killed Ted Lupin's dad right downstairs. The Dolohov name is the name of murderers and traitors."

  "It was awful that some of your family were so bad in the past," Rose replied, "but that was a long time ago. People shouldn't blame you for that."

  Ralph sighed. "I suppose not, but they do. And honestly, I can't blame them. It's why I still go by the name Deedle. I hate my own grandparents even though they're long dead. Dad remembers them, and he wants to believe they weren't as bad as they seem. He's sort of trapped between loving them and hating them. But what kind of parents abandon their kid because he's different? What kind of people make that kid swear to never seek them out, or even talk about them?"

  Rose didn't have an answer to that. The three wandered the halls aimlessly, passing tall windows, moving in and out of pools of cold winter sunlight. After a few minutes, James told Ralph and Rose about his conversation with Albus after the last Quidditch match.

  "He says he didn't take the Invisibility Cloak and the Marauder's Map?" Rose said. "Do you believe him?"

  James shrugged. "I don't know. He sure seemed honest about it. But he was really moody. Apparently he's pretty tight with Tabitha and her Fang and Talons cronies, and they've been telling him that I'm jealous of him, that I'm going to try to mess things up for him somehow."

  "And are you?" Ralph asked.

  "What?" James replied. "Oh yeah. I keep forgetting you're a Slytherin too. No, Ralph. I'm not jealous of Al, and I'm not going to try to sabotage him. I just don't want him to fall for any of Tabitha's lies. She's already got him convinced that she needs him because she's going through some mysterious personal tragedy."

  Rose arched her eyebrows. "Really? What tragedy?"

  "I don't know. She was all upset after the match, and not just because they lost."

  "She has been pretty ugly around the common room lately," Ralph said. "She's not been her normal polite, ice queen self at all. She's snapping at people a lot, and stalking around, or sitting all by herself in the corner, mooning over parchments and books. I've even seen her send Philia and Tom Squallus away. But she doesn't send Albus away. It looks a little odd, really. I mean, she's a seventh-year and a foot taller than him. Not a likely pair, if you ask me."

  "Curious," Rose said, narrowing her eyes. "I wonder what's going on with her."

  "But what about the Cloak and the map?" Ralph asked. "If Albus really doesn't have them, and you don't have them, James, then who does?"

  James slumped. "I don't know. Honestly, I don't care. Maybe Dad misplaced them somehow. Maybe Kreacher hid them away in his cupboard. He used to do that all the time at Grimmauld Place with all old Mrs. Black's stuff."

  "You should tell your mum to check there," Rose said.

  "It's not my problem, Rose," James snapped.

  "It's your problem if she keeps thinking you stole them," Rose replied smoothly. "But whatever suits you. Maybe you prefer letting everyone think you're a thief."

  The three stood by a window overlooking the courtyard. At the bottom of the main steps, Hagrid was loading trunks and bags onto a carriage, preparing to transport a group of students to the Hogwarts Express for their trip home. James sighed.

  "I'd better go pack," Ralph said. "Dad's picking me up at the station tonight. We're spending the night in Hogsmeade so he can meet with some storeowners there, and then we're going back to London tomorrow."

  "Sounds fun, Ralphinator," James said, trying to buck up a bit. "Have a good holiday. Stay out of the Shrieking Shack."

  "Count on it," Ralph agreed. "I avoid anything with the word 'shrieking' in it."

  13. Christmas at Hogwarts

  By the next day, the school had emptied almost entirely. The corridors seemed eerily dark and silent with most of the classrooms shut and locked. As James made his way to breakfast on Sunday morning, he saw Cedric Diggory's ghost at the end of a long hall. He seemed to be in conversation with the Grey Lady. Both were floating slowly down the hall away from him. James decided not to interrupt them. Was it possible that Cedric fancied the Grey Lady? She was pretty enough, in a ghostly way, and she didn't appear to be much older than Cedric in human terms. In another sense though, she was several centuries older than Cedric, but maybe that didn't matter in the ghostly realm. Either way, it was far too bizarre for James to think about. He continued on his way to breakfast, shaking his head.

  In the Great Hall, Rose was sitting at the Slytherin table with Albus. As James joined them, he heard them talking about the sale of the Burrow. It was a thoroughly depressing conversation, and James stayed out of it. Later, he suggested that the three of them go out and build snowmen in the courtyard. This was heartily agreed to, and the three spent the noon hours happily laughing and romping in the new snow. They succeeded in building a rather ridiculously large snowman, using their wands to levitate the enormous snowballs into position since they were far too heavy to lift. James and Rose attempted to levitate Albus himself up to the snowman's head to attach the carrot nose, but they were unable to keep him upright. Albus rolled over in the air until he was floating upside down. His hat fell off and plopped into the snow twelve feet below.

  "Don't drop me!" he yelled, flapping his arms like an awkward bird. On the ground, wands in hand, Rose and James laughed so hard that tears squeezed from their eyes and rolled down their red cheeks.

  "The carrot, Al!" Rose cried breathlessly. "Stick it in! What's the matter? Can't you fly?"

  "Give me a broom and I'll fly," Albus griped, kicking his legs to turn himself upright again. "Next time, you get carrot duty, Rosie."

  The three final
ly blundered inside as the sun lowered toward the horizon in a blaze of orange and pink. They left their snowy cloaks, hats, and gloves in a dripping trail as they made their way to the Great Hall for cocoas and afternoon snacks. James was glad of the break and the time to spend as a family. He purposely avoided talking about Merlin or the missing Invisibility Cloak and Marauder's Map.

  "We should do this again next year," Rose said, smiling over her cocoa, her cheeks red. "It's sort of fun having the place to ourselves. Next year, we can get Hugo and Lucy and everybody else to stay with us."

  "What about Louis?" Albus asked, smiling crookedly.

  "He can stay too, I suppose, just so long as he doesn't talk," Rose said magnanimously.

  "He probably wouldn't want to stay," James commented. "He went home this year with Victoire, you know. Of course, she wants to see Ted. Louis is just along for the ride."

  "Are they spending all their time out at the Burrow packing?" Rose asked.

  Albus shrugged morosely. "Packing's all done. Grandma Weasley managed that all by herself. I mean, how hard is packing for a witch like her? The big job is dividing everything up. Grandma and Granddad had an awful lot of stuff. And then there's the ghoul to take care of."

  "Who's getting that?" Rose asked, frowning a little distastefully. "It better not end up in my mum and dad's attic."

  "I bet it does," James replied, stirring his cocoa. "In fact, I bet your parents just move it into your room while you're at school. After all, it still looks quite a bit like Uncle Ron when he was our age. They may even like it better than you."

  Rose rolled her eyes. "You'll have to try harder than that to get a rise out of me, James Potter."

  "I bet it's in your room even now," Albus said thoughtfully, "wearing your make-up and trying on your knickers."

  Rose nearly knocked her cocoa over lunging for Albus. James and Albus hooted laughter, earning an annoyed look from a house-elf cleaning a nearby window.

  Time crept by surprisingly slowly as Christmas approached. James, Rose, and Albus spent the time playing Winkles and Augers in each other's common rooms, exploring the snow-covered grounds, and visiting Hagrid in his hut. Meals were taken in the company of the few remaining students and teachers, among whom were Fiera Hutchins, Hugo Paulson, and, to James' surprise, Josephina Bartlett, whose vertigo was only slightly better. She could manage sitting on a bench at the Ravenclaw table, although if she happened to drop a bread crust or a fork, she was completely unable to bend over to retrieve it. James felt a little sorry for her, but then he saw her yelling tersely at one of the house-elves to retrieve a new fork for her and determined that her arrogance and general insufferability had not been greatly affected by her predicament.