The Curse of the GateKeeper (James Potter #2)

by G. Norman Lippert

  "It's a full moon, Rose. And Ted and I… we talked a lot. He told me about his… condition."

  Petra performed the same technique on James' scratches, which, she assured him, looked a lot worse than they were. Finally, Rose and Petra helped James and Ralph to their feet.

  "Where'd the wolf go?" Ralph asked, shaking. "Is it gone?"

  Petra nodded, looking back toward the forest. "He's gone."

  Rose gasped and covered her mouth with her hands. "What about Cameron?" she said through her fingers.

  A cursory search found Cameron lying on his face in the grass, the bag from the newsstand covering his head. He had a very large, muddy paw-print on his back but was otherwise completely unhurt.

  "What happened?" he asked woozily as they dragged him upright. "I think I fainted. Did I really faint? I missed the whole thing!"

  James sighed, finally feeling some pain in his chest as the wounds stiffened. "We'll tell you all about it later, Cam. Let's just get back to the castle."

  Limping and bloody, the group of five made their way through the gate, heading toward the welcome glow of the castle windows. After a minute, James trotted back, holding one hand over his chest. He looked around for a few moments, cursing under his breath. Finally, he found his wand in a tuft of grass. He tucked it into his jeans pocket and ran back, yelling for the rest to wait up.

  In the dark distance, somewhere between the gate and the village of Hogsmeade, a wolf howled a long, sorrowful note.

  16. Unexpected Confrontations

  Just as Cameron had feared, Professor McGonagall was awaiting the returning students. She sat in a portable chair with a cup of tea and her tartan shawl, a long parchment across her lap. Petra climbed the portico steps first. McGonagall looked up as Petra came into the light.

  "You're rather late, Miss Morganstern. Yours is the last name on my list. Perhaps you'd—" the professor's voice cut off as she saw the others climbing slowly up the steps. Her eyes widened, immediately taking in James' bloody shirt and Ralph's mangled wrist. She leapt up, spilling her tea.

  "Mr. Potter, Mr. Deedle, what in the world is the meaning…," she began, and then stopped herself. "Miss Morganstern, please collect Madam Curio from the Great Hall and ask her to meet us immediately in the hospital wing."

  "It was a—" Ralph began, holding his wrist in front of him.

  "Some sort of wild animal," Petra interrupted. "It came out of the woods while we were on our way back. It's all my fault, Professor. It probably smelled the half corned beef sandwich I was carrying home from Madam Puddifoot's. I should've known better."

  "We'll determine who should've known what later, Miss Morganstern," McGonagall huffed, herding the troop toward the hospital wing. "For now, please hurry! Madam Curio!"

  Madam Curio met them shortly after their arrival. She clucked her tongue as she gave James' chest a cursory look, and then turned to Ralph.

  "Miss Morganstern, you did a very satisfactory job halting the bleeding on these boys," she proclaimed in a businesslike manner. "Would you be so kind as to assist me? By the time my nurses arrive, we'll probably be finished. Hand me that bottle of Arthroset and that box of Dermamend bandages, please. And perhaps you'd be so kind as to clean Mr. Potter's wounds?"

  Petra scrubbed her hands and filled a basin. James hissed through his teeth as she began to gently sponge off his scratches.

  "You mustn't tell anyone about Ted," Petra whispered as she worked. "The world isn't a very forgiving place for werewolves, even half-werewolves like Ted."

  "I know," James answered quietly. "He told me about it last year. But he wasn't transforming then. He was just getting really restless and hungry around full moons."

  Petra nodded. "He still doesn't transform very much. He's only got half the blood of a werewolf. If he'd been a full werewolf, I'd never have been able to talk him out of attacking Ralph. He only looks fully lycanthrope because he's also a Metamorphmagus, like his mother."

  "You mean he purposely transforms himself to look like a wolf?"

  Petra shook her head, but more out of confusion than denial. "It's very complicated. I don't think he really means to. Usually, he can control it, but when a full moon comes, part of Ted really wants to change into a wolf even though his father's blood isn't enough to force the physical change. Since he's his mother's son though, he can transform himself. And the more upset he is, the harder it is for him to keep it under control."

  James sighed, and it hurt his chest. He was about to ask why Ted had only attacked Ralph, but he knew the answer already. Ted had made it very clear when James had talked to him earlier in the day. Ralph was a Dolohov, even if he hadn't formally taken the name, and it was a Dolohov who'd taken Ted's parents away from him. Quietly, James asked, "Do you think it was Ted that destroyed the tunnel entrance in the Shrieking Shack?"

  Petra shrugged slightly. "It might have been. He… he had reasons to be upset today. I'm afraid I reminded him of his loss, although it wasn't what I meant to do. I just needed to talk to him."

  James studied Petra's face, but he could tell that she wasn't going to say any more. Truthfully, James didn't want to talk about it any further. His forehead still throbbed worryingly, and what he wanted to do most of all was simply rest.

  Madam Curio insisted that James and Ralph spend the night in the hospital wing, sleeping on the wonderfully charmed beds. Neither boy minded, since it meant breakfast in bed the next morning. It also postponed the inevitable meeting with the Headmaster, whereupon they would have to explain their unsanctioned misadventure. James' chest had been bandaged rather densely, but he could tell that the werewolf's slashes were already healing swiftly. They itched as the skin knitted together. Living in the wizarding world was a remarkable thing, he thought. Nevertheless, despite all their magic and potions, he reminded himself that Grandfather Weasley had still died of a stupid heart attack. James would have gladly dealt with weeks of slow, painful healing if the alchemists who'd invented Dermamend Skin-Knitting Bandages had spent their time instead working on a magical cure for heart attacks.

  "What are we going to tell Merlin?" Ralph whispered to James the next morning as they ate their breakfasts in bed.

  James shook his head nervously. "The truth, I suppose. Except for the part about Ted. Like Petra said, as far as anyone else is concerned, we were attacked by some wild animal. That's all."

  Ralph shuddered. "I thought he was going to rip me to bits."

  "It sure looked like he wanted to," James admitted. "Ralph, Ted wasn't in his right mind. He was all wolfed out, half because of his dad's werewolf blood and half because of his mum's Metamorphmagus blood. I mean, like Petra said, he was still Ted inside, but without any of Ted's self-restraint. He wasn't really trying to kill you. He was trying to avenge his parents. You're just the closest thing he has to somebody to blame."

  "I know," Ralph answered sadly. "Really, I don't blame him. But still, does this mean I'm going to turn werewolf too?"

  "No," James replied. "Ted isn't werewolf enough to fully transform without using his Metamorphmagus abilities. He definitely isn't werewolf enough to spawn any more werewolves. You got off lucky."

  Ralph nodded thoughtfully. "Still, I think it'll be pretty awkward next time I see him. How do you get along with someone after they nearly ripped your arm off with their teeth?"

  "Deal with that when the time comes, Ralph. We've got enough to manage at the moment."

  Late that morning, Madam Curio pronounced James and Ralph fit to go back to their dorms, although they'd have to return the next day to have their bandages removed. No sooner had they left the hospital wing than they met Rose.

  "We've been summoned to the Headmaster's office," she said, her face very pale. "Right now. Come on."

  Silently, the three made their way through the castle, finally approaching the gargoyle that guarded the spiral staircase.

  "Password," the gargoyle said, as if bored.

  "Er, they just changed it," Rose said to James and
Ralph. "Professor Heretofore told me the new one when she told me we were summoned. Let me think. Oh yes… Caerth Hwynwerth."

  "Blimey," Ralph said as the three climbed onto the rising staircase. "I'd never remember that."

  Rose nodded gravely. "I guess that's the point."

  "Maybe it won't even be Merlin," James whispered hopefully. "He's been travelling all the time lately. Professor McGonagall's been filling in for him."

  Rose just looked at James, a little hopelessly. She rapped on the huge wooden door leading into the Headmaster's office.

  "Enter," a deep, rumbling voice answered. James and Ralph both gulped simultaneously. The door swung ponderously open, creaking slightly. James tensed, waiting for his phantom scar to burn, but it didn't, or at least not much. He resisted the urge to touch it. Merlin was seated at his massive desk. In front of him, sitting in the only chair, James was surprised to see Damien Damascus. Damien looked chastened and meek, but James couldn't be sure whether the look was sincere or an act.

  "Mr. Damascus and I have been discussing yesterday's unscheduled departure," Merlin said, leaning back in his chair and lacing his fingers together. "He has been so kind as to come to me of his own accord, claiming some degree of responsibility for your actions. Is it possible that you three will corroborate his tale?"

  "Er…," James began, looking from Merlin to Damien. "Er… yes?"

  Merlin nodded slowly. "Do go on, then. Tell me your version of the story, Mr. Potter."

  Merlin's eyes bored into James, and yet James couldn't recognize any specific malice in that gaze. James cleared his throat, glancing at Ralph and Rose for support. Rose nodded at him, eyes wide. James said, "Well, we just wanted to see Hogsmeade, sir. We knew we weren't of age to go on Hogsmeade weekends, but we didn't think… I mean…"

  "You didn't think that the rules applied to you," Merlin nodded. "That is the crux of your story, is it not, Mr. Potter?"

  James swallowed past a large lump in his throat. His face heated. "I… I guess so, sir."

  "Tell me," Merlin said, sitting forward again in his chair, "how did you manage to find your way to the village unseen?"

  James glanced at Damien again. Damien's face remained a mask of chaste repentance. Suddenly, James remembered what Damien's role in the Gremlins was; they had discussed it at the very beginning of term. Damien was the official Gremlins scapegoat. Up until now, James had not quite known what that meant. "Er… Damien showed us a way?" James said, still looking at Damien and frowning nervously. "He found the secret passage… er, right?"

  Merlin sighed. "Yes, that is the way Mr. Damascus tells it."

  Damien nodded miserably. "I teased them, sir. I told them they didn't have the guts to sneak into the village next Hogsmeade weekend. I simply wasn't thinking. I should've known they'd get caught. I should've known they'd get attacked by a wild, ferocious beast on the way back, all because of an innocent half corned beef sandwich! I am just sick with guilt!" Damien crumpled, burying his face in his hands and sobbing with woe.

  Merlin simply stared at Damien, his piercing eyes mild, his brow raised slightly. After a long moment, he returned his gaze to James.

  "Regardless of Mr. Damascus' purported challenges, the three of you should have known better. I am not inclined to go lightly on you. This sort of careless behavior cannot be tolerated in an institution that prides itself on order."

  Merlin looked down at his desk again, ticking his quill over some notes. James glanced at Ralph and Rose. They would certainly get points deducted from their houses, and while that was bad enough, it wasn't the end of the world. Damien looked at James sideways, still managing to look stricken with guilt.

  Without looking up, Merlin said, "Your punishment shall be the dissolution of your so-called Defence Club, effective immediately."

  James boggled at Merlin, his mouth dropping open. Rose spoke first.

  "You can't do that, sir!" she exclaimed. "That would be punishing all the members of the club as much as us!"

  "As I recall, you convinced a first-year member of that club to accompany you in yesterday's debauchery," Merlin said, glancing up sharply.

  "Cameron?" Ralph said. "He followed us! We tried to get rid of him!"

  "In either case, this does not incline me to trust your leadership abilities for such a club."

  James frowned angrily. "But it isn't fair to the rest of the club!"

  "'Fair' is a strange concept which this age seems to prize above all else," Merlin said, sighing. "In the age that I come from, a 'fair' was a place where farm animals and servants were bought and sold. You may choose to remember what the word means to me before bringing it up again."

  "But sir—" Rose began. Merlin silenced her with a raised hand.

  "That is my final word," he said flatly. "You may go. That includes you, Mr. Damascus."

  Rose turned away, and Ralph followed. Damien got up. He looked as if he wanted to say something to the Headmaster but then thought better of it. As he turned to leave, he gave James a warning look. Merlin watched James, his face inscrutable. Finally, James also turned around and walked toward the door.

  "James," a mild voice said from the rows of old headmasters' paintings. James glanced up. The portrait of Severus Snape was empty, but the portrait of Albus Dumbledore had raised its head. Dumbledore looked at James through his half-moon spectacles, smiling a small, curious smile. "Wait just a moment, if you would. I believe the Headmaster wishes to speak to you alone."

  The office door thunked as it closed, making James jump. He turned around and Merlin was right behind him, towering over him.

  "I've been meaning to have a little chat with you, my boy," the big man said, his voice low and dreadful. "Your friends may believe they know what is happening, but I suspect you agree that the main question exists between you… and me."

  James didn't know what to say. He stared up at Merlin's impassive face, his heart suddenly hammering. Merlin went on.

  "As you no doubt suspect, very little happens within these halls that I do not know about. You've been through the Amsera Certh, and I can only imagine that you've learned much about me and what has happened in this castle. Thus, you have me at a disadvantage, for while I have been to and fro throughout this new age, learning much and loving little, the one thing I cannot be sure of is your convictions and intent. You worry me, my boy, and that is no doubt. Not because I fear you, but because I fear what you might choose to believe. There is only one thing that keeps me from stopping you in your tracks this very instant. Would you like to know what it is?"

  The question was rhetorical. James didn't bother to answer.

  "It is this," Merlin rumbled, raising his hand and pointing directly at James' forehead. "Yes," he nodded, "I can see it. I know not from whence it comes, nor by what art it has been conjured. Perhaps it means you are my ally, strange as it may seem. But perhaps again, it marks you as my foe. It is that question and that question alone that stands between us, James Potter. That question, resting like a lever on the fulcrum of one very small stone. And do you know what that stone is?"

  James didn't. He started to shake his head, but then he remembered something. Perhaps it came to him directly from the Headmaster's eyes, since it was a memory of another time he and Merlin had stood like this, talking in private. It had been in the cave of Merlin's cache, after the test of the golden cord.

  "Trust," James said, his voice very dry. It sounded right. Merlin nodded slowly, meaningfully.

  "I will be watching, James Potter. As you know, I have eyes everywhere…" He looked aside, indicating the empty portrait of Severus Snape. "Trust only lasts until the final evidence is revealed. I will be watching… for that evidence."

  There was a soft click and the Headmaster's door creaked open. James glanced at it. He was dismissed, but he couldn't quite bring himself to go yet. He looked up at the Headmaster, steeling himself. "Is it true that you can't harm anyone inside these walls?"

  Merlin smiled very thinly at James. He
turned back toward his desk, gesturing toward the Amsera Certh, which sat in its frame, covered in the thick black cloth. "Ask Lord Hadyn," he said, crossing the room. Then, in a lower voice, he added, "Or Lady Judith."

  The black cloth suddenly flew off the Mirror, revealing the swirling mercury smoke. The smoke began to clear as the pages in the Focusing Book suddenly riffled of their own accord, flipping past as if in a hard wind.

  "Run, James," the portrait of Dumbledore whispered harshly. "You do not wish to see this. Run!"

  James turned as quickly as he could and bolted out the door. It slammed after him, shaking the hall. He stopped at the top of the spiral steps, panting and frightened. He was completely confused by the things Merlin had said. The Headmaster seemed to think James might be his enemy, and yet he wasn't sure. It was certainly a terrible thing to know that the only reason Merlin hadn't attacked him yet was because of the protection of the castle and the mysterious phantom scar on his forehead. Somehow, Merlin could see it, and he didn't know where it was coming from. But if Merlin wasn't causing it somehow, then who was? And what was it trying to tell him about the Headmaster?

  "James?" Rose's voice called up from the bottom of the spiral stairs. "What are you doing? What's taking you so long?"

  James glanced back at the Headmaster's closed door. He didn't know what it all meant, but he had a dreadful feeling that it was all going to become clear very soon. That fact alone scared him more than anything.

  Thinking that, he ran down the spiral steps to join his friends.

  That night, James sat at a table in the corner of the common room and took out a sheet of parchment. He dipped his quill, thought for a moment, and then began writing.

  Dear Dad, How's everything going at home? I hope Grandma is having fun staying in my room. Make sure she doesn't look under the bed because that's where me and Al hid all those Dogerpillars we found, and I don't think we ever got them all cleared out. Also, tell her not to look on the top shelf of the closet. In fact, if she stayed out of the closet altogether, everybody will probably be a lot happier.