The Curse of the GateKeeper (James Potter #2)

by G. Norman Lippert

"You'll have to ask Gennifer, Cam. I don't have the foggiest notion. Looks fine to me like it is."

  "Gennifer's busy in the girls' changing room," Cameron fretted. "I just don't want to look like an idiot in front of everybody!"

  Noah called over from the three-way mirror, "Honestly, I think you have it upside down, Cameron. Try flipping it over."

  James stopped Cameron as the boy scrambled to invert his hat. "He's winding you up, Cam. Leave it alone."

  "And you've got your cummerbund on all wrong," Noah added. "You're supposed to wear it over your bum like a diaper. See how Graham's wearing his?"

  James rolled his eyes and took advantage of the overall confusion to slip past Cameron. Sure enough, he found his costume hung on a hook next to his locker. His name had been pinned to the front on a piece of parchment. The curtain wasn't scheduled to go up for nearly an hour, but James couldn't help feeling that he needed to hurry. He was buttoning the last of the many buttons of his vest when a voice spoke directly behind him, startling him badly.

  "Hiya, James!" Zane chirped. "Can you give me a quick boost here?"

  James turned, exasperated and bemused. "Zane! You have to stop popping up like that!" Impatiently, James produced his wand and shot a quick Stinging Hex at the blonde boy, who yelped in pain and dropped the huge bouquet of flowers he'd been holding.

  "Yow!" Zane cried, clutching his bottom. "That really smarts! What was that for?"

  "Zane?" James said, reaching out to touch his friend. "It's really you? I thought you were another mad Doppelganger message! What are you doing here?"

  "Well, I was trying to reach that vase on the shelf there," Zane said, rolling his eyes. "But now I'm thinking I'll just leave this good luck bouquet right there on the floor, what do you say?"

  "It really is you!" James said, struggling not to laugh. "I'm really sorry, mate! I thought you needed a magical boost like the other times. I really didn't mean to Sting you in the… but how'd you get here?"

  Zane shrugged and grinned. "I got out of school day before yesterday. When I talked to your mum over the holidays, she asked if I'd like to ride along with them to see your big performance. How could I turn it down? My parents agreed and I rode the Floo Network over to your place in London first thing this morning. How 'bout them apples?"

  "That's excellent!" James exclaimed. "How long are you here for?"

  "Rest of the week, if it's all right with old Merlin Magicpants. You two still on the outs?"

  James opened his mouth to explain, then shook his head. "I don't know. It's complicated. Ask me after the show, all right?"

  "You got it," Zane nodded. "I better get back out front. Your mum is saving me a place, but it's going to be standing room only, and some of those parents can get pretty cutthroat about seats. By the way, it's probably best if you don't get too close to the red flowers with the yellow tips. Those came from George, and he was grinning an awful lot about 'em."

  James nodded seriously, glancing down at the bouquet on the floor. "Understood, thanks."

  Damien Damascus pressed toward the boys, a prop sheep under one arm.

  "James, come on!" he called. "Gennifer's going to have twin hinkypunks if you aren't wearing a goatee in five minutes. Hey, Zane, need a zap?"

  "Nope, I'm good for the night," Zane said, patting his backside. "See you at the party, you guys!"

  James scrambled after Damien, struggling to button the last of his buttons and already hot in his tights and waistcoat. After a moment, he stopped, ran back, and grabbed the enormous prop sword and scabbard. Clanking, he trotted to make-up, his stage fright mostly forgotten in the rush of simply getting ready and his happiness at seeing his friend.

  Gennifer was holding James' goatee in her hands as he ran up and plopped into a chair.

  "Honestly," she said, swabbing the beard with a foul-smelling, yellowish glue, "for the amount of trouble Muggles have to go through to put on a show like this, I'm surprised they do it at all."

  "Maybe that's why they watch so much telly," Victoire commented from a nearby chair. "My mum says Muggle children spend more time in front of the telly than they do asleep."

  Damien was still standing nearby. He sniffed, "But not as much time as Victoire spends in front of the mirror every day, so that's all right, then."

  Victoire scoffed, ignoring the laughter that followed.

  Five minutes later, James stood offstage alongside Petra, who looked beautiful, if a bit overstuffed, in her huge pink dress and curls. James peered carefully around the edge of the curtain. The amphitheater was indeed almost full, with loads more people still filing in, seeking seats, and babbling enthusiastically. James scanned the crowd, finally finding his mum in the middle section, ten rows back. Aunt Hermione and Uncle Ron sat on her right, apparently arguing over who was going to handle the Omnioculars. Ted Lupin sat next to Ron. He'd shortened his hair again, although it was still longer than it had been when he'd been in school last year. He looked much better than the last time James had seen him, although still slightly bedraggled. On Ginny's left, Lily sat up straight in her good yellow dress. She spied James and grinned, waving excitedly. James smiled back at her and waved surreptitiously, trying not to attract anyone else's attention. He placed a finger to his lips in a shushing gesture, and she nodded, pretending to zip her lips. As James watched, Zane sidled past a group of annoyed parents, heading toward the empty seat between George and Lily. Satisfied, James turned back to Petra and the assembling actors. Nearby, Scorpius was dressed in a soldier's outfit similar to James'. He didn't seem to be enjoying it.

  "Nervous?" Petra asked quietly.

  "Yeah," James nodded, "but excited, too. You?"

  Petra turned to look out at the dark stage behind the curtain. She shook her head slowly. "Not any more. It'll all be over tonight, no matter what."

  Jason Smith trotted out of the backstage darkness, his wand lit. "Anybody seen Corsica?" he whispered harshly, looking from face to face.

  James shook his head. "She's not out front? She's supposed to be managing the ushers."

  "None of you?" Jason asked, dismissing James. "Bloody hell."

  As he stalked away again, muttering under his breath, Henrietta Littleby shrugged. "I saw her an hour ago, but that was before any of us were supposed to be here. I guess that doesn't count, does it?"

  "Where was she?" James asked, turning to Henrietta.

  "She was in the second-floor girls' bathroom," Henrietta replied. "I didn't hang around in there when I saw her. She gives me the heebies, she does."

  James frowned, thinking.

  Henrietta, whose reputation as a gossip was well-known, went on, "Strange thing was she wasn't really using the bathroom. At least not the way one normally uses it. She was just standing there looking at herself in one of the mirrors, talking. The first thing I thought was that she was practicing her lines, but then I remembered she doesn't have any lines, does she? She's the assistant director." Henrietta giggled.

  "She was talking to herself?" James asked curiously. "What was she saying?"

  Henrietta blinked at him. "How should I know? I didn't hang about long enough to notice. But it sounded kind of foreign now that I think about it. How weird is that? Pretty weird, if you ask me."

  "Yeah," James nodded thoughtfully. "Weird."

  Standing nearby, Scorpius narrowed his eyes.

  "Places, everyone!" Curry suddenly rasped, approaching the gaggle of costumed students and making shooing motions. "Behind the curtain! Come now, it's almost time!"

  James followed Petra as she ducked behind the curtain, moving to her opening mark. James found the little taped 'X' on the floor, marking his position for the beginning of act one. His heart was pounding, but he was no longer nervous. Somehow, he'd left his stage fright backstage. Now that he was standing up front, waiting for the curtain to rise, he simply felt excitement. It thrummed in his arms and legs like magic, and in that moment, he thought he understood why even Muggles went to all the trouble to put on produc
tions like this. One could come to love this feeling if they weren't careful. He gulped and looked aside. Petra saw him and smiled a crooked smile, nodding once. Across the stage, Noah and the rest of the actors shuffled nervously into place, lost in semi-darkness behind the huge, thick curtain. Through it, James could still hear the babble of hundreds of voices. Then, finally, there was the clack of Professor Curry's heels crossing the stage on the other side of the curtain. A spotlight clicked on, framing her; James could see her shadow on the backside of the curtains, caged in the center of a perfect circle of light. The crowd fell silent and a round of polite applause wafted into the air. It sounded eerily close. Curry held up her hands and nodded.

  "Thank you, ladies and gentlemen," she said loudly and clearly, not using her wand to amplify her voice, "and thank you as well for being here tonight. I know that many of you have come from quite far away, and on behalf of the students who've worked so hard to prepare tonight's production, many thanks indeed. My name is Tina Grenadine Curry, and as many of you know, I am Hogwarts' Professor of Muggle Studies. I believe tonight's presentation will be particularly interesting, not only because this is such a classic tale of the wizarding world, but because, as a term-long exercise for my Muggle Studies class, this production shall be presented in an entirely non-magical fashion. As such, prepare to be amazed, amused, and delighted, my friends, by the extremely creative and unconventional methods we've implemented to portray this beloved story. And now, ladies and gentlemen, without further ado, may I present your sons and daughters, brothers and sisters, friends and family, as they depict for you this Hogwarts Muggle Studies rendition of… The Triumvirate!"

  Applause rang out again, deafeningly this time, as Damien Damascus and Ralph began to hoist the curtains. Jerkily, the red velvet rose, and as it did, the applause grew louder. Spotlights came on, picking out the revealed stage elements. One of them glared on James, blinding him temporarily and hiding the audience. He struggled not to squint, remaining perfectly still until the curtain was entirely raised. And then, finally, as the applause diminished into silence, the scene on the stage launched into motion. Everyone moved at once, bustling and passing one another, forming a passable representation of a busy medieval square. And then, exactly as planned, Noah's voice cried out, articulating his lines with meticulous care and volume.

  "Tis fine a day t' appraise the troops, my king," he blared, stalking across the stage next to Tom Squallus, who had a pillow stuffed into his vest, creating a fat belly over his skinny legs.

  "Indeed," Squallus bellowed, turning and jamming his hands onto his hips. "And more the better time to ease my daughter's wonderment for the peasant life. But look, my Astra comes!"

  And Petra moved into view, stepping out from behind a painted wooden rampart and into the light of a gold-tinted spotlight. James didn't have to act as if he was astonished at how beautiful she looked. She smiled fleetingly at the fat king, and then turned to James, allowing her smile to grow more genuine. The crowd tittered and began to applaud again. Many of them knew this scene well, and knew its significance; this was the moment that the princess first spied the army captain with whom she'd soon fall in love. James, on his cue, stepped out of the line of soldiers and bowed over one outstretched leg, doffing his cap grandly. The applause was delighted and amused, and James suddenly decided that acting was a lot easier than he had expected.

  Act one proceeded with nearly effortless speed and ease. James found his lines coming easily to his tongue, and he pronounced them loudly and carefully, always being aware to face the audience and keep his chin up. During Donovan's famous address to the troops, James allowed his eye to wander out over the crowd. He could barely see through the glare of the spotlights, but he could just make out the delighted smile and straight posture of his mum, the grim concentration of Lily as she tried to follow the story, and the crooked half-frown of Zane.

  During the scene change for act two, James was hastily stripped of his waistcoat and given a sailor's kerchief. As he moved onstage, preparing to give his rousing—and very well-known—rallying speech, he saw Graham and Jason Smith manning the treadles of the wind machine. He launched into the speech, trying to summon the same anger and determination he'd felt when auditioning for the part early in the term.

  "Wizards and men, forth draw ye wands and wits," he cried, unbuckling his scabbard and letting it fall to the floor. He produced the oversized prop wand and raised it. "To fight the violent seas this night, that by the morn we'll hold our win, or lie in beds of ocean sand: our beaten glory's shrine!"

  Just offstage, Graham and Jason treadled furiously as the crowd burst into applause and even a few hoots and whistles. The prop sail flapped in the increasing mechanical wind as if in the teeth of an oncoming storm, and the enormous painted backdrop trundled aside, revealing an angry cloudscape painted with blues and purples.

  The presentation marched on with its own strange inertia, bowling over the myriad little bumbles, forgotten lines, and missed cues that Professor Curry had promised would happen—and assured them the audience would barely notice. Graham appeared onstage for his scene, his face beet red and his eyes as round as plates. He'd been so worried about missing the cue for his only line that he interrupted the line before it, answering the question that hadn't even been asked yet. Tom Squallus sputtered, trying to make sense of his own scripted response, as Graham grinned in relief, looking out at the audience and struggling not to wave at his parents. A bit later, Ashley Doone performed such an enthusiastic presentation of the Marsh Hag that James heard children crying in the audience. And then, during the magical sword fight between Treus and Donovan, which was performed in midair while suspended from a complicated system of ropes and pulleys, James' sword was accidentally knocked from his hand during a particularly enthusiastic parry. It clanked to the floor and both James and Noah stared down at it dumbly for a moment. Then James, in a fit of inspiration, furiously unbuckled his scabbard and waved it triumphantly over his head. Noah grinned and they finished the swordfight clanging sword to scabbard as the crowd laughed and cheered.

  Finally, the climactic finale of act three was upon them. The king was dead, Donovan was defeated, and Treus, mortally wounded but clinging to life, had rescued Astra from the vengeful sleeping potion of the Marsh Hag. The castle had been struck by lightning and was crumbling into flames as a magical storm beat upon it, and James felt pretty sure that he knew now why this story was known as a tragedy. He limped across the stage, leading Petra toward the huge prop gate. The gate shook back and forth as Ralph and Sabrina stood behind it, rocking it with all their strength. Jason and Graham had once again manned the wind machine, billowing the castle's banners with a good imitation of a magical gale; swinging orange spotlights mimed the effect of raging flames and lightning. James stumbled dramatically as he led his beloved Astra toward the gate.

  "Advance! We're nearly free," Petra cried, dropping to one knee next to James, as if imploring him. "The castle's doomed, but hope prevails! O Treus, curse it not!"

  James was sweating under his costume, and it gave his face a fittingly dramatic sheen in the flashing lights. He smiled weakly at Petra and reached for her face. "I curse not hope," he said, and then coughed. "I've braved the tempest's watery wrath and fell that sorc'rer's might. I've cursed them all to gaze upon your loving face, but hope? What life I've left, I live in barricades of hope. Though God Himself may shake this world to fall upon itself, my love and hope remain. Depart my dear and leave me now: I walk to death in peace!"

  "Pray no, beloved!" Petra cried, and even James was impressed by the mixture of anger and desperation she put into those three words. "For months and years I've longed for thee alone: my dreams, the home of thy desperate love! I'll not depart my place at body's side, lest unrequited dreams shall crush my soul!"

  "Then give me now a testament to love," James said firmly, struggling to his feet and pulling Petra with him. "A kiss to cure the pains of death, this one to stand for all!"


  Petra hesitated, her eyes shining with emotion, and James was impressed with her acting. For a fleeting moment, he was quite glad that they had never rehearsed this scene together, for he felt sure that the spontaneous chemistry of this moment could only happen once. Petra leaned toward him, still holding his right hand. She closed her eyes as the lights began to dim and the wind machine cranked up to full power, streaming through her long hair. And then, as James closed his eyes, not even remembering to miss Petra's lips, a bolt of blinding pain sank into his forehead. It burned through his phantom scar worse than anything he'd felt so far, and he stumbled, yanking his hand from Petra's to clap it to his forehead. The lights blinked off and the stage fell into pitch darkness.

  The wind machine hadn't stopped however. In fact, it seemed to be far stronger than James had ever felt it. It pushed him as he reeled, and he fell to the floor in the darkness, his right hand still clamped to his forehead. There was a long, ominous creak and then a resounding crash. Dimly, James understood that the wind machine had blown over the gate prop and that it had just missed him.

  "Petra!" he shouted, struggling to get up. There was movement all over the stage, and even now, the wind machine hadn't stopped running. Something was very wrong. Wands were lit on the stage, and James had a sense of stage-hands rushing about, struggling to keep the rest of the set from blowing over. He scrambled to his knees, trying to make sense of what was happening.

  "Shut it down!" someone rasped desperately.

  "I can't! It's running by itself!"

  "It's shaking apart! Look out!"

  Suddenly, spotlights illuminated the stage again, blinding James. At that same moment, the wind machine produced a loud screech and rattle. One of the fan blades wrenched free and spun through the air, slamming into the turret backdrop. Off balance, the machine shook violently and tilted over. Stage-hands scattered as it loomed slowly and crashed to the stage floor where it finally clanked to a halt.

  Amazingly, no one seemed to have been hurt. James spun on the spot, looking for Petra. As he'd suspected, the enormous prop gate had fallen at his feet. For a moment, James was sure that Petra was beneath it. He dropped to his knees but could find no sign of her. She must have fallen safely on the other side.