The Curse of the GateKeeper (James Potter #2)

by G. Norman Lippert

  Thinking that, James shuddered. He stepped into the mouth of the cave and saw it all.

  There was the flickering green pool, lit from within, and there was Petra, still dressed in her pink costume dress. The curls had begun to fall from her hair, and her make-up had run, forming tear-streaks down her cheeks. Her eyes were dry now, however. She had her wand out, pointed at Lily, who stood before her, expressionless and limp, like a puppet. The high, horrible voice was babbling, and James could only now make out the words.

  "The boy James comes!" the voice said with delight. "Look upon him, my dear! He comes, just as predicted!"

  James gasped, hearing his name in that awful voice, but then Petra turned to him, and his gasp turned to a violent shiver as the pain in his forehead spiked. Petra's eyes were eerily dead. In the flicker of the greenish pool, her face looked like a mask. She held his voodoo doll in her free hand, and James could see that someone had drawn a crude green lightning bolt onto its forehead.

  "James," she said blankly, still pointing her wand at Lily, "you shouldn't have come. Now it's too late."

  James stumbled forward, moving into the light of the cave. "Petra, what… what are you doing?"

  Petra shrugged slightly, and then turned her gaze back to Lily. "What I was made for," she answered, sounding eerily like Tabitha Corsica. She nodded at Lily and said, "You know what to do, dear."

  Without blinking, Lily walked slowly around the glowing pool, her bare feet making no noise on the stone. On the far side of the pool, James saw that a series of steps led down into the water. Quite slowly, Lily began to descend the steps. With a shock of horror, James realized that his sister was under the Imperius Curse.

  "I'm sorry, James," Petra said. "I know you can't possibly understand why this has to happen. It seemed awful to me at first too, but now I know it is the only way. It really is best for everyone, even Lily. You have to trust me."

  "…have to trust me," the horrible, keening voice echoed. It seemed to be speaking constantly, muttering under Petra's words, almost as if it was feeding them to her.

  "Lily!" James called, stepping forward. "Stop!"

  Lily's eyes didn't so much as flicker. She took another step into the eerie green pool. James reached desperately for his wand, but it wasn't in his pocket. Too late, he realized he must have dropped it when he and Albus had crashed the broom. He ran forward, meaning to drag his sister bodily from the pool, but just as he was within reaching distance, something repelled him. He hurtled backwards through the air, as if pulled by a rope around his waist. He struck the mossy stone wall and fell, the breath knocked out of him.

  "One at a time, James," Petra said sadly, still pointing her wand at Lily. "I'm sorry. Please don't try that again. I really don't want to hurt either of you before it's all over."

  James gasped for breath, and the phantom scar on his forehead burned like a branding iron. The awful voice echoed Petra's every word, and for the first time James wondered if Petra was even aware of the voice. Was it possible that she didn't realize how it was influencing her? He glanced around, looking for the source of the voice. Just as in his dreams, it seemed to emanate from a shadowy figure in a dark corner. It stood perfectly still, apparently wearing an old bowler hat and a dusty coat. Its arms hung loosely at its sides.

  James struggled to get up, but he felt weak and heavy, as if something was pushing down on him. It was the awful weight of some new presence, filling the room like black smoke, darkening it. It was the Gatekeeper. Silently, eerily unseen, it descended into the Chamber, watching, preparing to enter Petra once she completed the necessary rite of willingness: murdering Lily.

  Lily took another step into the pool. Her yellow dress began to float about her, sinking into the murky water, and as she descended, something else seemed to be ascending from the other end of the pool. James recognized the shape. It was the young woman he'd seen so often in his dreams: Petra's mother. As Lily lowered into the water, Lianna arose from her own reflection, smiling at her daughter, raising her hands. Petra's eyes shone as she looked at the ascending shape.

  "Petra!" James called, catching his breath. "That can't really be your mother! It's a trick! She's not real!"

  "Don't listen to him," the high voice whispered, wheedling. "He is the son of those who let her die. He is full of lies and deception. But his voice will soon be stopped forever, and with his death, you shall have your father back as well! Then all will be prepared; balance will be restored. The new age of judgment will be at hand, and all because of your sacrifice…"

  "All because of my sacrifice," Petra said quietly, tears running down her face again, smearing her makeup.

  Lily's chin touched the surface of the pool. A drop of water hung there, and then she stepped forward again, her mouth dipping below the surface. Her hair spread around her, floating on the water like a corona. The ghostly figure of Lianna Agnellis put one foot onto the stone floor. She wasn't even wet.

  "This isn't real!" James screamed desperately, struggling to his feet. "It's all coming from that voice! What is it?"

  "There is no voice," Petra sang lightly, rocking her head back and forth. "There is no voice other than the voice of my dead father. You see, I have brought his things here, where they await him. His shoes and hat, his coat. Even his Cloak of Invisibility, which I've used myself these many visits. He'll be so happy to see them again, don't you think?"

  James shook his head fervently. "That's my father's Cloak, Petra! You're being deceived!"

  Petra didn't seem to hear him. Her eyes gazed trancelike at the shape of her mother, but her wand was still pointed at Lily as she descended the last step, slipping beneath the surface of the water. The heavy, dark sense of the Gatekeeper's presence increased. The task was nearly done; Lily would soon be dead and the Gatekeeper would unite with Petra, its host. Then there would be no sending it back, no stopping it from running rampant upon the earth. James wanted to lunge toward the pool again, risking everything to pull his sister out of the water, but even in his desperation he knew Petra would easily repel him once more. There was no hope, and yet James realized this was his last chance for action. Frantically, he looked from his drowning sister to the shadowy figure in the corner. He could see now that it wasn't a figure at all but simply an assembly of clothes—Petra's father's belongings, propped like a scarecrow. The voice came from within, hidden somehow. Suddenly, horribly, James knew what he had to do.

  "This isn't your father," he exclaimed, scrambling across the room, skirting the pool and his dying sister. "Petra, look!"

  Before Petra could stop him, James grabbed the empty arm of the coat. He pulled as hard as he could, yanking the coat loose. It tore away from the shape that had supported it, knocking the hat loose as well, and the horrible voice cried out in fury.

  "Nooo!" it keened. "Beastly boy! How dare you touch me!"

  James stumbled backwards, nearly fainting at the intensity of the pain in his forehead.

  Petra gasped, and her wand wavered. "James… what have you—" she exclaimed, and then her voice changed, became very slightly doubtful. "Father?"

  The coat had concealed a portrait in a frame. James could see instantly that the portrait had been quite severely damaged, almost entirely destroyed, and then very systematically sewn back together and repainted. The repainted portions didn't move very well, giving the face a twisted, maimed look, but James could clearly see who the portrait represented. One eye stared blankly while the other followed him malevolently, glowing red with one snakelike, vertical pupil.

  Petra's face contorted in involuntary disgust. "You're not my father… you're… you're…"

  "Finish the task!" the portrait hissed furiously. "Kill Lily Potter first! Then James Potter! Correct my one fatal mistake! It matters not who I am! All that matters is what was stolen from you, and making those responsible for it pay! It is the only way to return those you've lost!"

  "Correct your mistake?" Petra said, her expression melting slowly into horrified rev
elation. "But I thought…"

  "My single mistake!" the portrait of Voldemort shrieked urgently. "Killing James Potter first, leaving the stronger one to protect the boy! It was old magic, but powerful magic, and I forgot it! She should've died first, leaving the man and the child to wither before my wand! It was my single, fatal mistake! I was foolish, yes, but now the circle will be closed! You, my soul's final vessel, will kill the girl, Lily Potter, and then the boy, James Potter, and then—" the voice dropped to a seething, greedy hiss, "Harry Potter will come, and finally—finally—we… will… kill… him!"

  "Harry Potter?" Petra whispered.

  "The doll was meant to summon him," the portrait said quickly. "The plan seemed so simple: add a scar to the forehead, thus making it the father instead of the son. Surely, once Harry Potter's scar reawakened, he would come, and then he would be ours! But instead, we have lured the boy James, granting him the phantom scar and the ability to know our plans, and this, my dear, is even better! I might have foreseen it! My one mistake will be rectified, the order reversed! Lily Potter dies, then James, and then, finally, Harry Potter will lie dead at our feet!"

  Wonderingly, Petra said, "But my parents… the promise of balance and perfection… you used me…" Her voice rose, became angry. "You used me!"

  "That is because in your heart, you and I are one and the same!" the horrible portrait rasped. "Your living soul carries the last vestige of my own, like a flame in a lantern! We wish for the same things, but from different directions. In the end, we arrive at the very same place: revenge!"

  Petra shook her head sadly. "What have I done? I didn't want revenge," she said. "All I wanted was justice…" She turned away from the portrait and looked back at the woman standing on the ledge of the greenly flickering pool. Petra's mother smiled back at her sadly and nodded. Petra hitched a sob. "Justice… and my parents back," she said, her voice cracking. She raised her wand. "Wingardium Leviosa!"

  "NOOO!" the portrait screamed, so loud that it seemed to shake the walls.

  Lily flew up out of the pool, limp as a rag and streaming water. The shape of Lianna Agnellis fell in on itself, reverting to water. It splashed onto the stone floor and streamed back into the pool.

  "Mum!" Petra screamed, unable to resist reaching out to the departed shape, tears shining in her eyes. "I'm sorry, Mum! Dad! I'm so sorry! I couldn't do it!"

  James ran forward to the suspended shape of his sister. He reached and pulled her to him, hugging her. She was as limp and cold as death. Gently, he laid her on the floor, and placed his ear to her chest.

  "Her heart's still beating!" he cried.

  "You foolish girl!" the portrait roared, its face distorting grotesquely. "It is the only way! The part of me in you rebels even now! Resist at your own peril! Kill the girl! It is not yet too late!"

  Petra shook her head slowly, approaching the portrait.

  "You can't destroy it, Petra," James called, cradling Lily in his arms. "Look at it; other people have tried! Portraits can only be destroyed by the painter, remember?"

  Petra was still shaking her head, tears streaking her face but her expression a mask of stern resolve. "That's not entirely true, James," she said quietly. With both hands, she gripped the portrait by its frame and lifted it.

  "You are the host of the Gatekeeper!" the high, cold voice of Voldemort proclaimed urgently. "Even now it awaits you! You can feel its presence! You have been chosen since the time of Salazar Slytherin himself! Hundreds of years of prophecy lead to you! You cannot turn aside from the weight of that destiny! It will crush you! Turn back! All is not yet lost! It is not too late!"

  "There are two people that can destroy a portrait, although the second person is rarely ever available to do it," Petra said, speaking to James and ignoring the raving voice. She held the painting out with both hands, leveling it over the rippling surface of the pool. "A portrait can only be destroyed by its painter, or if fate allows it, a portrait can be destroyed… by its subject."

  "NOOO!" the portrait shrieked, and James saw the canvas bulge slightly at the force of it. Petra dropped the portrait and it fell into its reflection, splashing heavily. The voice of Voldemort's painted visage continued to scream furiously, bubbling as it bobbed for a moment. Horribly, the painted face began to run and streak, as if the liquid in the pool were acid rather than water. Paint bled over the sinking canvas and mingled with the glowing waters, diluting and thinning, drawing feathery black tendrils into the depths. The voice gurgled and faded, ran out of breath, rasped desperately, and then died, leaving only its echo in the Chamber of Secrets. The portrait frame sank out of sight and was lost forever in the bottomless pool.

  "Is she breathing?" Petra asked, dropping onto her knees next to Lily.

  "I don't know!" James exclaimed, hugging her wet, slight body. "She's so cold!"

  Petra nodded and leveled her wand at Lily's throat. "Expelliaqua," she said firmly.

  Several seconds went by, and James was sure the spell hadn't worked, but then Lily suddenly lurched in his arms. She coughed thickly and vomited a quantity of water. James helped her into a sitting position, pounding her gently on the back. She coughed more water and gasped a great, ragged breath. James was so preoccupied that he barely noticed the sense of the Gatekeeper fading from the Chamber. Its host had failed the final test. Petra had not killed for it. Weakened and silent, the Gatekeeper streamed away.

  "James?" Lily croaked, looking blearily at his face. "Where am I? What happened?"

  James shook his head and laughed with relief, tears welling in his eyes. "You're with me, Lil. That's all that matters."

  "Hi, Petra," Lily said weakly, glancing aside. "You were great. I cried when you drank the Marsh Hag's sleeping poison."

  Petra smiled wanly. "Thanks, Lily."

  James and Petra helped Lily to her feet and James put his arm around her, leading her back out of the cave. Petra gathered the Invisibility Cloak but left the eerie collection of her father's clothing. She looked back only once, her face flushed and sad.

  "Hey, Petra," Albus said gamely as they approached. "You feeling a bit more yourself, are you?"

  Petra nodded but didn't reply. Silently, she knelt next to Albus and examined his leg.

  "You're pretty good at this," James said, watching Petra tear a strip of ribbon from her dress. Carefully, she used the ribbon and a length of the broken broom to splint Albus' leg. When she was done, she stood and pulled Albus to his feet.

  "Hey," Albus said, surprised. "That feels loads better. How'd you do that?"

  "It's sort of a talent," Petra answered, averting her eyes. "Besides, it was just a fracture. You'll be fine in a day or so, once madam Curio has a look at that leg."

  James didn't say anything, but he had the distinct sense that Petra was lying about Albus' injury. It had certainly been far more than a fracture. James himself had seen the ugly angle below Albus' knee. Now he was standing on it with the help of a simple splint. It was as if Petra meant to repay them for what had happened, but secretly, and using a rather extraordinary kind of magic.

  Petra stood again, gathering the voodoo doll and the Invisibility Cloak. She looked at them in her hands. "These aren't mine," she said, and then handed them to James. "I wasn't even aware of the doll until the portrait mentioned it. I was carrying it the whole time, but somehow I barely knew it. I'm so sorry James. I don't know what else to say."

  James accepted the doll and the Cloak. "You were being deceived," he answered simply.

  Petra nodded morosely and looked out over the chasm. "I was," she agreed. "But mostly, I was deceiving myself. I can't deny that."

  "You've got reasons to be angry and hurt, Petra," James said quietly. "That wasn't the way to deal with it—Ted wanted me to tell you that—but there are other ways. The feelings are real. You just have to figure out what to do with them, right?"

  Petra nodded slowly. In the darkness, James saw one more tear track down her cheek.

  "You still in one piece, Lil?" A
lbus asked his sister, looking her up and down. "Why are you all wet?"

  Lily frowned and looked down at her sopping yellow dress. "Honestly, I don't have any idea."

  "Explanations later," Albus sighed heartily, hopping on his good leg. "First, how are we going to get back across that?" He gestured toward the dark chasm.

  "Same way I got here," Petra answered softly. "We walk."

  Albus grimaced. "Walk? What are you? A ghost?"

  "No," Petra replied, almost to herself. "Apparently, I'm the Bloodline of Lord Voldemort." She stepped forward, walking straight off the edge of the cliff. James gasped, horrified but unable to look away. Petra didn't fall however. Her footstep was supported by a small stone platform, rather like a stepping stone, that had appeared out of nowhere. She looked back, one foot still on the edge of the chasm.

  "Stay close and try very hard not to think about what you're doing," she said, and James shivered. She didn't sound entirely confident that it would work, but what choice did they have? James hesitated, but then he realized that, for the first time in nearly an hour, the phantom scar on his forehead didn't hurt. He sighed and moved in behind Petra, herding Lily and Albus in front of him.

  "This is completely insane," Albus commented.

  "Don't look down," Petra answered. Without a pause, she began to walk. Jerkily, Albus, Lily, and James began to follow her. Against all probability, none of them fell as they moved out over the depths of the chasm. Neither did the swinging, whooshing blades descend on them. James' footsteps landed on rough stone steps, each about the size of a dinner plate, and the moment his heels pulled away from each step, they sank away quickly, falling into darkness. Dimly, James heard the clank and rattle of machinery, and he recognized it. It was the same sound he'd heard in his dreams of this place, only now he knew what it was. Somehow, the stones were raised mechanically, operated by the sheer magic of Petra's passage. Perhaps the mechanism could only be summoned by the Bloodline, or perhaps it merely responded to anyone who knew the proper talisman, as Petra obviously did. Either way, it definitely helped not to think about what one was doing or to look down. As James placed his last footstep on the opposite ledge, collected into the waiting arms of Rose, Ralph, and Zane, he couldn't resist looking back. The last stepping stone fell away into darkness, attached to a complicated rigging of struts and coils. It squeaked and rattled as it retracted, and then it was gone, as if it'd never been there at all.