James Potter and the Hall of Elders' Crossing [1]

by G. Norman Lippert

  “Your father,” Tabitha said, her voice rising and becoming stern, “was a half-rate wizard with a good PR department. If it wasn’t for the fact that he’d been surrounded by greater wizards than himself at every turn, we wouldn’t even know his name today.”

  At that, the crowd exploded again, angry outbursts and shouts filling the space like a cauldron. There was a clatter onstage. James looked and saw that Ralph, who’d never even spoken, had jumped up, knocking over his chair. Tabitha turned and looked at him, and he met her eyes for a second. Sit down, she mouthed at him, her eyes livid. Ralph returned her glare, then turned resolutely and left the stage. James saw it, and even in the midst of his anguish and fear at the nearly rioting crowd, his heart rejoiced.

  There was no point in continuing the debate any further. Headmistress McGonagall joined Professor Franklyn on the stage and both shot red flares from their wands, restoring order to the Amphitheater. With no preamble, the Headmistress instructed all the students to return immediately to their common rooms. Her face was stern and very pale. As the crowd muttered and grumbled, funneling through the arched entryway back into the castle proper, James saw Ralph working toward him through the crowd. He moved aside until the larger boy caught up.

  “I can’t do it anymore,” Ralph said to James, his voice low and his eyes downcast. “I’m sorry she said those terrible, stupid things. You can keep hating me if you want, but I just can’t keep up with all this Progressive Element rubbish. I don’t know anything about it, really, except that it’s just too much work to be so… so political.”

  James couldn’t help grinning. “Ralph, you’re a brick. I don’t hate you. I should apologize to you.” “Well, let’s apologize later, OK?” Ralph said, working his way toward the archway with James following in his wake. “Right now, I just want to get out of here. Tabitha Corsica has been staring holes into

  me ever since I left the stage. Besides, Zane says that Ted’s invited us to hang out in your common room. He wants to gloat over having won over a member of Team B.”

  “That won’t bother you?” James asked. “Nah,” Ralph replied, shrugging, “it’s worth it. Gryffindors have better snacks.”

  10.Holiday at Grimmauld Place

  The next Monday, James, Zane, and Ralph stood outside the door of Headmistress McGonagall’s Advanced Transfiguration class until the last of her students left and she was gathering her things.

  “Come in, come in,” she called to the three boys without looking up. “Stop lurking outside the door like vultures. How may I help you?”

  “Madam Headmistress,” James began tentatively, “we want to talk to you about the debate.”

  “Do you, now?” she asked, glancing up at James for a moment, then shouldering her bag. “Why, I cannot begin to imagine. The sooner we can all forget that fiasco, the better.” The boys scrambled to follow the Headmistress as she strode toward the door. “But nobody is forgetting it, Madam,” James said quickly. “It was all anybody talked about the whole weekend. People are getting really stirred up about it. There was almost a fight out in the courtyard yesterday, when Mustrum Jewel heard Reavis McMillan call Tabitha Corsica a lying twit. If Professor Longbottom hadn’t been nearby, Mustrum probably would’ve killed Reavis.”

  “This is a school, Mr. Potter, and a school is, in its simplest form, a place where young people gather. Young people are occasionally prone to have spats. This is why, among other reasons, Hogwarts employs Mr. Filch.”

  “It wasn’t a spat, Madam,” Ralph said, following the Headmistress out into the corridor. “They were really mad. Daft mad, if you know what I mean. People are coming unglued about this whole business.”

  “Then, like Mr. Potter says, it is fortunate Professor Longbottom was nearby. I fail to see, precisely, why this is your problem.” Zane trotted to keep up with the Headmistress’ stride. “Well, the thing is, ma’am, we’re just wondering why you’re letting it all go on? I mean, you were there when the Battle took place. You know what this Voldemort guy was like. You could just tell everyone how it was and put Tabitha in her place, neat as you please.”

  McGonagall stopped suddenly, leaving the boys to scramble to a halt near her. “What, may I ask, would you three wish me to do?” she said, dropping her voice and looking at each one intently. “The truth about the Dark Lord and his followers has been common knowledge for thirty years, ever since he murdered your grandparents, Mr. Potter. Do you suppose that my repeating it one more time will dispel all the revisionist rabble-rousing that has been going on, not only at this school, but throughout the wizarding world? Hmm?” Her eyes were like diamond chips as she glared at them. James realized that she was, if anything, even more agitated about the debate than they were. “And suppose I summon Miss Corsica to my office and forbid her from disseminating these lies and distortions. Do you expect that this ‘Progressive Element’ of theirs will simply give up? How long do you suppose it would be before we’d be reading an article in the Daily Prophet about how the administration of Hogwarts is working with the Auror Department to stifle the ‘free exchange of ideas on school grounds’?”

  James was stunned. He had assumed that the Headmistress was indulging Tabitha Corsica for some reason, allowing, for a time, her charade to continue. It simply hadn’t occurred to him that McGonagall might not, in fact, be capable of addressing the matter without making it worse.

  “So what do we do, ma’am?” James asked. “We?” McGonagall said, raising her eyebrows. “My dear James, I admit that you amaze and impress me. Despite what you may believe, the future of the wizarding world does not, in fact, rest upon you and your two friends’ shoulders.” She saw the annoyed grimace on his face, and then she showed him one of her rare smiles. She bent a bit to speak more conspiratorially, addressing all three boys. “The revived memory of the Dark Lord is not an overlarge concern to those of us who once faced the living thing. This is a whim in the mind of a fickle populace, and irritating as it may be, it will pass. In the meantime, what you three can do is attend your classes, do your homework, and continue to be the sharp-witted and strong-hearted boys you obviously are. And if anyone around you tries to say Tom Riddle was a better man than Harry Potter, you have my permission--my instruction, even--to transfigure their pumpkin juice into nurgle water.” She eyed the three boys seriously, one by one. “Just tell them I prescribed you to practice that particular spell. Understood?”

  Zane and Ralph grinned at each other. James sighed. McGonagall nodded curtly, straightened herself, and continued briskly on her way. After five steps, she turned back.

  “Oh, and boys?”

  “Yes, ma’am?” Zane said.

  “Two sharp flicks and the word ‘nurglammonias’. Emphasis on the first and third syllables.”

  “Yes, ma’am!” Zane replied again, grinning. The school year descended through autumn, approaching the winter holidays. The football field became carpeted with leaves, crunching and kicking up under the feet of Professor Curry’s Muggle Studies teams. The unofficial football tournament ended with James’ team winning. James himself scored the winning goal, his third of the day, against goalie Horace Birch, the Ravenclaw Gremlin. His team collected around him, jumping and hollering as if they’d just won the House Cup. In fact, the winning team’s house was rewarded one hundred points by Professor Curry, that being the best prize she could offer. The team circled James, heaving him onto their shoulders and carrying him into the courtyard as if he had just returned from slaying a dragon. He grinned hugely, his cheeks beet red in the chilly autumn wind, and his spirits were higher than they’d been all year.

  The routine of classes and homework, which had been daunting during the first weeks, became dull and predictable. Professor Jackson assigned endless dreaded essays and sprung unsuspecting ‘pop quizzes’ on his class every couple of weeks. Zane told James and Ralph amusing tales of confrontations between Professor Trelawney and Madame Delacroix during his Tuesday night Constellations Club, which, like Divination class,
both professors managed to share. On the Quidditch pitch, James continued to advance his broom skills with the help of both Ted and Zane until he began to feel cautiously confident that he might, indeed, make the Gryffindor team next year. He began to imagine how rich it might be to show up at tryouts next spring and wildly surpass everyone’s memories of his first year attempts. Zane, for his part, continued to fly remarkably well for the Ravenclaws. Calling on his rather unique Muggle background, he invented a move he called ‘buzzing the tower’, in which he’d hit a Bludger around the press box, letting it gather speed as it circled back, then meet it on the other side, striking it again to add even more speed and a bit of direction. Using that trick, he had managed to knock two players completely off their brooms, leading to a few apologetic visits to the hospital wing.

  Life for Ralph in the Slytherin house had been rough for a while. Tabitha had never actually spoken to him about his desertion of the debate stage or his abandoning of the Progressive Element meetings. James and Zane figured she’d ceased having any use for him when he’d returned to being James’ friend. Eventually, the older Slytherins simply forgot about Ralph, apart from a few cool stares or snide remarks in the Slytherin common room. Then, surprisingly, Ralph began to befriend some other first- and second-year Slytherins. Unlike the blue badge wearers, none of them seemed all that interested in the broader world of politics and causes. To be sure, there was a sort of shifty guile to even the first-year Slytherins, but a couple of them seemed to genuinely like Ralph, and even James had to admit they were funny, in a double-edged sort of way.

  Defense Against the Dark Arts became a favorite class of James, Zane, and Ralph. Professor Franklyn taught a very practical class, with many exciting stories and real-life examples from his own long and wildly various adventures. James, to no one’s surprise, was a very good dueler. He admitted, with a sheepish grin, that he’d been taught quite a lot of defensive technique by his dad. Nobody, however, including James, was willing to go up against Ralph in a duel. Ralph’s wand skills seemed remarkably haphazard when it came to defensive spell-casting. The first time he’d dueled, Ralph had attempted a simple Expelliarmus spell on Victoire. He struck out with his wand, a bit wildly, and a bolt of blue lightning had erupted from the end, singeing Victoire’s hair so that a ragged bald stripe ran straight across the top of her head. She patted at it with her hand, then her eyes nearly boggled out of her head. She screamed in rage and had to be restrained by three other students from tackling Ralph, who was three times her size. Ralph backed away, apologizing profusely, his wand still smoking.

  Only once, during an evening in the Ravenclaw common room, did anyone have the temerity to mention anything to James, Zane, and Ralph about the debate. They were just finishing their homework when a large fourth year named Gregory Templeton sat down at the table across from them.

  “Hey, you were both in that debate, weren’t you?” he said, pointing back and forth between Zane and Ralph.

  “Yeah, Gregory,” Zane said, shoving his books into his backpack, his voice betraying his general dislike of the older boy.

  “You were the one at the table with Corsica, right?” Gregory said, turning to Ralph.

  “Er. Yeah,” Ralph said, “but…” “You tell her from me she’s right on the mark, eh? I been reading a book that tells all about the whole thing. It’s called The Dumbledore Plot, and it’s all about how the old man and that Harry Potter cooked the whole thing up, start to finish. Did you know they made up the whole story about Riddle and the Horcruxes on the night the old man died? Some even say it was Harry Potter himself killed him, once they’d worked it all out.”

  James struggled to control his temper. He looked levelly at Gregory. “Do you even know who I am?”

  Zane stared hard at the bottle in Gregory’s hand. “Hey,” he asked with forced casualness, surreptitiously pulling out his wand, “what’s that you’re drinking?”

  Ninety seconds later, James, Zane, and Ralph scrambled as Gregory spat nurgle water all over the common room table.

  “Practicing!” Zane called, ducking under Gregory’s grasping arms. “I swear! I was supposed to practice that transfiguration! Your drink just got in the way! Ask McGonagall!”

  The three boys successfully ducked from the room, laughing uproariously at the ensuing chaos. By Christmas holiday, James was ready for a break. After lunch on his last day of class, James went up to the Gryffindor sleeping chamber to pack his things. The sky outside the tower window had grown chilly and grey, making him wish for the grand fireplace back at number twelve Grimmauld Place and one of Kreacher’s very complicated hot chocolates, which consisted, at last count, of fourteen unnamed ingredients, including, he had been assured, at least a pinch of actual chocolate.

  “Hey, James,” Ralph’s voice called up the stairs, “you up there?”

  “Yeah. Come on up, Ralph.”

  “Thanks,” Ralph panted, climbing the steps. “I came up after lunch with Petra. She said you’d be here packing. All raring to go, I expect.” “Yeah! We’re having everyone over to the old headquarters for the holidays this year. Uncles George and Ron, Aunts Hermione and Fleur, Ted and his grandmum, Victoire, even Luna Lovegood, who you don’t know, but you’d be keen on. She’s the weirdest grownup I’ve ever met, but in a good way. Mostly. Grandmum and Granddad won’t be there, though. They’re visiting Charlie and everybody in Prague this year. Still, I think even Neville will be there. Professor Longbottom, I mean.”

  Ralph nodded glumly, staring into James’ trunk. “Sounds swell. Yeah, well, I hope you have a happy Christmas and all that, then.” James stopped packing, remembering that Ralph’s dad was traveling for business over the holidays. “Oh, yeah. So what will you be doing, Ralph? Will you be spending Christmas with your grandparents or something?”

  “Hmm?” Ralph said, glancing up. “Oh. Nah. Looks like I’ll just be hanging around here for the holidays. Zane’s not leaving until next week, so at least I’ll have him to hang around with over the weekend. After that… well, I’ll figure out something to do with myself.” He sighed hugely.

  “Ralph,” James said, tossing a pair of mismatched socks into his trunk, “do you want to come and have Christmas with my family and me?”

  Ralph tried to look surprised. “What? No, no, I’d never want to impose on your big family gathering, what with all the, you know… I couldn’t. No…”

  James frowned. “Ralph, you prat, if you don’t come home with me for the holidays, I will personally perform a random transfiguration on you with your own wand. How about that, then?” “Well, you don’t have to get pushy about it!” Ralph exclaimed, then his face broke into a grin. “Your mum and dad won’t mind?”

  “No. To tell you the truth, with all the people that’ll be in and out of the place, I’m not sure they’ll even notice.”

  Ralph rolled his eyes. “I meant about me being on the… you know, the wrong side of the debate and everything.”

  “They listened to it on the wireless, Ralph.”

  “I know!”

  “And you never said a word.”

  Ralph opened his mouth, then closed it. He thought for a moment. Finally, he grinned and plopped onto Ted’s bed. “I see your point. So you say Victoire will be there?”

  “Don’t get any ideas. She’s part Veela you know. She puts the whammy on any guy that gets within ten feet of her.”

  “I just wanted to try to make it up to her somehow. You know, about that whole incident in D.A.D.A.”

  James slammed his trunk. “Ralph, mate, the less you say about that, the better.”

  The next morning, breakfast in the Great Hall was thinly attended. A heavy frost had fallen in the early hours, etching silver fern shapes in the corners of the windows and giving the view beyond a hoary ghostliness. James and Ralph arrived at the same time and found Zane at the Ravenclaw table.

  “You’re a lucky stiff, Ralph,” Zane said grumpily, huddling around his coffee cup. “I’m dying to see what a ma
gical Christmas is like.”

  “To tell you the truth,” James said, pouring himself a pumpkin juice, “I doubt it’d live up to your imagination.”

  “Maybe you’re right. Even at the best of times, I gotta admit, it feels a little like Halloween around here.”

  “Hey, Ralph,” James said, nudging the bigger boy, “wait until you see our traditional Christmas parade of ghouls! We’ll have candy cane-stuffed bats to eat and drink hot chocolate out of elf skulls!”

  Ralph blinked. Zane looked sour and rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, you’re a laugh riot. Not.”

  “Come on,” Ralph said, finally getting the joke. “You’ll have a great Christmas with your family. At least you get to see your mum and dad.” “Yeah, sure. An eight-hour flight back to the States with my sister, Greer, bugging me the whole way about life at that crazy magical school. She’ll be disappointed that, so far, the only way I can affect things with my wand is to hit them with it.”

  “We’re not allowed to practice magic out of Hogwarts, anyway,” Ralph said instructively.

  Zane ignored him. “And then Christmas with the grandparents and all my cousins in Ohio. You have no idea what kind of craziness that always is.”

  James couldn’t help asking. “How do you mean?” “Imagine the traditional all-American Norman Rockwell Christmas scene, right?” Zane said, holding up his hands as if framing a picture. “Opening presents, and carving turkey, and carols by the Christmas tree. Got it?” Ralph and James nodded, trying not to smile at Zane’s grave expression.

  “All right,” Zane went on. “Now imagine hinkypunks instead of people. You’ll get the idea.”

  James burst out laughing. Ralph, as usual, just blinked and looked back and forth between the two other boys.

  “That’s fantastic!” James hooted. Zane smiled reluctantly. “Yeah, well, it is pretty funny, I guess. The screeches and the clawing, all those tiny shreds of wrapping paper flying all over the place, landing in the fireplace and nearly burning the place to the ground.”