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

by G. Norman Lippert

  James swallowed as he struggled to keep up the Headmistress’ pace. He opened his mouth to answer, but nothing came. “Er, well…” Neville touched James on the shoulder as they walked. “We all saw your face turn as pale as the moon when Prescott produced the GameDeck device. You looked almost like you expected it. Is there something you know that might help us, James?”

  James decided there was no point in trying to protect Ralph. It wasn’t his fault, anyway. “My friend has one. He’s a first year like me, but he’s Muggle-born. He didn’t know it might be dangerous to have here. None of us did, really. I was surprised it even worked here.”

  “He used it to communicate with someone in the Muggle community?” Neville asked quickly. “No! As far as I know, he never used it at all! As soon as he got here, his housemates saw it and gave him a load of trouble about it. They’re Slytherins, so they were all ragging on him about counterfeit magical devices, about how it was an insult to the purebloods and all that.”

  The Headmistress turned a corner, heading back toward her office. “I assume you are speaking of Mr. Deedle? Yes. I am confident enough that he is not at the head of this particular conspiracy, although this device of his might be. Does it perhaps broadcast some sort of signal?”

  James shrugged. “You’d be better off asking Ralph about that, or even my other friend, Zane. He seems to know a lot about how these things work. But I don’t think it sends out information on its own. Ralph says somebody else took his GameDeck and used it. Another Slytherin, we think. Zane was able to tell that somebody had spent some time on it, and that they’d used the name Austramaddux. They hadn’t played the game at all, though. They must have just been using it to send information. Probably the coordinates that that guy said he used to locate the school using his GPS thing.”

  “You’re quite sure about this, are you, James?” Neville said, following the Headmistress back into her office. “Have you considered that Mr. Deedle might have used this device on school grounds and unwittingly shared information that he shouldn’t have? It is possible that this tale of the stolen GameDeck is a ruse.”

  James shook his head firmly. “No way. Not Ralph. It never even occurred to him, or any of us, that the thing might be used to lead people here. He just knew it made his Slytherin mates angry.” “We’re all forgetting one important thing,” McGonagall said, lowering herself tiredly into her chair. “Even if Mr. Deedle or this unknown borrower of the device did attempt to share information about this school with a Muggle, the Vow of Secrecy would prevent them.”

  Professor Franklyn, who had remained in the Headmistress’ office to fiddle with the GameDeck, replaced the device on the desk and stared at it, apparently unable to make anything of it. “How does this vow work, precisely, Madam Headmistress?”

  “It’s quite straightforward, Professor. Every student must sign the vow, proclaiming they will not knowingly reveal any information regarding the existence of Hogwarts to any Muggle individual or agency. If they do, the magical properties of the vow will engage, preventing any such communication. This might mean the Langlock jinx or any other curse that would disable the individual’s ability to share information. In this case, we might assume that the user of the device might experience a fusing of the fingers or paralysis of the hand, anything that would prevent them from entering any dangerous information into this device.”

  Franklyn was thoughtful. “We use a similar means at Alma Aleron. The wording of the vow must be very specific, of course. No loopholes. Still, it does seem apparent that someone was indeed able to use such a device to communicate very specific information about this school. My guess is that each of these gaming devices is equipped with a tracker that corresponds to the global positioning mechanism Mr. Prescott spoke of. Whoever used Mr. Deedle’s device was apparently able to send the geographical coordinates of one GameDeck to another. Mr. Prescott merely needed to enter that information into his GPS device and follow it very carefully. Despite Mr. Prescott’s obvious Muggle nature, this made him a sort of haphazard SecretKeeper. He can, if he so wishes, share the secret of this school’s location with anyone else he wishes. Whether they are able to get past the school’s unplottability zone is another question, though. Not everyone is quite as persistent as he is. This might explain why he needs our help to bring in his entourage.”

  “We cannot allow such a thing to happen, of course,” Neville said, looking to the Headmistress. “I’m not entirely certain we can prevent it,” she said heavily. “Our Mr. Prescott is indeed an extremely tenacious individual. He knows enough already to do us great harm. Even if we were to discover the whereabouts of his crew, Obliviate them all and send them back, they would discover the recording that has been made of all Mr. Prescott has seen so far. He would inevitably return, and perhaps next time, it will occur to him to bring live cameras rather than just a telephone. I see no recourse but to allow him to go on with this investigation of his and hope to talk him out of broadcasting it.”

  Neville shook his head. “I have more confidence that we could talk the merpeople out of living in the lake than that we could convince this sodding twit not to broadcast his prize story.” Franklyn adjusted his tiny glasses and looked at the ceiling. “Of course, there are more, er, wholesale methods of dealing with this kind of thing, Madam Headmistress. We could simply place the Imperius Curse upon Mr. Prescott. That way we could arrange for him to send his crew away and even accompany him back to his offices to help him destroy any record of this visit. Once that was accomplished, we could feel free to Obliviate Mr. Prescott with no fear of a repeat performance.”

  McGonagall sighed. “This is not the sort of decision we are exactly authorized to make, and frankly, I am glad of that. The Ministry of Magic has been notified of the situation and I am assured they will instruct us on the proper course within the hour. I expect to hear from your father directly, Mr. Potter, and at any moment.”

  As if on cue, a woman’s voice spoke up from the fireplace. “Greetings and salutations. This is an official communication of the Ministry of Magic. Can we be assured that this is a secure assembly?” McGonagall stood and moved around her desk to face the fireplace. “It is. These with me are the only persons on the grounds at present fully aware of what is happening, although by this point, the whole of the school must know that we have a Muggle individual among us. His entry was hardly subtle.”

  The face in the banked coals of the Headmistress’ fireplace looked around at Neville, James, and Professor Franklyn. “I am the undersecretary of Miss Brenda Sacarhina, Co-Chair of the Council of Ambassadorial Relations. Please stand by to be connected.” The face vanished.

  James saw McGonagall’s face tighten just the tiniest bit when the undersecretary mentioned Miss Sacarhina. Only a few seconds passed before the face of the prim woman appeared in the fireplace. “Madam McGonagall, Professors Franklyn and Longbottom, greetings. And young Mr. Potter, of course.” An ingratiating smile appeared on Sacarhina’s lips when she spoke to James. The smile disappeared almost as suddenly as it had appeared, as if it was something she could turn on and off like a light. “We have conferred about the situation that has thrust itself upon you and have reached a conclusion. As you may guess, we have prepared contingencies for just such an occurrence. Please tell Mr. Prescott that he may contact his associates. We find that there is no recourse but to allow his investigation to proceed, however, no one other than Mr. Prescott is to be allowed onto Hogwarts grounds until a delegation from the Ministry arrives to oversee them. We will arrive no later than tomorrow evening, at which time, we will assume all negotiations with Mr. Prescott and his crew.”

  “Miss Sacarhina,” McGonagall said, “are you suggesting that the Ministry may well allow this man to perform his investigation and broadcast it to the Muggle world?” “I’m sorry, Madam McGonagall,” Sacarhina said sweetly, “I didn’t mean to imply that, or anything else. You may rest assured that we are prepared to deal with this situation, regardless of the method we choo
se. I’d hate to burden you with any more detail than you’ve already been forced to deal with.”

  The Headmistress’ face became rather pink. “Burden away, Miss Sacarhina, for I can promise you that the future of this school and its students is hardly the sort of detail I’m likely to dismiss.” Sacarhina laughed lightly. “My dear Minerva, I suspect that the future of Hogwarts, the students, and yourself is as secure as ever. As I mentioned, we have contingencies for such events. The Ministry is prepared.”

  “Forgive me, Miss Sacarhina,” Franklyn interjected, taking half a step forward, “but you’d have us believe that the Ministry of Magic has prepared contingencies for a Muggle investigative reporter penetrating the school of Hogwarts on foot with a camera crew at the ready and intentions to broadcast the secrets of the magical world to Muggles worldwide?”

  Sacarhina’s indulgent smile tightened. “I’d have you believe, Mr. Franklyn, that the Ministry has prepared emergency response techniques for dealing with a wide variety of confrontations. The specifics do not matter.”

  “I beg to disagree, Miss. The specifics of this instance have revealed a rather large security breach that could, at this point, be utilized by virtually anyone. This school can no longer be considered secure until this breach has been addressed.”

  “One thing at a time, Professor. We appreciate your concern, but I assure you that we are fully equipped to deal with the matter in its entirety. If, however, you feel that the safety of yourself and your staff are at risk, we could possibly arrange for your early departure. This would cause us great disappointment and be quite a disruption to the school…”

  “My concern, Miss Sacarhina,” Franklyn said coolly, removing his glasses, “is for the security of everyone within these walls, and for the security of the magical and Muggle worlds in general.” “Again with the hyperbole,” Sacarhina smiled. “Please, all of you, put your minds at ease. I, along with Mr. Recreant, will arrive tomorrow evening. We will meet with this Mr. Prescott and I am quite confident--positive, even--that we will reach a mutually amicable arrangement. You needn’t bother yourselves with it any further.”

  “What about my dad?” James asked.

  Sacarhina blinked, apparently mystified. “Your father, James? Whatever do you mean?”

  “Well, don’t you think he ought to be here along with you and Mr. Recreant?” Sacarhina smiled her ingratiating smile again. “Why, your father is Head of the Auror Department, James. There is no dark magic involved in this unfortunate set of circumstances, so far as we can tell. There’d be no reason to bother him with it.”

  “But he’s dealt with this man before,” Neville said. “He and James witnessed him on the Quidditch pitch last year and led the search to try to capture him.” “And a fine job he did,” Sacarhina said, her smile snapping shut. “That was his duty at the time. This, however, as you cannot fail to realize, is an ambassadorial issue. Harry Potter’s skills may be varied, but ambassadorship is not one of them. Besides, Mr. Potter is currently on assignment and not to be interrupted. We do have, however, specialists in exactly this sort of negotiation. Along with myself and Mr. Recreant, we are arranging for another ambassador to join us. He is an expert in Muggle-magical relations. We expect him to spearhead our dealings with Mr. Prescott and his crew, and we have full confidence that he will serve all parties quite well.”

  McGonagall waved her hand dismissively. “What shall we do with Mr. Prescott until your arrival, Miss Sacarhina?”

  “Make him comfortable. Allow him to make his telephone call. Other than that, as little as possible.”

  “Surely you do not mean for us to allow him free access to the school,” the Headmistress said, as if it were a statement rather than a question. Sacarhina seemed to shrug in the fireplace. “Whatever harm he might be able to do by observing is surely less than the harm he could do if he brought Muggle legal charges against us. We must, for the moment, treat him as a guest. Besides, it sounds as if he’s seen quite a lot already.”

  McGonagall’s face was unreadable. “Very well, then. Good afternoon, Miss Sacarhina. We will look forward to your arrival tomorrow evening.” Sacarhina smiled again. “Indeed. Until then.” The face vanished from the fire. The Headmistress reached for her poker and poked studiously at the embers for several seconds, strewing them so that no hint of the face remained. She replaced the poker, turned her back to the fire, and said, “Insufferable bureaucratic poppycock.”

  “I’ll be happy to lodge Mr. Prescott in the Alma Aleron quarters,” Franklyn said, putting his glasses back on. “I’d prefer to keep a close eye on him, anyway. I suspect we can keep him busy enough to prevent him causing any more trouble.”

  “I don’t like this at all,” Neville said, still looking at the fireplace. “Harry should be here. Prescott himself isn’t a dark wizard, of course, but there is something extremely dodgy about how he got here at all. Somebody led him here, and that person somehow circumvented the Vow of Secrecy. I don’t care what Sacarhina says, I’d feel a lot better with a decent Auror looking into it.”

  The Headmistress opened her door. “At this point, it is out of our hands. Professor Franklyn, your idea is as good as any. Let us escort Mr. Prescott to the Alma Aleron quarters. And despite what Miss Sacarhina might believe, I’d prefer for us to arrange for Mr. Prescott to be quite busy for the next twenty-four hours. The less time he has to explore the school, the better. Mr. Potter, please feel free to return to your classes, and although I suspect I cannot ask you not to speak of this to Mr. Walker and Mr. Deedle, I’d be quite happy if you managed not to talk of it to anyone else. Especially Ted Lupin or Noah Metzker.”

  As James followed the adults out of the office, a quiet voice spoke to him from the wall. “Going to be quite a busy day tomorrow, Potter.”

  James stopped and glanced at the portrait of Severus Snape, not entirely sure what he meant. “I guess so. At least for the Headmistress and everybody.”

  Snape’s black eyes bored into him. “Answer me truthfully, Potter: are you still laboring under the delusion that Tabitha Corsica is in possession of the Merlin staff?”

  “Oh,” James said, “look, say what you want, but it makes sense. We’re going to get it from her, too, one way or another.”

  Snape spoke quickly. “Don’t be a fool, Potter. Turn over what you have. Give it to the Headmistress. Surely you see how dangerous it is to keep the robe, especially now.”

  James blinked. “Why? What happens now? Does it have something to do with this Prescott fellow?” Snape stared hopelessly at James. “You don’t see it, then,” he sighed. “There is a very good reason why your father, dull as he is, is being kept from accompanying tomorrow’s delegation. There are members of the Progressive Element even within the Ministry, although they do not call themselves by that name. Sacarhina is one of them. Recreant may be as well, although he is not really in charge. Either she is taking full advantage of a very suspicious coincidence or this is all her plan from the beginning.” “What? What’s her plan?” James asked, lowering his voice and stepping closer to the portrait.

  “The details are unimportant. All that matters is that unless you secure the Merlin robe by tomorrow night, all will very likely be lost.”

  “But it is secure,” James replied. “We captured it already. You know that. We have to get the Merlin staff now.” “Forget the staff!” Snape hissed angrily. “You are allowing yourself to be manipulated! If I had even the slightest hope that you’d be any better at it than your father was, I’d have taught you Occlumency by now. When I tell you to secure the Merlin robe, I mean you must turn it over to those who know how to bind it, not just hide it. The enemy has the other two relics. The robe wishes to be reunited with them. You will not be able to prevent that, Potter. Don’t be the arrogant fool your father was!”

  James scowled. “My father was never the arrogant fool you think he was, and I’m not either. I don’t have to listen to you. Besides, tomorrow isn’t the alignment of the planets. It’s
the next night. Zane told me himself.”

  Snape grinned maliciously. “So trusting are you both. Where, pray tell, does Mr. Walker get his information?”

  “He’s in Constellations Club,” James replied angrily. “Madame Delacroix’s been using everybody in the club to help her pinpoint the exact timing of the alignment.” “And did it never occur to you that she might have deliberately altered the information just enough to mislead those too ignorant to notice? She has known the day of the alignment for the past year. She only needed help to ascertain the hour. Even you have realized that she is involved in the Merlin plot. Do you expect that she would desire dozens of stargazing students to be swarming the grounds on the very night she plans to skulk off to facilitate the return of the most dangerous wizard of all time?”

  James felt sheepish. Of course she wouldn’t. He just hadn’t thought of it. He opened his mouth to speak, but could think of nothing to say. Snape went on. “She has misled all of you by exactly one day. The Hall of Elders’ Crossing will not occur Thursday night, but Wednesday. Tomorrow, Potter. You have been duped, and you are being duped still. There is no time for any more delusions of grandeur. You must turn over the robe. If you do not, you will fail and our enemies will succeed in their plan.”

  “James?” It was Neville. He poked his head into the Headmistress’ doorway. “We lost you, it seems. Did you forget something?”

  James mind was running at full speed. He stared blankly at Neville for a few seconds, and finally gathered himself. “Er, no. No, sorry, I was just… thinking out loud.”

  Neville glanced at the portrait of Snape. Snape sighed and crossed his arms. “Go on, Longbottom, and take the boy with you. I’ve no use for him.”

  Neville nodded. “Come along, James. You still have time to make your afternoon classes if you hurry. I’ll walk with you and explain your tardiness.” James followed Neville out of the room, thinking only of what Snape had told him. They had only one day, one day to get the Merlin staff from Tabitha. One day before the Hall of Elders’ Crossing, and it just happened to be the very same day that Sacarhina was coming to deal with Prescott. As he rode down the moving spiral stairs and came out into the corridor below, it occurred to James that Snape was right about one thing: tomorrow was indeed going to be a very busy day.