James Potter and the Morrigan Web

by G. Norman Lippert

  Albus blinked at her. "What's it to me? It's just that all of a sudden being out after-hours has turned into bleedin' King's Cross station. Now I'll admit I've been gone for a year, but you don't look familiar. You want to explain yourself before my mates and I take offense?"

  The girl shook her head languidly and turned. "I'm Nastasia. Nice welcoming committee."

  "Wait a minute," James said, stepping around Albus and approaching the girl, his head cocked. "I know you. You're accent… You're not a student here. You're… American."

  "Got it in one, genius," the girl, Nastasia, replied, turning away. "These stairs go up to the dormitories, I suppose. And I bet those stairs go down to the dungeons. Yikes. You people really did get stuck in the middle ages."

  "You're from Vampire house, aren't you?" James prodded, getting in front of the girl as she wandered the entrance hall, a small sneer curling her lips. "I think I had Mageography with you last year at Alma Aleron. Only you had pink hair then."

  "You think I look like a Vampire?" the girl asked with sudden interest, turning toward James. "You really think that's my house? Am I the type? Do tell."

  "W-well," James stammered, suddenly wilting before the girl's intense stare. He took a half-step backwards. "I mean… Vampires… I thought you were…"

  "I'm a Pixie, Cornelius," she said, dropping her expression of feigned interest and poking James in the chest. "Don't forget it. I hate those pasty wannabes."

  James took another step backwards as the girl spun away, stalking toward the parchment sign-up sheets along the far wall.

  "She's mad," Ralph said out of the side of his mouth, approaching James from behind.

  "She's sort of cute," Albus added, passing both of them. "So. Nastasia, is it? I assume you got here by way of those new Vanishing Cabinets, eh? Very intrepid of you. Care for a grand tour? I'm on official Hogwarts business, you know. Got the golden key and everything." He produced the pass key and waggled it at her.

  "I remember what house you were in," Nastasia proclaimed suddenly, turning back toward James and pointing at him. "You were in Bigfoot. It was a good year for the Foots last year, wasn't it? From zero to hero in one semester. You must be very proud."

  James nodded, still feeling a little off-kilter at the girl's conversational style. "I suppose. It was sort of a team thing. We--"

  "I didn't ask for your life story, pal," she interrupted, waving a hand dismissively. She turned on the spot again and walked purposely back toward the doors of the Great Hall. "I've decided it's boring here. I won't be taking any of your classes." She stopped in front of Ralph and looked up at him. "You're a nice big boy, though, aren't you?"

  "I'm in Slytherin," Ralph said immediately, his face going red as a brick.

  "Good for you," she nodded, patting him on the arm and then strolling around him. "Well anyway, I'd hate to keep you all up. I'm sure it'll be leeches and boogwarts for everyone come breakfast time. Enjoy your…" she paused, glancing back around the entrance hall with obvious distaste. "er… dankness." She shrugged, turned, and swept through the partially open door into the darkened Great Hall.

  "Wait a minute!" James rasped, darting toward the narrow opening, following the girl. "How did you get here? The Vanishing Cabinets are banned for student use until first lessons. Unless… are you on the Experimental Magical Communication thing? With Zane Walker?"

  Without looking back, Nastasia answered in a sing-song voice, "I have no idea what you're talking about…" She was approaching the Alma Aleron cabinet, which stood partly open, showing a seamlessly black interior.

  James trotted to catch up to her. "But… hold on just a minute! I want to ask you something!"

  James really didn't have anything to ask her, but for some reason it seemed important to not let her go just yet. There was something very strange about her, not to mention rather overtly dodgy. She did stop though, directly in front of the Alma Aleron cabinet, one foot on its shadowy floor.

  "What." She demanded impatiently.

  James stopped a few feet away and stared at her. He opened his mouth to say something, anything, and then his gaze shifted slightly to the left. Something was lying on the immaculately cleared surface of the head table. It was dark and rumpled, with a thick string attached to one end.

  "Er…" he said, pointing toward the head table. "Is that… yours?"

  He moved forward, past Nastasia and the Alma Aleron Cabinet, and climbed the steps of the dais. The object was a small black bag, made of some sort of very fine velvet. He picked it up curiously. It was empty.

  "Is this," he began to ask again, turning, but she was standing immediately behind him on the dais. Her face was level with his, calmly staring at him. The stud in her nose glittered by the moony light of the rose window.

  "It's mine," she said, and jutted out her hand. James held the small bag for a moment longer, and then moved to give it to her. Her open hand, he noticed, was trembling. It was a subtle thing, but unmistakable. He looked back up at her face, curious and surprised. She exhaled impatiently and grabbed the bag, clenching it in her fist. She spun and trotted down the steps.

  "You're welcome," James called, peeved.

  Nastasia stopped at the Alma Aleron cabinet and glanced back up at him. She looked consideringly at him for a moment, and James thought she might apologize for her rudeness.

  "Don't push your luck, Cornelius," she commented, almost affectionately. "You don't want to get on a Pixie's bad side."

  With that, she stepped into the cabinet. The door swung shut with a sharp clunk.

  James shook his head in bemusement.

  "She's gone?" Albus rasped from the doors, making a half-hearted attempt to keep his voice down.

  "I guess," James answered, clumping down the steps of the dais and approaching the cabinet. He rounded it, facing the double doors with their trademark eagle insignias, and then heaved both doors open. The interior of the cabinet was dark and empty. A pair of brass coat-hooks glinted on the rear wall.

  Ralph approached from between the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff tables. "You going to chase her over?"

  James shook his head again. "I don't think I could if I tried. Who do you think she was? What in the world was she doing here?"

  "Being an obnoxious twit, that's what," Albus answered fervently. "Good riddance to her. At least she won't be taking any classes here. Can't handle our dankness. Pshh. Americans."

  James nodded, but remained quiet. He closed the Alma Aleron cabinet doors carefully.

  Ten minutes later, he crept back through the portrait hole into the Gryffindor common room. It was after one in the morning and he was now officially exhausted. He tiptoed across the now-empty common room, slipping the invisibility cloak off as he went.

  "Psst. James," a voice whispered from near his feet. James jumped and swore out loud. It was the third time that night that someone had startled him with his own name. He turned toward the source of the whisper and was not quite astonished to see his father's face looking up at him from the dying embers of the fire.

  "Have a nice little roam?"

  "Dad!" James hissed, half exasperated and half embarrassed. "You were watching tonight? Don't you have a life?"

  "I have a son that I know very well, that's what I have," Harry Potter said wryly. "I saw you leave about an hour ago, just as I thought you might. How's Albus and Ralph."

  "Jolly as Jobberknolls," James replied tersely, falling onto the couch.

  His father seemed rather obviously pleased with himself. "And who, may I ask, is Nastasia Hendrix?"

  James sighed wearily. "Nobody. She's an American. She popped over to insult us a little, that's all."

  Harry nodded a bit uncertainly, and then shook his head, apparently choosing not to pursue the subject. Perhaps he thought James was making things up. For now, James didn't much care.

  "Can I get to bed now?" he asked, sliding off the couch onto his hands and knees in front of the fire. "I'm sorry I snuck out tonight. It won't happen aga
in."

  His father's expression turned serious. "See that it doesn't. For the time being."

  James pressed his lips together firmly and nodded. Then, suddenly, an idea struck him.

  "Wait, Dad, one more thing," he said, inching closer to the glowing embers. "Tonight, when you were watching me on the Map, did you… see anyone else?"

  His father looked up at him curiously, almost warily. "You mean… besides Albus and Ralph and this Nastasia friend of yours?"

  "She's not a friend," James insisted, dropping his head for a moment. "But yes. Before that."

  There was a long pause. His father studied him, his eyes narrowed slightly. Finally, he said, "There was a flicker. I thought it had to be an error. The Map's pretty old now, and not as reliable as it once was, back before the battle and a lot of the school had to be rebuilt. There are a few blank areas, and some places that are a bit tetchy…"

  "Dad," James whispered harshly, "just tell me. What did you see?"

  Harry shook his head slightly. "It had to just be a glitch, James. It couldn't have been who the Map said it was."

  James was nearly shaking with impatience now. "Dad!"

  "It was Petra, son," His father said in a low, secretive voice. "Petra Morganstern. But just for a second. She flickered on and off, fluctuating all over the corridor. And then, she was just gone again."

  James simply stared at his father's face in the glowing red embers, his mouth half open in shock.

  "James," Harry Potter said gravely. "It was a mistake, right? Tell me you didn't see her tonight. Tell me that somehow… you didn't see Petra. Did you?"

  James barely heard his father. Several seconds of shocked silence passed over him. And then, slowly, he closed his mouth.

  "No, Dad," he answered quietly. "I… didn't."

  Technically, he hadn't seen anyone.

  His father accepted this. He ordered James to lock the cloak away and get immediately into bed. This, James did to the letter.

  But, tired as he was, it was a long time before he finally slept.

  The last free weekend trickled away beneath a pall of storm clouds and lashing rain, reducing the grounds to marsh. James, like everyone else, spent Sunday afternoon in the common room, cursing the weather and counting the hours until the start of term. Lily joined him after lunch and introduced him to some of her new friends. One of them, James was interested to learn, was a second year named Stanton Olivander, great-grandson of the famous wand merchant. He was a small, shy, bespectacled boy, reluctant to discuss wands or wand-making, despite (or probably because of) his well-known namesake. This did not prevent him, however, from commenting on James' new wand.

  "Lost his old one in the sea," Olivander explained helpfully to the other first years. "Had it stolen from him, apparently, while he was out swimming or some such."

  "Thanks, yes," James said, attempting to curtail the conversation. "It was a bit more than a swim."

  "Granddad was a little put out about it, to tell the truth," Olivander went on, warming to the subject. "Says a wand bonds with a wizard for life and that it's a shame to lose one so soon. Says Potters are usually dead careful with their wands."

  James rolled his eyes irritably. "Yeah, well, I'll try not to let this one get nicked by any evil warlocks."

  Lance Vassar grinned from further down the table. "Or any haddocks, eh, Potter?"

  Unlike James, Lily was in indomitably good spirits, babbling about the start of term and all of her new classes. Her natural exuberance had made her the centre of a small group of fellow first years, most of whom seemed to pay James very little attention at all as they crowded next to him on the hearth sofa.

  "So we've got Herbology and Transfiguration Monday morning," Lily proclaimed for the third time, consulting her class schedule. "Neville teaches Herbology. Of course, he'll be Professor Longbottom now. He's one of the best herbologists in the world. He got invited to the American Wizarding school to give a speech last year."

  "I was there, Lil," James sighed, but she ignored him, grabbing her new best friend, Beatrix Zechariah, by the arm.

  "History of Magic is taught by a ghost!" she exclaimed, bouncing excitedly on the sofa. "Won't that be interesting? I bet he lived through all sorts of adventures before he died, and was just too full of stories to pop off into the afterlife!"

  James shook his head, stifling a grin. It was the first time he'd ever heard anyone accuse Professor Binns of being interesting, but he was loathe to ruin his sister's enthusiasm with the terribly dull truth.

  Eventually he extracted himself from the group and looked half-heartedly for someone to play Winkles and Augers with. Rose and Scorpius sat nearby on a pair of opposing armchairs. She was reading, of course, while Scorpius was folding a piece of parchment into a complicated hippogriff shape. Three of the paper sculptures already circled above his chair, chasing each other silently by the watery light of the nearby window. James drew a deep breath, considered walking over and joining them, and then shook his head. Instead, he turned and left the common room, heading nowhere in particular.

  That evening, after dinner, he met Ralph and Albus in front of the sign-up parchments.

  "So how's Lily getting along?" Albus asked breezily.

  "Like she was born there," James sighed. "She's got more perkiness than the rest of us combined. Everybody loves her."

  Albus clucked his tongue. "Pity she didn't go to Slytherin. We would've added a little salt to that sugar. But what are you going to do?"

  Ralph fingered a large quill. "Did you talk to Zane on the Shard?"

  James shook his head. "No luck. He's never in his room. We're just going to have to wing it."

  "There's hardly anything left," Ralph replied unhappily, turning back to the parchment. "All the good classes are already filled. Clockwork Mechanics, Magi-American History, Potions, everything. All that's left is Forbidden Practices and Cursology--"

  "Not a chance," James interrupted emphatically, approaching the parchment. "I'm not sitting under Professor Remora ever again if I can help it."

  "Mageography," Ralph went on.

  "That's no better. Unless," he stopped, raising his eyebrows consideringly. "Is Rose signed up for it? She's the note-taker. She could make it bearable."

  Ralph shook his head. "No luck."

  "Forget it then," James groused. "What else?"

  "That's it," Albus piped in cheerfully. "You two shouldn't have waited around for advice from your daft Zombie mate. I signed up straight away, first night. Wizard Home Economics."

  James glanced aside at his brother disbelievingly. "You signed up for Wiz Home Ec?"

  Albus shrugged. "What can I say? I like old Mother Newt. She's like a sort of evil version of Grandma Weasley."

  "There are some openings down there," Ralph pointed as James shook his head. "They aren't classes, exactly, but clubs and stuff. You think they count?"

  "If it's on the list I guess it counts," James replied, leaning in and following Ralph's pointing finger. Under the heading CLUBS AND TEAMS was a list of half a dozen extra-curricular activities. Between Wizard Chess Aficionados and Professor Remora's Book Club, James noticed a listing called Chancellor's Experimental Communication & Transport.

  "That one!" he brightened, grabbing the quill out of Ralph's hand.

  "Experimental Communication?" Ralph frowned. "Why that one?"

  "If I'm right, it's a Zane thing," James said, scribbling his name on the appropriate line. "Remember all those crazy ways he kept popping up during our second year? That was him and Chancellor Franklyn and a few others. Some bloke named Rafael, I think. It's a sort of club where they try out Franklyn's newest magical inventions."

  "Sounds dodgy," Ralph hesitated as James gave him back his quill. "You think it's all safe?"

  "Franklyn's in charge," James nodded, shrugging vaguely. "So, you know. Probably not. I don't know. But it's Zane. Come on, it'll be fun."

  With a sigh of resignation, Ralph signed his own name to the parchme
nt. "Well, that's it. I guess we're all set."

  Albus shook his head and rolled his eyes. "You're both just as daft as Walker. But if you're lucky maybe I'll bring you back a muffin anyway."

  James had no luck reaching Zane via the Shard the next morning, either. The Alma Aleron dormitory, as seen in the chunk of mirror, showed only an empty room, marginally neater than before, and awash with golden mid-day sunbeams via the open window. A fat spider sunned itself on the windowsill, overlooking a corner of the campus and the limbs of a nearby chestnut tree, weighted with leaves and shushing in a light breeze.

  Annoyed, James wrapped the Shard again and stuffed it into his trunk. The morning sky outside his own dormitory window was still steely grey and heavy with storm clouds, although the actual rain seemed to have stopped during the night. A stiff wind shook the tower, rattling the window glass and creaking the conical roof far overhead.

  "Care of Magical Creatures, first thing," Graham said with mock enthusiasm, glancing toward the window on his way to a late breakfast. "That should be a treat."

  "At least we get to see Hagrid again," James commented, following Graham down the stairs.

  "Yeah, bully for us," Graham groaned. "No better way to start your morning than getting stung, burnt or trampled. And wet at the same time? Pinch me, I'm still dreaming."

  James shouldered his knapsack as they stepped through the portrait hole. "I was only gone a year, Graham," he commented, "I don't know how I managed to forget what a happy little sunbeam you are."

  By the time they reached the Great Hall, James barely had time for a quick slice of toast before heading to his first class. Rose angled to join him as they left the castle, striking out across the squelching grounds toward the great stone barn where Hagrid housed his menagerie.

  "Are you still angry?" she asked in a small voice.

  James didn't answer immediately. They tramped over the hill overlooking the lake. Stacks of heavy clouds lay upside down on the lake's surface, reflecting the sky above. Wind ripped across the wet grounds, chasing undulations over the grass.