James Potter and the Morrigan Web

by G. Norman Lippert

  "What have we here?" a soft voice asked from directly behind James.

  All three boys jumped and turned, looking guiltily up into the face of Professor Avior. The old wizard glared down his nose at Zane, his pale blue eyes glittering in the cold light. With calm sternness he said, "You appear to have Durmstrang property in your hand, young man."

  Zane took a step backwards, away from the professor's icy glare. He held out the Yuxa burs, offering them to James. "Yeah. Well, I was just…"

  "He was just helping me, sir," James nodded, taking the burs. "They got stuck on my robes. Zane helped me get them off."

  Avior's glare remained fixed on Zane. "It is noble of you to assume blame for your friend, Mr. Potter. But misguided. Unlike other schools, theft is a very serious crime within these halls. Especially theft of something as valuable and rare of the Yuxa Baslatma plants."

  "He didn't steal it," Ralph said nervously. "Really. It got stuck on James' robes. It's like you said, professor: the Yuxa finds the person who needs it. Maybe there's some mystery the plant wants to show James."

  Avior's gaze finally ticked toward James, his eyes narrowing. He raised his chin and held out his hand, palm up. James looked down at it, knowing what it meant. With a sigh, he placed the mass of burs in the professor's hand. The fingers closed into a fist, producing a faint crackle as the burs crushed together.

  "Ow," Zane winced, remembering how sharp the burs had been.

  "In light of your diplomatic status," Avior said quietly, looking closely at James. "I will overlook your attempt to interfere with Durmstrang disciplinary policy. This time. Do not do it again. Mr. Walker," he switched his gaze to Zane, his face hardening. "You are forbidden to return to this school. Your grade will show that you have failed. And please, I implore you, do not challenge me on this. Your situation can only worsen if you do."

  With that, Avior turned, his fur-lined robes sweeping over the iron-grate floor. "Be gone with all of you," he called over his shoulder. "Surely you have responsibilities back in your own schools. Volkiev is waiting to escort you back to your cabinets."

  James, Ralph and Zane began to follow the professor silently, each fuming and angry. James glanced back at Zane as he reached the spiral staircase. Zane refused to look at him. His face was set in a mask of pale rage.

  The three boys reached the main floor and angled toward the double doors. Outside, Volkiev watched impatiently with the rest of the exchange students.

  "Mr. Potter, if you would be so kind," Avior said quietly, touching James' elbow as he approached the door.

  James glanced up at him, saw that the professor meant for him to wait. Ralph and Zane passed through the door before him without looking back.

  "Go ahead, Mr. Volkiev," Avior suggested airily. "Mr. Potter will catch up to you in a moment. Surely he knows the way by now."

  Outside the door, Volkiev seemed reluctant. He glared at James, his lips pressed into a thin line. Then, with a click of his boot heels and a stiff bow, he turned and stalked away, leading his charges.

  "I am not an unreasonable man, Mr. Potter," Avior sighed deeply, stepping away from the door and into the frosty light of the classroom. "And yet I operate in a rigid environment. Certain things are expected of me, not only by the administration of this school, but by its students, and yes, after so many years, by myself as well. I am obliged to maintain a certain image. I hope you will not think too poorly of me."

  James watched the professor's back as he moved into the light of the windows. Feeling slightly emboldened, he said, "Zane didn't steal anything. I was telling the truth. The plant got stuck on my robes."

  "Mr. Walker does not belong here," Avior announced dismissively. "I did him a favour by removing him. This school is no place for someone of his… heritage."

  "That's dark wizard talk," James muttered, fear and anger mingling in his voice.

  Avior turned, looking back at James over his shoulder. He seemed to be smiling bemusedly. The smile crinkled his eyes, making them suddenly warm in the chilly classroom. "You are a very bold young man. Not unlike your father when he was your age."

  James cocked his head. "How would you know anything about my father?"

  Avior's smile softened. "Oh, we all know your father. He is quite famous, after all. I have respect for him. Unlike many in these halls. But this is not why I have detained you."

  The professor beckoned James forward. Nervously, James approached. Cold pressed against him, emanating from the bank of frosty windows behind Avior.

  "The question which most vexes you," the old wizard chuckled lightly. "You, I believe, are a young man with many vexing questions, are you not?"

  James continued to approach Avior. He saw the wizard's fist closed loosely, apparently still holding the Yuxa burs.

  "And yet," Avior went on, meeting James' eyes. "I wonder which question is the most vexing? It is an important consideration, yes? After all, some of life's most vexing questions are the ones we might least wish to have answered. Sometimes, the answers can be far more dangerous than the questions."

  James stopped in front of the old wizard. Behind him, the frosty windows glared white, showing hard, snow-capped mountain peaks. The wintry light reduced Avior to a silhouette.

  "But I am not an unreasonable man, Mr. Potter," he said again. "My quarters are not far from here. I have arranged for you to move freely through the school. Come and see me if you wish. I am willing to answer the proper questions. If, that is… you are willing to ask."

  With that, the professor held out his hand, opening his fist. James looked down at his palm, expecting to see the Yuxa burs. Instead, he saw the Chocolate Frog card with Albus Dumbledore's face smiling benignly up at him, identical to the face of the wizard holding it.

  James glanced up at Avior again. A shiver coiled down his spine, shaking him. Avior nodded slightly, offering the card. Tentatively, James took it.

  Avior nodded again, resolutely, as if their business was concluded. "Hurry along, young man. Your classmates are nearly to the cabinets now. You may still catch them."

  James turned and hurried away, eager to get out of the cold classroom, out of the presence of the strange, eerie wizard. He was just passing through the double doors, into the relative warmth of the corridor, when Avior's voice echoed to him once more, stopping him.

  "It would be best, Mr. Potter," he said calmly, almost kindly, "if you did not tell your father about this. Harry might be a bit… conflicted."

  James shivered again. He didn't answer. Instead, he turned and ran from the room, weaving through clusters of stony-faced Durmstrang students, carrying the chill of the classroom with him like a haunting ghost.

  On the Monday before the Night Quidditch match against Slytherin, Rose passed James a note in Transfiguration class. He unfolded the parchment carefully and peered down at it under his desk.

  Meet after dinner in the Owlery. Tell no one. Do not be followed. Check the box next to your name if you will be there.

  Across the bottom of the note were the names Ralph, Zane, Nastasia, Rose, Scorpius and ames. Except for James, each name was check-marked with red ink. Beneath James' name, Rose had added the words Bring parchment and ink!

  Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, James tapped his quill with his wand, turning the ink red, and scratched a check-mark next to his own name. Then, after a moment, he added: real secret societies don't print every members name on their notes.

  He refolded the parchment and levitated it carefully to Rose in the row ahead of him, tapping her lightly on the back of the head with it. She snatched at it impatiently. While Professor McGonagall assisted Fiona Fourcompass with a half-transfigured apple/boot hybrid, Rose unfolded the note and read it. She glanced back at James with a brief, withering look, and then made the note vanish in a puff of silent flame, being sure to let him see it.

  To the untrained eye, dinner in the Great Hall was the same as normal, with perhaps just a bit more unusual boisterousness between tables. From the
Slytherin side of the Hall, Nolan Beetlebrick made rather unnecessarily provocative faces at Devindar Das at the Gryffindor table. Willow Wisteria, on the other hand, made suspiciously loud comments about Slytherin Fiera Hutchins' clumsiness when she mysteriously dropped an entire platter of buttered rolls. James had the distinct impression that Willow had jinxed Fiera with a carefully concealed wand.

  At the Hufflepuff table, several faces watched these interactions with unusually bright, albeit silent, interest. James knew that some of the Hufflepuff Night Quidditch players would be sneaking out to the pitch that night to observe the match, keenly interested in who they would be playing in their own sudden death tournament slot. There was a palpable tension in the air, augmented by the total secrecy that kept it hidden from the rest of the school.

  At the head table a sudden whooping noise erupted for the fifth time, producing an annoyed grunt from Professor Heretofore. She once more dug in her robes for her pocket Sneakoscope. Unable to quiet the shrieking mechanism, she finally smacked it to the table and fired a bright orange curse at it. The Sneakoscope squawked loudly and fell silent.

  Next to her, Professor McGonagall frowned out over the assembly of students, suspicion etched on her face. She exchanged a word with Professor Longbottom, who laughed a bit too shrilly in response. Behind and above them, the monstrous five-faced clock gonged the hour, summoning students to their evening classes beyond the vanishing cabinets. Lily stood in line before the Alma Aleron cabinet along with several of her new friends. As James watched, Zane and Nastasia suddenly stepped out of the cabinet, startling the line of first years. Lily smiled at Zane in surprise and watched the two Americans walk past, hurrying into the Great Hall.

  "James," Rose called from further down the Gryffindor table.

  James saw her wiggling her eyebrows at him sternly. He pushed his plate away and stood up. "I'm going, I'm going. I have to run up to the dormitory first for some parchment and ink."

  "Shhh!" Rose hissed at him fiercely. She stood, turned on her heel, and swept away toward the open double doors.

  James exited the hall himself and ran up the stairs to the Gryffindor common room. Five minutes later, changed out of his school robes and carrying his parchment, quill and ink, he ducked through the portrait hole and headed toward the Owlery. On the way, he passed a long, dark corridor, pausing at the sight of a pair of ghosts flitting slowly in the distance. It was Cedric Diggory and the Grey Lady floating slowly, shoulder to shoulder. James considered calling a hello, but they were quite far away and he was in a hurry. He darted on, wondering briefly about the possibility of romance in the afterlife.

  As usual, the Owlery was pungent with the smell of owl feathers, guano and mouse carcasses. It was quite cold inside, with a pale half-moon shining through the open windows. As James entered, he saw the others gathered in the centre of the floor, huddling against the late autumn chill.

  "It's about time," Scorpius complained. "It's right cold up here. And some of us have things to do."

  Rose frowned. "Oh, don't act all cryptic. Everybody knows about Night Quidditch and the big match tonight. You'll have plenty of time to pretend to go to bed and sneak out to try to kill yourself in the dark. This, on the other hand, is important."

  "What's Night Quidditch?" Ralph asked, glancing around.

  Scorpius' nostrils flared and he jammed his fists onto his hips, staring daggers at Rose.

  "So what's this about?" James asked, joining the huddle. "What does it have to do with all of us?"

  Rose pressed her lips into a thin, pale line, meeting James' eyes. "It's simple," she said quietly. "It's time we all started working together again." She looked around at the others, each in turn. "Because James is right. Something is going on. Something big."

  "Ooo!" Nastasia cooed. "Conspiracy! Adventure! Some crazy made-up Lady of the Lake that nobody but James can see! Actually, come to think of it," she paused and frowned slightly. "I don't care. Can I go home now?"

  "Quiet, Nastasia," Zane muttered.

  Nastasia demurred easily, hooking her arm around Zane's elbow and hanging on him. She met James' eyes and gave him a big smile.

  Ralph dragged a short wooden stool closer with his foot and plopped onto it. "So what is it then, Rose? Does it have something to do with James' Lady of the Lake?"

  Rose ignored the question. Instead, she produced a sheaf of folded parchment from her knapsack and unfurled it noisily, revealing a mass of notes written in her own neat handwriting. "Hired by Igor Karkaroff in the year nineteen seventy-seven for the post of assistant potion master," she read briskly. "Promoted to head potion master two years later. Named to the board of Durmstrang regents in nineteen eighty-five. Granted lifetime guaranteed professorship six years later. One of three people to chair the movement to re-initiate the Triwizard Tournament…"

  "I was bored until that last bit," Scorpius interjected. "Who are you talking about?"

  Rose lowered her parchments. "Avior Dorchascathan, Durmstrang professor of Practical Prophecy."

  "Him," Zane rolled his eyes. "I think I've had enough of that old crank to last a million years. I still haven't told my parents that I already managed to fail a class, and not for any of the usual reasons."

  "Poor baby," Nastasia purred, tightening her grip on Zane's arm. James felt suddenly slightly ill.

  Scorpius leaned to peer at Rose's notes. "Since when are you vetting crotchety old foreign teachers? Did James suck you in with that bit about him being Dumbledore's evil twin?"

  "That's exactly what I'm talking about!" Rose said with sudden ferocity, crinkling the notes in her fists. "Who are you to laugh at what James says? How many times has he just made stuff up? How often has he been wrong when he says there's some big plot afoot?"

  "Well," Ralph said uncomfortably. "He was wrong about Professor Jackson back during the Hall of Elders' Crossing. Turned out he was a good guy after all."

  "Same with Merlinus in our second year," Zane nodded.

  Rose blew her hair out of her face impatiently. "That's missing the point. The point is there were big scary plots going on. So what if he was wrong about a few of the details?"

  "Like the Merlin staff," Ralph agreed. "He thought it was Tabitha Corsica's broom."

  Zane brightened. "Or what about when he brought Merlin's robe right to Madame Delacroix, thinking it was just the Invisibility Cloak? She really pulled a fast one on you there, didn't she, James?"

  "That's quite a track record," Nastasia nodded appreciatively.

  "Shut up, all of you!" Rose interrupted, her face grave. "The point is, if James says something isn't right, I, for one, am choosing to believe him. I think he's earned that."

  "What about the Lady of the Lake?" Scorpius asked calmly. "Like it or not, Nasty here is right. Nobody else has ever seen her. Do you believe James about that?"

  Rose met Scorpius' eyes firmly. "My cousin Lucy is dead. James says that the Lady of the Lake killed her. Are you suggesting that he lied about that? Are you saying that he's using the death of a twelve year old girl… to get attention?"

  Scorpius studied Rose's face for a long, tense moment. Finally, he looked away. For once, he seemed to have no response. James' face felt hot with mingled embarrassment and gratitude. He hadn't realized until this moment just how much it had wounded him not to be believed. He met Rose's eyes and nodded gratefully at her. She glanced down at the floor. When she looked up again, she shrugged. Perhaps she wasn't as confident as she seemed, but at least she was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt.

  "So," Ralph said, "If James says there is something dodgy about Professor Avior, then it's worth looking into, right?"

  Rose didn't answer. Instead, she raised her notes again. "Shortly after Avior was hired as assistant potion master at Durmstrang, a magical summit was held there, attended by Hogwarts and Ministry representatives. Avior did not attend. Apparently he was ill the entire time, confined to his quarters."

  "Couldn't have happened to a nicer fella," Z
ane muttered darkly.

  "A few years later, when Avior was a full professor," Rose went on, "There was a big scandal involving a bunch of vacationing students from Hogwarts, Durmstrang and Beauxbatons. It seems they all showed up in a Muggle fishing village, got into a huge duelling contest and caused all sorts of trouble, levitating boats into the village streets and engorging fish to the size of monsters. The Ministry of Magic called in a whole team of professors from all three schools to help sort it out and determine who to punish. Avior was the one professor all the Durmstrang students had in common, but he refused to come. He claimed to have a 'family emergency'. The thing is there is no record whatsoever of his family. Not a mother or father. No siblings. Not so much as a single crazy uncle."

  Ralph said, "Well, he's got to have some family, right? I mean, he didn't just hatch from an egg. Er, unless that happens sometimes in the wizarding world. It doesn't, does it?"

  "What's the point of all this, Rose?" Scorpius shook his head.

  "In nineteen ninety-four," Rose went on, raising her voice. "The Triwizard Tournament was held for the first time in nearly two hundred years, due in large part to the efforts of one Avior Dorchascathan. And yet, for reasons no one really knows, the Professor himself did… not… attend."

  There was a long pause in the darkness of the Owlery. All around, feathered shapes shuffled. Cold wind pressed through the open windows, ruffling James' hair.

  "So," Zane finally said, "the old guy's shy. Or maybe he just doesn't like leaving Durmstrang castle."

  "That can't be it," Rose countered. "He's left the castle loads of times. In fact, according to some of the Durmstrang students I've interviewed, Avior travels very frequently, and for weeks at a time. He definitely has no problem getting out and around."

  Ralph shrugged. "So what's the big deal then?"

  "The big deal," Rose replied, lowering her voice, "is that Avior is suspiciously absent anytime he might be around people from Hogwarts or the Ministry of Magic," she turned to James, her face serious. "Anytime he might encounter people who remember Albus Dumbledore."