James Potter and the Morrigan Web

by G. Norman Lippert

  "I'm stuck!" she shouted back furiously. "In the bathtub!"

  "Under the circumstances," Harry nodded firmly, "I think you'd better be the one to go and charm her a new door, Ron. The back hallway should do nicely."

  Ron's face was pale as he nodded. "Coming, love!" he called tremulously.

  "And Ron," Harry added, stopping Ron as he reached the door. "You should probably take a robe."

  Ron's eyes widened again. He nodded vigorously and left, muttering nervously.

  Fifteen minutes later, the newly engorged dining room table was surrounded by a happy throng of eating and drinking people, many of whom James was rather surprised to see. Seated on either side of Neville Longbottom were Professors Flitwick and McGonagall, both dressed in far more casual clothing than any of the students were accustomed to seeing them in (although McGonagall's green and red tartan vest and huge, puffed sleeves were by far the most disconcerting of the lot). Further down, speaking loudly and intently across the table with his huge forearms crossed over his plate, was Professor Kendrick Debellows, his crew-cut bristling in the firelight and his voice booming from the walls. And dominating the end of the table with his enormous, bearded bulk was Hagrid, his holiday tankard of butterbeer nearly as large as a barrel and decorated with a massive, scrolled pewter handle.

  "When did all these people get here?" Rose asked James as she peered around the table.

  "Trickled in one by one over the course of the afternoon," Louis answered knowledgeably, reaching for another roll. "Most came via the cellar floo but a few, like Flitwick and that Auror bloke, Apparated just before dinner. Had their own family holidays to attend first, I heard Uncle George say."

  James shook his head, wondering. "Why are they all here, then?"

  "It's obvious, innit?" Louis replied, shooting up his eyebrows. "It's the old Order, all coming together again!"

  Albus scoffed. "That's ridiculous. Grimmauld Place isn't even all that secure anymore. Not like it used to be, back when dad was a kid. Besides, the Order of the Phoenix was about defeating Voldemort. Unless I've been missing some major news, I'm pretty sure he's still dead."

  "The Order was about the safety of the magical world," Rose countered softly, looking over the length of the table. "And as much as I hate to say it, Louis is right. A lot of these people are original members. We joked about it before, but perhaps it's true. The Order of the Phoenix might be reconvened."

  Albus shook his head. "Why? Because some nutter headmaster gave Filch a magical cane?"

  James felt a rising sense of apprehension, despite the raucously festive atmosphere. "There's way more going on in the world than we know at Hogwarts. Grudje may be part of it… but he's not all of it."

  "Then why isn't Titus Hardcastle here?" Albus asked, rising in his seat and craning around the table. "There's a few other blokes from the Auror department, but no Titus. Seems like an odd one to leave out, doesn't it?"

  James shrugged. "Maybe he's coming later."

  "Maybe," Ralph nodded. "I heard my dad say to Ron Weasley that he spoke to somebody at Alma Aleron on the Shard and they'll be showing up later tonight."

  "Alma Aleron?" Rose whispered shrilly. "You mean, they'll just be popping up as apparitions or something, using some of Chancellor Franklyn's experimental communications techniques, right?"

  Ralph shook his head doubtfully. "I don't think so. I think they're going to be here in person. Whatever it's about, I don't think they want any chance of being overheard or spied on."

  "Who's coming?" Louis asked, leaning over the table. "You can tell us!"

  Ralph shrugged. "I don't know. I didn't hear any names."

  "Well that settles it," Albus said firmly. "We need to get into that meeting somehow."

  Louis threw up his hands. "Not a chance. You know we've been banished to the attic once the sun goes down tonight. Kreacher will be standing guard, too. He's as stubborn as a wart on a hag's nose. Nobody can get past him."

  "Well, you couldn't, that's for sure." Albus admitted.

  "Shut up, all of you," Rose hissed. "If they catch wind that we're even talking about this, they'll do worse than have Kreacher stand guard!"

  James nodded agreement. At that moment, Grandma Weasley and Aunt Fleur appeared with double armloads of fresh puddings, some half as tall as the women and bedecked with red and green gumdrops. Suddenly, however, the last thing James wanted was a plate full of sweets.

  For the first time in his life, in fact, he was impatient for Christmas dinner to be over.

  Ralph and Louis half-heartedly played Hex the Hag on the attic floor, taking turns hexing the tiny clockwork figure so that it ran back and forth across the game board, knocking tiny cauldrons aside. From beneath a nearby bunk, Crookshanks' huge green eyes glowed like lamps, watching the figure greedily. Beyond the stacks of bunks, Kreacher's voice could be heard muttering incessantly just outside the locked attic door.

  "We could levitate one of us out the window," James suggested with a shrug.

  "Don't be an idiot," Rose grumped, her chin resting on her hands and her feet kicking idly over the side of a top bunk.

  Behind her, in the darkness of the attic's depths, Albus clambered noisily, moving crates and ferreting through trunks.

  "What's he doing back there?" Lily asked, peering through the shadows. "And why's he in such a good mood, us all being stuck in the attic while big exciting things are being discussed downstairs?"

  "I heard Professor Jackson is here from Alma Aleron!" Louis spoke up suddenly. "I would love to meet him. He wrote the book on Technomancy."

  "Literally," Ralph nodded.

  "Maybe one of us could Apparate!" James proposed, brightening for a moment. "That's possible here these days, isn't it? We could just pop down one floor! Kreacher would be none the wiser!"

  "Have you ever seen someone get splinched?" Rose asked archly.

  James glowered at her. "No."

  "I once saw a fifth year end up halfway through a desk, upside down."

  James firmed his jaw. "Well. That doesn't… er… sound so…"

  "His head was in the bottom drawer." She added.

  "Look, I don't hear you coming up with any amazing ideas!" James proclaimed, waving a hand at his cousin.

  Across the room, Victoire, lounging languidly on a middle bunk, lowered her book.

  "All of you, give it up. It's none of our business anyway. Why you waste so much energy on such pointless things is truly beyond me."

  Rose rolled her eyes. "Says the girl who subscribes to Fashion Enchantment Weekly."

  "Look at me!" a voice laughed suddenly. "I'm old Mrs. Black!"

  James wheeled around on his bunk to see Albus standing near the attic window resplendent in a monstrous purple dress, his head nearly buried under a hat the size of a lorry tire. A ghastly stuffed owl leaned precariously from the hat, its topaz eyes flashing. "There's a whole wardrobe of this stuff back here. Jewellery, too! Look!" He thrust out his wrist, showing a collection of silver bracelets, charms and jewelled bands that would have made Professor Trelawney green with envy.

  "Albus, you berk," Rose said sternly, but James heard a laugh stifled beneath her words.

  "My name is Walburga Black!" Albus proclaimed in a high falsetto, framing his face with his hands. "How dare you desecrate the house of my fathers, you horrible Muggle-rubbing cauldron tossers! Sod off with the lot of you or I'll hex you as ugly as myself!"

  "Albus Severus Potter," Lily giggled helplessly. "Put those things back! Seriously, you'll get us all into trouble."

  "Oh, you don't know what trouble is, dearie!" Albus shrilled, grabbing a fringed, jewel-handled umbrella and brandishing it like a sword. "You watered-down halfblood huggers will feel the sting of my curse! How dare you set foot in my father's house! I'll wear even more hideous clothes at you, see if I don't!" He spun on the spot and jammed his feet into a pair of high-heeled green leather boots. "Now come over here so I don't have to walk in these!"

  A rush of col
d air swept through the room as the attic door suddenly wrenched open. Everyone turned to see Kreacher looming in the doorway, his knobby shoulders hunched, his face pulled down in a frown so pronounced that it seemed nearly to reach the floor.

  "Found my mistress' things, they did," he growled emphatically, his deep bullfrog voice vibrating through the floorboards. "Making a mockery of my dearly departed mistress, and no mistake. Show no respect, they don't."

  And then, with no fanfare whatsoever, Kreacher vanished.

  "Augh!" Albus screamed. "What the…! Get off me!"

  James wheeled around again. Kreacher had reappeared directly behind Albus, his face etched with such refined rage that it appeared to be carved in granite. Swiftly, he pointed his bony fingers at Albus, stinging him with hexes so that Albus began to involuntarily disrobe, jerkily and spasmodically.

  "Agh!" Albus gasped. "All right! Stop it! ARGH! OW! Sod off, you miserable little OUCH!!"

  Kreacher paused as Albus kicked off the boots desperately, falling to his bum on the dusty wooden floor. The house elf caught the boots deftly, still glaring unblinking at Albus, his mouth pressed into a tight line of fury.

  "They should not touch Mistress' things," he growled in his gravelly voice. "Once a Mistress, always a Mistress. And Mistress strictly instructed that no one was ever to meddle with her boudoir. Not even any new 'Masters'."

  "I wasn't meddling," Albus protested, rubbing his arms where Kreacher had stung him. "I was rooting about! Just having some fun. What do you expect, us being all locked up here in the attic all night!"

  "Shows no respect," Kreacher muttered again, making a summoning gesture into the shadows. In response, the open trunks snapped shut and lurched forward, rocking back and forth noisily on their corners. "Must find a new home for my Mistress' things so long as the new 'Master' is about, him never having learnt any manners. A shameful thing it is. Oh, how my Mistress could have taught him. Bore no such insolence, did she. Knew how to train children. Knew when a wand was more effective than a word."

  As he muttered, Kreacher crossed between the bunks, leading a clunky procession of trunks, hatracks, and one very narrow, gilded wardrobe, its ancient mirrors clouded nearly black and smeared with dust. One by one, the items marched through the doorway and into the hall as Kreacher watched. Finally, with a malevolent, beady glance back at Albus, he followed. The door slammed shut behind him, shaking the walls and raining grit from the rafters. Dimly, the clunking procession faded toward the other end of the house.

  "And that," Albus announced, jumping up and swatting dust from his behind, "is how you get rid of Kreacher. So, who's coming?"

  Lily blinked owlishly at her brother. "You mean to tell us that… you planned that?"

  "While you lot were wasting your breath trying to figure out how to out-magic the old imp," Albus nodded. "I remembered what Professor Debellows taught us." Here, he lowered his voice and threw out his chest. "'Don't exploit your enemy's weakness, for he may have none. Exploit his passion and the battle is yours.'"

  "Wow," James said approvingly, jumping down from his bunk. "You really took one for the team. I was sure that Kreacher was going to straight up murder you there for a second."

  "I admit I may have overdone it a bit," Albus acknowledged, rubbing his arms again. "But when duty calls…"

  "I'm not going anywhere," Louis piped up. "And you lot are daft if you do. After that affair, if Kreacher does catch you out, he totally will kill you."

  "Nonsense," Lily said. "Kreacher's our house elf. He wouldn't hurt any of us."

  "Kreacher came with Grimmauld Place," Victoire corrected, sitting up on her bunk. "He's the house's house elf. He just obeys you lot because obedience is a hard thing for house elves to shake. Louis is right. You're nutters to sneak out. If you do, we'll both turn you in."

  "You do," Rose said firmly, approaching the door, "And I'll tell Teddy Lupin how you really spent that month when you and he broke up 'for the good of the relationship'."

  Victoire's face darkened dangerously. "You little munter. You wouldn't."

  Rose put on an elaborate French accent and clasped both hands next to her cheek. "Oh, Nolan Beetlebrick! How beeg and strong you are! And so good at Quidditch! I know eet is wrong, but there is somezing about Slytherin men that ees just so… naughty!"

  "I don't talk like that!" Victoire seethed loudly. "And it was just a weekend! Not all month!"

  "Come on," Rose said, pointing her wand at the door. "Kreacher will be back any moment. Alohamora!"

  There was a golden flash and the lock snicked. Albus grabbed the handle and wrenched the door open. The hall beyond was dark and empty, leading to a narrow stairwell. James stopped in the doorway and glanced back. "Lil, you stay here, and I don't want to hear a word. If we get caught sneaking out, we'll just get in trouble. If we get caught letting you out, mum will destroy us."

  "You aren't letting me out!" Lily protested. "I'm not a pet gerbil! I can go if I wish!"

  "James is right, Lily," Rose admonished gently. "We'll tell you everything we hear when we get back, promise."

  "I never get to do anything fun." Lily groused, folding her arms dramatically.

  James turned to Ralph. "You coming, Ralphinator?"

  Ralph shook his head, his cheeks pale. "Not this time. That elf of yours scares the hair off me. I think I'll just sit this one out."

  "Suit yourself," Albus agreed cheerily, sweeping past James into the hall. "Let's get gone. We're missing all the good stuff downstairs."

  James followed his brother out into the dark hall, closing the door behind him. It locked automatically, and James stopped as a thought occurred to him.

  "Hold on a mo'. If Kreacher comes back while we're gone, how are we going to get back inside?"

  He turned toward Rose and Albus, both of whom were standing on the top step of the staircase. They glanced at each other. Albus shrugged.

  "I only worked out how to sneak out," he admitted. "Getting back in never even crossed my mind."

  "You stupid git!" James hissed. "It's no good at all if we get caught coming back! Rose, get back here with your wand and unlock this thing. I forgot mine!" He stepped away from the door and pointed at it.

  Rose frowned dourly but seemed to recognize the sense in James' objection. She took one step back toward the locked door, wand in hand, when a small pop sounded in the darkness of the hall. Kreacher reappeared, his back to them, staring hard at the door as if he knew something was afoot. Slowly, he turned and looked back over his shoulder, his huge eyes sparkling in the gloom.

  Without thinking, James bolted. He ran toward the stairs and was joined there by Rose and Albus. Banging shoulders and bouncing off the walls, the three scrambled to the third floor, nearly toppling into a heap on the rug below.

  "There!" Albus gasped, pointing. "Split up! One a room!"

  "You're insane!" Rose objected shrilly, even as Albus lunged forward, throwing himself through an open bedroom door and ramming it shut.

  "I'll take my mum and dad's room!" she panted, darting forward. "You take the bathroom!"

  "But the lock's broken!" James objected.

  Rose, however, did not glance back. She pelted into the second bedroom and closed the door as quickly and quietly as she could. A moment later the deadbolt clacked into place. James shook his head in frustration and dove toward the dark bathroom. His feet echoed on the old tile floor as he spun around and pushed the door closed. It refused to latch, much less lock. James grabbed the rickety chair next to the sink and rammed it under the door handle, wedging it in place. He leaned against the door, then slid down to the floor and pressed an eye to the crack at the bottom.

  From this vantage, he could see the length of the hall rug stretching away toward the stairs. Slowly, silently, a pair of naked grey feet padded down into view, and then stopped. James could hear Kreacher's voice muttering quietly but clearly in the confines of the hall.

  "Think they can outsmart old Kreacher, they do," he seethed to
himself. "But Kreacher has ways they know nothing of. Kreacher has means beyond any young witch or wizard."

  James couldn't see above Kreacher's bony ankles, but he watched the house elf's shadow where it fell along a nearby wall. The shadow snapped its fingers and a small square object appeared in mid-air, dropping into the shadow's open hand. The other hand unfurled its long fingers and pinched the small object, opening it like a jewellery box. Kreacher's shadow tipped the box over.

  Two dark objects fell silently to the hall floor in front of Kreacher's feet. From James' perspective, the objects appeared to be black marbles, glossy as Raven's eyes in the darkness. Then, the objects began to flatten and spread, like beads of oil soaking into the nappy carpet. The drops grew, expanding and sending out long, glistening tendrils. Then, shapes began to bulge up out of the black goo. The shapes became hard, angular, transforming into jointed appendages, struggling swiftly out of the sticky black. Finally, both shapes leapt fully out of themselves, transforming into two miniature versions of Kreacher, each no more than six inches high, and each as black and liquid as ink.

  "Three escaped charges," Kreacher croaked with satisfaction. "And three of Kreacher. Only fair, isn't it?"

  With that, the three shapes began to pad along the hallway, making no noise at all on the threadbare carpet. They split up, each approaching one door. Kreacher stepped toward the bedroom that Rose had hidden inside. One of the Ink Kreachers stalked purposefully toward the bathroom door beyond which James crouched. Then, suddenly, it paused. It seemed to spy James' eye peering from beneath the door. It bent over slightly, almost playfully, as if to get a better look. Then, it straightened, raised one hand into a fist, and extended its index finger toward the ceiling. The finger wagged back and forth in a shaming gesture.

  The Ink Kreacher could, James realized, slither right beneath the bathroom door if it wanted.

  He clambered upright as the thought fully struck him. He cast around the dark room desperately. Suddenly, being caught by the horrible Ink Kreacher seemed the very last thing on earth he wanted. The bathroom provided no hiding place, however. The ancient claw-foot tub was huge and rust-stained, its curtain rod long barren of any curtain. The pedestal sink glowed ivory in the dimness.