James Potter and the Morrigan Web

by G. Norman Lippert

  "This is an outrage!" the portrait cried in a muffled voice.

  "Shut up!" the woman hissed. Suddenly, James realized that her voice was vaguely familiar. He took no time to consider this, however, instead darting along the narrow hall toward the main staircase. Another dark figure appeared there, apparating directly onto the stairs with a swoosh and a crack. Like the woman, the figure was dressed head to toe in black, its face hidden beneath a heavy cowl. Its wand was already out. In an instant, the wand pointed toward James.

  "Stop him!" the woman cried from behind, clattering out from beneath the portrait.

  James ducked under a narrow table just as a bolt of red lit the air. The Stunning spell struck the small table, knocking it aside. James ran, his feet pounding wildly and slipping on the hallway rug. More bolts sizzled over his head.

  He scrambled around a corner and ran into something so large and firm that he bounced off it, rebounding to the hall floor on his bum. The something leaned over him and extended a monstrous slab of a hand. James slapped at the hand before he realized who it belong to.

  "Behind me!" Hagrid boomed. "Now!"

  James felt himself lifted from the floor and swept behind the half giant, whose hulking form seemed to fill the entire corridor. Amazingly, red bursts exploded against Hagrid's shoulder and chest, forcing him to stumble backwards, but not, as one would expect, knocking him to the floor like a felled tree.

  "Who are you!" a voice nearby demanded. James dimly realized that it was his father. "Cease fire and identify yourselves!"

  Amazingly, the spells stopped. The smell of spent magic, faint but acrid, hung in the air. James glanced up and saw his father, Neville Longbottom, Uncle George, Professor Jackson, and Kendrick Debellows, all with their wands extended, crowded around the enormous slab of Hagrid's shielding body. Hagrid swayed precipitously but kept his feet. James hunkered down and peered around the hem of Hagrid's coat.

  The figure on the stairs had been joined by three others, one of whom was the woman James had encountered outside the bathroom. All he could see of her face was a somewhat pointed chin and angrily pursed red lips. Wands projected from the intruders' fists, held as firm as stone. Finally, the figure on the stairs, easily the tallest of the group, clumped down the stairs, lowering his wand. The others followed suit, if reluctantly. As the tall figure reached the main floor, he raised an arm and swept back his cowl, revealing a tangled bush of a beard, matted ginger hair, and eyes as beady and black as onyx.

  "Titus," Harry exhaled harshly. "What's this all about?"

  "We might ask you the same thing," the woman demanded angrily, her wand still clenched in her fist. "You were supposed to be at the Burrow! That's what you told all of us!"

  "Hush Lucinda," Titus growled. James' eyes grew wide when he heard the name. Lucinda Lyon was one of his dad's best Aurors. She had been to their house in Marble Arch on several occasions, both professionally and socially. She had always seemed very friendly and jocular, which was somewhat unusual for an Auror. James could hardly reconcile the affable, joking Lucinda he had known before to the cold, angry woman that stood before him now.

  "We had a change of plans," Harry answered sternly. "Last I checked that wasn't against the law."

  "I wouldn't be so sure of that anymore," Titus sighed, tucking his wand into the recesses of his robe. Despite the disarming gesture, James noticed, Titus' eyes never flinched from the congregation gathered before the dining room archway. "These are treacherous times, Harry. Caution is always wise. And large gatherings tend to arouse suspicion, especially in light of this evening's events. You might have informed us."

  "What events?" Kendrick Debellows demanded, lowering his wand toward the floor. "Surely a gathering of friends on the night of the Christ Mass is no cause for Ministry alarm."

  "Not usually," Titus answered. "But I was referring to other, more serious events. We attempted to inform you by floo, Harry, but of course found only an empty Burrow and no response. Same at Marble Arch. With that, I assembled a team to seek you in the last place we knew of, not knowing what we would find. Wariness seemed prudent."

  "Wariness!?" Hagrid boomed shakily, still swaying on his feet. "You blast into your mate's home with wands a-blazing and call that wariness?"

  "Hagrid," Neville said quietly, "Why don't you have a seat?"

  Hagrid nodded and seemed to deflate slightly. "S'matter of fact, that suddenly seems like a very good idea." With that, the half-giant's knees unhinged and he folded to the floor with a thump that shook the entire house. James barely had time to scramble out of the way before Hagrid slumped backwards to the rug, unconscious, his arms and legs akimbo.

  "How many Stuns did he absorb?" James heard his mum's voice ask from the dining room archway.

  "Can't say," Aunt Hermione replied under her breath. "But I imagine all that peppermint Dragonmeade he downed beforehand didn't hurt."

  Harry stepped over the prone figure of Hagrid and approached his fellow Auror. "I agree that prudence was called for, Titus. But this seems more like a raid than a delivery of news."

  "When I tell you the news, you may forgive our concern. But you should know that none of us fired before we were attacked."

  "Who attacked you?" Professor McGonagall demanded shrilly, emerging from the dining room arch. "None of us, I can assure you!"

  Titus ticked his head toward Lucinda, who flinched.

  "He threw a painting at me!" she declared, throwing back her cowl and revealing her short blonde hair. She pointed at James, her cheeks reddening. "I didn't recognize him in the dark, and the next thing I know, some dodgy old duffer was being rammed into my face."

  "I see," Harry said stonily, glancing back at his son. "Well. No harm done, fortunately. But perhaps next time you won't fire until you know exactly who you are firing at. I am quite sure that was one of the first things I taught you."

  Lucinda's cheeks burned even brighter, but a look of defiance glinted in her green eyes.

  Titus lowered his voice, addressing Harry directly, "There was an attack today, at the summit in Luxembourg. A rogue wizard somehow broke through the cordon. He was able to get off several killing curses before security caught up to him."

  "Hold on a moment," Professor Flitwick queried, tripping slightly as he clambered over the sleeping form of Hagrid. "Today, you say? What summit would be occurring on Christmas day?"

  Kendrick Debellows answered darkly, "A summit that no one else was to know about, I wager. No one expects governments to do anything on this day, therefore whatever they do can be done with no scrutiny whatsoever. Isn't that correct, Harry?"

  Harry nodded. "It was a classified meeting between Muggle and magical authorities about how to manage the secrecy of the magical world, a task that is increasingly difficult, and which many resent. Some Muggle leaders are opposed to keeping the secret, in fact, and are actively pushing for complete revelation. The summit included members of world wizarding administrations, attempting to shore up support and cooperation."

  "Why wasn't I informed of this?" Percy demanded stridently, pushing toward the front of the group. "I should have been there!"

  "You should be glad you were not," Titus answered challengingly, raising his bearded chin. "Two members of the Department of Ambassadorial Relations were struck down, one fatally. The other, fortunately, was only grazed by a killing curse. And yet, it seems her left side is permanently paralyzed, and she has been rendered blind."

  "Dear me," Professor McGonagall whispered, raising a hand to her throat.

  Harry sighed in resignation. "Who else?"

  "Only one other fatality," Titus answered grimly. "But one that will result in dreadful repercussions. Whatever agreements have been struck with Muggle governments the world over, they are in jeopardy tonight. This rogue wizard, who somehow managed to get past twenty-five magical guards, succeeded in killing the vice president of the United States. A man named Joseph Mattigan."

  "Good God," Harry breathed, placing a hand over h
is eyes. Without lowering it, he asked, "Has the murderer been apprehended?"

  Titus shook his head slowly. "No need. Once he had succeeded in cursing the vice president, he raised his own wand to his head and proclaimed allegiance to the Wizard's United Liberation Front. With that, he cursed himself. He was dead before he hit the floor."

  "Insane!" Neville Longbottom proclaimed wonderingly. "How could an insane person have broken through the security perimeter?"

  "Not insane," Harry replied in a low voice. "The W.U.L.F. are not given to suicide attacks. This was something else entirely."

  "You mean he was lying about his allegiance?" McGonagall asked in disbelief.

  Harry did not answer, merely shook his head helplessly.

  "A squad has been sent to the scene, for what it's worth," Titus said. "Along with a regimen of Harriers."

  "The Harriers should have been there from the beginning," Debellows announced angrily. "And damn the Ministry for their lack of foresight. 'Provocative presence' nothing! If the Harriers served as guards at these sorts of events we would see a lot less bloodshed!"

  Harry ignored Debellows' outburst. To Titus, he asked, "What has been the American government's response?"

  "There is but one response," a voice answered from behind James. He glanced back to see Professor Jackson standing ramrod straight in the arch, his face pale with fury. "The president will name a new Vice President of his choosing, as the law allows. A story will be concocted by the Drummond administration to explain the sudden death of Vice President Mattigan, leaving out any reference to his attendance at a summit of magical entities. And in secret, any agreements signed between President Drummond and the American Magical Administration will be considered unofficially void. This bodes very poorly for the security of the Magical community in the United States."

  "Not to mention the world in general," Harry agreed. "For better or worse, where America treads, many others will follow." He turned back to Titus. "I'll accompany you back to the Ministry. We have to assemble teams immediately to accompany the rest of the world leaders back to their countries. It may be too little too late, but it will be a show of good faith that the Ministry of Magic has not abandoned them in light of today's tragedy."

  "Already done," Titus announced curtly. "There is no need for you to return, thank you. The Minister thought it best that we not wait until you could be informed before acting."

  "I see," Harry said cautiously. "And you, I assume, are spearheading the response?"

  "It's all by the book," Titus answered, looking away. "Stay with your family and… friends. Which does lead me to ask the following, and I hope you will understand that it's just my duty. I don't like it any more than you do."

  "I understand," Harry nodded wearily. "We were simply celebrating Christmas, Titus. I would have invited you four as well if you hadn't been on duty."

  Titus nodded slowly and said nothing. James was sure that everyone in the room knew this was a lie. There seemed to be an invisible wall of coldness between Harry and his partner, something that had never been there before. It was unspeakably dismaying to see.

  "I am going to assume that the Minister has placed you in charge of the crisis response, then," Harry commented. "Would that be correct?"

  "I'm sorry," Titus answered, his eyes unflinching. "You understand, I'm sure."

  "Happy Christmas, then, Titus. Same to you, Lucinda, and both of you, Kushing and Peter."

  The two other dark figures, who still wore their cowls, shifted uncomfortably on their feet.

  A moment later, Titus raised a callused hand, palm out, toward Harry. James didn't know if it was a gesture of apology or warning. Then, with a swirl of motion and a crack of collapsing air, Titus vanished. The other three followed immediately.

  Harry released a long sigh.

  "The American vice president," Uncle George shook his head. "Dead by a wizard's hand. This most certainly does not bode well."

  "An understatement, I assure you," Professor Jackson seethed quietly, turning back to the dining room. The others shuffled disconsolately, following him and muttering. Draco Malfoy, James noticed, was nowhere in sight. Likely, he had disapparated at the first sign of trouble.

  "I'm tempted to ask what you were doing out of the attic," Harry said, looking down at his son with a tired shake of his head. "But I'm sure I already know. Are you alone?"

  "No," James answered helplessly. "Rose and Albus, too. They're still upstairs as far as I know, cornered by Kreacher. Kreachers, actually."

  Harry nodded, not requiring any explanation. "Come along. I'll explain to Kreacher. We'll discuss your punishment later."

  James was suddenly too exhausted to protest. The adrenaline that had flooded his body during the battle seemed to have transformed into a sleeping potion. He trudged alongside his father and followed him up the main staircase.

  "What's going on with you and Titus, Dad?" he asked, keeping his voice low as they climbed the steps.

  His father didn't answer right away. Then, without turning around, he said, "Titus is just following orders. He's good at that. That's why he's always been my right hand man. He's determined. He's strong. The problem now, I suppose… is that someone besides me is giving the orders."

  "Is he really hunting down Petra?" James asked, coming alongside his father as they reached the landing. Harry stopped and glanced down at his son, his brow furrowed.

  "How do you know…?" he asked, and then shook his head again. "Nevermind. How can I blame you? I'd have found a way to eavesdrop as well, I imagine. You'll make a fine Auror someday, son. Until then, you're like to drive your mother and I mad."

  James opened his mouth to respond, but his father silenced him with a raised hand. "Titus is following orders, son, just like I said. Petra is the most wanted person in all the magical world, perhaps the entire word in general. And is that any surprise? You saw what she did last summer."

  "She was saving your life, Dad!" James insisted in a hushed voice. "Those W.U.L.F. assassins were going to kill you! She had to stop them somehow!"

  "She didn't have to, actually," Harry said, his face hardening slightly. "Don't misunderstand. I'm glad to still be alive, and I have her to thank for it I suppose. And yet it's hard to imagine that we would have faced that danger in the first place if not for her."

  "It wasn't her, dad! You have to believe me! It was the Lady of the Lake! And Morgan, the other version of Petra from some other reality!"

  But his father's eyes had closed wearily. James knew it was pointless to discuss the Lady of the Lake, even with his own dad. When Harry opened his eyes again, they were grave.

  "Either way, Titus has been charged with finding Petra. And James, when he confronts her, he won't shy away from using whatever force is necessary. He won't let her escape."

  "You mean," James said coldly, "that he'll kill her."

  "As I said, son, so far as the Ministry is concerned, Petra is the most dangerous person alive. And listen to me: they may be correct."

  "But you're looking for her, too," James said quickly. "You and the new Order of the Phoenix. Right?"

  Harry rolled his eyes impatiently at the mention of the Order, but James overrode him. "You all are looking for Petra, too. Why? Why not just let Titus handle it?"

  Harry leaned closer to his son. "Because Titus may not succeed. Or perhaps even worse, he might. After what we saw last summer, a climactic confrontation with Petra Morganstern may be the most dangerous thing imaginable, not just for those who confront her, but everyone else as well."

  "So you mean to capture her, too? But in a different way?"

  Harry pressed his lips together firmly, thoughtfully. After a moment, he exhaled. "We don't mean to capture her," he answered quietly. "Capture may not even be possible. We mean…" he paused, seeming to look for the words. "We mean… to talk to her."

  James considered this and a sense of almost inexplicable relief fell over him. He nodded his understanding and allowed his gaze to drift,
roaming over the landing, over the portrait of old Mrs. Black and her incessantly flickering, flashing painted television. He froze.

  "What is it, son?" Harry asked, seeing James' suddenly widened eyes.

  James couldn't speak. He stared at the telly screen, not hearing the words that squawked from it, not seeing the leering gaze of old Mrs. Black as she stared out of the portrait, grinning with sudden malevolence, as if she knew a dark, vicious secret. James raised his arm and pointed weakly, shakily.

  "It's him," he said, surprised at how calm his own voice sounded.

  Harry turned, frowning, and regarded the painted telly screen. On it, a news program was reporting the sudden death of the American vice president. Words crawled across the top of the screen: JOE MATTIGAN, DEAD AT 56 OF NATURAL CAUSES WHILE VACATIONING WITH FAMILY. PRESIDENT DRUMMOND NAMES NEW VICE PRESIDENT IN EMERGENCY MEETING…

  Below the running words, President Drummond himself stood before a blue podium, the American Presidential seal emblazoned neatly on its front. The president was speaking, his expression serious, his posture carefully composed to express both mourning and determination. And yet, beneath this, even through the painted telly screen, James sensed that the president was nervous. Perhaps even terrified. Standing next to the president, his face coldly handsome, dressed in a natty navy suit and red tie, was the man James had last seen in the empty streets of New Amsterdam, the man who had conjured native American monsters out of thin air, all while grinning viciously. Now, the handsome face nodded solemnly as the president introduced him.

  "Quincy Quartermain," Harry read as the President identified the man. "The man elected to the seat of recently deceased Senator Charles Filmore. You know him, James?"

  James shuddered as the man on the screen stepped forward, replacing the president at the podium. He spoke, and the camera zoomed close.

  "I want to thank President Drummond for the strength he has shown in this difficult time. I cannot hope to surpass Joe Mattigan. But as your new Vice President, I hope to serve you, the people of this country, with the same character, perseverance and uncompromising conviction that he has always stood for."