"You were pretty sure last time, too," Nastasia commented mildly.
"Shut up, Nastasia," Rose said. To James, she whispered, "No matter how sure you are, we can't just sneak into the Great Hall. It's got guards all around it. Every door will be locked."
"I know!" James exclaimed, trying desperately to keep his voice low. Even so, he felt the uncomfortable stares of several people nearby. "We need some help! Hagrid, maybe! Or…"
"Your parents?" Nastasia suggested.
Both Rose and James turned to her. James narrowed his eyes. "You know where they are?"
"I do," Nastasia answered with a nod. "I followed that Auror guy, Titus, when he brought them back to the castle. It was either that or watch the Quidditch match, and I have to admit I've never really understood that crazy game."
Rose looked confused. "You followed Titus? And he didn't see you? How…?"
"She has ways," James answered with a roll of his eyes. "Trust me."
"Fine," Rose said, dismissing the topic for the time being. "Where are our parents, then? And do you think we can break them out?"
"I'll show you," Nastasia answered, turning to lead James and Rose toward the portrait hole. "As far as breaking them out, it's doubtful. But that doesn't mean it isn't worth a shot."
As the three students exited the portrait hole, James was pleased to see Ralph approaching from the opposite direction.
"Hi," he said dourly. "No fun in the Slytherin common room tonight since we lost the match, and Julie Minch is on the lookout for me, says I owe her an essay. I was wondering if maybe I could hang out up here…?"
"Walk with us, Ralph," James said, grabbing his friend by the elbow and turning him around. "Stuff's up."
"Not again," Ralph moaned, following along reluctantly. "What is it now?"
"James has figured something out, apparently," Rose whispered, turning to trail Nastasia down a side corridor.
"Hurry, Nastasia," James hissed. "We don't have much time!"
"Where are we going, then?" Ralph asked nervously. "Because I just came to hang out, maybe play some wizard chess, try not to get cornered by that mad Julie Minch…"
"Take it easy, Ralph," Rose answered. "We're just off to break out our parents."
"Ah," Ralph nodded weakly, apparently unsurprised. "And we're doing this because…?"
"Because the Morrigan Web is still going to go off," James replied in a low voice. "And we need help stopping it."
"But we've been through this," Ralph protested, his face flitting in and out of shadow as they hurried on. "The Crystal Chalice was supposed to be the trigger. Except it wasn't…"
"It was never the trigger," James said with dark certainty. "The trigger's been in front of us all along. We didn't see it because we'd gotten too used to it."
Nastasia turned, leading the others down a curving stone stairway. "So?" she said, her voice shuddering as she tramped down the steps. "Do tell! What is it, then?"
James paused as they reached the bottom of the steps, gathering in the high corridor that led to the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom. "It's that bloody clock," he declared fiercely, meeting Rose's and Ralph's eyes in turn. "The clock that's been hanging in the Great Hall all year, plain as day!"
Rose's eyes widened as she considered this. "But… we don't know who it belonged to, do we?"
James shook his head. "Who knows? Could be anyone. Or maybe the trigger is hidden inside it, even. It's big enough. And it's been the centrepiece of the entire school for the whole year. Everyone's been watching it, running their entire day by it."
"Just a little further," Nastasia urged, striding forward again. James, Ralph and Rose followed.
"How can you be so sure it's the clock?" Ralph frowned. "We were certain it was the Chalice, after all, and that turned out totally pear-shaped…"
"I know the third marker for the Morrigan Web," James proclaimed. "Tabitha told me!"
"She did?" Ralph's eyes widened. "When?"
James waved a hand impatiently. "Long story. Point is, the clock fits all three markers. The first one is ownership. We don't know where it came from, but for all we know it belonged to some horrible witch or wizard…"
Rose nodded, quickening her stride. "The second marker is proximity. The clock is definitely the centrepiece of the Great Hall, right in the middle of all the action."
"And the third marker is time," Nastasia concluded. "It's been there all year, steeping in both attention and its own magic, just waiting for tonight…"
She stopped in front of the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom door and put her hand on the handle. Two paces behind her, however, James came to an abrupt halt. He stared at her in the dimness, his face filled with sudden suspicion.
"I never told you," he said slowly, "what the third marker was."
Silence filled the corridor as every eye turned toward Nastasia. She gazed back at James unwaveringly.
"It'll all make sense in a minute," she told him. With that, she pulled open the classroom door.
James glanced inside. Four chunky shapes stood in shadow-- the four school vanishing cabinets, removed from the Great Hall and apparently awaiting disenchantment. Standing in the middle of them, also apparently waiting, was a tall, hooded figure, its face lost in shadow.
"Ah," the figure's deep, grinning voice said. "Ms. Hendricks and friends. Do come in."
Rose gasped sharply; it was the Collector.
James recoiled from the door, pulling his cousin with him. Before he could retreat, however, something sharp poked him in the back, stopping him in his tracks. He spun around to find Nastasia behind him, her wand raised meaningfully in her hand.
"Go on inside," she sighed impatiently. "Don't keep him waiting."
James' stomach dropped in shock and disappointment. "You have got to be kidding!"
"You're the one who must be kidding," Nastasia shook her head. "After everything that's happened, you trusted me again?"
"Believe me, I won't make that mistake anymore," James seethed, glancing down at her wand.
"Promises, promises," Nastasia muttered. "Go on. Get moving."
"He'll kill us," Rose protested breathlessly. "You know that, right?"
"Maybe," Nastasia answered. "But that's up to James, not me."
"Ms. Hendricks is quite correct," the Collector called breezily. "If she has brought you here, it means that you have learned more than I can allow you to freely know. But do join us. This night need not end badly for any of us. And please have your hands in sight. Wands or not, I've learned to keep a sharp eye on you lot." He seemed to be amused by this.
Reluctantly, James turned back toward the classroom door. Ralph led the way slowly inside, followed by Rose and James. Nastasia remained behind them, her wand still raised threateningly. Once inside, she closed the classroom door with a dull clunk, and locked it.
"And now," the Collector said in a low, eager voice, "Do make yourselves comfortable. We have tales to tell, games to play, and time, as I need not remind you…" he smiled broadly, knowingly, "is ticking… ticking… ticking…!"
James, Ralph and Rose hung back from the Collector, forming a loose line along the edge of the classroom, next to an untidy jumble of desks that had been pushed aside to make room for the vanishing cabinets.
"Please, my friends," the Collector said, grinning from beneath his hood, "there is no need to be so formal. You have nothing to fear from me. I, like you, am without my wand this night. Discretion is the better part of valour, as the Muggle bard says, and considering what is about to take place, not having a wand in hand is most assuredly the better part of discretion."
"You seem very happy to let her carry a wand," James spat, jerking his head toward Nastasia. "Seems like the better part of cowardly, if you ask me."
"Ms. Hendricks will be well on her way before the Web is unleashed," the dark man replied dismissively. "I would never place her in the slightest danger. She has been far too valuable to me, and shall continue to be, I am
quite certain. But alas," the Collector cocked his head at James. "You are unaware of your American friend's rich history! Allow me to illuminate you."
In a stiff voice, Rose spoke up, "I don't think we care."
"Oh, don't let's be petulant, my dear Ms. Weasley," the Collector waved a hand as if to dispel a nasty odour. "I daresay that you, especially, might find this most intriguing. You are the intelligent one, after all. Cast your mind back to our previous meeting at Durmstrang, my dear. You may recall my mentioning that Ms. Hendricks has a very rich family history. In fact, it is more than rich; it is downright infamous. Go ahead, my dear," he addressed Nastasia, who still stood behind James, her wand pointed at his back, "tell them the name of your great grandfather. Let us see if they recognize it."
James glanced back at Nastasia, curious despite himself. He half expected Nastasia to be ashamed, or reluctant. Instead, she raised herself to her full height and lifted her chin.
"Hannibal Drake Magnussen," she proclaimed proudly.
Next to James, Ralph gave a physical jolt. Rose clapped a hand over her mouth in surprise.
"Ah-ha," the Collector grinned. "They do indeed recognize the name! Yes, your close friend and comrade, Ms. Nastasia Hendricks, is the ancestor of one Professor Ignatius Magnussen of the American wizarding school of Alma Aleron. It was he who unlocked the mysteries of the wizard's grand unification theory, who broke the threshold of the Nexus Curtain and tread the World Between the Worlds. Truly a man after my own heart. It is his blood and passion that flow through Ms. Hendricks' veins. Thus it was no surprise that destiny brought back to her what was rightfully his-- the head of Professor Magnussen's magical cane, lost for decades, passed from hand to unworthy hand. Ms. Hendricks recognized its potential, of course, and thus it was also destiny that she should present it to me, at the very time that I needed such a relic…"
James' mouth fell open. The cane! He had last seen it in the dream vision, where it had been sold to a Muggle pawn shop. From there, somehow, it had found its way through the decades back into the hands of its owner's youngest living relative. And that relative, amazingly, was Nastasia. He turned back to her, a rush of cold hopelessness filling his chest, remembering the night he had first met her…
"It was you," he said sadly. "On first night. You snuck through the cabinet to hide Magnussen's cane in the clock. That's what you'd been carrying in the velvet bag I found…"
Nastasia didn't answer. Instead, she lowered her gaze stubbornly, refusing to meet his eyes.
"Ms. Hendricks could simply have given me the relic," the Collector acknowledged with a sort of perverse pride. "I could have placed it in the clock myself. But she insisted on a more active role. Rarely have I encountered someone so young and yet so driven by conviction. She impresses me, I confess."
James glared at Nastasia, anger welling up to match the deep sense of betrayal. She lifted her gaze again, challenging him with it.
"Don't look at me like that," she said coldly. "You don't know me."
"I'm beginning to think you're right," James agreed. "What about Zane? Did you lie to him, too?"
Nastasia laughed. It was a hollow, mad sound. "Zane Walker is a dear boy but his brain turns off in the presence of girls. He was simply the easiest way for me to get to you. That's all he ever was to me."
James studied Nastasia's face critically. She was lying. He was certain of it.
"Ashya?" he asked quietly. "That's you, isn't it? You can't keep this up… can you?"
"Shut your mouth, James," Nastasia said, snapping her wand up to his face. "Or I'll close it for you."
"My, my," the Collector chided, "such youthful hot-headedness! Quite unbecoming."
"Hold on a moment," Rose suddenly said, as if giving voice to a question she'd been mulling for the last few minutes. "You say you could have put Magnussen's cane into the clock yourself? How, exactly? You've been dividing your time between New Amsterdam as the Collector and Durmstrang as Professor Avior. How could you have found the time, much less the means, to get into Hogwarts and do these filthy deeds?"
The dark figure seemed delighted by this question. He laughed out loud. "Ms. Weasley, your wit is a force to be reckoned with. Allow me to challenge it. How do you suppose that I accomplished these remarkable feats? How is it, do you think, that I am able to be here even now?"
James knew that Rose couldn't possibly know the answer to the Collector's question. When he glanced at her, however, her face was pinched with unspoken suspicion. "I only know that if you've mastered the secrets of the Morrigan Web," she said carefully, "then you know that its original purpose was to share magic with the magically weak. And with squibs."
"Like your Mr. Filch!" the Collector exclaimed conspiratorially. "Yes! Perhaps you have divined more than you have let on! But allow me to explain for those who might be a bit slower than yourself…"
Here, the Collector took a step backward, flinging both arms out so that his heavy sleeves flapped. His hands were very white in the dimness.
"It may interest you to know," he said, pushing back his hood to reveal his dark hair and angular, grinning face, "that this persona-- the persona that I rather whimsically refer to as 'the Collector'-- is quite a recent invention, created for use in the United States. The Collector is a useful face that I wear, meant to inspire both terror and trust, depending on how I use it. But it is a new face, a temporary one, a mere mask that I will discard soon enough. I do have another face, however…"
Here, the dark figure began to change. James had seen it happen before, in Avior's chamber, when he had changed from that persona to the one that stood before them now. He expected that same change to occur now, only in reverse. The figure did indeed grow thinner and older. This time, however, the hair turned iron-grey, matted like straw. The beard that sprang from the chin was stiff, triangular, threaded with black. And the face… the face that formed was not that of the long departed Albus Dumbledore. It was stern, cold, with deeply sunken cheeks and dark shadows haunting the eyes.
"This face…" the figure announced in its new, gravelly voice, "is the face of Rechtor Strangewayes Grudje. And I have been him for decades…"
Rose pressed back against James, scrabbling for his hand. She had obviously suspected this, somehow, and yet the reality of it was clearly terrifying. On James' other side, Ralph gulped, backing away half a step himself.
"As you can imagine," Grudje said, his entire demeanour changed along with his appearance, "it takes a wizard of unique constitution and particularly stoic mind to maintain three separate personas. The animagus aspect of it is only the beginning. The compartmentalizing of minds, the discipline of conflicting personalities, is the true challenge. None of you three can begin to appreciate it, of course," Grudje passed his gaze over Rose, James and Ralph, "but Ms. Hendricks… I suspect she has some idea of what I've mastered. The only difference between her and me is that I embrace the fracture, and cultivate it. In time, however, I intend to teach her that skill as well. She already shows the aptitude."
Ralph cleared his throat cautiously. "Headmaster," he said, addressing Grudje directly, his voice shaking slightly, "Sir, I think that you should let us go. We have… er… essays to write."
"Oh no, Mr. Deedle," Grudje replied. "We have only just begun. There is still more story to tell. Ms. Weasley is curious, after all. And Mr. Potter here… well, we shall come to him in a moment." He turned and ran a thin hand along the doors of the Durmstrang cabinet. "Before I, Rechtor Grudje, was headmaster of this school, I was employed by the Ministry of Magic. Ms. Weasley has surely already ascertained this. I was an Unspeakable, consigned to the Department of Mysteries. This was by my design, for it gave me access to the deepest and most terrible secrets of the wizarding world…"
Grudje walked on, passing in front of the Alma Aleron cabinet. "It is said that, apart from its creator, only two people knew the tale of the Morrigan Web-- how it came to be, and how it was accomplished. These two were the international wizarding investi
gators who interviewed Professor Laosa after her first, tragic experiment. It is further said that the accounts of these investigators were lost to history, deliberately buried in the endless annals of the Department of Mysteries. I can tell you that this is indeed the case. For I alone found their tales. I absorbed them. It was my single goal as an Unspeakable. Using what I learned, I perfected Professor Laosa's technique. By my hand, transference of magic became a reality! Mr. Filch's cane is the result. With that object, Principia Laosa's original dreams are finally realized. But the clock in the Great Hall, bearing the relic of Ignatius Magnussen, is also the result. With that object, Principia Laosa's darkest nightmares are soon come to life."
"But why?" James asked, anger and frustration turning the question into a demand.
"But I have already answered that question, James," Grudje said, and as he did his face changed again. He transformed into Professor Avior, altering his bones and flesh with swift precision. "It is because destiny demands it. The rightful place of wizardkind is to rule. The Muggle world needs us. Left to their own devices they are unruly, unpredictable, a danger to themselves and others. We must subdue them. For their own good."
Rose gave a disgusted laugh. "You're going to rule them by killing them?"
"Some, yes," Avior replied, his voice deepening as he morphed back into the Collector. "But only those who must be put down to make way for us. Only those whose cooperation cannot be obtained by other means. It is a cruel mercy, but a mercy nonetheless."
"But my sister is there!" James cried out, growing desperate. "She'll die as well!"
"Oh, I'm afraid the reality is much worse than that, dear James," The Collector said, shaking his head sadly. "You see, your parents are also there."
Rose startled violently and emitted a little "eep!" of horrified surprise. James' mouth dropped open.
Ralph stepped forward. "What do you mean? Mr. Potter and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley are imprisoned somewhere in the school. They aren't in the Great Hall."
"Well, no," the Collector replied, hedging slightly. "You do have me there. They are in the antechamber directly behind the Great Hall. Unconscious, I might add. If things should go especially badly, do take some solace in that. They will not have suffered the suspense of their own impending death. Unlike this afternoon, when they willingly embraced what they believed to be their own doom, sacrificing themselves for the ungrateful crowd below. I suspect, were they conscious now, they'd feel somewhat silly about that. Pity we cannot all enjoy a hearty laugh over the affair…"
James Potter and the Morrigan Web Page 71
