James Potter and the Curse of the Gatekeeper jp-1

by G. Norman Lippert

  “Well, all I can say is I’m going to be doing some research on this Borley creature,” Rose said as the train slowed, entering Hogsmeade station.

  Albus raised his eyebrows in mock surprise. “You mean there’s a magical creature you haven’t learned about already?”

  “Sounds like trouble to me,” Ralph admitted. “If Merlin said the thing had turned dangerous, I’d guess it’s definitely something to look out for.”

  James zipped his satchel and slipped it over his shoulders. “I just want to know why it’s been following me around. Why’d it pick me?”

  “Obviously, it thought it could trick you into using magic on it,” Rose reasoned. “It almost worked too.”

  “That’s why it ran away when you threatened it at the doctor’s office,” Ralph added, raising his eyebrows. “You said you told it you were a wizard, but that you didn’t have your wand with you. It realized there was no point in making a mess if you weren’t going to zap it, so it covered its tracks by jumping back a few minutes and undoing everything.”

  “Yeah, well, aren’t you all brilliant?” James grumbled. “I’d like to see how you lot would’ve handled it if you’d been there. Besides, it was Scorpius and Albus that finally allowed the thing to get a little magical snack and turn all scary.”

  “Don’t blame me,” Albus said, still trying to press the wrinkles out of his robes with his hands. “If you’d have attacked Scorpius with me, you could’ve disarmed him before anything happened. I bet old Merlin would’ve approved of that.”

  A few minutes later, the train shuddered to a stop. All around there came the sound of opening doors, footsteps, and chattering, excited voices as the train’s occupants filled the corridors, streaming toward the exits. James, Albus, Rose, and Ralph gathered their things and joined the throng.

  As they climbed out onto the wet platform of Hogsmeade station, James caught sight of Hagrid standing under a nearby lamppost, barely fitting under it.

  “First-years,” he called in his great, gruff voice. “First-years, this way! The rest of yeh go an’ find the carriages out front. If yeh don’ know where to go, follow the ones that do. Step lively now.”

  James grabbed Albus’ robe, stopping him.

  “Hey,” he said, quietly, “I mean it. Don’t worry about the Sorting, little brother.”

  “I’m not, actually,” Albus replied, shrugging. “I remembered something Dad told me back at platform nine and three-quarters.”

  James blinked. “Well, good. What’d he say?”

  “He said that the Sorting Hat will take my wishes into account. He said that if I really don’t want to, the Hat won’t make me be a Slytherin.”

  “You, a Slytherin?” Scorpius’ voice sneered behind them. James rolled his eyes. He should’ve known the little squid was the spying sort.

  “Get away from us, Scorpius,” Albus said, gritting his teeth.

  “Or what?” the boy grinned. “Are you going to risk getting your brother into trouble again by rushing me? That only works once, Potter.”

  Albus nodded. “I’ll do that and more if you don’t watch yourself.”

  “That’s why you’d never make it into Slytherin,” Scorpius said airily, turning to walk away. “As you saw on the train, Slytherins fight with their brains and a wand. Your sort has to rely on brute force. But what do you expect from a son of Harry Potter?”

  Albus tensed to lunge at Scorpius again, but James grabbed his shoulder. “Don’t you dare go after him again, you dolt. That’s just what he wants you to do.”

  “He’s ragging on Dad!” Albus hissed.

  “He’s trying to provoke you. Save it for later. You’ve got the whole school year to hate him.”

  “That’s right, Potter,” Scorpius said as he turned back, still grinning. “Listen to your brother. He knows what happens when you go up against a Slytherin. Did he tell you what happened when he tried to steal the Slytherin Captain’s Quidditch broom last year? Nasty business, that. I hear you ended up facedown in the mud.”

  James let go of Albus’ shoulder, his face flushing with anger. “You just want to watch it, Malfoy. We’re not afraid of the Slytherins.”

  “Then you really are as foolish as you look,” Scorpius said, his grin vanishing. “A Malfoy is back in the House of Slytherin again. We don’t play politics. You best watch yourselves.” He glared at the two brothers, then turned, his cloak flapping, and disappeared into the throng.

  “Arrogant little nutter, isn’t he?” Albus said. James glanced at him and grinned.

  “See you in the Great Hall, Al.”

  “Yeah,” Albus replied, nodding toward the carriages. “Have fun with the Thestrals. Don’t let them frighten you too much.”

  “You’re the one who has nightmares about them, not me,” James said, rolling his eyes. “Like I told you, they’re invisible.”

  Albus simply looked at James, a curious expression on his face.

  “What?” James asked.

  “Nothing,” Albus said quickly. “I was just thinking of something else Dad said on the platform, right before I got on the train.”

  James stopped and furrowed his brow. “What’d he say?”

  Albus shrugged. “He said James might have a little surprise with the Thestrals.”

  With that, Albus turned, shouldered his pack, and walked toward Hagrid at the far end of the platform.

  They weren’t invisible; at least not completely. James hung back, sincerely apprehensive to get too close to the horrible-looking, semi-transparent creatures hitched to the carriages. The nearest one beat its great leathery wings slowly. It turned to look at him, its blank white eyes bulging grotesquely.

  “You can see them, eh?” a voice asked. James glanced up, startled, and saw the stout face and red cheeks of his friend Damien Damascus. Damien was also looking at the Thestrals, his brow slightly furrowed. “I started seeing them at the beginning of my fourth year. Shocked me good, I’ll tell you. I thought the carriages were just magical, that they pulled themselves up to the castle. Noah took me aside and told me all about the Thestrals. He’d been seeing them since his second year. Come on, they’re harmless. They’re actually kind of cool when you get used to them.”

  James threw his bag into the carriage and climbed into the rear seat.

  “Hi, James,” Sabrina said as she heaved herself into the front seat. She still wore a quill in her wavy red hair. It bounced jauntily as she turned to look over her shoulder. “So what was the drama in the train? Merlin looked like he was going to shoot death bolts from his eyes.”

  James ran his hand through his hair wearily. “Don’t remind me. I already got ten points taken from Gryffindor.”

  “Not the best way to start the year off,” Petra Morganstern said, joining Sabrina on the front seat. “That kind of thing can get your fellow Gryffindors a bit peeved. Fortunately, we seventh-years are above being petty about such things.”

  “Sabrina and I are sixth-years,” Damien pointed out. “And I don’t know about her, but I’m still as petty as they come. I haven’t forgiven you lot for losing us the House Cup last year. To Hufflepuff, of all things.”

  “You’ll forgive us for trying to save the world,” Petra said lightly, arranging her robes on the seat. “Besides, I recall you were involved in that escapade as well.”

  “That may be, but unlike the rest of you, my involvement was never proved. That’s why our dear departed Ted saw fit to make me the official Gremlins scapegoat. Allegations just roll right off me.”

  Sabrina nodded seriously. “I’m glad you found a good use for that oily hide of yours.”

  There was a sudden jerk and the carriage rolled forward. James looked and saw the ghostly Thestral trotting ahead, pulling the carriage. He squinted at it, trying to see it more clearly.

  Damien leaned toward him and asked in a quiet voice, “So who died?”

  “What?” James blurted, turning to look at the bigger boy. He lowered his own voice and asked, “How’d
you know?”

  “My aunt died when I was in my third year,” Damien replied. “It was silly, really. Broom accident on her way back from visiting my grandparents. Mum warned her not to fly with a storm coming on, but Aunt Aggie always thought she was indestructible. She stayed alive in St. Mungo’s long enough for us all to get there and see her. She died while I was there, in the room. When I came back the next year, I saw the Thestrals for the first time. I thought I was going daft until Noah pulled me aside and told me about them. He said that they become visible to anyone who has witnessed and accepted a death. So who died?”

  James sat back in his seat and took a deep breath. “My Granddad Weasley,” he said in a soft voice. “He had a heart attack.”

  Damien raised his eyebrows. “Old Arthur Weasley?”

  “You knew him?”

  “Well, not in person,” he replied, “but he was the father-in-law of your dad, and let’s face it, your dad’s a celebrity. Besides, Arthur Weasley faced Voldy’s snake, didn’t he? Not bad for a Ministry quillpusher! Lots of people know about that. They say that it proves courage is more important than magic when it comes to the sticking point.”

  James looked at Damien, surprised. “Do they really?”

  “Sure they do,” Damien said. “I mean, the people who say that are also the kind of people who buy Hair-growth Charms and read The Quibbler, but still, yeah, they say it all right.”

  James looked back out at the hazy shape of the Thestral. It trotted along, pulling the carriage easily despite the fact that it looked skinny enough to break in half.

  “Why is it only partly visible?” James finally asked.

  “Is it?” Damien leaned forward. “Looks solid enough to me.”

  “I can see the street right through it,” James said, shuddering.

  “Well, like I said,” Damien replied, settling back in his seat as the great castle rose over the nearby trees, “the Thestrals become visible to anyone who has seen and accepted a death. It doesn’t sound like you saw your granddad die with your own eyes like I did with my aunt, but he meant enough to you for it to mean the same thing.”

  “We were waiting for him to come home,” James replied hollowly. “We were just waiting for him to come through the Floo. Somebody did, but it wasn’t Granddad. It was the messenger telling us he’d died.”

  “So you went from believing he was right there with you, to the knowledge of his death, all in a matter of seconds,” Damien said, nodding. “That was close enough to give you a half-look at the Thestrals. But I don’t think that’s all there is to it. Sounds like you haven’t quite accepted it yet either, have you?”

  James sighed, not answering. Instead, he looked up at the sprawling, monstrous shape of the castle as it loomed ahead. Its myriad windows were lit against the misty, cloudy evening. James thought he could see the Gryffindor Tower, where his bed was waiting for him. It was nice to be back even if things did feel very different. It had felt that way ever since the funeral, just knowing that Granddad was no longer out there somewhere, like he’d always been. No, James realized, he hadn’t accepted Granddad’s death. Not yet. And what was more, he didn’t want to. It didn’t feel fair to Granddad. Accepting his death felt like giving up on him.

  For a moment, James wondered if Albus felt the same way, and then he remembered how Albus had attacked Scorpius in the corridor of the train, tackling him and yelling “Take it back! Take it back right now!” Albus hadn’t accepted Granddad’s death either. It just looked different in him, mainly because Albus had now found someone at whom to point his anger and grief. It probably wasn’t the healthiest way to manage things, but James couldn’t think of anything better. To be sure, Scorpius made it rather easy for Albus to hate him. James had grown up with Albus, and he knew just how passionate the boy could be. Thinking that, James didn’t know whether to despise Scorpius or pity him.

  James marveled at time’s ability to alter one’s perception. Merely one year earlier, he had entered the Great Hall for the first time, filled with apprehension and worry. Now he threw himself happily into the noise of the gathered students, greeting friends he hadn’t seen all summer and being welcomed into the hearty fracas of the Gryffindor table. The floating candles filled the hall with warmth and light, forming an exciting contrast against the sullen grey clouds represented on the room’s ceiling. Peeves swooped randomly throughout the candles, blowing raspberries on the tiny flames in an effort to put them out, but they simply relit themselves with small pops as he passed. James sat down at the Gryffindor table and grabbed a handful of Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Beans from a nearby bowl. Bravely, he popped one into his mouth without checking the color. A moment later, he screwed up his face, not quite daring to spit the candy out.

  “You’ll want to be especially careful with those, James,” a fellow secondyear, Graham Warton, called. “Those were provided free of charge by your pals at Weasleys’. They partnered with Bertie Bott’s for a whole new line of novelty flavors, and we get to be the test market.”

  “What is it?” James managed to say, swallowing the horrid bean and grabbing a pitcher of pumpkin juice.

  “Judging by the color of your tongue, I’d say that one was Lemon-Lima-Bean,” Graham said, squinting studiously. “There’s also Mint-Chocolate-Chipmunk and Peanut-Pickle-Brittle.”

  “Damien just ate one of the Steak-and-Kidney-Stone beans!” Noah Metzker called from the end of the table, pointing. “Everybody, duck! I think he’s going to blow!”

  James couldn’t help laughing as Damien struggled to swallow the bean. Petra pounded him gravely on the back until Damien shoved her away, lunging for his goblet.

  A hush rippled over the rowdy students and James looked up to see Merlin approach the huge podium on the hall’s dais. He had donned a blazing red robe with a high golden collar, and James recognized it as Merlin’s rather ancient version of a dress robe. The sleeves and collar of the robe were encrusted with braided scrollwork that glittered with actual gold and jewels. The giant man’s beard glistened with oil and he carried his staff with him, knocking it pointedly on the floor as he approached. He was so tall that he made the podium appear small. He leaned over it slightly, his eyes unreadable as they roamed over the silenced assembly.

  “Greetings, students and faculty of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry,” he said slowly, his deep voice echoing all round. “My name is Merlinus Ambrosius, and if you have somehow managed not to learn of it on the wizarding wireless or in the newspapers, I am the new Headmaster of this institution. As such, I will expect to hear no more of the rather distressing verbal tendency of this age to use my name as an oath or an expression of amazement. You should know that neither I nor my underpants find it the least bit amusing.”

  James knew that the comment would have been funny if Merlin hadn’t said it with such pointed gravity. He glared out at the assembly of students, daring anyone to so much as chuckle. Apparently satisfied, he straightened and smiled disarmingly.

  “Very well, then. As Headmaster, I succeed Madam Minerva McGonagall, who, as you can see, has deigned to remain at the school to serve as my advisor and to continue in her duties as Professor of Transfiguration.”

  There was a burst of applause, which seemed to take Merlin off guard. He blinked out over the crowd, and then smiled slightly. The applause grew to a sustained ovation and Merlin stepped back from the podium, acknowledging the former Headmistress. On the floor before the podium, the first-years were lining up behind Professor Longbottom. James saw Albus and Rose, both of whom were looking around the room in awe. Rose glanced up at the dais just as the newly retitled Professor McGonagall pushed her chair back. She stood and raised one hand, smiling tightly. On the floor, Rose elbowed Albus and pointed.

  “Thank you,” McGonagall called over the sound of the applause, trying to drown it out. “Thank you, this is all very kind, but I know you all too well not to know that at least some of you are applauding my long-awaited departure for your own reasons
entirely. Still, the sentiment is quite appreciated.”

  Laughter rounded out the applause as Professor McGonagall settled back into her chair. Merlin approached the podium again.

  “Besides finding yourselves with a new Headmaster, those of you who are returning this year will find several more changes. Not the least of these is the installation of our new Wizard Literature professor, Juliet Knowles Revalvier, who is herself an accomplished writer, as many of you may know. Additionally, allow me to introduce to you your new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Kendrick Debellows.”

  A wave of awed whispering filled the hall as a large man half-rose from his seat on the dais. He smiled a huge, winning smile and raised his hand. James remembered him from the train. He was the man who’d passed him and Albus when they’d been looking for the Borley. James hadn’t recognized him then, but he did now. His hair was going grey and cut severely short, and he had gained rather a lot of weight in the years since his famous exploits as leader of the Harriers, the wizarding world’s elite special forces squadron. Across the room, at the Slytherin table, James saw Ralph looking puzzled. His friend Trenton was leaning over to him, apparently explaining who Kendrick Debellows was. On the floor below the dais, James saw Scorpius Malfoy turn away, his face vaguely disgusted.

  “I’ve got a whole collection of Debellows action figures at home,” James heard Noah whisper meaningfully. “I collected them when I was little. I used to sic them on Steven’s cat until one of them nearly tied its tail in a knot.”

  “I see many of you are familiar with Professor Debellows,” Merlin commented from the podium. “I trust you will therefore find his classes interesting as well as challenging. And now I believe we will witness one of this school’s longest and most important traditions: the Sorting of our newest students into their houses. Professor McGonagall, if you would do us the honors.”

  Exactly as last year, a wooden stool had been placed on the dais. Atop it, the worn and ancient Sorting Hat sat, looking like nothing more than a dusty cast-off from a forgotten wardrobe. James knew that in his parents’ day, and for centuries before, the Hat had sung a song prior to each year’s Sorting. Last year, however, the Hat had not produced a song. James hadn’t thought about it much; he’d merely assumed that after all those centuries the Hat deserved the occasional break. Now, the ancient Hat stirred on its stool, apparently preparing to sing. The fold that formed the mouth seemed to open, to take a deep breath, and then the Hat’s high, lilting voice filled the waiting silence.