James Potter and the Curse of the Gatekeeper jp-1

by G. Norman Lippert

  “Wow,” James breathed in awe. “I bet my dad would love to know about this place. He and Dumbledore were pretty close. Look! Is that Fawkes the phoenix’s perch? I bet it is!”

  “This stuff is probably really valuable,” Rose said, picking up a heavy book from a table. “Most of these books are one-of-a-kind. They’re hand-printed and illustrated…”

  “That’s all well and good,” Scorpius said, stepping aside and gesturing at the open cabinet. “But this is why I brought you here.”

  Ralph and James peered into the cabinet, confused at the display of dusty tools and ancient gadgets. A large bowl-shaped object on the top shelf emitted a pale glow. Rose gasped, her eyes going wide.

  “Is that the Pensieve?” she whispered. “Dumbledore’s Pensieve?”

  Scorpius nodded. “I came here once on my own, the night before James’ return. I sneaked out of the dorm and used Ravenclaw’s signal to find this room. I wanted to be sure it really existed. When I found it, I explored a little and found the Pensieve. It contains many of Headmaster Dumbledore’s memories, and Severus Snape’s as well, since Snape apparently kept it in the Headmaster’s office and used it after Dumbledore died. I knew the memories would be rather faded now that Dumbledore and Snape are both dead, but there was one set of memories in particular I was curious about. Grandfather Lucius had already told me his side of the story, but I wanted to see if Dumbledore’s and Snape’s version was any different. It was—a little.”

  James asked in a low voice, “What’s the memory about, Scorpius?”

  Scorpius looked James in the eye again. He didn’t blink as he answered. “Something my grandfather and Gregor call ‘the Bloodline’. It’s about who the Bloodline of Voldemort is, and how they came to be.”

  There was a long moment of perfect silence, and then, firmly, James said, “I want to see.”

  Scorpius nodded. “I thought you might.” He gestured at the gently glowing bowl.

  “How does it work?” Ralph asked, following reluctantly as James and Rose stepped forward. “Does it, like, make a film or something? How does it know what memory we want to see? Will it hurt?”

  “Shut up, Ralph,” James said, not unkindly. “Just hold my hand. You too, Rose. I think we just have to look. That’s all.”

  Slowly, carefully, James, Rose, and Ralph leaned over the stone bowl. The surface of the liquid inside the Pensieve looked uncomfortably like the swirling mercury smoke in Merlin’s Magic Mirror except that it glowed rather more. It lit the three student’s faces. And then something began to swim up out of the depths of the Pensieve. It seemed to come from far deeper than the mere depth of the bowl. James held his breath as the light intensified. The swirling increased, becoming larger as the liquid in the bowl rose. It filled James’ vision and then, swiftly and painlessly, it seemed to grab him. At once, James, Rose, and Ralph fell into the Pensieve as if it had grown to the size of a pool. It swallowed them completely, and for better or worse, there was no turning back. They were a part of the faded memories of Albus Dumbledore and Severus Snape.

  Each of the three experienced it uniquely and separately. When James landed in the middle of the first memory, neither Ralph nor Rose was anywhere in sight. As Scorpius had said, the memories were slightly faded; James felt more as if he was dreaming them than living them. As the world of the memory resolved around him, he found himself standing in the Headmaster’s office, but not as he’d ever known it. It rippled and swam, like a scene witnessed underwater, but then it began to solidify. Fawkes the phoenix preened on his perch, proving to James that he was seeing the room as it had looked during Dumbledore’s term as Headmaster.

  “We must be prepared for the eventuality, Severus,” Dumbledore was saying, not looking at Snape, who stood by the window, looking out at a black sky. “It cannot be assumed that Voldemort will be too proud to resort to such a tactic. If he comes to fear that his plans—and therefore his life—are in jeopardy, we must assume he will prepare a successor of some kind.”

  “The Dark Lord is not given to preparations for failure, Headmaster,” Snape said. “His vanity will not admit the possibility of defeat. The sheer number of Horcruxes he has prepared are evidence of his assurance.”

  “I disagree,” Dumbledore said, steepling his fingers as he sat at his desk. James saw that one of the old headmaster’s hands was rather horribly blackened and sickly. “One Horcrux would be enough for a confident villain. Voldemort’s substantial collection of them proves quite the reverse. He lives in terror of death, believing nothing but the most extreme measures will ward it off. This is not the behavior of a man confident in his immortality. If, in time, he fears that even this collection will fail him, he will turn to even more desperate measures. You will know this when the time comes, and if it does, your duty will be clear.”

  Snape turned away from the window and approached the desk. “It pains me to admit it, but this task is very nearly beyond me, Headmaster. You are far better equipped to manage it than am I.”

  Dumbledore nodded slowly and smiled. “I will not argue that, Severus, but we both know it is unlikely that I should still be alive when the time comes. The task falls to you by default. Nevertheless, I am quite confident in your ability to do what is necessary. Despite what you believe of yourself, you are rather uniquely qualified for this type of work…”

  As Dumbledore said this, the memory slowly dissolved. The room faded into obscurity and both Snape and Dumbledore vanished. An indeterminate amount of time seemed to pass, and then James found another memory solidifying around him. He was in a drawing room in a grand house, although it was apparent that the house was quite old and its best days were behind it. A large crystal chandelier lay shattered on the floor like a corpse. Bits of broken crystal lay everywhere, sparkling in the firelight.

  “Potter,” a high, silky voice said. James turned to see a horrible cloaked figure standing in front of the hearth. It was like a man, but only just. Beneath the cowl, the face was so pale as to be nearly translucent. There was no nose, save for a pair of grotesquely flaring slits, and the red eyes glowed with thin vertical pupils. James’ knees went weak with fear as the figure seemed to stare coldly at him, but then it turned its gaze away, looking askance at a woman huddled at the end of a nearby sofa.

  “I thought I was quite clear,” the high, cold voice went on, and James now recognized the figure for who it was. This was Voldemort himself, in the flesh. “I was not to be disturbed for anything other than Harry Potter. Bellatrix here assures me I was, indeed, rather specific about that requirement. And yet she herself is the one responsible for interrupting my work without any Harry Potter to present me upon my return.”

  Bellatrix sobbed and rolled off the sofa, throwing herself onto the floor at Voldemort’s feet. “He was here, my Lord! I tell you: he was my prisoner when I summoned you; otherwise, I would never have dared! Lucius and Narcissa can attest to the fact! But we were betrayed at the last minute—” Bellatrix flung an arm toward a man James hadn’t noticed yet. The man stood in the shadows, his face deathly pale and blank. His hair was long and white. “Tell him, Lucius!” Bellatrix implored. “Tell the Dark Lord that we had Potter in our grasp!” When the man didn’t respond, Bellatrix’s face contorted into desperate rage. “Then perhaps you should tell him how you were bested by the boy Potter! Tell him, Lucius, how you were Stunned unconscious mere moments after they burst upon us! Tell him!”

  “Severus,” Voldemort said, ignoring the woman’s raving, sobbing protests, “this unfortunate occasion has pressed me to consider an option that I had hoped would be unnecessary.”

  James turned and saw Snape standing in front of the closed door of the drawing room. He knew neither Snape nor Voldemort could see him; nevertheless, he felt very uncomfortable standing between them as they spoke. He moved into a nearby corner opposite the staring figure of Lucius Malfoy. Snape merely stood and waited, looking unflinchingly at the awful, snakelike face.

&nbs
p; “I have summoned you from your post for the same reason I have dismissed Narcissa, Greyback, and Lucius’ son. No one else need know of the duty I am placing upon you. Lucius himself will have his own role if he chooses to accept it; I have every expectation that he will be eager to prove his worth after recent events. But you, Severus, will perform a very important duty in this arrangement.”

  “Whatever you wish, my Lord,” Snape said evenly.

  Voldemort went on, stepping away from the hearth. “As you know, Severus, I have prepared Horcruxes, creating an unbroken chain of immortality for my ascendance…”

  As Voldemort slowly crossed the room, the broken chandelier rose silently from the floor, allowing him to pass beneath it. The shattered bits of crystal rose with it, turning and glinting in the air like water droplets.

  “I am quite confident that these Horcruxes will serve me well; however, in the extremely unlikely event that any of them should be destroyed—”

  “Never, my Lord!” Bellatrix cried, still groveling on the floor. “It is impossible!”

  “—I have prepared one final Horcrux,” Voldemort went on, completely ignoring Bellatrix’s outburst. “It is rather unique. In fact, I am quite confident that such a thing has never before been created.”

  Voldemort reached the center of the room and stopped. As the broken chandelier hovered over him, he reached slowly into his cloak and produced a long, narrow dagger. It was singularly ugly, made of silver with a jewel-encrusted handle. The blade was tarnished to a dark glint, as if it had been rubbed with soot.

  “This dagger,” Voldemort went on, turning it slowly in the firelight, “is rather special to me. It has travelled with me long and served me on many occasions. You may be interested to know that it once belonged to my father. I took it as an inheritance from his dead hand. Thus, it is quite fitting that this dagger, Severus, is the final and perhaps most important of my Horcruxes. I am entrusting you to safeguard it within the protection of Hogwarts until the time comes for its use.”

  “I will guard it with my life, my Lord,” Snape said, inclining his head. “I am honored to be entrusted with a task that will only add to your long life.”

  “Alas, Severus,” Voldemort said, pulling the dagger away, as if reluctant to give it up. “This is not that sort of Horcrux. With this relic, I am thinking only of future generations. Never let it be said that your Lord is not gracious, for this Horcrux is not to be used for myself. As I have already told you, this Horcrux is special. The part of my soul that it contains is shut off from me forever. I cannot reclaim it. Thus, if, in the remarkable and unimaginable event that every Horcrux but this were destroyed, this dagger would not assure my survival.”

  Bellatrix gasped, but her eyes were huge and avid as she watched Voldemort. Her gaze never left the dagger as it flitted and glinted in his pale hand.

  “The part of my soul locked within this dagger is a gift, my friends. It is meant to be passed on. Lucius, my loyal servant, I have asked you to remain because I know your desperate—and justifiable—desire to prove yourself to me. It shall be your duty and honor to bestow the gift of the dagger should that day ever come.”

  For the first time, Lucius Malfoy’s face flickered with life. He blinked at Voldemort, and then stumbled forward, not quite daring to touch his master.

  “Thank you, my Lord! It is my honor! I will not fail you!”

  “I am certain of that, Lucius,” Voldemort said smoothly, almost kindly. “For if, for some reason, you fail the dagger, it will find you. I have bound it to you, and your family. In the event that something unfortunate befalls Headmaster Snape, you must retrieve the dagger from him. It will be waiting for you. And in the event that the time passes for its use and you have not fulfilled your role, it will seek you with its own intent. It will come for you, and your family. I do trust that you understand.”

  “I do, my Lord,” Lucius rasped, nodding. “I will perform whatever duty you entrust to me. I vow my oath, Master!”

  Voldemort nodded slowly. “Then your work begins this day, Lucius. Find for me a worthy vessel. Find a family whose blood is pure but whose loyalties will never be suspect. When the time comes, go to the woman in that family who is with child. She must take the dagger unto herself, and by her own hand, use the dagger to trace my symbol—the first initial of my name—upon the swell of her unborn son, drawing it in her own blood. Let her willingness infuse the life of the dagger into that mother’s blood, taking it to the child. Thus, this relic of my soul will be passed on. The boy will carry my essence, made anew, ready to serve yet another generation. This is your duty and your oath to me, Lucius. Swear it.”

  “I swear, my Lord!” Lucius rasped, falling to one knee.

  “My Lord!” Bellatrix cried breathlessly, crawling to her knees and imploring with one hand. “Choose me! Let me be the vessel of your gift to future generations! I will raise the boy to be your perfect image! I am willing! I am eager!”

  “Yes, loyal Bellatrix,” Voldemort said softly, not turning to her. Bits of the floating crystal chandelier revolved in the air between them. “But your loyalties are your most damning quality for this task. No one must guess in whose womb my soul is to be reborn. Despite your greatest wish, this duty cannot fall to you.”

  Bellatrix sobbed. “Then why have you kept me here, my Lord?” she wailed desperately. “Why have you retained me only to see my greatest desire plucked from my grasp?”

  Voldemort sighed indulgently. “Your very question contains the answer, dear Bellatrix. But do try to look on the bright side: I had considered simply killing you for allowing Harry Potter to slip through your grasp this night. Instead, I have merely killed your greatest dream.”

  “Nooooo!” Bellatrix shrieked, crumpling, and James’ hair stood up. He’d never heard a more despairing, hopeless cry.

  Voldemort strode forward, smiling as if Bellatrix’s wail of agony was the sweetest music. He held the dagger out to Snape. As Snape took the dagger, the suspended chandelier fell again. It crashed noisily to the floor behind Voldemort, shattering like a bomb and drowning out the pitiful wail of Bellatrix Lestrange.

  The memory shattered as well.

  There was a flash of swirling smoke, and then one more scene materialized, swimming out of the mists like a fever dream. In this memory, James saw Severus Snape again. He was pacing in the Headmaster’s office, which was his own office by this time.

  “You seem to misunderstand, Albus,” Snape said, speaking apparently to the portrait of Dumbledore on the office wall. “It will not be a request. Slughorn is the man responsible for the Dark Lord’s ability to create Horcruxes in the first place. He understands them better than I do. He owes his service to the world to render this one useless.”

  “If only that were possible, Severus,” the portrait of Dumbledore replied. “But it is not. You may destroy the Horcrux, yes, but no one can simply render it ineffective. Besides, I seem to recall that my instruction was to simply poison the instrument, assuring it would kill both the mother and the son it was meant to infiltrate.”

  “I cannot destroy the dagger while the Dark Lord still lives,” Snape replied. “He has bound it to Lucius Malfoy; he will know if it is compromised, and my loyalties will be revealed.”

  “Then do as I instructed,” Dumbledore insisted ardently. “Poison the blade. It is within your abilities. There are any number of undetectable poisons in this very room. Let the same instrument that carries that dark soul also carry its doom.”

  “You might have been able to oversee the murder of the woman and her child ‘for the greater good’, Albus, but I’m afraid that that ability has fled me.”

  The portrait replied sadly. “Then you are a fool, Severus. The fruit of this Horcrux will be on your head, not Horace Slughorn’s.”

  Snape exhaled slowly, thinking. Finally, he glanced up. “Perhaps not,” he said, as if to himself. “Perhaps there is another way.”

  “You are mistaken, Seve
rus,” Dumbledore replied. “My way is the only responsible method. Otherwise, the boy will be born with the thread of Voldemort himself beating in his veins.”

  Snape smiled slowly, coldly. “Perhaps not…,” he said again.

  “Surely you do not doubt that the dagger Horcrux will transmit the remnant of Voldemort’s soul?”

  “I do not,” Snape said, narrowing his eyes. “But perhaps it will not be transmitted into a boy…”

  Dumbledore sighed patiently. “This is not the time for conspiracies, Severus.”

  “Indulge me,” Snape replied slowly. “I am merely speculating. The Dark Lord believes his soul will pass into a boy child. He is, in his heart, that most arrogant of men, the sort that believes unquestioningly in the superiority of his own gender. But what if Lucius’ judgment were to become impaired? What if his divinations were clouded? And as a result, what if the final Horcrux were transmitted to a girl child?”

  “That is not evidence that his soul would not dominate the child’s personality. She would still be influenced by his living essence.”

  “His quintessentially male essence,” Snape muttered, hardly listening to the portrait. “But how would that balance against the unexpected polarity of her own female heart? How indeed…”

  The portrait interrupted gently. “This is speculative foolishness, my friend. I tell you: poison the dagger, or if you cannot, destroy it when the proper time comes.”

  Snape looked up at the portrait, his eyes narrowed. He took the dagger out of his robes and held it in his hands. It glinted darkly, just as ugly as James had last seen it. Snape nodded.

  “Yes,” he agreed. “You’re right, of course, Albus. When the time is right. I cannot destroy the Horcrux yet; there is too much at stake for my loyalties to be challenged. In the meantime, however, perhaps I will experiment. Lucius Malfoy is bonded to the dagger. I may be able to use that bond, pervert it, cause it to cloud his mind in the event that it does survive. If Lucius succeeds in using the dagger, he will ‘accidentally’ use it on an unborn girl child, thus foiling his master’s wishes. Perhaps, just perhaps, that would be enough to tip the balance. Otherwise, I will destroy the Horcrux myself when the time is right.”