James Potter and the Curse of the Gatekeeper jp-1

by G. Norman Lippert

  “This isn’t your father,” he exclaimed, scrambling across the room, skirting the pool and his dying sister. “Petra, look!”

  Before Petra could stop him, James grabbed the empty arm of the coat. He pulled as hard as he could, yanking the coat loose. It tore away from the shape that had supported it, knocking the hat loose as well, and the horrible voice cried out in fury.

  “Nooo!” it keened. “Beastly boy! How dare you touch me!”

  James stumbled backwards, nearly fainting at the intensity of the pain in his forehead.

  Petra gasped, and her wand wavered. “James… what have you—” she exclaimed, and then her voice changed, became very slightly doubtful. “Father?”

  The coat had concealed a portrait in a frame. James could see instantly that the portrait had been quite severely damaged, almost entirely destroyed, and then very systematically sewn back together and repainted. The repainted portions didn’t move very well, giving the face a twisted, maimed look, but James could clearly see who the portrait represented. One eye stared blankly while the other followed him malevolently, glowing red with one snakelike, vertical pupil.

  Petra’s face contorted in involuntary disgust. “You’re not my father… you’re… you’re…”

  “Finish the task!” the portrait hissed furiously. “Kill Lily Potter first! Then James Potter! Correct my one fatal mistake! It matters not who I am! All that matters is what was stolen from you, and making those responsible for it pay! It is the only way to return those you’ve lost!”

  “Correct your mistake?” Petra said, her expression melting slowly into horrified revelation. “But I thought…”

  “My single mistake!” the portrait of Voldemort shrieked urgently. “Killing James Potter first, leaving the stronger one to protect the boy! It was old magic, but powerful magic, and I forgot it! She should’ve died first, leaving the man and the child to wither before my wand! It was my single, fatal mistake! I was foolish, yes, but now the circle will be closed! You, my soul’s final vessel, will kill the girl, Lily Potter, and then the boy, James Potter, and then—” the voice dropped to a seething, greedy hiss, “Harry Potter will come, and finally—finally—we… will… kill… him!”

  “Harry Potter?” Petra whispered.

  “The doll was meant to summon him,” the portrait said quickly. “The plan seemed so simple: add a scar to the forehead, thus making it the father instead of the son. Surely, once Harry Potter’s scar reawakened, he would come, and then he would be ours! But instead, we have lured the boy James, granting him the phantom scar and the ability to know our plans, and this, my dear, is even better! I might have foreseen it! My one mistake will be rectified, the order reversed! Lily Potter dies, then James, and then, finally, Harry Potter will lie dead at our feet!”

  Wonderingly, Petra said, “But my parents… the promise of balance and perfection… you used me…” Her voice rose, became angry. “You used me!”

  “That is because in your heart, you and I are one and the same!” the horrible portrait rasped. “Your living soul carries the last vestige of my own, like a flame in a lantern! We wish for the same things, but from different directions. In the end, we arrive at the very same place: revenge!”

  Petra shook her head sadly. “What have I done? I didn’t want revenge,” she said. “All I wanted was justice…” She turned away from the portrait and looked back at the woman standing on the ledge of the greenly flickering pool. Petra’s mother smiled back at her sadly and nodded. Petra hitched a sob. “Justice… and my parents back,” she said, her voice cracking. She raised her wand. “Wingardium Leviosa!”

  “NOOO!” the portrait screamed, so loud that it seemed to shake the walls.

  Lily flew up out of the pool, limp as a rag and streaming water. The shape of Lianna Agnellis fell in on itself, reverting to water. It splashed onto the stone floor and streamed back into the pool.

  “Mum!” Petra screamed, unable to resist reaching out to the departed shape, tears shining in her eyes. “I’m sorry, Mum! Dad! I’m so sorry! I couldn’t do it!”

  James ran forward to the suspended shape of his sister. He reached and pulled her to him, hugging her. She was as limp and cold as death. Gently, he laid her on the floor, and placed his ear to her chest.

  “Her heart’s still beating!” he cried.

  “You foolish girl!” the portrait roared, its face distorting grotesquely. “It is the only way! The part of me in you rebels even now! Resist at your own peril! Kill the girl! It is not yet too late!”

  Petra shook her head slowly, approaching the portrait.

  “You can’t destroy it, Petra,” James called, cradling Lily in his arms. “Look at it; other people have tried! Portraits can only be destroyed by the painter, remember?”

  Petra was still shaking her head, tears streaking her face but her expression a mask of stern resolve. “That’s not entirely true, James,” she said quietly. With both hands, she gripped the portrait by its frame and lifted it.

  “You are the host of the Gatekeeper!” the high, cold voice of Voldemort proclaimed urgently. “Even now it awaits you! You can feel its presence! You have been chosen since the time of Salazar Slytherin himself! Hundreds of years of prophecy lead to you! You cannot turn aside from the weight of that destiny! It will crush you! Turn back! All is not yet lost! It is not too late!”

  “There are two people that can destroy a portrait, although the second person is rarely ever available to do it,” Petra said, speaking to James and ignoring the raving voice. She held the painting out with both hands, leveling it over the rippling surface of the pool. “A portrait can only be destroyed by its painter, or if fate allows it, a portrait can be destroyed… by its subject.”

  “NOOO!” the portrait shrieked, and James saw the canvas bulge slightly at the force of it. Petra dropped the portrait and it fell into its reflection, splashing heavily. The voice of Voldemort’s painted visage continued to scream furiously, bubbling as it bobbed for a moment. Horribly, the painted face began to run and streak, as if the liquid in the pool were acid rather than water. Paint bled over the sinking canvas and mingled with the glowing waters, diluting and thinning, drawing feathery black tendrils into the depths. The voice gurgled and faded, ran out of breath, rasped desperately, and then died, leaving only its echo in the Chamber of Secrets. The portrait frame sank out of sight and was lost forever in the bottomless pool.

  “Is she breathing?” Petra asked, dropping onto her knees next to Lily.

  “I don’t know!” James exclaimed, hugging her wet, slight body. “She’s so cold!”

  Petra nodded and leveled her wand at Lily’s throat. “Expelliaqua,” she said firmly.

  Several seconds went by, and James was sure the spell hadn’t worked, but then Lily suddenly lurched in his arms. She coughed thickly and vomited a quantity of water. James helped her into a sitting position, pounding her gently on the back. She coughed more water and gasped a great, ragged breath. James was so preoccupied that he barely noticed the sense of the Gatekeeper fading from the Chamber. Its host had failed the final test. Petra had not killed for it. Weakened and silent, the Gatekeeper streamed away.

  “James?” Lily croaked, looking blearily at his face. “Where am I? What happened?”

  James shook his head and laughed with relief, tears welling in his eyes. “You’re with me, Lil. That’s all that matters.”

  “Hi, Petra,” Lily said weakly, glancing aside. “You were great. I cried when you drank the Marsh Hag’s sleeping poison.”

  Petra smiled wanly. “Thanks, Lily.”

  James and Petra helped Lily to her feet and James put his arm around her, leading her back out of the cave. Petra gathered the Invisibility Cloak but left the eerie collection of her father’s clothing. She looked back only once, her face flushed and sad.

  “Hey, Petra,” Albus said gamely as they approached. “You feeling a bit more yourself, are you
?”

  Petra nodded but didn’t reply. Silently, she knelt next to Albus and examined his leg.

  “You’re pretty good at this,” James said, watching Petra tear a strip of ribbon from her dress. Carefully, she used the ribbon and a length of the broken broom to splint Albus’ leg. When she was done, she stood and pulled Albus to his feet.

  “Hey,” Albus said, surprised. “That feels loads better. How’d you do that?”

  “It’s sort of a talent,” Petra answered, averting her eyes. “Besides, it was just a fracture. You’ll be fine in a day or so, once madam Curio has a look at that leg.”

  James didn’t say anything, but he had the distinct sense that Petra was lying about Albus’ injury. It had certainly been far more than a fracture. James himself had seen the ugly angle below Albus’ knee. Now he was standing on it with the help of a simple splint. It was as if Petra meant to repay them for what had happened, but secretly, and using a rather extraordinary kind of magic.

  Petra stood again, gathering the voodoo doll and the Invisibility Cloak. She looked at them in her hands. “These aren’t mine,” she said, and then handed them to James. “I wasn’t even aware of the doll until the portrait mentioned it. I was carrying it the whole time, but somehow I barely knew it. I’m so sorry James. I don’t know what else to say.”

  James accepted the doll and the Cloak. “You were being deceived,” he answered simply.

  Petra nodded morosely and looked out over the chasm. “I was,” she agreed. “But mostly, I was deceiving myself. I can’t deny that.”

  “You’ve got reasons to be angry and hurt, Petra,” James said quietly. “That wasn’t the way to deal with it—Ted wanted me to tell you that—but there are other ways. The feelings are real. You just have to figure out what to do with them, right?”

  Petra nodded slowly. In the darkness, James saw one more tear track down her cheek.

  “You still in one piece, Lil?” Albus asked his sister, looking her up and down. “Why are you all wet?”

  Lily frowned and looked down at her sopping yellow dress. “Honestly, I don’t have any idea.”

  “Explanations later,” Albus sighed heartily, hopping on his good leg. “First, how are we going to get back across that?” He gestured toward the dark chasm.

  “Same way I got here,” Petra answered softly. “We walk.”

  Albus grimaced. “Walk? What are you? A ghost?”

  “No,” Petra replied, almost to herself. “Apparently, I’m the Bloodline of Lord Voldemort.” She stepped forward, walking straight off the edge of the cliff. James gasped, horrified but unable to look away. Petra didn’t fall however. Her footstep was supported by a small stone platform, rather like a stepping stone, that had appeared out of nowhere. She looked back, one foot still on the edge of the chasm.

  “Stay close and try very hard not to think about what you’re doing,” she said, and James shivered. She didn’t sound entirely confident that it would work, but what choice did they have? James hesitated, but then he realized that, for the first time in nearly an hour, the phantom scar on his forehead didn’t hurt. He sighed and moved in behind Petra, herding Lily and Albus in front of him.

  “This is completely insane,” Albus commented.

  “Don’t look down,” Petra answered. Without a pause, she began to walk. Jerkily, Albus, Lily, and James began to follow her. Against all probability, none of them fell as they moved out over the depths of the chasm. Neither did the swinging, whooshing blades descend on them. James’ footsteps landed on rough stone steps, each about the size of a dinner plate, and the moment his heels pulled away from each step, they sank away quickly, falling into darkness. Dimly, James heard the clank and rattle of machinery, and he recognized it. It was the same sound he’d heard in his dreams of this place, only now he knew what it was. Somehow, the stones were raised mechanically, operated by the sheer magic of Petra’s passage. Perhaps the mechanism could only be summoned by the Bloodline, or perhaps it merely responded to anyone who knew the proper talisman, as Petra obviously did. Either way, it definitely helped not to think about what one was doing or to look down. As James placed his last footstep on the opposite ledge, collected into the waiting arms of Rose, Ralph, and Zane, he couldn’t resist looking back. The last stepping stone fell away into darkness, attached to a complicated rigging of struts and coils. It squeaked and rattled as it retracted, and then it was gone, as if it’d never been there at all.

  “Petra!” Rose exclaimed, weak with relief. “Lily! Everyone’s all right!”

  Zane grinned incredulously. “I thought you both were goners for sure. What happened?”

  “James crashed us,” Albus griped, shaking his head. “About broke my leg off. It’s a good thing Petra here is a quick one with a splint.”

  “Yeah, she’s a great one to have around in a medical emergency,” Ralph agreed, looking at Petra a little worriedly.

  “Lily, you’re soaked!” Rose exclaimed, laughing and wiping a tear from her eye. “Here, let me help you.” Rose produced her wand and waved it at Lily in a complicated gesture, pronouncing the proper spell. Hot air suddenly blew from the tip, drying Lily’s dress and making her giggle.

  “And what of the Gatekeeper?” Zane asked James as the group made its way toward the stone stairs and the light beyond.

  “Gone,” James answered. “I felt it leave.”

  “For good?”

  James shrugged. “It didn’t get Petra as its host. She wouldn’t kill for it, not in the end. It doesn’t have a foothold here anymore. It’s finished.”

  Zane nodded, frowning a little. “If you say so, mate. Let’s get out of here. This place creeps me out big time.”

  “Yeah. There’s a reason they call it the Chamber of Secrets,” Albus agreed.

  James nodded, glancing back. Fervently, he said, “Let’s just hope that was the last of its secrets.”

  “sAnd that’s the story as well as I can tell it,” James said, sitting back in the single chair across from the Headmaster. It was the next day, and the bright sunlight and birdsong of late morning wafted in through the open window. “We came up through the girls’ second-floor bathroom and Ted led Tabitha straight here to your office. The rest of us took Lily to the Great Hall to meet up with Mum. She called Aunt Hermione, Uncle George and Uncle Ron back from the search and everybody decided to go ahead with the wrap party after all, although it was more a celebration of Lily’s return by that point.”

  Merlin nodded slowly, his fingers steepled. He shared a look with Harry Potter, who stood nearby, arms folded and staring at the floor.

  “And Miss Morganstern attended the party?” Merlin asked.

  James shook his head. “No, I think she thought it’d be best for her not to be there. I mean, considering everything.”

  Harry spoke without raising his head. “It wasn’t her fault. She was being deceived.”

  “It was not entirely her fault,” Merlin corrected grimly. “She was being deceived, yes, but she was allowing the deception to occur. She has admitted so herself. The fact that she was able to throw off the deception in the end is proof that she could have done so all along, had she so chose.”

  “She is cursed with the last ghost of the soul of Voldemort in her very blood,” Harry said, finally raising his eyes. “He was a wily liar and a master manipulator. Far greater witches and wizards than Petra Morganstern succumbed to his deceptions.”

  Merlin nodded. “And they were also responsible for the choices they made as a result.”

  James sat forward in his seat. “What are you saying? You think Petra is evil just because she was unlucky enough to get chosen for that stupid Horcrux dagger?”

  “No, James,” Merlin said gently. “For that, she is truly unfortunate. To the extent that Petra allows herself to be influenced by that accursed soul, however, she may still choose to do that which would make her evil indeed. She has admitted that she was the one that cursed Josephina Bartlett with the Vertigo Hex, knowin
g everyone would blame Miss Corsica, all just to prove to herself that she could do it. She came very close to making the ultimate evil choice last night, and nearly doomed all of mankind in the bargain. Had you not been there at exactly the right moment, revealing the mysterious portrait, all might well have been lost.”

  “You don’t know that,” James said, but uncertainly.

  “Oh, but I do, James,” Merlin said, looking James in the eye. “And for that, I owe you an apology.”

  “An apology? Why?”

  Merlin sighed deeply. “I was very wrong about you, James Potter.” The big man paused, as if unwilling to elaborate. He was gazing straight ahead, and James realized that he was looking past him, at something on the rear wall. James turned and looked over his shoulder. The portrait of Albus Dumbledore was meeting Merlin’s gaze. He smiled slightly and nodded. Then, barely noticeable, Dumbledore winked at James. James frowned and turned back to Merlin.

  “I’ve been advised,” Merlin said sardonically, “to avoid the temptation to keep secrets or tell halftruths. Your Albus Dumbledore and I have discussed the topic at great length, and I admit that, until recently, I did not much agree with him. Regardless, recent events have shown the validity of his argument. James Potter, in the presence of your father, I will tell you the whole of the truth.” Merlin sighed again, and then stood. He moved from behind his desk, passing in front of Harry.

  “It is true,” he explained. “I was well aware of the possibility that the entity called the Gatekeeper might follow me back from my long journey outside of time. Salazar Slytherin made it very clear to me. He hoped and planned for it, and my heart was in such a state that I did not much care. ‘Damn the world,’ I thought. ‘If the Doombringer is to come, then fate will save mankind or it will not.’ I washed my hands of it. Last year, when I returned to the world of men, I despised this age. I determined that if the Gatekeeper had indeed followed me, I would not even use the small power at my disposal to keep it at bay.” Merlin held up a hand, displaying the glinting black ring. “And then I discovered the presence of the Borleys. Nuisances, really, the magical equivalent of cockroaches, and yet it proved to me that things had indeed followed me from the Void. If the Borleys were here, then surely the Gatekeeper was as well. I determined to capture the Borleys using the best tool for such a task: the Darkbag, which, as you know, contains the last earthly shred of pure darkness from the Void. I imprisoned the Borleys inside it, dozens of them, although at the time I could not say why I chose to do so; it seemed merely right and responsible. The truth is that I was coming to know this age, and while there was—and still is—much of it that I find wretched, I discovered I did not hate it as much as I’d thought. More important, I had come to care for some of the people in this age. Chiefly, you, Mr. Potter, and your rambunctious, irreverent friends.