James Potter and the Hall of Elders' Crossing

by G. Norman Lippert

  “Too bad you can’t come on over, friend,” a voice said. James looked up. The head mechanic was leaning against the fender of the Beetle, smiling. “It’s almost breakfast and today’s mushroom omelet day.”

  James grinned. “Sounds good. It’s lunchtime, here.” “Professor Franklyn,” James heard Mr. Recreant’s voice say rather loudly, “how does this, er, structure comply with the International Magical Coalition’s ban on unproven or dark magic? Being virtually

  one of a kind, it would seem difficult to establish much of a safety record.”

  “Ah, too true,” Franklyn agreed, looking steadily at Mr. Recreant. “We have been fortunate enough not to have experienced any problems so far, thus we have gone more or less unnoticed by the Coalition. In any case, it would be difficult to prove the threat of any danger. Even a total failure of Professor Jackson’s trans-dimensional spellwork would mean, at worst, that we’d have to take a taxi home instead of our beloved cars.”

  “Excuse me,” Miss Sacarhina interjected, affecting a rather plastic smile. “A what?”

  “I’m sorry, Miss,” Franklyn said. “A cab. A rented Muggle vehicle. I was being somewhat ridiculous, of course.”

  Sacarhina cinched her smile a notch tighter. “Ah. Yes, of course. I tend to forget the American wizard’s fascination with Muggle machinery. I cannot imagine how it slipped my notice.”

  Franklyn seemed oblivious to her sarcasm. “Well, I won’t speak for my compatriots, but I admit I do enjoy tinkering. Part of my appreciation for the Garage is that it allows me to oversee the maintenance of my fleet. I never get tired of figuring out how things work, and trying to make them work just a little bit better.”

  “Mm-hmm,” Sacarhina nodded primly, glancing around at the cars.

  One of the mechanics touched a wire under the hood of the Stutz Dragonfly and there was a spurt of blue sparks. With a squeak and a jerk, the long wings of the car unfolded, beating the air several times before screeching to a halt again. Neville had had to duck backward to avoid being pummeled by them.

  “Good reflexes, Neville,” Harry said. “That was almost a case of ‘fly swats man’.”

  Neville glanced at Harry and saw the suppressed smile. Hardcastle cleared his throat. “We should be moving along, ma’am, gentlemen.”

  “Of course,” Harry agreed. “Mr. Franklyn.”

  Franklyn raised a hand. “I insist you call me Ben. I’m three hundred years old, give or take, and being called ‘mister’ just reminds me of that. Will you indulge me?”

  Harry grinned. “Of course, Ben. I look forward to seeing you at dinner tonight. Thank you very much for showing us your remarkable Garage.”

  “A pleasure,” Franklyn said, beaming proudly. “I’ve got a very interesting thought-powered printing press back home I’d love to show you when you come to visit us in the States. I’d even show you the bell I helped cast back during the birth of our country, but the blasted thing’s broken and they won’t let me fix it.”

  “Don’t listen to him,” Graham, the mechanic, called after them. “Or he’ll have you believing he forged the copper for the Statue of Liberty.” There was laughter from the rest of the crew.

  Franklyn grimaced, and then waved Harry and the group on. “Tonight, my friends. Bring your appetite. And perhaps a competent Freezing Charm. I understand that Madame Delacroix is overseeing the gumbo.”

  6. Harry’s Midnight Meeting

  James hurried back to the Gryffindor common room after classes, shrugging out of his school robes as he ran up the steps. He changed into a jacket and an evening cloak, matted his hair down with water from the basin, frowned critically at himself in the mirror, and then ran back down the steps two at a time to meet his dad.

  Harry was waiting with Neville by the portrait of Sir Cadogan.

  “A spirited tussle it was,” Cadogan was saying, leaning nonchalantly against the frame of his painting and waving his sword illustratively. He was talking to Neville, who looked extremely uncomfortable. “I saw the whole thing of course. Took place right there. Bollox Humphreys was his name, and he fought like a man possessed. Lost, of course, but noble as a thousand kings. Spilt most of his innards right where you’re standing and still swung his sword with more strength than a mountain troll. Gallant man. Gallant!”

  “Ah, James, here we are,” Neville said loudly as James approached. Harry and Sir Cadogan looked up. Harry smiled, looking his son up and down.

  “Your mum will be glad to know you’re putting that cloak to use.”

  “To be honest, this is the first I’ve had it out of the trunk,” James admitted, grinning sheepishly. Harry nodded, “And it’ll go right back into the trunk after tonight, won’t it?”

  “Guaranteed.”

  “Good man,” Harry acknowledged. James fell into step next to his dad as they headed toward a staircase.

  “Wait!” Cadogan cried, sheathing his sword and jumping into the center of his frame. “Have I ever told you about the Battle of the Red Mages? Bloodiest massacre these walls have ever seen! Happened just at the foot of those stairs! Next time, then. Courage!”

  “Who’s that?” James asked, looking back over his shoulder.

  “You’ll get to know him,” Neville said. “Enjoy your ignorance while you can.”

  As they walked, James listened as his dad told Neville about the current happenings at the Ministry. There had been an arrest of several individuals involved in a counterfeit Portkey operation. More trolls were being seen in the foothills, and the Ministry was stepping up patrols to keep the troublesome idiots from venturing into Muggle territories. The new Minister, Loquatious Knapp, was preparing to give a speech on expanded trade with Asian wizarding communities, including lifting the ban on flying carpets and something called ‘shades’.

  “In other words,” Harry said, sighing, “things are more or less the way they always are. Little breakouts here and there, small conspiracies and squabbles. Politics and paperwork.”

  “What you mean,” Neville said, smiling crookedly, “is that peace can be a pretty boring thing for an Auror.”

  Harry grinned. “I guess you’re right. I should be thankful my job isn’t any more interesting, shouldn’t I? At least I get to spend most nights at home with Ginny, Lil, and Albus.” He glanced down at James. “And take on an ambassador’s assignment that just happens to afford me the chance to see my boy during his first week at Hogwarts.”

  “I understand he’s only been to McGonagall’s office once so far,” Neville commented mildly.

  “Oh?” Harry said, still eyeing James. “And what for?”

  Neville raised his eyebrows at James as if to say you have the floor.

  “I, er, broke a window.”

  Harry’s smile hardened a bit around the edges. “I look forward to the story of how that happened,” he said thoughtfully. James felt his dad’s stare like it was a set of tiny weights.

  They reached a double doorway with both doors thrown wide open. Delicious smells wafted down the hall.

  “Here we are,” Neville said, standing aside to allow Harry and James to enter first. “The Americans’ quarters during their stay. We’ve given them most of the southwest turret. Had it temporarily refitted with a recreational area, common room, kitchen, and staff to suit their needs.”

  “Sounds nice,” Harry said, examining the space. The common room was, in fact, rather small, with circular walls, high, rough-beamed ceilings, a cramped stone fireplace, and only two very tall, narrow windows. The Americans had, however, been very busy. There were bearskin rugs on the floors and tall, vibrantly colored tapestries hung on the walls, positioned over the stone staircase that spiraled the room. A three-story bookcase was crammed with gigantic volumes, most accessible only via a very rickety-looking wheeled ladder. The most amazing detail, however, was a mind-bogglingly complex armature of brass gears, joints, and mirrored lenses that hung from the ceiling, filling the upper chamber of the room and moving very slowly. James stared up into
it, delighted and amazed. It made a very faint squeaking and clicking as it moved.

  “You’ve discovered my Daylight Savings Device, my boy,” Ben Franklyn said, coming from a large arched doorway beneath the spiral staircase. “One of my absolute necessities whenever I travel for long periods, despite the fact that it’s a veritable bear to pack, and the calibrations when I set it up again are simply dreadful.”

  “It’s wonderful,” Neville said, also staring up into the slowly ratcheting network of mirrors and wheels. “What does it do?”

  “Let me demonstrate,” Franklyn said eagerly. “It works best in full daylight, of course, but even the stars and moon of a bright night can provide adequate light. An evening such as this should prove most satisfactory. Let me see…”

  He moved to a battered high-backed leather chair, settled himself into it carefully, and then consulted a chart on the wall. “Third of September, yes. Moon is in the fourth house, it is, let me see… approximately a quarter past seven. Jupiter is approaching the final leg of… mm-hmm…”

  As Franklyn muttered, he produced his wand and began pointing it at bits of the Device. Gears began to spin as parts of the Device whirred to life. Bits of the armature unfolded as other bits pivoted, making room. Mirrors began to slide, positioning behind cycling groups of lenses, which magnified them. Ratchets clicked and shuttled. The entire device seemed to dance slowly within itself as Franklyn directed it with his wand, apparently making calculations in his head as he went. And as it moved, something began to form within it. Ghostly beams of rose-colored light began to appear between the mirrors, pencil thin, turning motes of dust into tiny specks of fire. There were dozens of the beams, brightening, swiveling into place, and eventually forming a complicated geometric tracery. And then, in the center of the tracery, shapes shimmered into place. James turned on the spot, watching raptly as tiny planets coalesced, formed out of colored light. They spun and orbited, tracing faint arcs behind them. Two larger shapes condensed in the very center, and James recognized them as the sun and the moon. The sun was a ball of rose light, its corona spreading several feet around it. The moon, smaller but more solid, was like a silver Quaffle, equally divided between its light and dark sides, turning slowly. The entire constellation weaved and turned majestically, dramatically lighting the brass Device and spilling delightful patterns of light over the entire room.

  “Nothing so healthy as natural light,” Franklyn said. “Captured here, through the windows, and then condensed within a carefully calibrated network of mirrors and lenses, as you can see. The light is filtered with my own optical spellwork for clarity. The final result is, well, what you see here. Excellent for the eyesight, the blood, and one’s health overall, obviously.”

  “This is the secret to your longevity?” Harry asked, rather breathlessly.

  “Oh, certainly this is a small part of it,” Franklyn said dismissively. “Mostly, I just prefer it to read by at night. Certainly, it’s more fun than a torch.” He caught James eye and winked.

  Professor Jackson appeared in the archway. James saw him glance from Franklyn to the light display overhead, a look of tired disdain on his face. “Dinner, I am told, is served. Shall we adjourn to the dining room or shall I have it brought in here?”

  Along with Harry, James, Neville, and the representatives from the Ministry, most of the Hogwarts teaching staff was present, including Professor Curry. To James’ consternation, Curry told Harry all about James’ skills on the football field, assuring him that she would work to see that said skills were developed to their fullest extent.

  Contrary to his dad’s suspicion, the meal was remarkably diverse and enjoyable. Madame Delacroix’s gumbo was the first course. She carried it to the table herself, somehow not spilling a drop despite her blindness. Even more curiously, she directed the ladle with her wand, a gnarled and evil-looking length of graperoot, dishing a portion into each bowl at the table while she stared at the ceiling and hummed rather disconcertingly. The gumbo was indeed spicy, thick with chunks of shrimp and sausage, but James liked it. Next came fresh rolls and several varieties of butter, including a brown and sticky goo that Jackson identified as apple butter. James tasted it carefully on a hunk of bread, and then spread a gigantic dollop on the remainder of his roll.

  The main course was rack of lamb with mint jelly. James didn’t consider this typical American food, and commented as much.

  “There’s no such thing as American food, James,” Jackson said. “Our cuisine, like our people, is simply the sum total of the various world cultures we come from.”

  “That’s not entirely true,” Franklyn interjected. “I am pretty sure we can lay undisputed claim to the spicy buffalo wing.”

  “Will we be having those tonight?” James asked hopefully.

  “My apologies,” Franklyn said. “It is rather difficult to collect the ingredients for such things unless you possess Madame Delacroix’s unique voodoo capabilities.”

  “Is that so?” Neville inquired, helping himself to more mint jelly. “And what abilities are those, Madame?”

  Madame Delacroix composed herself, having given Professor Franklyn a wilting, albeit blind glare. “De old man, he don’t know what he speaks of. I just know about de sources he not as familiar with, bein’ more int’rested in his machines and gizmos.”

  Franklyn’s smile, for the first time, seemed icy. “Madame Delacroix is being modest. She is, you may already know, one of our country’s foremost experts on Remote Physio-Apparition. Do you know what that is, James?”

  James didn’t have the slightest idea, and yet something about the milky gaze of Madame Delacroix made him reluctant to say so. Franklyn was watching him earnestly, expecting a response. Finally, James shook his head. Before Franklyn could explain, however, Harry spoke up.

  “It just means that the Madame has, let’s say, different means of getting around.”

  “‘Different means’ is one way to put it,” Franklyn chuckled. James felt uneasy, hearing that chuckle. There was something nasty in it. He noticed that Franklyn was emptying what was likely his third glass of wine. “Think about it, James. Remote Physio-Apparition. Can you factor it out? It means that poor old blind Madame Delacroix can project herself, send a version of herself out into the wide world, collect things, and even bring them back. And the beauty of it is, the version of herself she can project isn’t poor or old or blind. Isn’t that right, Madame?”

  Delacroix stared blindly at a spot just over Franklyn’s shoulder, her face a grim mask of anger. Then she smiled, and as James had seen on the day of the Americans’ arrival, the smile transformed her face. “Oh, deah Professah Franklyn, you do tell such tales,” she said, and her strange bayou accent seemed even thicker than usual. “My skills were never as grand as ye speak of, and they’re far less now that I’m de old woman ye see before ye. If I could project such a sight, I hardly think I’d ever let anyone see me as I really am.”

  The tension in the room broke and there was laughter. Franklyn smiled a bit tightly, but let the moment pass.

  After dessert, Harry, James, and the rest of the Hogwartians retired to the common room again, where Franklyn’s Daylight Savings Device had reproduced a condensed and shimmering version of the Milky Way. It lit the room with a silvery glow that James thought he could very nearly feel on his skin. Jackson offered the adults an after dinner cocktail in tiny glasses. Neville barely touched his. Both Miss Sacarhina and Mr. Recreant sampled tiny sips and gave forced, rather strained smiles. Harry, after holding it up to the light to look through the amber liquid, downed his in one gulp. He squinted and shook his head, then looked inquiringly at Jackson, unable to speak.

  “Just a little of Tennessee’s finest, with a little wizard afterburn thrown in,” Jackson explained.

  Finally, Harry thanked the Americans and bid them goodnight. Retracing their steps through the darkened corridors, Harry walked with his hand on James’ shoulder.

  “Want to stay with me in the guest quar
ters, James?” he asked. “I can’t guarantee I’ll be able to see much of you after tonight. I’ll be busy all day tomorrow, meeting with the Americans, keeping our friends from the Department of Ambassadorial Relations from making ‘an international incident’ of themselves, then I’m off home again. What do you say?”

  “Sure!” James agreed instantly. “Where are your quarters?”

  Harry smiled. “Watch this,” he said quietly, stopping in the middle of the hall. He turned around and paced idly, looking thoughtfully up at the dim ceiling. “I need… a really cool room with a couple of beds for me and my boy to sleep in tonight.”

  James stared at his dad quizzically. Several seconds went by as Harry continued to pace back and forth. He seemed to be waiting for something. James was about to ask him what he was up to when he heard a sudden noise. A low grind and rumble came from the wall behind him. James turned around just in time to see the stonework alter and shift, reforming itself around a huge door that hadn’t been there a moment before. Harry glanced down at his son, smiled knowingly, then reached and opened the door.