James Potter and the Hall of Elders' Crossing

by G. Norman Lippert

  “Amazing,” James said in a low, awed voice. “All these drawings are from paintings all over the school, you see?”

  Ralph squinted at the drawings in the book, then back at the painting again. He shrugged. “It’s weird, but not all that amazing, is it? I mean, the guy who owned this book was probably also a student here, right? Sounds like he was a Slytherin, like me. That’s why your dad gave me the book. So whoever he was, he liked art. Lots of art lovers sketch from paintings. Big deal.”

  Zane’s brow furrowed as he looked back and forth between the drawing of the observant servant and his painted equivalent, who was still skulking near the pillars in the background. “No, these aren’t just sketches,” he said, shaking his head slowly. “These are the originals, or so close it’s impossible to tell the difference. Don’t ask me how I know. I just know. Whoever sketched these drawings was either a master forger… or he was the actual artist.”

  Ralph thought about it for a moment, and then shook his head. “That doesn’t even begin to make sense. These paintings were painted at lots of different times. No way one bloke was responsible for all of them. Besides, a lot of these paintings are old. Way older than this book.”

  “It makes perfect sense,” James said, clapping the potions book shut and looking down at the cover. “Whoever painted these didn’t paint the whole paintings. Think about it: not a single one of these sketched characters is of a dominant person in any of the paintings. Every one of them is a drawing of some totally unimportant background character. Whoever drew these just added the characters into existing paintings.”

  Zane cinched up the corner of his mouth and furrowed his brow. “Why would anyone do that? It’s like graffiti, but nobody would notice it except the guy who painted it. What’s the fun in that?”

  James was also thinking hard. He nodded slightly to himself, looking down at the old book in his hands again. “I think I have an idea,” he said, narrowing his eyes thoughtfully. “We’ll find out for sure. Tonight.”

  “Come on, Ralph!” James complained in a harsh whisper. “Quit tugging! You’re yanking it up. You can see my feet!”

  “I can’t help it,” Ralph moaned, crouching down as far as he could. “I know you said your dad and his mates used to do this all the time, but one of them was a girl, remember?”

  “Yeah, and she didn’t eat seven meals a day, either,” Zane said.

  The three of them shuffled down the darkened corridor, crammed under the Invisibility Cloak. They’d met at the base of the staircases, and apart from one tense moment when Steven Metzker, the Gryffindor prefect and brother of Noah, had passed them in the hall singing slightly off key, they had encountered no one. When they reached the intersection near the statue of the one-eyed witch, James directed them to stop. The three of them maneuvered clumsily into a corner and James opened the Marauder’s Map.

  “I don’t see why all three of us need to do this anyway,” Ralph complained. “I trust you two. You could’ve just told me about it tomorrow at breakfast.”

  “You seemed plenty excited about it when we planned this, Ralphinator,” Zane whispered. “You can’t lose your nerve now.”

  “It was daytime then. And I wasn’t born with any nerve, just so you know.”

  “Shh,” James hissed.

  Zane bent over the map. “Is anyone coming?”

  James shook his head. “No, looks safe. Filch is in his office downstairs. I don’t know if he ever sleeps, but for now, at least, the coast is clear.”

  Ralph straightened up, pulling the Invisibility Cloak a foot off the floor. “Then why are we under this thing at all?”

  “It’s tradition,” James said without looking up from the map.

  “Besides,” Zane added, “what good’s having an Invisibility Cloak if we don’t use it to float around the halls unseen every now and then?”

  “There’s nobody to see us, anyway,” Ralph pointed out.

  James directed them toward the right angle of the intersection and they shuffled on. Soon enough, they came to the gargoyle guarding the stairway to the Headmistress’ office. James could tell it was watching their feet under the raised cloak even though it remained perfectly still. James hoped that the password hadn’t changed since he’d accompanied Neville to the Headmistress’ office a few months earlier.

  He cleared his throat and said quietly, “Er, Gallowater?”

  The gargoyle, which was relatively new, having replaced the one that had been damaged in the Battle of Hogwarts, stirred slightly, making a sound like a mausoleum door grating open. “Is that the one with the forest green field and the sky blue and red patterns?” it asked in a carefully measured voice. “I can never remember.”

  James conferred in harsh whispers with Ralph and Zane. “Forest green field? I don’t even know what it is! It’s just the word Neville used to get in!”

  “How’d he answer the question, then?” Zane asked.

  “It didn’t ask him any questions!”

  “It’s a tartan pattern, I think,” Ralph rasped. “My grandmum is mad about them. Just say yes.” “Are you sure?”

  “Of course I’m not sure. Say no, then! How should I know?”

  James turned back to the gargoyle, which seemed to be staring fixedly at James’ shoes. “Er, yeah, sure.”

  The gargoyle rolled its eyes. “Lucky guess.” It straightened and stood aside, revealing the entry to the spiral staircase. The three boys shuffled toward it and clambered onto the lower steps. As soon as all three were on it, the staircase began to rise slowly, carrying them up with it. The hall outside the Headmistress’ office lowered into view before them, and they stumbled into it, swearing and jostling each other under the cloak.

  “That’s it,” Ralph said in an annoyed voice. He yanked at the cloak, struggling out from underneath it, and then let out a stifled shriek. James and Zane pulled the cloak off their heads and glanced around nervously, looking for whatever had startled Ralph. The ghost of Cedric Diggory was standing in front of them, smiling mischievously.

  “You’ve really got to stop doing that,” Ralph said breathlessly.

  Sorry, Cedric said in his far-off voice. I was asked to be here.

  “Who asked you?” James inquired, trying to keep the annoyance out of his voice. The hair on the back of his neck was still prickling. “How would anyone know we were coming here tonight?”

  Cedric just smiled and then gestured toward the heavy door that led into the Headmistress’ office. It was shut tight. How’d you plan to get past that?

  James felt his face heat a little in embarrassment. “I forgot about that,” he admitted. “Locked, is it?”

  Cedric nodded. Don’t worry about it. That’s why I’m here, I guess. The ghost turned and walked effortlessly through the door. A moment later, the three boys heard the sounds of the lock being unbolted. The door swung open silently and Cedric grinned, welcoming them in. James entered first, and Zane and Ralph were surprised to see him turn immediately away from the Headmistress’ massive desk. The room was extremely dim but for the reddish light of the banked fireplace. James lit his wand and held it up.

  “Get that thing out of my face, Potter,” a voice drawled quietly. “You’ll wake the rest with it, and I suspect that this is meant to be a private conversation.”

  James lowered his wand again and glanced around at the rest of the portraits. All of them were sleeping in various poses, snoring gently. “Yeah, you’re right,” James agreed. “Sorry.”

  “So you deduced a version of the truth, I see,” the portrait of Severus Snape said, his black eyes locked on James. “Tell me what you believe you know.”

  “It wasn’t much of a deduction, really,” James admitted, glancing at Ralph. “He figured it out. He’s got the book.”

  Snape rolled his eyes. “That dratted book has been more trouble than it was ever worth. I should’ve destroyed it when I had the chance. Do continue.”

  James took a deep breath. “Well, I knew something was g
oing on when I noticed all those characters in the paintings watching us. I also knew they all looked a little familiar, even though they were all really different. I don’t think I’d have made the connection if Ralph hadn’t shown me the drawings in the potions book, though. I knew the book had belonged to a Slytherin my dad had loads of respect for, so I thought of you and it all just came together. You painted all those characters into the paintings all over the school, and every one of them is a portrait of you, but in disguise. That’s how you’ve been watching us. You spread yourself out through all those paintings. And since you are the original artist, nobody else can ever destroy the portraits. It was your way of assuring you could always keep an eye on things, even after death.”

  Snape studied James, scowling. Finally he nodded slightly. “Yes, Potter, quite true. Few knew it, but I had some natural inclination toward the task. Being adept at potions, mixing the necessary enchanted paints was the simple part. It did take me quite some time to hone my rendering skills enough to modify the paintings, but as with any other art, painting was mainly a matter of practice and study. I agree with you, however, that you’d have never made the connection if it weren’t for my own blind arrogance in allowing that book to continue to exist. I may have been a genius, but pride has been the downfall of greater geniuses than myself. Nevertheless, it has proved to be a very successful endeavor. I have been able to observe you and the rest of this school’s operations rather freely. So tell me: why do you come to me now? To gloat over your luck?”

  “No,” James said firmly, and then paused. He didn’t want to say what he’d come to say. He was afraid Snape would laugh at him, or worse, refuse their request. “We came… we came to ask for your help.”

  Snape’s expression didn’t change. He regarded James seriously for a long moment. “You came to ask for help,” he said, as if confirming he’d heard James correctly. James nodded. Snape narrowed his eyes slightly. “James Potter, I’d never have suspected it, but you have finally impressed me. Your father’s greatest weakness was his refusal to seek assistance from those better and more knowledgeable than him. He always required their help in the end, but usually to their great, and sometimes final, detriment. You seem to have thrown off that weakness, albeit reluctantly. If you had come to this realization a few weeks ago, we might not have had to rely on pure fortune and good timing to save you from a fate worse than death.”

  James nodded again. “Yeah, thanks for that. I know it was you who sent Cedric to help when we were going to open Jackson’s case.”

  “Foolhardy and ignorant, Potter. You might’ve known better, although I admit I’d have been surprised if you had. The robe is exceedingly dangerous and you are stupendously negligent to keep it here. As much as I am loath to admit it, you should turn it over immediately to your father.” “What do you know about the Merlin conspiracy, then?” James asked excitedly, ignoring the rebuke.

  “I know little more than you do, unfortunately, other than the wealth of knowledge I’ve accumulated through my studies of the legend and the multitude of previous attempts to facilitate the return of Merlinus Ambrosius. A study I can assure you would’ve proven far more helpful to you than your current ridiculous fantasies of capturing the Merlin staff.”

  “Why are they ridiculous?” Zane asked, stepping a bit closer.

  “Ah, the jester speaks,” Snape sneered in a low voice. “Mr. Walker, I believe.”

  “It’s a fair question,” James said, glancing at Zane. “The staff is probably even more dangerous than the robe. We can’t let it be controlled by the sorts of people who believe Voldemort was just some misunderstood sweetie who wanted everybody to be pals.”

  “And who might these people be, then, Potter?” Snape asked silkily.

  “Well, Tabitha Corsica, for one.”

  Snape regarded James with open contempt. “Typical Gryffindor prejudice.”

  “Prejudice!” James exclaimed. “Whose house is it that believes that all Muggle-born wizards are weaker stock than the purebloods? Whose house invented the term ‘mudbood’?”

  “Don’t ever say that word in front of me again, Potter,” Snape said dangerously. “You believe you speak of what you know, but let me save you from your ignorance by reminding you that what you know is as limited as it is one-sided. Easy judgments about individuals based on their house of origin is another of your father’s greatest mistakes. I’d hoped that you would surpass that as well, based on your own choice of companions.” Snape’s black eyes darted to Ralph, who had hung back, watching silently.

  “Well, Ralph’s different, isn’t he?” James said weakly.

  Snape responded quickly, his eyes still on the larger boy. “Is he? Different from what, Mr. Potter? What, precisely, do you believe you know about the members of Mr. Deedle’s house? Or, dare I ask, Mr. Deedle himself?”

  “I know what the tree sprite told us,” James said rounding on the portrait, his voice rising in anger. “I know that there is a bloodline of Voldemort alive in these halls even now. His blood beats in a different heart. The heir of Voldemort is alive and he walks among us.”

  “And what makes you so certain,” Snape said sharply, “that this heir is a Slytherin? Or a male?”

  James opened his mouth to answer, and then closed it again. He realized that the dryad had never actually said either of those things. “Well, it just… makes sense.”

  Snape nodded, the sneer creeping back into his face. “Does it? Perhaps you haven’t learned anything after all, then.” Snape sighed, and he seemed genuinely disappointed. “What did you come to ask, Potter? I see you are determined in your course regardless of what I say, so let’s get this over with.”

  James felt small in front of the portrait of the former headmaster. Zane and Ralph stood further back, and James knew it was his question to ask. This was his battle more than it was theirs. His battle against the Merlin conspiracy, yes, but more importantly, his battle against himself and the shadow of his father.

  He raised his eyes to Snape’s black gaze. “If we can’t get the Merlin staff, I need to go to the Hall of Elder’s Crossing. I need to stop them there, before they can hide the staff and the throne forever.”

  James heard the movement of Zane and Ralph behind him. He turned back to them. “I won’t ask you two to come, but I’m committed. I have to try to stop them.”

  Snape sighed hugely. “Potter, you really are just as foolish and preposterously self-absorbed as your father. Turn the robe over. Give it to your father or the Headmistress. They will know what to do. I will advise them. You cannot possibly hope to manage this on your own. You’ve impressed me once. Do try and accomplish that again.”

  “No,” James said with conviction. “If I tell them, Jackson and Delacroix and whoever else will get away. You know it just like I do. Then two of the relics will be lost forever.”

  “Without all three together, the power of the relics is broken.”

  “But not destroyed,” James insisted. “They are still powerful on their own. We can’t let them be used by those who’d try to continue Voldemort’s work. We can’t risk them falling into the hands of Voldemort’s heir.”

  Snape scowled. “If such a person exists.”

  “That’s not a risk worth taking,” James countered. “Where is the Hall of Elder’s Crossing?”

  “You do not know what you’re asking, Potter,” Snape said dismissively.

  “We’ll find out somehow, James,” Zane said, stepping forward again. “We don’t need this old pile of paint to tell us. We’ve worked everything out so far. We’ll figure this out, too.”

  “You’ve survived on suspicious good fortune and the interference of myself alone,” Snape growled. “Do not forget your place, boy.”

  “It’s true,” Ralph said. James and Zane turned to look at him, surprised to hear him speak. Ralph swallowed and went on, “We have done pretty well so far. I don’t really know who you are, Mr. Snape, but as grateful as we are for you helping us when Jam
es put on the robe, I think James is right. We need to try to stop them and get the rest of the relics. You were a Slytherin, and you said that the things they say about Slytherins aren’t always right. Well, one of the things they say about Slytherins is that we always just look out for ourselves. I don’t want that to be true. I’m with James and Zane, even if we fail. No matter what.”

  Snape had listened to this sudden speech from Ralph with a steely eye and a tight frown. When Ralph finished, he glanced at all three of the boys in succession, and then heaved another sigh. “You’re all completely daft,” he said flatly. “This is a pointless and destructive fantasy.”

  “Where’s the Hall of Elder’s Crossing?” James asked again.

  Snape regarded him, shaking his head minutely. “As I said, Potter, you do not know what you’re asking.”

  Zane spoke up. “Why not?”

  “Because the Hall of Elders’ Crossing is not a place, Mr. Walker. You, of all people, should have recognized that. If any of you had been paying even a shred of attention for the last several months, you’d know it. The Hall of Elders’ Crossing is an event. Think about it for a moment, Mr. Walker. Elders’ Crossing.”

  Zane blinked. “Elders,” he said thoughtfully. “Wait a minute. That’s what the astronomers of the Middle Ages called the astrological signs. The planets. They called them ‘the Elder Ones’.”