James Potter and the Curse of the Gatekeeper

5. ALBUS AND THE BROOM

James met Ralph at the base of the steps on Monday morning. The halls were already filled with the clamor and bustle of the start of school, and even though James knew he'd probably be missing the freedoms of summer by the end of his first week, for the moment he was still looking forward to classes.

"Got my schedule all set," Ralph proclaimed happily as they entered the Great Hall for breakfast. "Got Defence Against the Dark Arts with that Debellows bloke first thing this morning."

"Check that," James said. "I'm there too. Strange that he didn't require a book. He must just be so smart about the whole thing that he doesn't need one. This should be excellent."

"Debellows rules," Graham said as James and Ralph plunked down at the table. "You know he once took on two vampires at once with only a Beater bat and a Muggle pencil."

"A pencil?" Ralph furrowed his brow.

"To stab them with, of course. It was the closest thing he had to a wooden stake."

Ralph screwed up his face, thinking. "That must have been one bloody sharp pencil."

Rose had already finished her breakfast, having arrived earlier. "I hear that this is going to be a very practical Defence Against the Dark Arts class, even for first-years. Apparently, Debellows prefers a hands-on approach."

"Well, just look at the fellow," Noah said, turning to gaze at the man still finishing his breakfast at the teachers' table. "He looks like he's ready to pounce even when he's sitting still."

Sabrina leaned over the table and said in a stage-whisper, "I think Noah has a bit of a man-crush on him."

"Oh shut up," Noah replied. "You didn't grow up collecting Debellows Harrier action cards. I just can't believe he's going to teach us how to battle the Dark Arts. I hope he shows us how to do the Perseuspinch maneuver."

"I had an action figure that did that," Graham nodded. "I tried to use it on my mum, once. Got me in no end of Barney."

"I have to wait until Wednesday for my first class with him," Rose complained. "Tell me how it goes tonight, won't you?"

James nodded, his mouth full of toast. Across the room, James could see Albus sitting in the middle of the Slytherin table, smiling and laughing with his new friends. Strangely enough, most of those around him were older students. Tabitha Corsica and Philia Goyle smiled and nodded as Albus spoke.

"Come on," Ralph said, pulling James' collar. "Let's get to class a little early. I want to see what this Debellows is all about."

"Hang on," James said, collecting his bag. He climbed off his bench and skirted the edge of the hall, heading around toward the Slytherin table.

"Hey, Al," he called.

Albus looked up, following the sound of James' voice. "Hi, James! Didn't see you all weekend. What's up?"

"Can you spare a minute to walk with your brother to first class? I want to hear about your adventures in your new house."

"That's sweet," Tabitha said warmly. "Go ahead, Albus. We'll chat again at lunch and make arrangements for Wednesday."

"Excellent!" Albus nodded happily. "All right, come on, big brother. I've got Herbology with Neville first thing."

As they broke away from the Slytherin table, Albus was positively bursting with excitement. "I got my ring key already, see? Spent the whole weekend getting the grand tour with the Fang and Talons. Did you know the Slytherin rooms have their own casting range? We can practice almost any spells and curses we want on these enchanted dummies. If you get a curse right, the dummy drops on the floor and does this hilarious imitation of the effect. Not that I'm any good at the wandwork yet, but Tabby says I shouldn't rush it."

James nearly choked. "'Tabby'?"

"Yeah," Albus nodded. "Tabitha Corsica. She's the unofficial head of Fang and Talons. I mean, nobody is really an official anything in the club. It's really just a joke with the Slytherins."

James looked back at Ralph, his eyebrows raised.

"Tabitha tried to get me in last year, before the debate. It's kind of a secret society, although there's not much secret about it if you're a Slytherin."

"Tabby says it's fine for me to talk to you about it, James," Albus assured. "But I'd keep it hush-hush if I was you. I mean, we don't want just anybody to know about it. What fun would that be?"

"So what's going on with Tabitha this Wednesday?" James asked.

"What?"

"This Wednesday," James said, stopping as they reached the archway leading outside to the greenhouses. "Tabitha said she'd make arrangements with you about something."

"Oh, that," Albus said, glancing out at the glass buildings twinkling in the morning sunlight. "That's just for Quidditch try-outs. She says she'd love to see me get on the team."

James smiled uncomfortably. "But you don't have a broom or anything. Trust me, those house brooms are useless. I couldn't even fly in a straight line until I got my Thunderstreak."

"That's not going to be a problem," Albus said, shouldering his pack and grinning. "Tabby says she'll let me use her broom for the try-out."

James' mouth dropped open, but Albus turned away before he could say anything. "Got to be off, big brother," he called over his shoulder. "Can't be late to first class!" He strode out into the sunlight, joining a few other first-year Slytherins who'd been skulking nearby. James turned to Ralph, his mouth still hanging open.

"First I heard of it," Ralph said, raising his hands, palm out. "I'm not part of 'Tabby's' crew, you know."

"But that broom…," James sputtered, "it's… it's evil!"

"Come on," Ralph said. "Let it go for now. Class starts in five minutes."

As James turned reluctantly to follow Ralph, he passed Scorpius on his way out to the greenhouses. Scorpius smirked at James and bumped him with his shoulder. James almost said something, but a nearby Slytherin beat him to it.

"Forsooth, mine breaking heart, Malfoy!" the boy called, clutching his chest. There was a chorus of laughter. Scorpius ignored them.

"Why isn't Debellows having class in the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom?" Ralph asked, studying his schedule as they threaded through the crowded corridors. "This is taking us all the way to the other side of the castle."

James shrugged, distracted. "Couldn't guess."

They reached the designated room and filed in with the rest of the second-years. The classroom was huge with a very high ceiling and high windows along one wall. There were no chairs or desks. Instead, there were padded mats on the floors, old-fashioned dumbbells arranged in a long rack, and an assortment of clockwork dummies and complicated apparatuses covered with pads and pommels.

Morgan Patonia, the Hufflepuff, walked in and stopped, looking around the space. "Hmph. Welcome to the Hogwarts gymnasium," she said in a bewildered voice. "I didn't even know we had one of these."

The class shuffled nervously around the space, not quite sure what to do with themselves. Kevin Murdock, the Slytherin with whom James had had Technomancy the previous year, grabbed a couple of the dumbbells and hefted them, showing off for a pair of Ravenclaw girls who rolled their eyes.

"Greetings, class!" a voice boomed heartily. James turned to see Professor Debellows striding into the room from a rear door. He was dressed in a short tunic and sandals and had a towel slung around his neck. "As you know, I am your new teacher for Defence Against the Dark Arts, Kendrick Debellows. I hate being called Professor anything, so feel free to call me by my first name. We'll not stand on protocol in this class. I want you all to think of me as your friend and partner. Do have a seat, all of you."

James saw Ralph glance around, as if he expected a row of chairs to have suddenly appeared. The rest of the class was doing the same thing, their faces vaguely confused.

"On the mats!" Debellows laughed. "My word, this is going to be a learning experience for all of us, I daresay. On the mats, students. Anywhere you like. That's the spirit."

James hunkered down with his back against one of the clockwork dummies. As he leaned against it, it emitted a soft click and a whirring sound. The arm of the dummy popped upwards and the hand balled into a huge, padded fist. James boggled up at it, then at Ralph. Ralph looked characteristically worried as he settled uncomfortably on the mat.

"I don't know what kind of classes you are used to in the past, students," Debellows said, clasping his hands behind his back and rocking on his heels. "In fact, I have specifically asked not to be told of the methods of your previous Defence teachers. I have my way of doing things, a way that proved very successful during my years as the leader of the Harriers, and I intend to implement the same methods here. Many of you will be familiar with my exploits, but let me assure you: this is not a lecture class. We will not be discussing my adventures at great length, although they may from time to time prove instructive and illustrative. No, this is going to be a class where we do things. To learn is to perform! And perform you shall. You will most likely end up sore and exhausted. You may return from our classes bruised, sweaty, and bedraggled. But you will become strong! I will do my best to teach you everything I have gleaned from my years of confronting the Dark Arts. Now, I will require a volunteer."

Debellows' gimlet eyes roamed eagerly over the crowd of second-years. A Ravenclaw named Joseph Torrance raised his hand tentatively.

"Excellent, that's it, don't be shy," Debellow's called heartily. "Come on up here, young man. I don't know your name, but I'll call you Ignatious."

"My name's Joseph," the boy said, joining Debellows at the front of the room.

"Joe, then. Fine, fine. What I want you to do, Joe, is pretend to be a werewolf. I want you to attack me."

"Attack you, sir?" Joseph said a bit uncertainly.

"Yes, yes, as a werewolf. Just lunge at me, go for the throat. Don't be afraid to hurt me."

Joseph swallowed, glancing out at the room, then back at Debellows. Gamely, he crouched, raised his hands with his fingers hooked, and charged, making a fair attempt at a ravenous howl. Just as he jumped, Debellows spun. In a blur of motion, he hooked one leg over the boy, spun him upwards into the air, produced his wand, and shouted an unintelligible command. Joseph froze in midair a moment before he'd have crashed to the mat. His face was still contorted in a comedic growl.

The class had barely had time to gasp before it was over. There was a moment of awed silence, and then a burst of applause. Graham nudged Morgan, nodding excitedly and pointing.

"He's perfectly all right," Debellows called, shaking back the sleeves of his tunic. "He's not even paralyzed, just suspended. Isn't that right, Ignatious?" He patted the boy on his upraised foot.

"It's Joseph, sir," the boy replied, shaking himself and glaring nervously down at the floor.

"Joe, yes, certainly. The point, of course, is not to harm the poor creature, but simply to get its feet off the ground. If it cannot touch the ground, it cannot charge. If it cannot charge… well, the rest is elementary, as you can see. Brace yourself, Joe."

Joseph barely had time to thrust his hands out in front of him before Debellows tapped him with his wand. The boy toppled to the mat.

Debellows looked brightly out over the students. "Any questions?"

Graham shot his hand into the air. "What was that incantation, sir?"

"Tsk, tsk, tsk," Debellows chided, ticking his finger at Graham. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves, Mr., ah, young man. 'Stamina before spells' is my motto. Did you happen to notice the maneuver I used to get the werewolf into the air first? That is the key to the entire affair. The spellwork is merely the icing on the cake. No, in this class, we will apply ourselves to the discipline of physically preparing ourselves for the challenges we may face as defenders of right. Did you know, class, that a fit-enough wizard may overcome even the Imperius Curse if he has enough stamina and mental force of will? It is true. For too long, the focus of civilian Defence Against the Dark Arts has been quick and dirty spellwork, protection charms, and tricky hexes. Here, I will not make you merely proficient in theory. Here, I will make you into warriors!"

He beamed out at the room, his dark crew cut bristling. After a moment, Kevin Murdock began to clap. The rest of the class joined in halfheartedly.

"I know you probably aren't excited about my approach," Debellows said, raising one hand. "There are those who do not utilize the same methods as I do; those who do not respect the importance of physical prowess, who believe that Expelliarmus spells and Patronuses are more than enough to battle the most evil of foes. In the Harriers, we call those people 'Aurors'." He grinned, and there was a smattering of laughter. Kevin Murdock smirked back at James, nudging a fellow Slytherin. Debellows went on, "But I think you'll find my approach quite effective in the long run. And I promise you: I will not ask any of you to do anything that I am not willing to do right alongside you. And now!" He clapped his hands together eagerly. "Let us see where we stand. How many of you have ever heard of the Gauntlet?"

James glanced around the room. No one raised their hand this time. Debellows seemed undeterred.

"The Gauntlet is an ancient tool used by those training for battle. It is a sort of clockwork obstacle course. Granted, being wizards, we have outfitted ours with certain, er, specialized capabilities. There is no point to the Gauntlet other than to surpass it. Surely, you have all heard the phrase 'run the gauntlet'? I am about to illustrate what that phrase actually means."

Debellows paced briskly across the room and stopped at the end of the line of clockwork apparatuses. He clasped his hands to his elbows and twisted back and forth at the waist, jumped from foot to foot half a dozen times, and then finally dropped to a crouch. He extended one arm, pointing his wand at the line of devices.

"Defendeum!" he barked.

Immediately, the apparatuses ratcheted, whirred, and clanked to life. Debellows launched forward, tucking and rolling beneath the first device as it swung a padded club across his path. With a grunt, the man leapt into the remaining clockwork. He moved in a sort of muscular ballet, lunging, crouching, and leaping through the mechanical melee. He dodged spinning wheels of padded fists, ducked under Stunning Spells fired from a bank of pop-up wands, leapt over kicking pommels and snapping padded jaws, and finally dove, flipped, and landed neatly on his feet at the end of the Gauntlet.

There was no applause this time. James stared, horrified, at the wildly thrashing clockwork monstrosity.

"So!" Debellows called over the noise of the Gauntlet, jamming his fists onto his hips. "Who'll be first up, then?"

"He's completely daft!" Graham exclaimed as he limped his way to History of Magic. "He must've taken one too many Stupefies to the brain when he was a Harrier or something!"

"No spells until Year Four," Ralph said, shaking his head. "And what was that stuff at the end? Who's Artis Decerto?"

"It's not a who, it's a what," Rose said, falling in next to Ralph. "It's a sort of magical version of karate."

James nursed his elbow where it'd been pummeled in the Gauntlet. "Where are you going, Rose?"

"History of Magic," she replied primly.

Ralph glanced at her. "Our History of Magic?"

"I don't know what you mean by that," Rose said, pulling herself to her full height, which was approximately to Ralph's Adam's apple. "My schedule has me in History of Magic, second period, Professor Binns. I can't help it if my advisor suggested I skip to some higher-level classes. So things didn't go so well with Professor Debellows?"

"We aren't supposed to call him 'Professor'," Graham said sourly. "He wants to be our mate, don't you know."

"The kind of mate that makes you do fifty pushups if you can't manage to avoid getting plastered by a giant, padded fist," Ralph said mournfully.

"I hate to say it, but it will probably do some of you some good," Rose said, eyeing the boys appraisingly.

"Just wait until you have your first class with him," James growled. "See how perky you are afterwards."

As they filed into the History of Magic classroom, the ghostly Professor Binns seemed to be in midlecture. His back was turned as he wrote on the chalkboard with a piece of phantom chalk. Strangely, he seemed to be writing notes on top of older notes, creating a nonsensical mish-mash. There was the distinct impression that the chalkboard contained years of the professor's ghostly writings, layer upon layer fading into dimness. As James knew, Binns had only the slightest grip on temporal reality. Last year, Ted had told James that the school had tried to move the History of Magic classroom to another wing so as to make space for the visiting Alma Alerons. Unfortunately, Professor Binns continued to promptly appear in the old room every day to perform his lectures despite the fact that the classroom had been temporarily converted to an Alma Aleron girls' dormitory. No amount of persuasion could convince the ghost to relocate his classes, and the room was shortly converted back to a classroom.

Awkwardly, the students found their seats and began to produce parchments and quills. After a minute, Rose cleared her throat rather loudly and called the professor's name. Binns stopped writing on the chalkboard and turned, peering mistily back at Rose through his spectacles.

"Yes, Miss Granger?"

There was a ripple of laughter and Rose reddened. "I'm not Miss Granger, sir. I'm Rose Weasley, her daughter. I, er, think we missed the first part of your lecture."

"Another generation already," Binns muttered to himself. "Very well, then."

The ghost reached for a phantom eraser and began to swipe it across the chalkboard, producing absolutely no effect.

"You'll never make sense of his notes. You just have to listen to his lecture," Graham whispered confidentially. "It's a challenge, but the good news is that he's been giving the same tests for forty years. The answers are carved right into the tops of the desks. See?"

James had had Professor Binns last year, but he'd not heard this particular legend. He looked down at the worn graffiti carved into the desktop. Sure enough, buried in the center, was a list of numbered terms and phrases. At the top, like a headline, was the phrase, 'WHEN IN DOUBT, JUST SAY "GOBLIN REBELLION"'.

"That's cheating," Rose said without much conviction. "Er, technically."

"You will recall," Binns said, removing his glasses and wiping them absently on his ancient, ghostly lapel, "last year, we completed our studies with the end of the magical Dark Ages, in which men and wizards finally parted ways after centuries of unrest. The magical world allowed the Muggle kingdoms to believe that they had dispersed and eventually died out. Contrariwise, of course, the magical world developed in secret, as it has existed ever since, bypassing the typical frictions inherent in the interaction of the magical and the nonmagical. This brings us to the very beginnings of the modern age of wizard history, in which strictly magical establishments came into existence. This year, we will study the histories of those establishments, from governments to economy to education. Initially, nearly all of those details were managed inside the same walls, and by the same people. You may be aware that this very castle was the center of the magical world for quite some time before it was exclusively classified as a place of learning."

Rose studiously scribbled notes on her parchment. Ralph was watching her with curious fascination, either because of her persistence in taking notes or because her handwriting was so meticulously precise. James wished Zane was here to make an amusing drawing of Professor Binns. Idly, he doodled on his own parchment.

"Magical photography," Binns continued, "while much older than the Muggle equivalent, was still in its infancy at the founding of Hogwarts. Here, in what was, at the time, still an experimental medium, we see the only remaining photographic representation of the original founders of Hogwarts."

James looked up to see the professor pointing his ghostly wand at a small, framed picture on the wall. James squinted at it but couldn't quite make it out. He hadn't known there were any photos of the founders and he was quite curious to see what they really looked like. He glanced around the room, but no one else seemed to be having any difficulty making out the ancient photo. James pressed his lips together. It was going to have to happen sooner or later. As quietly as he could, he reached into his bag and found the little pocket that held his new glasses. He slipped them out and, as surreptitiously as possible, put them on. Immediately, the ancient photo came into focus.

"Technically, it is not a photograph as we would know it, but a sort of flash-painting created with specially hexed paints. In any event, the result is a faithful, if crude, image. Here we see all four of the original founders standing in front of their statues in the original rotunda. This was taken rather late in their careers, upon the occasion of the naming and dedication of Hogwarts as a school of witchcraft and wizardry over ten centuries ago."

James studied the ancient image. It was indeed very grainy and only in black and white. Still, he could clearly make out the four figures, two witches and two wizards. Godric Gryffindor's long face wore his famous mustache and pointed goatee. Salazar Slytherin's features were pinched, with sharp cheeks and chin. He was perfectly bald. Helga Hufflepuff was tall and severe-looking, with long braided hair. Rowena Ravenclaw wore her greying black hair loose, framing a beautiful, smiling face with large, dark eyes. Behind them could be seen their statues, but only from the waist down. The statues had indeed been very large.

"Look," Graham whispered, pointing at the photo, "there's the ghost in the plinth! You can see it off on the side, next to the statue on the far right, just like in Rita Skeeter's book!"

Ralph looked puzzled. "The ghost in the plinth?"

Rose made a pained face. "It's just a myth, Ralph," she whispered. "It was in a book that came out a few years ago: The Founders' Codex. It says that there are secrets buried in a bunch of ancient paintings and pictures and things. Supposedly, there's a ghostly face hidden in the shadows of the statue plinth in the founders' photo."

"It's right there," Graham rasped. "Skeeter says it was hexed into the photo by Salazar Slytherin himself as a warning of his final curse. It's supposed to be the face of the heir of Slytherin. Of course, that's old news now. The Chamber of Secrets is well-known. It was on the Hogwarts tour up until a few years ago when they shut it down for being unsafe."

A Hufflepuff named Ashley Doone whispered from the row behind James, "I can see the ghost in the plinth, too! It looks like… like it's wearing glasses! Why, James," she said conspiratorially, "I think the ghost in the plinth is you!"

James spun to glare back at her. She grinned and covered her mouth. When James turned back, Rose and Ralph were also looking at him.

"Since when do you wear glasses?" Ralph asked in a whisper.

"I don't!" James rasped. "I just need them to see… things. Far away. Sometimes. Hardly ever!"

"They're kind of cute, James," Rose smiled. "In a brainy sort of way."

James yanked the glasses off and jammed them back into his bag. Rose looked back at the ancient photo as Professor Binns burbled on obliviously.

"And Ashley's right," Rose whispered, smiling playfully. "The ghost in the plinth does look a little bit like you. I didn't even see it at first."

"Go jump off a turret," James mumbled, returning to his doodling.

That evening, after dinner, James and Rose sat amongst a pile of books and parchments at a corner table in the Gryffindor common room.

"It's only our first day back," James complained. "I can't believe I'm already sick of homework."

Rose dipped her quill. "If you'd stop complaining about it and just do it, it wouldn't seem like so much work."

"Thanks for the pep talk," James grumbled, flipping randomly through an enormous dusty book. "So how many classes am I going to be sharing with you this year anyway? I mean, besides History of Magic and Transfiguration. It's a little embarrassing, you know."

"I can't imagine why," Rose said without looking up from her parchment, "it's no reflection on you that I got my mum's grasp of basic magical principles. You, on the other hand, got your dad's grasp of slouching off your studies until the very last minute. It's simple genetics."

James sat up. "You're already done with your Transfiguration homework, then? Maybe you could give me a hand with mine since you're so smart. After all, we're family."

"You obviously have me confused with someone else," Rose said, stuffing her books into her bag and zipping it. "That might've worked on my mum back in the day, but that's only because she had an overdeveloped sense of responsibility. My Weasley heritage offsets that nicely. By the way, shouldn't you be wearing your glasses to do your homework?"

James threw her a wilting look. "I only need them to see far away, thank you very much. I'd appreciate it if you kept the whole glasses thing to yourself."

"It's no big deal. Lots of people wear glasses."

"Lots of perfect spods," James groused dismally.

"Damien wears them," Rose pointed out. "And Professor McGonagall. Fiera Hutchins wears them and they look totally cute on her, even if she is a Slytherin. And Clarence Templeton, and Scorpius…"

James nearly knocked his books off the table. "Scorpius wears glasses? How do you know?"

Rose blinked at James. "I saw him wearing them in Herbology. He needs them to read, I would guess. Unlike you, he seemed perfectly comfortable wearing them in class. They look rather sporting, in fact. They're rimless, with tortoiseshell sides—"

"All right, all right," James said, waving his hand dismissively. "This isn't making it any better."

"Despite what you may think," Rose said, leaning in and lowering her voice, "he's not stupid. He may not be the nicest boy in school, but he knows his stuff."

"He knows how to cast a few spells, big deal," James said, crossing his arms. "His parents probably hired him one of those goblin tutors just to make sure he could show the rest of us up."

Rose shrugged and looked pointedly across the room. "Looks like he's done with his homework, at any rate."

James followed his cousin's gaze. Scorpius sat slouched in the high-back chair near the fireplace. He was idly flicking his wand, floating a bit of paper folded to resemble a bat. It bobbed and swooped easily.

"Bloody show-off," James grumbled under his breath.

Cameron Creevey saw James looking. He stood and approached the table tentatively. "Hey, James! How was your first day?"

"Lousy," James griped. "You any good at Transfiguration, Cameron?"

Cameron shook his head. "I haven't even had my first class, sorry. I just wanted to ask you: is it true about last year? About the aligning of the planets and how you were there for Merlin's return and all that stuff about how you sent that Muggle news fellow packing?"

"Well," James began, and then shrugged tiredly, "yeah, sure, I guess. It's probably all true enough, but it wasn't like it sounds. I was trying to stop Merlin's return, you know. So really, it was all a big bust."

Cameron grinned, showing a lot of pink gums. "That's totally excellent!" he exclaimed. "My dad, he's Dennis Creevey, he went to school with your dad, Harry Potter, right?"

"Sure, if you say so," James agreed, smiling. The boy's enthusiasm was rather contagious. "But I'm not like him, Cameron, really. I'm just a kid. See? No lightning bolt scar. Besides, I had loads of help."

"Yeah, I heard," Cameron nodded. "Ralph Deedle, whose dad's real name is Dolohov! Nobody saw that one coming, did they? Still, makes sense in hindsight. At least that's what my dad says."

Rose smirked and pretended to read one of James' books. James shook his head wonderingly. "Where did you get all this, Cameron?"

"Oh, all the first-years have been talking about it. We can't wait to see what you get up to this year!"

James frowned. "This year?"

"Sure!" Cameron enthused. "I mean, it's just like in your dad's day! Every year, he got in some great adventure, didn't he? We've got all the old Daily Prophet articles at home as well as the novelizations. I know the books are a little exaggerated, but my dad, he was there for some of it, and he says they don't even do the real stories justice. My favorite is the one about the Triwizard Tournament, especially the bits with the dragon!"

James held up his hands, stopping Cameron. "Look, those books are about my dad. Not me. Things are different these days, aren't they? There's no more Voldemort, no more big, scary, evil society bent on taking over the world. Last year was a fluke, all right? Besides, I wasn't a hero like my dad was. If I hadn't had Ralph and Zane—"

"Zane?" Cameron interrupted. "He's the one from the States?"

"Yes," James laughed, exasperated. "He—"

James jumped as something rapped against the window behind him. He spun around, eyes wide. The window was perfectly black. He stared at his reflection in the old glass. "What the—"

The rap came again, louder, shaking the window in its pane. A small object had thrown itself against the window from the outside. It looked like a moth, but with glowing green wings. James focused on it, furrowing his brow.

"What is it?" Rose asked, coming around the table to join James.

James shook his head. The moth threw itself against the window again, rattling the glass with its wings. It was remarkably strong considering its size.

"It's a lunarfly," Rose said, recognizing the flying shape. "Let it in before it knocks itself senseless. They're harmless."

James unlatched the window and swung it open just as the lunarfly dove again. It shot through the open window and past James. Cameron ducked as the glowing moth spun out over the room. It swooped wildly, flitting through the students scattered around the room, leaving a trail of faintly glowing dust behind it. Scorpius sat up and peered at the moth, narrowing his eyes, as it wove and arced, drawing dusty greenish lines in the air. Finally, as if exhausted, the moth fluttered to a halt on the table, landing on James' pile of books. It folded its wings and twitched its antennae at James.

"Whoa!" Cameron said excitedly. James raised his eyes.

The lines of glowing dust had condensed into a shape. It floated in the air, drifting very slowly toward the ground. James recognized the shape. He grinned.

"Cameron, meet Zane," James said, gesturing to the familiar face formed by the glowing dust. "Zane, we were just talking about you. How'd you know?"

The dusty representation of Zane's face smiled. "It works! Hi, James! Hold on a second. Raphael, Anna, tell Professor Franklyn it works. I'm getting through! They can see me! All right, anyway. Hey, everybody. Hi, Rose! Where's the Ralphinator?"

"He and Albus are down with the Slytherins," James replied. "Zane, what is this?"

Zane's shimmering face grimaced as if to say it's a long story. "You ever hear the bit about the Chaos Butterfly? The one that flaps its wings in Paris and causes a hurricane in Los Angeles? Well, this is that butterfly. It's a moth, really, but the point is it doesn't cause the hurricanes, it just knows when they're going to happen. Franklyn says it has some sort of psychic connection to the cosmos. Anyway, it can tune into stuff thousands of miles away. The trick was just to get it to tune into the right thing. At the moment, it's tuned in to my face over here at Alma Aleron. So how do I look?"

James leaned in, studying the strange, glowing phenomenon. "Like a seasick ghost."

"That's as good as it gets, for now," Zane nodded. "Still, it's a big leap for the Department of Experimental Magical Communications. Raphael says we'll probably get a grant for this. Anyway, I've only got a minute before the dust settles. How are you all doing?"

"Fine," James replied. "Tell Cameron here that there aren't going to be any more exciting adventures this year."

"There better not be," Zane agreed. "James swore them off last year, Cam. That's the only reason I let my parents drag me back to America. Anyway, I'm fading out, I can tell. I'll be in touch, you guys. We have a few other techniques to test out. Should be fun!"

"All right, Zane," James called as the glowing face began to disintegrate. "See you later!"

"Wait!" Zane's voice cried, growing faint. "Did I hear you say your brother was with the Slyth…" His voice vanished as the glowing moth dust faded out of the air. On the table in front of James, the moth flexed its wings. It took off again and flitted silently through the open window. James clasped it shut.

"That was dead brilliant!" Cameron suddenly exclaimed. James smiled, shook his head, and shooed the smaller boy away. The rest of the Gryffindors in the common room went back to their business.

"That's complete nonsense," Rose said, settling back into her seat. "There's no such thing as the Chaos Butterfly. It's just a metaphor."

James grinned smugly at Rose. "You do fancy him!"

Rose scowled at him. "Now why in the world would you say that?"

"Because," James said simply, "you waited until he was gone to say that."

Rose blushed and looked away, fuming.

"See?" James said, nudging her. "I'm not a dolt about everything, am I?"

Rose harrumphed and gathered her bag. "Enjoy your Transfiguration homework," she said, standing. "And by the way, I saw your History of Magic homework answers. You got three of them wrong, and I'm not going to tell you which ones." She batted her eyes and smiled sweetly. "Goodnight, then!"

James slumped in his chair, watching her stalk up the stairs to the girls' dormitory. Across the room, Cameron grinned at him.

No more adventures this year, James thought. That was a good thing, wasn't it? Of course it was. Besides, the trio was broken. Zane was gone, back across the ocean and in a completely different time zone. That had never happened to Harry Potter. It had always been Harry, Ron, and Hermione, the magic trio, inseparable even to this day. Not so for James, and that, he told himself, was just fine. Let Albus have an adventure if there was one to be had. After all, he was the one everyone said looked just like Dad when he'd been younger.

James' forehead itched. Without thinking about it, he scratched it, pushing his unruly hair up. Just like he'd told Cameron, there was no lightning bolt scar there. James wasn't his father.

When James lowered his hand, he saw Scorpius Malfoy staring at him from across the room. His face was inscrutable. After a moment, Scorpius looked away, as if bored. If there was any proof that the era of Harry Potter style adventures was over, it was sitting right over there: Scorpius Malfoy with a Gryffindor crest embroidered on his robes.

James sighed, opened his Transfiguration textbook, and began his homework.

The first days of school passed in a blur. James attended his classes and made a concerted effort to take notes and tackle his homework. His diligence sprang partly from his own resolve not to get behind early in the year, but was also partly due to the presence of Rose in many of his classes. She served as a constant, disgruntled source of competition since James was determined not to allow his first-year cousin to outperform him despite her natural braininess.

One class Rose didn't share with James was Care of Magical Creatures, which was still taught by Hagrid. Hagrid embarrassed James by greeting him with a gigantic, bone-cracking bear hug at the beginning of class.

"I didn't have th' chance to say so at th' service, James," Hagrid said in what he thought was a confidential voice, "but I'm so sorry about your Granddad. Arthur was a great man, 'e was."

James nodded, a little annoyed at having been reminded of his granddad's death. It had been a few days since he'd thought about it. Hagrid invited the class to sit on the multitude of pumpkins maturing in his garden. He spent the period explaining what the class was about and describing the animals he'd introduce the students to over the course of the year. James didn't listen particularly closely, gazing instead out over the lake, his thoughts far away and melancholy.

During his Wednesday free period, James sat with Ralph and Rose at a table in the library. He took the opportunity to write a short letter to his parents. When he was finished, it occurred to him to write a note to his Cousin Lucy as well, as he'd promised. He dipped his quill and jotted the first things that came to his mind.

Dear Lucy,

Hi! I hope Uncle P. and Aunt A. aren't dragging you all over the place too much, but if

they are, I hope you are having some fun and seeing some cool stuff. The school year is starting all

right. The new Defence teacher is Kendrick Debellows, the famous Harrier. Ask your dad if you

don't know who he is. He's pretty hardcore, and he doesn't have much good to say about Aurors,

so that class looks to be a bust. Al would say hi if he knew I was writing you. He ended up in

Slyth after all! I promised I would let him tell Mum and Dad, but he didn't say I couldn't tell

you. Rose is sitting right here and she says hi and get a picture of anything cool you see if you are

anyplace interesting, even if you're sick of seeing it all. Tell Mol we all said hello. Send a letter

and any pics back with Nobby, all right?

Sincerely,

James

James let Rose sign the letter to Lucy as well. When they were done, he took the letter back and reread it. Then, thoughtfully, he added:

P.S. If you get bored, you could do me a little favor. Look up anything you can find about something called the Gatekeeper or the Sentinel of Worlds. It might be a bit hard to dig up, but I know you like figuring stuff out, and it'd be a great help to me. But don't say anything to anyone else about it. I promised to keep it a secret. Thanks.

James finished writing, then quickly sealed both letters and stuffed them into his satchel. That afternoon, after their last classes, Rose and Ralph accompanied James to the Owlery. There, James attached the letters to Nobby's leg whilst Rose and Ralph stood near the door.

"I'm glad I brought a cat," Rose said, wrinkling her nose. "This place is right rancid."

"Cats can't deliver post," James replied.

"Well, an owl can't snuggle up on your lap by the fireplace."

Ralph nodded. "Or cough a hairball on your shoe."

Rose elbowed him. James finished attaching the letters to Nobby and stood back.

"Take Mum and Dad's letter first, Nobby. Lucy might send some stuff back."

Nobby screeched agreement. He spread his wings, balanced on the perch for a moment, and then launched. James craned his head as Nobby thrust upward, past the ranks of his fellow owls, and disappeared through a window at the top of the Owlery.

As the three students made their way back through the castle to dinner, James asked Rose pointedly, "So how was your first Defence Against the Dark Arts class?"

Rose pressed her lips together and hefted her satchel. "He wouldn't let me run the Gauntlet."

Ralph glanced at her. "Well, that's a good thing, right?"

"No, Ralph, it isn't. The boys all had to run it. Debellows says girls are 'too delicate' for it. He set us up doing one-on-one drills with each other. None of the other girls take it seriously, either. It was a complete waste of time."

"I hadn't really noticed it," James said, "but now that you mention it, he doesn't have any girls run the Gauntlet in our class either."

"Or face the clockwork ogre," Ralph added. "That club may be padded, but it packs a wallop."

"You should be glad you're a girl, then, Rose," James said fervently. "It's your free pass out of that bruise factory."

Rose shook her head, annoyed. "You're both completely missing the point! Girls aren't any less capable than boys. I bet I could beat most of you through the Gauntlet if I had a chance."

James stared incredulously at her. "You want to go through that thing?"

"Well," she replied, hedging a bit, "not really. I mean, it does look pretty brutal. But it's the principle of the matter."

Ralph shook his head. "This is the first time in my life I wish I'd been born a girl."

"I'm going to write Mum and Dad about it," Rose declared firmly. "When Mum hears that…"

Rose's voice trailed away as a cold push of air suddenly rippled her robes. James and Ralph felt it as well. The three stopped in the corridor, glancing around.

James frowned. "What was that?"

Neither of the others responded. There didn't appear to be any obvious source of the breeze. There were no windows in this section of the castle. Closed doors lined the walls, lit by a series of lanterns hung on chains. As James looked, the lantern at the end of the corridor winked out. James nudged Ralph and pointed.

Ralph's voice wavered. "Was that already burnt out, or did it just—"

The lantern next to it flickered and died, as if someone had blown the flame out.

"Maybe it's just the wind," Rose said uncertainly. "Come on, let's—"

Two more lanterns blinked out in quick succession. James glanced at Rose, then Ralph, his eyes wide. Suddenly, much stronger than before, a cold wind tore down the corridor, streaming through their robes and whipping their hair. It blew the rest of the lanterns out, throwing the corridor into murky darkness.

"Look!" Rose cried breathlessly, her voice unnaturally high. James and Ralph followed her shaking, pointing hand. There was a figure moving down the corridor. It floated above the floor, its head lowered, obscuring the face. It drifted toward them swiftly and silently. James grabbed Ralph and Rose's sleeves, pulling them as he attempted to back away, but his legs felt frozen. The figure was moving too quickly. It was nearly upon them. Suddenly, just as it heaved directly in front of them, it raised its head.

Ralph gasped. Rose uttered a little scream. James blinked.

"Cedric?" he exclaimed, his heart pounding. "What are you doing?!"

The ghost of Cedric Diggory straightened and grinned at them. "I've been practicing," he said in his distant, ghostly voice.

"Y-you know him?" Rose stammered, recovering a little.

"Yeah, we know him," Ralph replied. "That wasn't right, Ced. What was that all about anyway?"

Cedric looked taken aback. "I'm the 'Specter of Silence'. I've been practicing over the summer, trying to create a little mystique. What, was it too much?"

James nodded, his eyes wide. "Yeah, I'd say it was a bit much! Can you, you know, fix the lights?"

The ghost glanced back at the snuffed lanterns. "Actually, they're a lot easier to put out than to relight. Hold on."

Cedric closed his eyes and screwed up his face. After a moment, two of the lanterns flickered back alight.

"That's a bit better," Rose sighed. "But still. Don't do that again, all right? At least not to me."

Cedric smiled. "You must be Hermione's daughter. You have her hair, although it's a bit redder."

"I prefer the term 'auburn'," Rose said. "Anyway, yes. Nice to meet you, er, Cedric. I remember hearing about you. Care to accompany us to dinner?"

Cedric looked thoughtful. "I don't think so. It's not good for the mystique, hanging about in the Great Hall with everyone there."

"All the other ghosts do it," Ralph commented. "The Bloody Baron's down there nearly every meal, waving his sword around and teaching the first-years bad words."

"Yeah…," Cedric agreed doubtfully. "That's fine for him. He's been around since forever…"

James narrowed his eyes. "How many people have seen you, Cedric? I mean, not counting us?"

The ghost floated nervously. "Besides you? Er… does the portrait of Snape count?"

James shook his head.

"What about the Muggle intruder?"

"No."

"Well," Cedric admitted, "that's pretty much it, then."

"Wait a minute," Rose said, raising her hand. "You're a shy ghost?"

Cedric grimaced. "Not 'shy'. I was never shy. I've just been… busy."

"Busy learning how to blow out lanterns and practicing being the 'Specter of Silence'?" James clarified, tilting his head.

"Look, it's just different, that's all," the ghost said. "I haven't been down to a dinner in the Great Hall since the night I died, over twenty years ago."

Ralph spoke up, "So? Not much has changed, I'm guessing. From the looks of things down there, they've been running it pretty much the same since the founders themselves. Come on, it'll be fun even if you can't exactly eat the food."

Cedric shook his head sadly. "I can't. Not yet." He heaved a ghostly sigh. "Last time I was there, I sat with my friends. I was on my way out to what I hoped would be a victory in the final challenge of the Triwizard Tournament. Everybody toasted me with their pumpkin juice and wished me good luck. I promised them I'd tell them all about my adventure the next day at dinner, with or without the victory cup…" Cedric's ghostly eyes had gone thoughtful. "Cho Chang met me by the door on the way out of the hall. She wished me luck in the maze. I wanted to kiss her, but I didn't, not right there in the entrance to the Great Hall with everyone looking. I promised myself I would kiss her afterwards. Actually, I think I cared even more about that than I did about winning the cup. Kissing Cho was going to be the real prize…" Cedric paused, and then blinked, shaking himself. He glanced at James, Rose, and Ralph, as if remembering they were there. "But that never happened, of course. It feels like it was yesterday. It feels like if I went down to dinner now, Cho would be there, watching for me. There would be Stebbins, and Cadwallader, and Muriel, all anxious for me to regale them with the details of my trip through the maze. That's how it feels to me, but it's not true. They wouldn't be down there. Not really. They've all grown and moved on. I'm just a distant memory. Instead, my old table would be full of people I don't know. They'd not even recognize me." He shook his head again. "Maybe someday I'll be able to come down. But not yet. I can't."

Rose reached out to pat Cedric's arm, but her hand went right through it. "I'm so sorry, Cedric," she said. "You can come with us whenever you want to. Your old friends won't be there, but there might be some new friends waiting."

Cedric nodded and smiled, but James didn't think the ghost believed Rose's words.

"Will we be seeing you around?" James asked him.

"Sure," Cedric agreed. "Maybe the whole 'Specter of Silence' thing is a bit too much. Next time, I'll tone it down."

The three students turned and made their way back along the corridor. As they rounded the corner, James glanced back. There was no sign of Cedric's ghost, but James had a sense that he was still there anyway. James waved goodbye, then caught up to Ralph and Rose.

As they passed the great open doorway looking out over the courtyard, James stopped. In the blue evening gloom, a small group of students was gathered near the gate. James noticed they were all Slytherins, and Albus was standing in the center of them. With a start, James realized it was Wednesday night, the night Tabitha Corsica had planned to 'make arrangements' with Albus.

"Hold up," James said quietly, stopping Ralph and Rose. As casually as he could, he sauntered over to the door and slipped into the shadows, watching the group of Slytherins.

"What's going on out there?" Rose asked, joining James. James shushed her.

Tabitha was talking to Albus, smiling prettily, nodding her head. Philia Goyle and Tom Squallus hovered nearby along with a few other Slytherins whom James didn't know. James couldn't hear what they were saying. As the crowd shifted, James saw that Tabitha Corsica was holding something tall and thin, wrapped in a black sleeve.

"That's most of the Slytherin Quidditch team," Ralph explained in a low voice. "There's Beetlebrick. He's the Keeper. Fiera and Havelock are Beaters."

James narrowed his eyes. "One guess what Corsica has in that black cover."

The Slytherins suddenly turned and began to walk out of the courtyard. Albus was leading, laughing, and gesturing happily. James slipped through the doorway, following.

"Where are you going?" Ralph asked.

"What's it look like? I'm going to follow them. Corsica is planning to put Al on that flying curse of hers."

Ralph grimaced. "What are you planning to do, stop them?"

"I know you can't help me, Ralph," James said quickly, "since they're your housemates and all. But I'm going to go see what they're planning, at least."

"It's not that," Ralph replied. "I just think it's Albus' choice. I sort of think maybe… you shouldn't get involved."

"I'll take that into consideration," James muttered darkly. He jumped out into the quickly darkening courtyard. A moment later, he heard footsteps as someone followed him.

"You don't have to come, Rose," James said, stopping at the courtyard gate.

"What kind of a thing is that to say?" she whispered harshly. "I was going to spy on them whether you did or not."

James smiled at her. Together, they hunkered down and slunk around the edge of the gate, watching for the departing Slytherins. The gloom of the approaching night made it difficult to see. After a moment, Rose pointed. James followed her direction and saw the robed figures cresting a hill a hundred yards away. They were heading for the Quidditch pitch, of course. Keeping as low as they could, Rose and James followed.

As they neared the pitch, James motioned for Rose to follow him. He led her in a curving path around the side of the Gryffindor grandstand. As quietly as they could, they crept up the wooden staircase to the lowest level. There, they crouched before the guardrail and peered down into the dark pitch.

The group of Slytherins stood on the centerline. James could hear their voices indistinctly. Tabitha seemed to be the one speaking. There was some motion as the figures moved about, and James silently cursed himself for leaving his glasses in his bag.

"What's going on?" he whispered helplessly. "I can barely see who is who."

"Tabitha just took the cover off of a broom," Rose whispered back. "She seems to be explaining how it works to Albus. He looks pretty anxious to fly it. He can barely stand still. Looks like he has to go to the loo."

James could see what happened next. Tabitha held the broom out to Albus. He took it in both hands and looked at it, then looked back up at her. James couldn't see his face, but he knew Albus was grinning that infectious, reckless grin of his. Finally, the other Slytherins stepped back away from him, leaving him in the center of a rough circle. Albus hefted the broom with one hand, as if testing its weight and balance on his palm. Then, deftly, he tossed it into the air. It came down and bobbed next to him at hip height. James struggled with the urge to shout out, to warn Albus. James had ridden that broom once, and it had been a dreadful disaster. There was something extremely unusual about the magic of it. It had fought James and very nearly killed him. When Tabitha rode it during Quidditch matches, it seemed to exercise a very suspicious influence over the brooms around it, and even, James suspected, the Snitch itself. Rose hooked her hand into James' collar and pulled him down. James hadn't realized he'd begun to stand, preparing to call a warning to his brother. He glanced at her, his eyes wide.

"Don't," she mouthed, shaking her head.

James looked back down at the pitch. Albus reached out and wrapped his hand around the handle of the floating broom. Quickly, as if purposely not thinking about it, he swung a leg over it, straddled it, and kicked off. The broom shot straight up, spinning slowly and carrying Albus high into the deepening night. It reached the top level of the grandstands and stopped gently. Albus was merely a black shape outlined against the dusky sky. As James watched, he crouched low over the broomstick. It shot forward, perfectly in control. Distantly, Albus ballyhooed happily, his voice echoing over the nearby hills.

Rose leaned toward James. "I had flying lessons with Albus on Tuesday," she whispered. "He couldn't fly like that then."

James pressed his lips into a thin line. He glared down at the assembly of Slytherins on the field but couldn't make anything out. If any of them were directly influencing Albus' flight with their wands, he couldn't tell it.

In the silence of the descending night, James could hear the swish and flap of his brother's inaugural flight. Albus flickered and swooped over the pitch and the nearby hills, whooping with delight. Finally, after a few minutes of random soaring, he dipped into a long, curving bank over all four of the house grandstands, picking up speed. James and Rose crouched as low as they could as Albus swept in over the Gryffindor gangway. He turned the broomstick easily and pulled it to a hovering stop near the flags that topped the grandstand. James held his breath, hoping that the shadow of the seats was enough to hide him and Rose. Albus took a deep breath, aimed the broom back down toward the pitch, and suddenly stopped. He seemed to be looking directly at James, but in the darkness, it was very hard to tell. He was probably looking past James, down to the Slytherins standing in the center of the pitch below. Finally, Albus leaned forward. The broomstick pitched into a steep dive, sweeping over the rows of seats. James crouched as low as he could, fearing Albus might actually graze him when he passed over the guardrail. As James ducked, a hand reached down and tousled his hair, fleetingly. The wind of Albus' passing subsided, and James heard his brother laughing as he swooped into the darkness of the pitch.

"That little prat!" James rasped. Rose shushed him.

Albus descended in a tightening circle, finally bringing the broom to a landing as gentle as a dandelion seed. The Slytherins applauded and collapsed around Albus, congratulating him.

"A natural," Tabitha's voice rang out on the breeze. "Just like your father."

"'Natural' nothing!" James hissed under his breath. Rose tugged at his robes, pulling him down into the shadows again. Together, they watched the group of Slytherins walk back across the pitch, their voices lost in the rising wind. As James watched, he saw Albus glance up at him and grin.

After a minute, James and Rose climbed down from the grandstand and retraced their steps back to the castle.

"You saw the way he operated that broom," James exclaimed, struggling to keep his voice low. "Or to be perfectly accurate, the way it operated him!"

Rose answered thoughtfully, "I admit it looked a little suspicious. But you said yourself you could barely control a broom until you got your Thunderstreak. Maybe Albus just needed to get on the right sort of broom to show his stuff."

James shook his head, exasperated. "You don't understand. I tried to ride that broom myself, once. It about murdered me!"

"Well, you weren't supposed to be riding it, then, were you? Some new brooms are smart that way. Even yours has the 'Extra-Gestural Enhancement' option, doesn't it? Once it bonded with you, anybody else who tried to ride it would have serious trouble."

"Look," James said, throwing up his hands, "you just have to trust me on this, Rose. That broom's cursed, somehow. And Tabitha is probably the one that cursed it."

Rose looked sideways at him. "Why would you say that?"

James shook his head. "It's a long story. But I'm telling you, there's something especially wicked about her. You probably wouldn't believe me even if I told you. Hardly anybody else does."

"Well," Rose replied, keeping her voice as even as possible, "maybe there's a good reason for that."

"Who's side are you on anyway?"

"Excuse me," Rose said, getting angry. "You mean am I on James Potter's side or Albus Potter's side? Because I didn't know I needed to choose."

James sighed hugely. "Just forget it. Sorry, Rose."

Rose looked at him for a long moment as they neared the courtyard gate. "Flying runs in the Potter blood, James. You can't know that Albus isn't just that good by his nature. The whole reason first-years are allowed to try out for Quidditch is because of how good your dad was his first year. But if there is something strange about that broom, or Tabitha Corsica herself, I'll be the first one to help you tell Albus about it. All right?"

James smiled wanly. "You promise?"

Rose nodded. Together, they entered the courtyard and climbed into the light of the main hall. Ralph was sitting on the bottom of the main staircase, waiting for them. James smiled.

"He flew it, I'm guessing," Ralph said, getting up to join them.

"How'd you know?" Rose asked.

"Albus and the rest just passed me on the way in to dinner," Ralph said. "Albus came over and told me to give you a message when you came in. He said he might just steal your place at the next family Quidditch match."

James rolled his eyes and glanced at Rose. "Don't you laugh," he said, pointing a finger at her.

"I didn't say anything," she replied, covering her mouth with her hand. "Come on. Let's get inside for dinner before they close the doors on us."