James Potter and the Curse of the Gatekeeper

8. THE AUDITION

The next day's Defence Against the Dark Arts class was slightly more bearable than previous classes, if only because they had a guest teacher's assistant. The assistant was possibly even more of a celebrity than Debellows himself, since he was not only the new leader of the Harriers special forces squadron, but was also a former Bulgarian World Cup Quidditch player. Viktor Krum strode purposely into the gym as Debellows introduced him, and the assembly of students applauded roundly. James knew Krum very vaguely, having met him once or twice years earlier. Viktor Krum had, of course, competed in the Triwizard Tournament alongside James' dad, Aunt Fleur and Cedric. During that time, he'd also had a short, romantic relationship with Aunt Hermione as well, to the extent that on the few occasions that Viktor had been in the same room with the Weasley family, Aunt Hermione had tended to look in the other direction quite a lot and Uncle Ron had puffed his chest out and adopted an attitude of noisy surliness.

Viktor spoke to the class in his irrepressible accent, telling them how he'd trained alongside Kendrick Debellows in his early years in the Harriers, and assuring everyone that he wouldn't be where he was today if not for the man's leadership and example. James was almost immediately bored. He liked Viktor quite a lot, but he disliked Debellows enough that the sight of the man absorbing his protégé's praise made James a bit ill. The upshot was that there were no troops through the Gauntlet that day, although Debellows challenged Krum to a 'manly contest' to see which one of them could make it through first. Viktor had turned down the challenge, and James liked to believe it was because the younger man simply hadn't wanted to shame his mentor.

As the class wore on, James saw that Ralph, who was only slightly more artistic than James, was doodling an idea for the new Defence Club sign-up sheet.

As they filed out of the gym and made their way to History of Magic, James said to Ralph, "You know, we really shouldn't be putting those up until we know we have a teacher."

"That's your job," Ralph shrugged. "I have to do my part. Besides, you'll talk Cedric into it. You're good at that."

"Yeah, well, I haven't talked him into it yet."

"You'd best get on it, then," Rose said, meeting them at an intersection. "The first meeting is tomorrow night."

James nearly dropped his book. "Tomorrow? Since when?"

"Since I started spreading the word around the Great Hall at breakfast," Rose replied simply. "I only meant to tell Henrietta Littleby and Fiona Fourcompass, but you know how Fiona is. The whole Ravenclaw table was talking about it by the time I left. There's a lot of excitement about it. Nobody likes the way Debellows is running D.A.D.A. even though it was sort of sweet to see Viktor in the halls this morning."

"But we don't even know where we're meeting!" James exclaimed. "I thought we talked about starting things up at the end of next week?"

"That was before we talked to the Headmaster and saw what we saw in his Mirror. Ralph's right. Things seem a bit more urgent now. Besides," Rose sniffed, stopping at the door to History of Magic, "we agreed I was in charge of scheduling."

"Yeah, I suppose, but… the entire Ravenclaw Table?"

Rose nodded. "And Louis is spreading the word with the Hufflepuffs."

"Louis!" James cried, raising his voice again. "You got Louis involved?"

"He overheard me, so I thought I'd put him to work. What's the matter? I thought you said that anyone who wanted could be involved?"

"Yeah, well…," James said, lowering his voice, "anybody we wanted to know about it."

"I don't think it works that way," Ralph replied. "Besides, word's all over the school by now."

James exhaled in frustration, but it was too late to do anything about it. He'd have to go and find Cedric tonight if he could. Thinking that, he turned and shouldered his way into the crowded classroom where Professor Binns was already burbling away, his back to the students as he made ghostly notes on the illegible chalkboard.

James finally had the opportunity he was waiting for that night after dinner. Ralph said goodnight at the stairs and Rose was in the library doing some homework. Once Ralph had descended into the cellars, James turned away from the stairway and walked along the main hall toward the portico. He felt rather strongly that he had to do this by himself. As he turned into the corridor that bore the trophy case, he slowed, looking around. There was no one about and the halls were quite silent as most of the students retired to their common rooms for the evening.

James walked lightly along the display cases, passing the photos of ancient House Quidditch teams and displays of old game balls, plaques, and trophies. He paused for a moment in front of a Quidditch tournament trophy engraved with a list of names. It was rather old and tarnished, but the name near the bottom was still perfectly legible. 'James Potter – Chaser', it read in flowing script. Here was the name of the grandfather James had never known. He felt suddenly very sad because it reminded him that he had no grandfathers at all anymore. The plaque was rather dusty, probably forgotten by most everyone that moved daily through these halls. James had a strong urge to reach into the case and touch the plaque, as if to make sure it was real. It was like an anchor that connected him to a person and a time he'd never known. James glanced around the corridor, assuring himself no one was looking, and then stepped toward the case. The glass door squeaked slightly as he opened it. He reached in and ran a finger across the name engraved near the bottom, drawing a faint line in the dust. He could barely feel the etching of the letters.

Suddenly, for no apparent reason, James thought of the words his father had said to him on the night of Granddad's funeral: Granddad is really the third father I've lost… I'm back to where I started. This name on the trophy was where everything started. This trophy is from those last few years before everything changed, James thought, before Grandma and Granddad were killed by Voldemort; before Dad's godfather, Sirius, was lost in the Hall of Mysteries; before old Dumbledore was struck down on one of the roofs of this very castle; this was back before any of that had happened, when everybody was happy and nobody had had to die yet. If only… if only…

"I remember seeing your dad standing there in front of that very plaque," a voice said quietly.

James wasn't surprised. He didn't turn around as he said, "I came down here to look for you. I had a feeling this is where you came when you didn't know where else to go."

"This is the first place I remember being after I died," the ghostly voice of Cedric Diggory said. "There was a long, long time of nothing, although it sometimes felt only like minutes. Finally, here I was, looking down at my own picture by the Triwizard Cup. I spent a lot of time doing that. It was… comforting, in a way. I can't see myself in mirrors, you know. It's just one of the peculiarities of being a ghost."

James closed the trophy case and turned to Cedric. "You saw my dad standing here, looking at Granddad's name on the plaque?"

Cedric smiled at the memory. "It wasn't just him. It was all three of them. Ron, Hermione, and Harry. It was their first year. I didn't know them then, but I knew who your father was. Everybody did."

James looked back at the plaque again. It helped to know that his dad had also looked at that name and felt some of the same things he was feeling. He sighed.

"The past is a steel trap," Cedric said. "Trust me on that one, James."

James glanced up, as if in surprise.

"What?" Cedric said. "It wasn't that profound, was it?"

James shook his head. "No. I mean, yeah, I guess, but that's not what I was thinking. I just had the strongest, weirdest feeling that this has happened before. And all of a sudden, I thought of Ralph's story."

Cedric looked puzzled. James went on, waving a hand. "It's this story that we learned about in Wizlit. Professor Revalvier says that all great magical stories were meant to be told by word of mouth because written words cage them and make them tame. Magical stories are meant to stay alive. They change with each retelling because they pick up the spirit of the teller. I don't know why; I just thought of the last line from the story Ralph told us in class. It's the only line I can ever get exactly right when I try to write it down."

"What is it?" Cedric asked.

James was thoughtful. "'Then I am the King of the Cats,'" he said, as if tasting the words.

Cedric's ghost was silent. After a moment, he asked, "So what does it mean?"

"That's just it," James said, shaking his head. "It doesn't seem to mean anything unless I'm not thinking about it. Then, all of a sudden, it'll pop into my head, just like it did now, and it'll seem really important. I just can't put my finger on it. It's like seeing something out of the corner of your eye, something that vanishes as soon as you look right at it."

"Well, I guess if it really is important, it'll come to you when you need it," Cedric said, shrugging. "You said you came down here looking for me?"

"Oh," James replied, shaking himself. "Yeah. Er…" He sighed, and then looked the ghost right in his semi-transparent eye. "We need your help, Ced. I don't know how else to put it. We're putting together this club, Ralph and Rose and me. Actually, it was Noah, Sabrina, and Damien's idea, but we're the ones that went to Merlin and got permission and everything. Honestly, we're not even the first people to do it. My dad had a club like this way back in his day, although it was after you, you know, er… anyway, we need to learn how to do defensive spells and techniques and our new teacher this year refuses to teach us anything except how to pull a hamstring. We've got permission to officially start the club, and by now, it seems like the whole school already knows about it. Our first meeting's tomorrow, but we don't even have a teacher. That's why I came to find you. When we first talked about it, you were the first person that Ralph, Rose, and I thought of to teach us defensive magic."

"You can't be serious," Cedric said, smiling a little crookedly. "I'm a ghost, if you haven't noticed. Not only do I not have a working wand anymore, technically, I don't even have fingers. I couldn't Stun a dust-bunny. I have a hard enough time magicking the lanterns out when I do my 'Specter of Silence' routine. And you think I can teach defensive magical technique?"

"Well, yeah!" James said, warming to the subject. "I mean, you were a great wizard, even while you were still in school! Everybody says so! Even Viktor Krum talks about how you outwitted the dragon and took on the merpeople. You were a natural! Besides, you have actual battle experience, having been all through the Triwizard Tournament. And you learned under Dumbledore, who everybody says was the golden age of Hogwarts. Come on, Cedric! It's perfect!"

"I don't think so, James," Cedric said, his smile fading. "It's great that you thought to ask me and all, but…"

"Look, Cedric, this isn't just for us," James said, stepping a bit closer to the ghost. "You said you didn't think there was a place for you here anymore. All your old friends and classmates have moved on. But there are a whole bunch of us who really do need you, here and now. My dad says you were totally excellent with your spellwork and technique, and everybody knows you were a natural leader. I know you still remember it all because ghosts don't experience time the same way the living do. Come on, what do you say?"

Cedric's ghost was flitting backwards, his face downcast as he shook his head. "I can't, James. Part of me would really like to do it, but I can't. You wouldn't understand."

"Look, Ced, just try it for a week or two. It'll be great! Everyone will love you and I just know you'll be able to teach us loads of stuff. Besides…"

James faltered, not sure if he should go on. Cedric stopped and looked back at him. James took a deep breath and continued.

"Remember the end of last year, that night when we talked in the Gryffindor common room? You told me there was a sense of Voldemort still in the halls here, even though he was dead. Well, Rose and Ralph and me, we saw something. And… I've been sensing things. Something's up, and it has something to do with the old Death Eaters, and Voldemort's grave, and some really scary creature in a cloak that looks like it's made out of swirling smoke and ash. Rose even thinks that the Headmaster is involved, although I don't agree. What I'm trying to say is that there could be a battle coming. Debellows isn't teaching us anything worth using in a real magical fight. We just want to be prepared. We want to be ready. You're from the time when Voldemort was still alive. You know how best to fight these people. You're perfect, and we need you."

Cedric looked at James for a long, tense moment. He seemed to be struggling with himself. Finally, he lowered his brow and looked away. "You're right about one thing, James. I did have experience with battle. I was killed in my first one. I lasted a total of ten seconds."

James was flabbergasted. "Ced, you can't mean that. That night in the graveyard… that wasn't a battle. I've heard Dad talk about it. He was there, remember? Pettigrew shot you with no warning. You can't seriously think…"

"Really, James," Cedric said, looking up. The ghost's eyes were very grave. "Don't ask me again. I have my reasons. I can't, all right?"

James met the ghost's gaze. After a moment, he sighed deeply. "All right, Cedric. Forget it. Sorry to bother you. See you around."

James turned and began to plod away. He got halfway down the corridor when Cedric's voice said, "Does it hurt?"

James stopped in his tracks and narrowed his eyes. He glanced back over his shoulder. "Does what hurt?"

Cedric hadn't moved. He hovered near the trophy case, looking solemnly as James. "The mark on your forehead."

James' heart skipped a beat. Without thinking, he touched the place where he'd felt the itch and the strange dart of pain outside the Headmaster's office. "You can see it?" he whispered harshly.

Cedric nodded slowly.

"What—" James began, but his voice failed him. He cleared his throat. "What does it look like?"

Cedric's expression didn't change. He knew James knew. "It looks like a lightning bolt, James. Just like your father's. Except it's green. It glows a little."

James' eyes were wide and his heart pounded. The spot on his forehead felt warm. It tingled a little now that he thought about it. He looked helplessly up at Cedric again.

"Don't worry," Cedric said, sensing James' question. "I don't think anyone else can see it. Apart from the other ghosts, maybe. It's only been there for a week or so. At first, it was very faint, but now… That's why I asked if it hurt."

James' thoughts were whirling. What could it mean? Why was it happening? "It does hurt sometimes," James admitted. "But just a little. Mostly, it just itches. Except for one time, right outside the Headmaster's office. Merlin looked at me and it… it stung. But just for a second."

Cedric nodded once, solemnly. "Pay attention to it, James. It must be there for a reason. But be careful. It might not be trustworthy."

James nodded, barely hearing. He glanced around quickly, just to make sure no one had approached and heard the conversation. The corridor was still empty. When he looked up again, Cedric's ghost had vanished.

"Cedric?" James whispered. There was no response. James couldn't be sure whether the ghost had truly left, or just gone invisible. "Cedric, if you're still there, and you change your mind… well, you know where to find me, right?"

The corridor was utterly still and silent. James touched his forehead again, wonderingly and worryingly. Finally, he sighed, turned, and began to trudge back toward the staircases and the Gryffindor common room.

As soon as James reached the common room, he told Rose about his meeting with Cedric. She was surprisingly understanding about the ghost's refusal to teach the class, remembering the conversation they'd had in the corridor a week earlier.

"He'll probably come around," she said, nodding. "We'll just need to find somebody else in the meantime. It's fine, really. None of the students we talked to today knew anything about Cedric anyway."

"But who can we get to teach in the meantime?" James fretted. "People will be coming tomorrow with some expectations, Rose! We can't just tell them to open their Defence textbooks and start trying out whatever spells they feel like! It'd be a complete mess!"

Rose looked thoughtful. "We could ask Viktor, maybe. He's going to be here until the end of next week. He certainly knows his stuff."

"He's too tight with Debellows," James said. "He'd tell him first off and we'd never hear the end of it."

Rose had been scanning the room idly. Suddenly, her eyes widened. She glanced back at James, a crooked smile curling her lip. "There is one person already among us who seems to know a good bit of defensive magic."

"The older years don't want to do it," James sighed. "We've already been through it with them, Rose."

"Actually," Rose said, looking askance again, "the person I was thinking of is a year younger than you."

James followed the direction of his cousin's gaze. Scorpius Malfoy sat at a table across the room, idly flipping pages in a textbook. He glanced up, noticing James' gaze, and sneered slightly.

"Not in a thousand years, Rose," James said flatly, turning back and crossing his arms. "Not in a million years."

"I'm just saying," Rose said innocently, "you said he was using Stunning Spells on the train against Albus. And the other second-years have been talking about what he did to your headboard, which is, you have to admit, pretty impressive. He knows levitation already, and—"

"No, Rose!" James hissed, interrupting. "I'll take a term of Debellows and the Gauntlet before I'll ask him to teach me anything!"

"Are you willing to speak for the rest of the club's members too?"

"He's not a teacher! He's a stuck-up prat! He probably wouldn't even do it if we asked him! People like him aren't exactly the sharing type."

Rose smoothed her robes primly. "Well, you can't know unless you try. Really, James. Do we want a teacher or not?"

James shook his head. "We want a teacher, not a smug little twit who's learned a few tricks. If you want him to teach, you ask him."

"I might just do that," Rose replied breezily. She collected her bag and walked away. James watched her, but she merely climbed the stairs to the girls' dormitories. If she meant to ask Scorpius to teach the new Defence Club, she apparently wasn't planning on doing it tonight. After a while, James climbed the stairs on the opposite side of the room.

As he got ready for bed, he thought carefully about the conversation he'd had with Cedric's ghost. He should've known that Cedric would refuse to lead the club, and yet it really had seemed like part of Cedric wanted to do it. And what could it possibly mean that Cedric was seeing a glowing green lightning bolt scar on James' head? As James finished brushing his teeth in the tiny washroom, he leaned in, examining himself in the mirror. As far as he could see, his forehead was completely unmarked. And yet, even now, he could feel that tiny, telltale tingling. Often, James had seen people pointing at his father, recognizing him by the famous scar, and James had thought it would be cool to have such a mark. Back then, James hadn't understood the price his dad had paid for that scar. Even now, he couldn't completely understand it, but he understood it enough, especially now that he'd lost grandfather Weasley. He knew enough not to want such a thing for himself anymore. For a while last year, James had struggled with expectations of following in the footsteps of his famous father. Now, James knew those footsteps were far too big for him. More importantly, James had his own path to travel, and it was unique to him. It wasn't just a replay of what his father had done. He'd learned that lesson, hadn't he? So why was he experiencing this phantom lightning bolt scar? What was it trying to tell him? And could he trust it?

There was no point in worrying about it. And yet it was hard to let it go. Eventually, as he climbed into his bed, James distracted himself by trying to think of someone else who might possibly serve as teacher for the new Defence Club. He couldn't think of anyone, and he certainly wasn't going to ask Scorpius, but it did take his mind off the mysterious tingling on his forehead. Finally, eventually, James drifted to sleep.

There were voices, echoing indistinctly, or perhaps it was only one voice, but the echoes made it sound like more. James couldn't understand any of the actual words, but the sound of the voice was both soothing and maddening, like scratching a poison ivy rash. It was dark, but there were flashes of something, like glints of light on the edges of blades scything the air. Beneath the voice was the clank and rumble of ancient machinery and a tinkling of water, all echoing disorientingly. Footsteps rattled on stone and the voice grew closer. James could hear words, but they were disconnected and strange. Light bloomed, flickering as if through water. It was green, and there were faces in it. A man and a woman, beckoning, smiling sadly, hopefully…

"James, you're dreaming, you big div. Wake up!"

A bag of laundry whumped James' head and he jerked upright, blinking.

"S'bout time," Graham muttered sleepily. "I been trying to get you awake for a solid minute. You always talk in your sleep?"

James looked blearily at Graham. "How would I know," he muttered grumpily, "if I do it when I'm asleep?" The dream circled his head like a swarm of gnats, but he couldn't remember much of it. Dawn light seeped into the room as Graham slid out of bed.

"Well, we might as well get up anyway," Graham said. "I can smell bacon all the way up here. Let's go get a plateful before Hugo gets down there and wolfs it all."

The day brightened to a wonderfully warm autumn afternoon. The morning's classes droned by and James hardly noticed, distracted in turns by thoughts of the previous night's strange dream, fretting about who could lead that afternoon's first Defence Club meeting, and Cedric's worrying words about the phantom scar on his head. At some point, James connected the dream with the scar, remembering that his father's scar had once been a sort of gateway into the thoughts of Voldemort. But Voldemort was long since dead. His father's scar hadn't hurt him in two decades. Whatever the phantom sign on James' forehead meant, it couldn't be a link to any resurgent Dark Lord, for his dad would surely have felt it first.

Unless, James thought with a start, it was connecting him to the Bloodline, the secret successor of Voldemort that the tree sprite had told him about last year. James shuddered as he knelt on the grass at Hagrid's Care of Magical Creatures class. How could he possibly be connecting to the Bloodline? His father, Harry Potter, was the one with the scar, not James. Why him?

Your father's battle is over, the tree sprite had said, yours begins.

"James," Hagrid said, glancing at him over the other students, "something wrong with yer Eel den?"

James looked down at the muddy, slimy mess in front of his knees. He plunged a hand into it, feeling for the Mucous Eel he'd just planted. "No, no, it's great, Hagrid. Slimy as can be. Really, it's great."

"This is completely repulsive," Ralph said, mucking his hand in his own excavation. It slopped and slurped disgustingly. Suddenly, he lunged and pulled, yanking the tail of his Mucous Eel out of the muck.

"Very good!" Hagrid called heartily. "Ralph's got 'is turned upright. As soon as the Eel's face-down in its den, it goes limp. Jus' rub its belly nice an' slow. That'll make it hibernate. Then we can harvest the Eel's slime. Very useful stuff, Mucous Eel slime."

Graham grimaced and flung ropes of slime from his fingers. "So is this thing a plant or an animal, Hagrid?"

"Well, what class are yeh in, Mr. Warton?" Hagrid asked in reply.

"Care of Magical Creatures," Graham answered in a monotone.

"Then since this isn't Professor Longbottom's Herbology class," Hagrid said, grinning, "I s'pose yeh can assume the Slime Eel is a magical creature with some unusual planty tendencies, can't yeh?"

"Professor Hagrid!" Morgan Patonia suddenly called, struggling to keep her voice even. "I think I pulled my Eel too hard!"

Everyone looked. Morgan had leapt to her feet and was holding her Mucous Eel at arm's length, cringing away from the flailing, meter-long creature. Fans of greenish slime flew from the Eel, splattering Morgan's robes and the ground beneath it.

"Don' let 'er go!" Hagrid cried, throwing up his hands. "Lower 'er back to 'er den, but don' let go! She'll wriggle down to the lake an' we'll never see 'er again, an' those Eels are right dear! Just lower 'er carefully head-first into the den, that's the way, Miss Patonia."

Ralph watched Morgan dip the wriggling Eel back to the mess of slimy dirt. Her face was a mask of utter disgust. The Eel's arrow-shaped head touched the mud, and the body lunged forward, trying to burrow into the den.

"There yeh go, then," Hagrid sighed, relaxing. "No harm done. A good lesson for us all, in fact. Keep the head in the den. Better safe than sorry, eh, Miss Patonia?"

Morgan smiled gamely, looking as if she was, in fact, plenty sorry. Slime glistened in ropey slashes across her robe.

"Before I found out I was a wizard," Ralph said wistfully, staring at Morgan's robes, "I was planning to attend the Byron Bruggman School for Boys. I bet they don't do anything with Mucous Eels there."

"Just think what you'd be missing," Graham said, smiling ruefully. He flicked a fingerful of slime at Ralph.

Later that day, James was making his way through the crowded halls, glancing surreptitiously around, as if worried he was being followed. The afternoon free period had been co-opted by Professor Curry's drama auditions, and James was on his way to the Muggle Studies classroom. At a cross-corridor, James met Rose and Ralph, who were talking animatedly.

"What are you two doing?" James asked, stopping and glancing at each one in turn.

"Well, I was coming to watch Petra audition for the role of Astra," Rose replied, "if that's all right with you, cousin."

"And I'm just going along because the alternative is to go start my Charms homework," Ralph replied. "Rose says she'll help me with it if I wait until tonight. It's a no-brainer. What about you?"

"Me?" James said, his voice squeaking guiltily. "Nothing. Really. I just… Same reason. Come on, let's go then."

As they entered the Muggle Studies classroom, James' face was beet red. He walked quickly to the front of the classroom, hoping Ralph and Rose wouldn't follow him. He angled into the second row, and was annoyed to see that both of them were filing in after him.

"What's with you, James?" Rose asked, sitting down and frowning at him curiously.

"Did you find a place for the Defence Club to meet?" James replied, changing the subject.

"Yeeaahh," Rose said slowly, still studying James' face. "The gymnasium isn't being used in the evenings, so I've gotten us permission to meet there. It's all taken care of."

"The gym?" Ralph moaned. "I hate that place. That's where Debellows has his class. Is that all you could find?"

"It's the perfect meeting place," Rose replied stiffly. "There're no tables or chairs to get in the way and there are already plenty of targets for spell practice. And eventually, if we begin conducting practice duels, the padded floors will be very helpful."

"Are you sure duels are a good idea?" Ralph asked. "I mean, James did tell the Headmaster we wouldn't be practicing on each other."

"Duels are essential to proper defensive technique, Ralph," Rose said, rolling her eyes. "You can't get any good shooting spells at non-moving targets. Besides, I'd rather the Headmaster not know the extent of our training. He might try to shut us down."

James scowled. "Rose, that's ridiculous. Merlin would probably be happy that we're learning real magical battle techniques."

"Oh? Then why'd he hire Debellows in the first place?" Rose asked, raising her eyebrows.

"Merlin's not in charge of those kind of decisions," James replied, but uncertainly.

"My mum and your dad both work at the Ministry, James. We both know that the Headmaster has final verdict about faculty. Besides, Merlin isn't the kind of man to let other people make decisions for him. Debellows is here because Merlin wants him here."

Ralph said, "That doesn't mean he's trying to keep us from learning anything useful."

"No," Rose agreed easily. "But if he was, Debellows is a great way to make sure we didn't. And after what we saw in the Mirror, I'd rather not take any chances."

James opened his mouth to argue with Rose, but at that moment, Professor Curry stood and cleared her throat.

"Thank you all so much for coming," she trilled. "These auditions aren't mandatory class-times, so I take it as a sign of healthy interest in our production that so many of you have come to observe. Of course, this is not exactly how auditions are conducted in the Muggle theatre, but in the interests of education, we've chosen a rather more public casting format. Today, we'll be completing auditions for the role of Astra, Treus, King Julian, and the Marsh Hag. Final decisions will be made by myself and the elected representatives from the major theatre departments. Let's show some appreciation for the head of the props department, Mr. Jason Smith, the director of the costume shop, Miss Gennifer Tellus, the head of the stage crew, Mr. Hugo Paulson, and finally, my official production assistant and associate director, Miss Tabitha Corsica."

The four representatives were seated at a long table arranged in a front corner, positioned at an angle so that it faced both the classroom and the area designated as the audition stage. The four students accepted the round of halfhearted applause, nodding and smiling. Hugo stood and threw his arms wide, as if accepting an award. He bowed deeply and Gennifer Tellus yanked him back into his seat, rolling her eyes. At the end of the table, Tabitha smiled inscrutably. Briefly, she made eye contact with James and winked. James frowned at her.

"First up," Professor Curry said, consulting a sheaf of parchment in her hand, "we will be viewing the final two candidates for the role of Astra. Miss Josephina Bartlett, seventh-year, Ravenclaw, will read first. Please, as always, silence from the gallery is appreciated. That means no applause, thank you. Miss Bartlett, whenever you are ready."

Josephina Bartlett virtually pranced to the front of the room, her robes bouncing around her and her long blonde hair catching the sunlight from the windows.

"Thank you, all of you, and particularly the parts committee," Josephina said, smiling winningly. "Whomever you choose, this has been a wonderful opportunity for me and all of the other candidates."

"Just read, Josephina," Gennifer said, arching an eyebrow.

Josephina cranked her grin a notch higher, glaring at Gennifer, then suddenly dropped her arms and head as if she'd been switched off. She took a deep breath, apparently staring at the floor between her feet. Then, slowly, she raised her head. Her eyes were glistening. She stared out over the assembled students, a look of beatific anguish etched onto her face.

"Behold!" she exclaimed, raising her arm so fast that her sleeve flopped. She pointed straight ahead. Sitting at the committee table, Hugo actually looked to see what Josephina was pointing at. Gennifer nudged him in the ribs with her elbow. Josephina drew a huge, shuddering breath. "Be that the waning sun to light my love's returning sail, or are my eyes deceived by heart's desire? If't be that now he lies at th' ocean's deepest grave, then ne'er permit my soul to wake, nor fervid dreams to pass: t'is better laid in slumber's crypt than t'walk in living death, the world, my hell, without dear Treus! Hark, my heart, from plight to break, it must! O Treus, is't thee? State thy coming now, or let me join thy bed and sleep in dreary death! But daren't restrain my soul to waiting anguish! Treus, make thy answer known, or bid my soul depart— depart!—to flee to everlasting sleep—to death!"

Josephina fell silent, and a single tear traced a path down her cheek. Her lip quivered minutely. Then, suddenly, her face cleared. She wiped the tear away with her sleeve and smiled at the gallery. There was a collective exhale. Even James had been holding his breath. Rose glanced over at him, annoyed. James shrugged and Rose rolled her eyes.

"Nicely done, Miss Bartlett," Curry said from her seat at the table. "Perhaps a bit, er, melodramatic but certainly quite evocative. Any comments from the table?"

Hugo's face was screwed up with concentration. "What's 'fervid' mean?"

Gennifer sighed, and then turned to Josephina. "You've obviously practiced, Jo, and it shows. Nice preparation."

"Tell me," Tabitha said, lowering her eyes to the tabletop and furrowing her brow, "were you attempting to present Astra as sad and forlorn, or are we to believe that she has just experienced a complete frontal lobotomy?"

Josephina's smile went brittle. "Take it however you want, Tabitha. I don't think anyone else shares your, ah, professional interpretation."

"I'm not sure that matters exactly," Tabitha said sweetly, meeting Josephina's eyes.

"If you wanted the part," Josephina said, dropping her smile, "then you should've auditioned for it. Otherwise, let those few who know how to act do their job."

"Point noted, Miss Bartlett," Curry said quickly. "Please feel free to return to your seat. Now, also reading for the part of Astra, we have Petra Morganstern, seventh-year, Gryffindor. Miss Morganstern, are you prepared for your reading?"

Petra rose from her seat at the back of the room. James turned to watch her approach the stage area. She had the script with her, and as she turned to face the gallery, she consulted it. Her lips moved as she read the first lines.

"I tried to practice with her," Rose whispered to James, "but she said she wanted to do it fresh, with no rehearsing. I swear, she's hardly even read the whole script yet."

Petra lowered the script again and coughed into her fist. Finally, she looked out over the crowd of students, her face almost blank but for a very slight furrowing of her brow. There was almost ten seconds of silence, and James was worried that Petra had already forgotten her lines. Finally, almost in a whisper, Petra said the first word of the reading: "Hark."

The entire room seemed to lean forward as Petra recited the lines, quietly, thoughtfully, as if to herself. Her voice rose only to normal speaking volume as she reached the end.

"O Treus, is't thee?" she said, and her voice was full of doubt, as if she knew Astra's hope was as frail as tissue. "State thy coming now, or let me join thy bed and sleep in dreary death…" She paused, and her voice dropped again, to just above a whisper. "Treus, make thy answer known, or bid my soul depart… to flee to everlasting sleep… to death."

Petra stopped, her face still wearing the same expression she'd begun with. She seemed to be looking through the back wall at something very far-off, like a mirage. Then, without a glance at the committee table, she tucked the script under her arm and walked back down the center aisle. James watched her until she returned to her seat.

"Very nice, Miss Morganstern," Professor Curry said. "A bit soft for the stage, but we can work on the histrionics when the time comes."

"She missed the second 'depart'," Josephina muttered from her seat.

There didn't seem to be any comments from the table. Curry stood, producing her sheaf of parchments again and adjusting her spectacles. "Next, we have final readings for the part of Treus. We've narrowed the candidates to some of the younger years since Treus is meant to be the younger of Astra's two suitors."

James' face burned. He'd never told Ralph or Rose that he'd signed up for the part of Treus. His first reading had gone fairly well, although it had only been Professor Curry and a few first-years at that initial audition. He didn't even know who else was in line for the part. He glanced over at Rose and Ralph.

"I need to tell you something," he whispered urgently.

"Shh!" Rose hissed.

"Only two candidates remain for the role of Treus," Curry was saying. "One is from Slytherin and the other is from Gryffindor, but ironically, both are from the same family. First up, in order of first name since they both have the same last name," Curry smiled indulgently and took off her spectacles, "first-year, Slytherin, Albus Potter."

Simultaneously, James, Ralph, and Rose's mouths dropped open. Rose and Ralph turned toward James, but James spun in his seat, looking for his brother. Albus jumped to his feet and jogged to the front of the room, throwing a smile and a shrug in James' direction. James couldn't believe it. Albus, in a play? Of course, it wasn't any more surprising than James himself trying out for a play, but still. So this had been the meaning of Tabitha's sly wink from the committee table. She'd probably put Albus up to it, just to cause a rift between the two brothers. And Albus was letting her succeed in the attempt. James fumed angrily in his seat.

"You little twonk!" Rose rasped, elbowing James. "Why didn't you tell us?"

"I tried!" James replied, still watching his brother hop onto the stage area. "Er, ten seconds ago."

Albus had apparently memorized his reading. He cleared his throat, and then glanced aside at the committee table. "Am I supposed to say anything?" he asked brightly. "This is only my second time trying out for a play. Am I supposed to thank the academy or something first?"

"That comes rather later, Mr. Potter," Curry said, smiling indulgently. "Just read the lines, please. At your leisure."

Albus nodded. To James' eye, his brother didn't look the slightest bit nervous. He bobbed on the balls of his feet a little, and then flung out his hands, as if encompassing the room. "Foul Donovan!" he cried, his face darkening. "Thou trait'rous malcontent! Had been there room amongst my thoughts for more than Eros' spell and vanity, I might have seen thy wicked plot afoot. My sinister and foolish pride did make me bade thy oily tongue, and dreams of fame to take this quest of doom; and now I lie so far removed an obstacle to vile and vicious victory. O Astra, wife of mine at heart, reverse my sails and send a wind to turn us north; we still may beat that villain's storm! To arms, we'll take, O men, to bear the force of righteous truth: the spear to pierce his lying heart! But spy, his clouds hath blocked the sun, and time hath turned to foe! Wizards and men, forth draw ye wands and wits to fight the violent seas this night, that by the morn we'll hold our win, or lie in beds of ocean sand: our beaten glory's shrine!"

Albus finished his rousing speech with a triumphant cry, shaking an invisible wand at the sky. There was a scattering of laughter and a few whoops of hearty encouragement. This speech was, after all, a classic rallying cry in the wizarding world. A few brave observers had even recited the last line alongside Albus, grinning and shaking their own invisible wands.

"Thank you, Mr. Potter," Curry called loudly, stifling the outbursts. "Very spirited but not exactly as grave as one might expect. The soldiers are not embarking on a Quidditch match; they are facing the likelihood of their own doom. One might expect their leader to be a bit less glib. Still though, very enthusiastically performed. Please return to your seat."

Curry didn't need to consult her parchments. As Albus retreated to his seat, grinning and accepting high-fives from some of his friends, Curry looked directly at James. "And now, also reading for the role of Treus, the elder Potter, James. Second-year, Gryffindor. Whenever you are ready, Mr. Potter, the stage is all yours."

James felt stuck to his seat. He forced himself to stand, and then sidled past Rose and Ralph. By the time he got to the stage, his mind was a complete blank. He'd memorized the audition lines, but now, distracted by Albus' surprise performance, he couldn't even think of the first word. He glanced over at the committee table and grinned sheepishly. Professor Curry nodded encouragement. Tabitha was smiling smugly, obviously enjoying James' discomfort. A spark of anger flared in James as he looked at that grin, and with that anger, he remembered the first two words of his lines.

"Foul Donovan," James said, turning to look out at the gallery. His eyes met Albus', and his anger increased. It smoldered in his words as he delivered them through partially gritted teeth. "Thou trait'rous malcontent! Had been there room amongst my thoughts for more than Eros' spell and vanity, I might have seen thy wicked plot afoot…" As the words came, James allowed his own resentment to fuel them. His voice rose, and he even allowed himself to look askance at Tabitha. He was grimly pleased to see she was no longer smiling. "Wizards and men, forth draw ye wands and wits," James said, as if relishing the idea of a fight. "To fight the violent seas this night, that by the morn we'll hold our win, or lie in beds of ocean sand: our beaten glory's shrine!"

Rose erupted into applause. Ralph and a few others joined her, but they were quickly quelled by a warning look from Professor Curry.

"Very impassioned, I must say, Mr. Potter," Curry said appreciatively. "I'm not sure where you found your motivation, but I daresay it was quite effective. Ahem. You may take your seat. Next up, we have Miss Ashley Doone, second-year, Gryffindor, reading for the part of the Marsh Hag. Miss Doone, you have the stage."

Ashley approached the stage in character, hunched over and lurching. She reached the stage, paused, and then spun around, shrieking hoarsely and hooking her fingers into claws. James, seating himself rather triumphantly in the front row, had to suppress a grin.

"That was spectacular," Rose whispered into his ear. "I wouldn't have thought you had it in you!"

"You were the one who told me I should try out for the part," James whispered back.

"Yeah, well, I was just being polite," Rose admitted. "But I'm glad I did. That was really amazing. I had goosebumps."

Twenty minutes later, the assembly filed out of the Muggle Studies classroom. James followed Rose and Ralph into the corridor and stopped, his eyes wide.

"Don't act so surprised," Rose said, clapping him on the shoulder. "You were brilliant. You deserve the part."

"But I'm not an actor," James said, looking at her a bit wildly.

"It's a bit late to worry about that little detail," Ralph grinned.

Albus shouldered through the crowd and approached his brother. "Yeah, well, I didn't really want to be up on stage anyway," he said, spreading his arms. "Have fun making lovey eyes at Josephina."

"Don't remind me," Rose said emphatically. "I can't believe they chose her over Petra."

"I thought she did pretty well," Ralph commented, looking up at the ceiling.

"You think she looked pretty well, that's all," Rose replied, shaking her head. "I can see right through you, Ralph Deedle."

"That's not true," Ralph said defensively. "Well, I mean, it is true, but that's not why I think she deserves the part."

Tabitha stepped out of the classroom and spied Albus. She smiled and walked over toward the group. "Congratulations, James. Inspiring performance. It's good to see you and Albus aren't too competitive about such things."

"Get stuffed, Corsica," James said, turning away. "Don't try to act happy that we aren't at each other's throats."

Tabitha looked mournfully at James, but Albus' face darkened. "What the bloody hell is wrong with you, James? You act like Tabitha has it in for us. I'll bet you don't even know that she voted for you to get the part! And I agreed with her! So why don't you just back off a little, eh?"

James wheeled on his brother, but another voice called out before he could respond.

"Tabitha didn't vote for me, but I still got the part," Josephina said. She smiled at Tabitha from where she stood, surrounded by a gaggle of exulting Ravenclaw girls. "Score one for 'full frontal lobotomy', score zero for Tabitha's 'professional interpretation'."

The girls giggled as Josephina batted her eyes, and then turned to walk away. Tabitha seemed as unruffled as always, but she'd also forgotten about James. She swept into the throng without looking back, apparently following Josephina and her entourage. Albus threw a rankled look at James and stalked away as well.

"I'm going to go find Petra," Rose said, shaking her head in disgust. "She's sure to be disappointed about losing the part. I'll see the two of you in the gym after dinner. Don't forget."

"We won't," Ralph replied, annoyed.

"For the last half an hour, I'd completely forgotten about that dratted club meeting," James mourned, turning to follow the rest of the departing students toward dinner in the Great Hall.

"Don't worry about it," Ralph said happily. "What's a little Defence Club meeting to the great Treus, Conqueror of the Caspian Sea?"