James Potter and the Curse of the Gatekeeper

9. THE LADY OF THE LAKE

James sat with Graham and Hugo at dinner, letting most of the conversation drift over him as he concentrated on how best to manage the Defence Club meeting. Rose had eaten quickly and gone ahead to make sure the gym was ready for them, and Ralph was busy collecting the names of everyone who'd expressed interest in being involved. The list had grown rather long, and James' trepidation about the class had grown with it. Even though he was sharing responsibility for the class with Ralph and Rose, he couldn't help feeling that the club members would look to him as the symbolic leader of the troop. Finally, having barely eaten, James left the table. It wouldn't hurt for him to get to the gym a little early as well, and it would probably be comforting to be around Rose anyway. She seemed positively casual about the entire affair. James suspected that her Weasley heritage rather enjoyed the giddy uncertainty and potential for disaster.

As he left the Great Hall, James felt a nagging, anonymous worry. It was as if he was forgetting something important, but he couldn't identify what it might be. Even as he moved through the halls and corridors, there was a sense of anxious anticipation in the air. Students moved in groups, obviously engrossed in spirited conversation, awaiting the evening's events. James sighed nervously and turned the corner toward the gym.

"There you are," Rose said, as if she'd expected James hours ago. "The gym is almost ready. There are already people waiting outside in the hall. We just need to roll up the floor pads and wheel in one of the chalkboards."

"Why do we need a chalkboard?" James asked.

Rose gave him an impatient glance. "So we can write down the spells and hexes we practice. It'll be a lot easier for people to concentrate if they don't have to memorize the incantations on the spot. There's a chalkboard on casters over in the Charms classroom, next hall over. Go and wheel it in here and we'll be ready to get started."

Annoyed at being ordered around but glad of the distraction, James turned around and left the gym. Sure enough, students were gathering in the hall outside. They leaned against the wall and sat on the floor in loose groups, all of them looking up as James came out.

"We'll, er, start in just a few minutes," James said, trying to put some authority into his voice. Nearby, Cameron Creevey grinned and waved. A gaggle of first-years stood with him, their eyes wide and excited. James blinked at the gathering students. There was a good number of them, although not as many as he'd expected. He should have been relieved, but he wasn't. That nagging worry crept over him again. What was he forgetting?

James worked his way around to the next corridor, which was darker and completely deserted. He got to the Charms classroom and found it unlocked. The chalkboard stood on a wooden frame in the corner. Tiny metal wheels were attached to the bottom. James grabbed the end of the frame and began to pull, but the wheels were rusty. They squealed and dragged on the floor.

From the doorway, a voice asked, "Do you require some assistance, Mr. Potter?"

James spun as if he'd been caught doing something illegal. Merlin stood in the doorway, almost completely blocking it. His form was very shadowy in the dim room.

"I'm—" James began, surprised that he felt so nervous. After all, they had permission to hold the club meeting, didn't they? And yet he felt a strong reluctance to tell the Headmaster what he was doing. "I'm just trying to move the chalkboard. We, er, wanted to borrow it. To make some notes."

Merlin nodded inscrutably. "How are preparations for your defensive techniques club coming along, James?"

James' heart quickened. "Uh… good. Fine. We've been pretty busy, you know. But… good."

"Would you like some assistance with that?" Merlin asked in his low, rumbling voice. "I'd be happy to help you relocate it to wherever you wish. If anyone wondered what you were up to, I could vouch for your 'borrowing' it."

"No, thanks," James said quickly, letting go of the chalkboard. "Actually, we probably don't really need it. It was just an idea, but it's not worth the trouble. Really."

Merlin didn't move for a long moment. Finally, he seemed to relax and smile. "As you wish, James."

The big man turned to leave, and James felt a huge, strange sense of relief as Merlin's gaze left him. The club would just have to do without the chalkboard, James determined. He crossed the darkened classroom and was nearly to the door when Merlin turned back, his eyes glittering in the dark corridor.

"Honestly, I didn't expect you to be inside tonight, James," the big wizard said curiously.

James didn't quite know how to respond. "Er… no? Where did you expect me to be?"

"Tonight is rather an important night for many students. I understand that even those who do not intend to participate rather enjoy watching the proceedings. They like to get a sense of how the season might progress."

A sudden sinking sensation filled James. His cheeks went cold. "Oh no…," he said, widening his eyes. "It's tonight! That's why there were fewer people than I expected in the hall! It's already started!"

"Is it possible that you forgot?" Merlin said, a strange smile creeping over his face. "I assumed you were quite the fan of Quidditch. If you hurry, I expect you may still see the end of the try-outs."

James barely heard him. He turned on his heels and bolted along the corridor, cursing his forgetfulness. If he'd not been so obsessed with worrying about the stupid Defence Club, he'd have known that the first meeting conflicted with Quidditch try-outs. Neither Rose nor Ralph was trying out for the teams, so they wouldn't even have considered the conflict. James had been practicing all summer for the opportunity to be on the Gryffindor House team. He desperately wanted to make up for his devastating performance at last year's try-outs. Also, Albus was out there even now, trying out for the Slytherin team on Tabitha Corsica's cursed broomstick. James felt an obsessive impulse to be there when that happened, but he truthfully didn't know if it was because he wanted to protect Albus or sabotage him.

James pounded up the steps, calling out the password to the common room. The Fat Lady scolded him for broadcasting the password to the entire hall, but James barely heard her, shimmying through the portrait hole the moment the painting began to swing open. James grabbed his broom from beneath his bed, took the stairs two at a time down to the common room, and felt another stab of panic as he crossed the empty room. Everyone was already down at the pitch, cheering, watching the try-outs, supporting the team. James was supposed to be there!

The Fat Lady was still scolding James as he pushed through the portrait hole and flung himself down the stairs. How could he have forgotten? If he thought it was possible, he'd almost believe that Tabitha Corsica had somehow arranged for him to be absent, simply so he couldn't interfere with Albus' try-out. At the same time, a distant part of him worried that he was missing the first Defence Club meeting. Rose would probably realize where he'd gone as soon as she noticed his absence, but still, it would be a disappointment and a setback. Had Merlin appeared at that exact moment just to sabotage the first Defence Club meeting? After all, the Headmaster certainly had uncanny ways of knowing what was happening around the school. Merlin would know how important Quidditch was to James. Was it possible that he had bewitched James to forget the try-outs, just so he could strategically remind him at the last minute, thus keeping him from the club meeting?

Frustrated and annoyed, James burst out of the castle's main entrance and darted across the courtyard. As he turned toward the Quidditch pitch, he heard the maddening sound of cheers and whistles. It was nearly dark, but James could make out the shapes of the Quidditch players circling over the pitch, their cloaks snapping gaily in the wind. It was too late, but James couldn't bring himself to turn back. He cursed his luck again. How could he have forgotten Quidditch try-outs? He wouldn't have believed it was possible. What would he tell his mum and dad? How would he live it down with his housemates? Certainly, Scorpius Malfoy would make the most of it. I see, Potter, he'd say, you forgot the try-outs, did you? Strange. And we were all so looking forward to being amazed and impressed by your performance. Perhaps you'll remember next year.

The crowd was departing even as James arrived at the pitch. He found himself wading upstream through the throng, not really knowing what he was looking for but refusing to give up. He considered getting onto his broom and simply flying out over the pitch, but he was reluctant to draw too much attention to himself. He finally shouldered onto the grass of the pitch and spied the Gryffindor Quidditch Captain, Devindar Das, collecting the house brooms.

"Dev!" James called, panting. "Tell me it isn't too late!"

Devindar stopped and looked back. "Where were you, James? It's all over. I was looking forward to seeing what you could do this year."

"I completely forgot… somehow…," James admitted desperately. "Let me go anyway! I'm ready!"

Devindar shook his head. "I can't, James. All the positions are filled already. Honestly, we had a pretty strong lineup going in. We'll need you more next year, once Hugo and Tara graduate."

James was speechless. He stood on the spot, breathing hard from his sprint out to the pitch. He glared helplessly around at the departing students and players. Louis Weasley was approaching from the Hufflepuff grandstand.

"What happened to you, James?" Louis called. "Albus was looking for you after the Slytherin tryouts."

James ran a hand through his hair in frustration. "I don't even want to talk about it. How did Albus do?"

"Oh, he was totally brilliant," Louis replied enthusiastically. "Victoire says he was the best first-year try-out she's ever seen. I bet he was the best since your dad, even! He's going to be Slytherin's Seeker. It's perfect, in a way, don't you think? I mean, your dad was Seeker for Gryffindor his first—"

"Yeah, yeah, I get it Louis," James interrupted sourly. "Is he gone already?"

"Yeah, the whole team headed back together. Albus said to tell you to come down with Ralph if you can. He's pretty excited about it. He was going to write your mum and dad first thing. They'll be totally proud, I bet."

"Yeah," James muttered, dragging his broom and heading back off the pitch. "That's great. See you around, Louis."

"I'm really sorry, James," Rose said as they climbed the stairs to the common room. "It never even occurred to me to check. And Ralph's really not much of a Quidditch fan, so he wouldn't have even noticed. I figured it out right away and assumed you'd rushed out to the pitch. So, no luck then?"

"It was a complete bust," James grumbled. "I missed the whole thing. On top of it all, Slytherin's tryouts were tonight, too, and it sounds like Al flew rings around everybody. He's going to be Slytherin's Seeker."

"Oh," Rose replied brightly. "Well, that's really cool, isn't it? He'll look very dashing in his green cloak and pads. I bet your mum and dad will be very pleased."

"I really wish people would stop saying that," James said darkly.

"I don't blame you for being angry that you missed the try-outs, James, but being jealous of Albus—"

"I'm not jealous, Rose!" James exclaimed. "The whole thing is a trick! It has to be! The Slytherins are just setting him up!"

"And why would they do that?" Rose asked simply. "If they were as black-hearted as you say, wouldn't they be trying to bury him rather than prop him up?"

"They don't work that way anymore. They're all sneaky and two-faced now. Tabitha's Fang and Talons club is just this year's version of the Progressive Element. They were the ones who set up the debate where she said that my dad was a liar and a fraud. They actually believe that Voldemort was a great fellow and that people like our parents have lied about him all these years."

"Nobody really believes that silliness," Rose replied. "It's just popular to rock the boat. Either way, Albus can handle himself. He's not a dummy."

James glowered. "He doesn't know Tabitha like I do."

"Well," Rose said, deliberately changing the subject, "Defence Club went well. We had twenty-six people, which is really good considering Quidditch try-outs were tonight. Mostly, we just talked about club goals and established the rules. I'll fill you in on that later. Then we ran through some fundamental Disarming Spells, just so everybody was starting on the same page."

"Who led the class? You?" James asked as they approached the portrait of the Fat Lady. "I can't imagine Ralph let you talk him into showing anyone how to perform Expelliarmus spells. He doesn't much trust his own wand with that kind of thing even though he's better than he used to be."

"No," Rose answered slowly. "Ralph didn't do it. And neither did I. It went very well though."

Rose said the password and the portrait swung open. The Fat Lady glared at James, remembering his conduct earlier in the evening. The sound of raucous laughter and music poured through the portrait hole.

"Then who did you get?" James asked, suddenly suspicious. He followed Rose into the crowded room. Scorpius Malfoy lounged on the couch near the fireplace. He glanced up and smiled crookedly as James and Rose entered.

"Good of you to show up, Potter," he drawled. "I understand you found a way to overlook two appointments at the same time, tonight. Not that we missed you, exactly."

"Hush, Scorpius," Rose said, sitting down on the other end of the couch. "We really should discuss plans for the next club meeting. I'd appreciate it if you two could find a way to be civil to each other."

"You really did ask him to teach the class?" James said, pointing at Malfoy. "You've got to be kidding!"

Malfoy produced his glasses from a pocket and put them on. "This really isn't your night, is it, Potter? Cheer up. You should consider yourself lucky that I'm not interested in being on the Quidditch team; otherwise, I wouldn't have been available."

"Look, both of you," Rose interjected before James could reply, "we have more important matters to discuss than how much you two annoy each other. If you haven't noticed, this Defence Club serves a more important purpose than just giving us something to do one night a week."

"How much did you tell him?" James demanded. "If you haven't noticed, his family is all Death Eaters! You might want to think twice about trusting him."

"Technically, my father was never actually inducted. I thought you knew that," Scorpius said, meeting James' eye. "But if you mean did she tell me about her suspicions about the Headmaster, no, she didn't. I was already well aware of them. As hard as this may be for you to believe, I'm on the same side as you, Potter."

"Hah!" James spat. "That's where you're wrong! I don't agree with either of you about Merlin. Even if there is some evil plot in the works, I'd suspect your family was involved before I'd go pointing fingers at Merlin. He saved this school last year!"

"We've discussed all of this, James," Rose said, motioning for James to keep his voice down. "Scorpius doesn't approve of some of the things his family has done in the past. That's part of the reason he's here in Gryffindor. And you know what we saw in the Mirror. There's no question that we have to be careful around the Headmaster. As of right now, the evidence is that he's in league with—"

"The evidence is that you've been suspicious of him from the beginning," James exclaimed. "But you're wrong. You're both wrong, and I'm going to prove it."

Scorpius narrowed his eyes at James. "Well, I do hope you pull that off. I suspect a lot of us would take some comfort in that proof. Until then, however…," Scorpius pointed his wand lazily at the chair next to the couch, "perhaps it would be a good idea to do as Rose says. We have a Defence Club to prepare. And she seems very stubborn about you and Ralph Deedle being a part of it. Still, if sitting in the same room with a Malfoy is too much for you, it's fine by me if you go elsewhere. There's a bed upstairs with your name on it."

James ground his teeth. Nothing had gone right this entire evening. And now he couldn't see any choice but to sit down and plan what Scorpius Malfoy was going to teach them at the next Defence Club meeting. It was singularly humiliating. He almost couldn't bring himself to do it. He still had his broom with him, reminding him of his second failure to make the Quidditch team. All he wanted to do was go back upstairs, stuff it back under his bed, and try to forget the whole mess. But Rose was looking at him pleadingly, obviously hoping that James would be able to overcome his innate dislike of the pale boy long enough to give the Defence Club a chance to work.

Sighing resignedly, James propped his broom by the fireplace and threw himself onto the chair. "Fine," he said. "What do we need to do next?"

Rose clapped her hands excitedly. "Thank you, James! I knew I could trust you. Scorpius really is a pretty good teacher, but it's hard for some of the Gryffindors to listen to him. There's still a lot of long-term prejudice against a Malfoy in Gryffindor, and having him teach the class just makes matters worse. Still, if you're there, it should really help give Scorpius the credibility he needs…"

"Hey, you guys expecting somebody?" Graham said as he entered the room. "Only, I found this bloke hanging around outside the portrait hole. He says you invited him, Rose."

Ralph grinned sheepishly as Rose jumped up. "Sorry, Ralph. I hadn't gotten around to telling James about Scorpius, and then… Well, anyway, we're all here, so let's get started!"

Scorpius looked annoyed as Ralph crammed onto the couch between him and Rose. The big boy kicked his shoes off and propped his feet on the overstuffed footstool. "Good club tonight. Scorpius here may be a skinny bloke, but he knows a few tricks. Some of you Gryffindors may have a bit of an attitude problem about him, but I need all the help I can get," Ralph said breezily. "Oh, and James?"

James glanced up at Ralph, arching an eyebrow.

Ralph smiled sheepishly. "Albus says to tell you you'll be better as Treus than he'll be as Slytherin Seeker. He was hoping he'd see you tonight. Even Tabitha asked if you were going to come down."

James didn't know what to say. After a moment, Scorpius broke the tension. "This is all very touching," he said dryly, "but I recognize Slytherin smooth-talking when I hear it. I'm a bit of an expert on the subject, as James has already pointed out. Can we discuss Defence Club now?"

The four of them talked for the next hour. James grew grudgingly confident that Scorpius may indeed be able to teach them some decent defensive spells. It turned out that he had, in fact, been tutored from an early age by his grandfather, Lucius Malfoy, who was currently in seclusion and not speaking to the family. Scorpius admitted that he hadn't seen his grandfather for a few years, ever since he and Scorpius' dad had had a rather serious row.

The fire had burned down to glowing coals and the four students were beginning to pack up for the night when Deirdre Finnigan, one of Cameron Creevey's first-year friends, barreled into the common room, panting and red-faced. She glanced wildly around the room, and then pressed through the crowd, heading directly for a rear corner.

"What's with her?" Scorpius muttered.

Rose said, "She's heading for Petra's table."

The entire room hushed as the significance of Deirdre's announcement became known. "It's true!" she was saying. "I saw them leading her to the hospital wing! She could barely stand up!"

Petra simply looked at Deirdre, her mouth slightly open.

"Who?" Hugo called from across the room. "What happened?"

"Josephina Bartlett!" Deirdre cried breathlessly, turning to face the room. "She ate a cursed peppermint and it struck her with a terrible fear of heights! They found her hugging the floor of the balcony outside the Ravenclaw common room. She couldn't even stand up! Her friends said the peppermint had come in a box of chocolates from a secret admirer, but it was obviously from some enemy instead. Madam Curio says she'll be a little better by morning, but the effects won't completely wear off for months!"

"A fear-of-heights peppermint?" Graham said, screwing up his face. "Does Weasleys' make those?"

"I don't think so," Sabrina said. "That sounds like a custom curse."

Damien narrowed his eyes. "One guess who Josephina's 'secret admirer' is. I heard all about how she and Corsica went at it during the audition."

"You're all missing the point," Deirdre said, nearly bouncing. "Josephina's been cursed with a fear of heights! She'll hardly be able to climb a curb for months!"

Sabrina's eyes widened. "She can't climb onto the stage in the amphitheater! If she can't get onto the stage…"

"She can't play the part of Astra," Damien finished, grinning. "As much as I hate to see anyone benefit from another's misfortune, let me be the first to congratulate our good friend Petra… the new and improved Astra de Beaugois!"

Petra looked around, an expression of surprise and disbelief on her face. "Well, I wouldn't have wanted to get the role this way," she said. "But I suppose I wouldn't turn it down either."

Sabrina whooped happily. A cheer arose from the gathered students and James saw Petra smile for the first time in weeks. Suddenly, he remembered that he was playing the part of Treus, Astra's younger love interest. His face reddened considerably as he looked across the room at Petra. He noticed Rose was smiling knowingly at him.

"What?" he said, patting his cheeks. "I'm hot. I'm sitting right next to the fireplace."

"Mm-hmm," Rose grinned, nodding. "Oh, this is going to be so much fun, cousin. I expect you'd better start practicing up. Petra's going to have pretty high expectations for 'the kiss of true and everlasting love'."

Over the next week, autumn finally descended in full, putting a brisk chill into the air and painting the trees with vibrant oranges, reds, and yellows. Hagrid took his Care of Magical Creatures class into their winter classroom: a huge, ancient barn with stone walls and thick, cobwebbed rafters. There, he'd assembled an impressive array of fantastic creatures, all arranged in order of size. Along the entrance wall was a range of cages and pens, out of which emanated the sounds of amiable snufflings, grunts, squeals, and barks. On the other side of the dirt floor was a line of stables, each one larger than the last. The nearest one sheltered a hippogriff whose name, according to the sign painted on the gate, was Flintflank. The creature snapped its beak at the nearby cages, apparently hungry for their contents. The larger stables had thick doors, preventing any peek at their occupants. The last two doors were plated with iron and barred with huge crossbeams. They were easily twenty feet tall. Occasionally, an unsettlingly resonant growl or burst of roar would shake the barn.

James shrugged out of his cloak as he walked through the great front door, surprised at the warmth of the space despite the day's crisp chill.

"How's he heat a place like this?" Ralph asked, craning his head up at the high, wooden ceiling. "It's right balmy in here."

The students filed into the barn, peering curiously into the cages or tentatively approaching the hippogriff's stable. The great beast stamped its foreleg and tossed its beaked head.

"Stay well back now," Hagrid called. "We'll meet old Flintflank a bit later in the year. Until then, it's best if he sees yeh from across the room instead of right in front of 'im. Let's start the season off by gettin' t'know some of the smaller beasts here in the cages an' such."

Hagrid led the class over to the smaller cages lining the wall. He fiddled with one of the locks as he spoke. "We've been right lucky over the years to come across so many examples of the magical world's most unusual creatures. A former student o' mine has become something of an expert on beast tracking, and she brings me any creatures she finds that've been injured or fallen sick. I do my best to nurse 'em back to health, but a few of 'em never gets to the point of being able to survive in the wild again. I give 'em the best home I can, o' course. The end result is that we've become rather well-known around the magical world for our menagerie," Hagrid turned, cradling a small lump of breathing brown fur in his arm. "Why, experts come from the world over to meet and study our little family. Isn't that right, Punkin?"

Ralph leaned toward James and whispered, "I talked to Rose this morning. She thinks she's found out something important about Merlin."

James whispered back, "Whatever it is, I don't want to hear it. She's always digging up new dirt from some old legend or crusty history book. We know most of that stuff's not true."

"I don't know it's not true," Ralph murmured, "I just know he doesn't quite seem like that anymore. Either way, she says you'll want to hear it. It explains a little bit of where all the stories came from about how he didn't love the Muggle world. She says it 'puts it all in context', whatever that means."

James pressed his lips together doubtfully. He'd told Rose and Scorpius that he intended to prove Merlin wasn't involved in the conspiracy they'd witnessed in the Mirror, but he hadn't yet done it. In fact, the idea of doing so frightened him quite a lot. It wasn't that he didn't have a plan. He did, and it was quite simple. It would require some bravery and the help of Cedric's ghost, and it could get him into quite a lot of trouble if he was caught, but none of those things were what worried him. He felt a strange, pressing reluctance to go ahead with it, mostly because he was secretly afraid of what he might discover. If he was right, then Merlin wasn't involved, and James could prove it to Rose and everyone else. But what if he was wrong? Despite his words to the contrary, James was worried about it. What if he went through with his plan and found that the Headmaster was, in fact, in league with the former Death Eaters and that horrible, smoky entity? Worse, what if the entity was the thing the cave skeleton, Farrigan, had talked about: the Gatekeeper, which Merlin was supposedly responsible for bringing into the world? The Headmaster had been acting rather secretive and suspicious. He'd forbidden James from telling anyone what the skeleton of Farrigan had said, and that was worrisome in itself. If what the skeleton had said wasn't true, why would Merlin care if James told anyone?

James shook his head. Surely, Merlin had his reasons. Merlin had to be good. He'd come back to help when the school had been threatened by the Muggle reporter, hadn't he? And all because James had asked him.

And that, James realized with a sinking coldness, was why he couldn't face the idea that Merlin might not be who he claimed he was. Because James was responsible, twice over, for bringing the great wizard here: first, by being manipulated by Madame Delacroix into facilitating Merlin's return to the present day, and second, by sending a message of help to Merlin via the tree sprites, with whom Merlin was able to commune. It had even been James' advice that led his father and uncle to campaign for Merlin to become the new school Headmaster. If Merlin was involved in something evil, then it was on James' head. He would be ultimately responsible for whatever happened. Recognizing that, James knew that he had to find out what Merlin's intentions really were, no matter what. And if, by some horrible chance, Merlin was in league with evil, then it was up to James to foil him, no matter what it took.

"Now then," Hagrid was saying, beaming out over the students, "who wants to come up an' give me a hand feeding li'l Punkin the Tripthroat?"

Trenton Bloch raised his hand and Hagrid beckoned him forward. "Here yeh go, Mr. Bloch. Just dangle this wee bit of Lempweed in the air, but not too close. Hold it up an' let me bring Punkin toward yeh."

Trenton seemed annoyed at the caution Hagrid was taking with the little ball of panting fur. It looked rather like a kitten, but with no apparent head, tail, or limbs. "What's it going to do, Hagrid?" Trenton asked, holding up the rubbery bit of plant. "Purr me to death?"

Trenton's last word turned into a little shriek of surprise as something huge and furry lunged up from the ball in Hagrid's arms. It reared a slobbering, toothless mouth and clamped down on Trenton's entire hand. With a loud slurping sound, it sucked the bit of Lempweed out of Trenton's hand and retreated, disappearing into the tiny, panting ball of fur in Hagrid's arms. Trenton yanked his hand back, shaking it and shuddering visibly.

"Nicely done, Mr. Bloch," Hagrid cried, laughing. "Punkin likes yeh! Or else she thinks you're a frog with a bit more Lempweed on yer backside. Normally, Tripthroats live in the marsh where they suck the weed off the little amphibious creatures an' then spit 'em back out. None too pleasant for the frogs, but totally harmless."

Trenton stared at his hand, which was coated with a viscous green goo. He looked helplessly at Hagrid.

"Yeh might want to go wash that off, Mr. Bloch. Frogskin is immune to the Tripthroat's digestive juices, but yeh might get a bit itchy if yeh leave it there. There's a pump and basin over by the big stables. That's a lad."

Hagrid placed Punkin back in her cage and locked it. He was just explaining the lifespan of the Tripthroat when a very large roar rumbled the building's foundation. James looked toward the sound of the roar, his eyes wide and his heart suddenly pounding. Trenton was quickly backing away from the huge, ironframed door, his hands still dripping water from the basin.

"Oh, she caught yer scent, Mr. Bloch! Silly me, I forgot, she loves a good Tripthroat snack. Stand aside now, that's right. She's about to blow!"

Suddenly, an enormous noise filled the barn. To James, it sounded something like a freight train mixed with a cyclone. The barn heated appreciably and the center of the iron door began to glow a dull red.

"My apologies, Mr. Bloch," Hagrid said. "Ol' Norberta doesn't get many Tripthroats these days, but she can smell when they're nearby. I should've warned yeh."

"So that's how he keeps the barn heated," Ralph said nervously, his eyes wide. "He keeps a dragon! A real, live dragon!"

"That's not just any dragon," James said, grinning, "that's like an old family friend. Uncle Charlie's been keeping tabs on her for years. She wounded a wing a few years back and now she can't fly. Not being able to fly is a death sentence in the dragon world. They eat their own, you know."

"She's really just a great softie," Hagrid said affectionately. "I've known 'er since she was a hatchling. Still, it doesn't do to stand too near her doors when she's in a flaming mood. We'll take her out this winter, give her a little exercise. She likes a good romp in the snow, does the old dear."

"Excellent!" Ashley Doone said from behind James. "Maybe Trenton will volunteer to feed her as well! Slytherins and dragons are supposed to have quite the rapport."

"No chance," Trenton said as he rejoined the students, his face flushed and angry. "I wonder if my parents know that this great oaf is keeping a dragon on school grounds. He's been a maniac for years, but this is completely daft."

"Shut up, Trenton," James said amiably. "Norberta's safe. Safer than you with a Tripthroat at least."

"We'll see about that," Trenton muttered darkly.

James spent most of Muggle Studies in the rather uncomfortable process of being measured for his Treus costume. Gennifer Tellus, in charge of the costume shop, performed the duties herself, a quill behind her ear and a couple of pins clenched between her lips.

"Stand still," she said around the pins. "You're not letting me get a good inseam measurement. You want your pantaloons to be saggy?"

"It tickles!" James replied, and then asked suspiciously, "What are pantaloons?"

"Don't ask me to explain them. It's best if you don't think about it. Just know that you're getting off easy compared to what Petra has to wear."

James wanted to ask but decided not to. He hadn't spoken to Petra since Josephina's peppermint incident. He was a little giddy and excited about the idea of playing Treus to Petra's Astra, but he was trying very hard not to let on.

Gennifer pulled her measuring tape around James' waist. "Have you read the whole script yet?" she asked.

"No," James admitted. "I know the story a little though. Boy falls for girl. Older bloke falls for the same girl. Older bloke sends boy off on a suicide mission to get rid of him. Boy comes back and they duel. Everybody lives happily ever after. The end."

Gennifer glanced at James sardonically. "I think you'd better read the script," she said around her pins.

"I will," James said, annoyed. "I have to know my lines, don't I?"

"Yes, but you should also know that they don't 'live happily ever after'. The Triumvirate is a tragedy, you dolt."

James looked at himself in the nearby mirror. "So what's that mean?"

"Well," Gennifer mumbled, "generally, it means everybody ends up dead."

As James left Muggle Studies, Rose caught up to him.

"Did Ralph tell you what I found out last night?" she asked in a low voice.

"He said you found out why some people thought Merlin would hate Muggles," James replied, "but he didn't give me any details."

"You'll be interested in this," Rose said earnestly. "Did you ever hear of the Lady of the Lake?"

James thought for a moment. It sounded vaguely familiar, but he couldn't place it. He shrugged and shook his head.

"Well, according to all the legends, she was supposed to have been Merlin's downfall. Most of the stories portray her as a nymph or a dryad or a sprite, but they're mostly really fanciful and probably just exaggerations of the truth. Professor Revalvier talked about it last Wizlit, remember? She said that if the legends had been true, Merlin obviously wouldn't be here as Headmaster."

"Yeah," James said, recalling the class. "She said that the stories make the Lady of the Lake out to be a sort of magical creature pretending to be all innocent and stuff. She gets Merlin to fall for her, and then, when he teaches her everything he knows, she traps him with his own magic. Obviously, it's just stories. Probably, it was all just a way to explain Merlin's disappearance. We know the truth though, like Revalvier said."

"We know a bit more of the truth now," Rose said enigmatically. "The Lady of the Lake wasn't made-up, but she wasn't what the legends make her out to be. She was a Muggle, and she was almost Merlin's wife."

"What?" James said, stopping in the hall. "Where'd you get that?"

"The Book of Austramaddux's Histories," Rose said, raising her eyebrows. "Same book where Zane found the account of Merlin's Disapparition last year. Morgan Patonia let me borrow it from the Ravenclaw library. Austramaddux knew Merlin better than almost anyone, although it seems to me that Merlin didn't like him very much."

"Merlin sure didn't waste any time on him when he Reapparated," James said, nodding. "It was Austramaddux's ghost who was supposed to watch for the time to be right for Merlin's return. He was bound to the job forever. I got the impression that Merlin thought Austramaddux had hurried his return just to finish his duties. It didn't go very well for him after that."

"What'd Merlin do?" Rose asked eagerly. "How do you punish a ghost?"

James shook his head. "Beats me, but Austramaddux was terrified of whatever it was. He screamed like a banshee, but Merlin just sort of… popped him."

"Very creepy," Rose said, thinking.

"Yeah, whatever. It's old news now. What's the story with the Lady of the Lake?"

"Well, according to Austramaddux, she was a Muggle peasant named Judith. She lived on a tiny farm with a little spring lake on it. That's where her name came from. The farm had been managed by Judith and her mother until her mother died. The lord of the fiefdom was a guy named Hadyn. He planned to banish Judith from the farm because she couldn't manage it on her own, but Merlin protected her. He sent away the brutes who'd come to throw her out. Apparently, he gave them donkey ears and told them if they came back he'd finish the job."

"See?" James said. "That doesn't sound like the actions of a wizard who hates Muggles. He was helping her, wasn't he?"

"Yes, but only because he loved her. The book says that Judith was really beautiful, and Merlin was completely smitten by her. Austramaddux actually said that Merlin was 'under her spell'. Pretty strong words for a wizard to use when describing a Muggle woman."

"So what happened?" James asked. "We know they didn't end up together for some reason. Maybe she double-crossed him. That could be where the legends get the story about her trapping him somehow."

Rose shook her head, her eyes sparkling. "No! Austramaddux thinks she loved him too! It was enough to get Merlin to cease his dealings with the Muggle kingdoms. He stopped hiring himself out as a magical mercenary and abandoned his throne as the Mediator between the Muggle and magical realms. Loads of people were mad about it, and lots of others were eager to step into Merlin's place. Meanwhile, Merlin safeguarded the farm that Judith lived on. He made really thick briars and thorns grow up all around the perimeter, keeping out Hadyn's brutes. Merlin even paid for the property, ten times what the farm was worth. And then, just to be safe, he started teaching Judith some magic."

"You can't just teach a Muggle magic, Rose," James interrupted. "You're either born with it or not."

Rose shook her head. "Merlin's magic is different, isn't it? He gets it as much from nature as he does from his wizarding heritage. He couldn't teach her how to find the magic inside her because there wasn't any there. Judith had no witch in her blood. But he could teach her how to use the magic in nature. A little, at least. She just needed to know enough to be able to protect herself, so Merlin taught her how to alter her appearance. That way, she could go to the markets unnoticed. She had to, because Hadyn had put a price on her capture. Things seemed to be working just fine for them, and it looked like Merlin was going to marry her. But then… well, it gets really awful."

"What?" James insisted, enthralled by the story.

"Well, they caught her, of course," Rose said breathlessly. "She got careless. The magical disguise was perfect. Nobody knew who she was at the markets in the fiefdom. But someone saw her use a little of Merlin's magic. She fixed a broken wheel on a boy's cart, just by holding the pieces together and saying an incantation Merlin had taught her. The wood knitted back together, fixing the wheel, but someone saw it happen. They told the fiefdom brutes, who were always hanging around the market. They captured Judith and took her to Hadyn in his castle."

"I bet Merlin wanted to kill them all," James said meaningfully. "I mean, she was just trying to help. What'd he do?"

"He didn't know where she was at first, but he tracked her down. He's apparently very good at that, being able to talk to the birds and creatures and trees. Hadyn knew Merlin would show up. He told the guards to let Merlin through, right into the lord's hall. Merlin didn't even waste time on the guards, though. He just put them all to sleep and stalked right up to Hadyn, demanding the release of Judith. Hadyn was all oily and slick. He told Merlin he had every intention of giving her back, but only if Merlin agreed to return the farm, remove the thorn hedge, and as a tribute of respect, double the fiefdom's lands."

James furrowed his brow. "Double the lands?"

"Everything was about land back then. The bigger a lord's fiefdom, the wealthier he was. Hadyn's plan was to use Merlin to steal land from neighboring fiefs. He also made Merlin promise to leave the fief forever and bestow his protection over the castle, which included protection from Merlin himself! Hadyn was really crafty and evil. He knew that as soon as Merlin had Judith back, he'd probably destroy the castle and everyone in it. But with Merlin's spell of protection, not only could the castle never be overtaken, Merlin himself couldn't touch a single brick or harm a single hair of anyone inside it."

"He didn't do it, did he?" James asked.

Rose nodded. "He did. He was that madly in love with Judith. He left and went out into the neighboring fiefdoms. There is no record of how he did it, but when he came back, he presented Hadyn with the deeds of enough new land to double his fief. I shudder to think how Merlin got all that land, but it had to have been scary. Lords didn't let go of land without a fight."

James frowned thoughtfully. "So did Hadyn release Judith?"

"Well, that's where the story breaks down," Rose said uncomfortably. "Austramaddux writes as if his readers already know the rest of the story. I'd guess that whatever happened, it was legend in that part of the world for a long time. Unfortunately, the legend got lost in all the myths and exaggerations in the centuries since. Either way, it looks like it ended badly. I mean, like Professor Revalvier said, Merlin's here with us now, but not the Lady of the Lake. The important thing is, this could explain why people always believed Merlin might have a grudge against the Muggle world. He was trapped by that Muggle lord, Hadyn, humiliated by him, and wasn't even able to have his revenge. To a wizard like Merlin, that's got to be enough to brew up a case of serious hate."

"Yeah, you couldn't blame him for being really angry," James agreed, "but that doesn't mean he'd hate the whole Muggle world. Just because there was one evil Muggle prat, that's hardly reason to go to war against the lot of them."

"Well, that's what some people believed," Rose said, shrugging. "But Merlin himself never actually said so. Officially speaking, he never said anything again. He was never again seen in public, and it's right after that that Austramaddux talks about Merlinus 'leaving the society of men until the time was ripe for him'. It's no wonder people have been suspicious all these centuries."

"And still are today," James said pointedly.

"That doesn't mean I agree with everything people have said about him," Rose replied quietly. "But it certainly makes one understand how Merlin might have developed a bit of a serious grudge. Love makes people do mad things."

James sighed. "I've got a plan, Rose," he admitted in a low voice. "I wasn't sure I was going to go through with it, but I am now. I need to clear Merlin's name if I can. I'm going to find out the truth about whether he is involved with those people we saw, and that horrible, er, thing in the smoky cloak."

Rose narrowed her eyes at James. "You know something about that thing, don't you?" she asked. "You're hiding something. Does it have to do with that weird pain you get in your forehead sometimes?"

"What?" James said, startled. "No! I… er, I don't feel that anymore."

"Right," Rose nodded. "You smacked your forehead and yelled in pain that day outside the Headmaster's office because you suddenly remembered the extra credit answer on your Arithmancy test."

James deflated. "Look, yeah, I still feel it sometimes. I don't know where it's coming from. But it doesn't have anything to do with Merlin, all right?"

"Scorpius says you're having bad dreams," Rose said, looking closely at James.

"Bloody hell, Rose! What's he doing, staying up nights taking notes?"

"He says you've been talking in your sleep and getting all worked up. He can't hear what you're saying, but it always seems to be the same. And it's happening a couple of times a week."

James glared at Rose, and then looked away. "Yeah, so what? I hardly ever even remember the dreams. And even when I do, they don't make any sense. There's always a voice talking, and flashing blades, and the sound of old machinery. Someone is walking and I'm following them, but I can't see who it is. And then there's water and some weird faces. So what? It's just a dream. It doesn't mean anything."

Rose rolled her eyes. "I know you well enough to know you don't believe that."

James shook his head. "Look, I don't know what it's all about. Maybe it does have something to do with the weird pain I get on my forehead sometimes. Cedric… Cedric says he can actually see a scar there. He says it glows green."

"No!" Rose exclaimed, as if she thought that was the coolest thing she'd ever heard. She leaned in, studying James' forehead. "Can you see it when you look in the mirror? Does it glow when you turn off the lights?"

"This isn't funny, Rose!" James said, backing away. "But at least it means I'm not a nutter. If Cedric sees it, then it isn't in my head."

"Yeah," Rose agreed. "Technically, it's on your head."

James grimaced at his cousin. "But the point is that this has nothing to do with how I intend to find out the truth about Merlin."

"How, James?" Rose asked seriously. "I mean, Ralph's right about one thing: if Merlin is involved with that evil plot, he's one scary character to go up against. He'd have no qualms about getting you out of the way. Let Ralph and me help you, at least."

James shook his head. "I don't need help, Rose. Sorry. It'd just get you two into trouble too if we got caught."

Rose had always been very practical. She nodded solemnly. "When are you going to do it?"

James' face grew determined. "Tonight, if I can. If everything goes right, we'll know the truth by tomorrow morning. Wish me luck."

"You'll need more than luck, you berk," Rose said. "I certainly hope you know what you're doing."

James thought of the way Merlin had found him in the halls, both when he'd been standing guard for the Gremlins and when he'd gone for the rolling chalkboard. Merlin knew when things were going on around the school, and he'd know what James was up to if James wasn't very careful.

"So do I, Rose," James agreed as he and his cousin walked down the corridor toward the Great Hall, "so do I."

James had a simple plan. He'd talked Cedric's ghost into helping, although it had been a close thing. Cedric didn't like going into the Headmaster's office now that Merlin was occupying it, and there was some sort of boundary that prevented ghosts from entering the Headmaster's personal quarters. Still, Cedric could hover outside the windows and see when the lights went off. Presumably, Merlin slept sometime. When the lights in his quarters had been off for an hour, Cedric was to come and wake James.

James went to bed that night certain that he wouldn't sleep a wink. He was nervous about his plan, partly because he thought he might be caught no matter how sneaky he was and partly because he was afraid of what he'd discover if the plan succeeded. Every time he began to drift to sleep, he'd imagine he was hearing Cedric coming to wake him. It was silly because the ghost made no noise whatsoever unless he wanted to, so James would never hear his approach. Still, every bump and creak caught James' attention until, eventually, he drifted into a fitful sleep.

He had the dream again, but it was different this time. As always, it began with the swish and glimmer of metal blades, frighteningly close, and the rumble of ancient machinery. There was the voice, silky and ingratiating, a little maddening. It echoed so that James couldn't understand it, but occasional phrases slipped through. "Time is not yet come…," the voice said, and "The task set before you…" and "… bearer of redemption…" In the dream, James shuddered.

There was a figure walking with him, but all James could see in the darkness was a faceless silhouette. James seemed to float with the figure, as if carried by it somehow. He felt the scar on his head like a weight. Then, for the first time, light bloomed in the strange space. It emanated from the pool, green and flickering, throwing dancing ripples over every surface. The walls were stone, old and slick with moss. James had a sense of being underground, far from the light of day. The voice continued to speak as figures moved in the brightly glimmering water, like reflections from another world. The voice came from a figure in the dark corner, draped in black. As it spoke, the two faces formed in the water again, their expressions both sad and hopeful, pleading. They were clearer this time, rippling just under the water's surface: a man and a woman, younger than James' parents. James' companion gasped and dropped to kneel, crawling to the water's edge, reaching to touch the rippling surface.

"Stop," the voice commanded. "The time is not yet come. You would join them in that world, not return them to this one. Their blood calls for payment. Only then can they cross over. But you can extract that payment. You are the one to bring about redemption, not only for them, but for all who've gone over at the will of the oppressors. You are the hand of balance. Your duty is harsh, and your burden heavy, but it is not without its rewards. You will have them back. And you will live to see the day of change. If you wish it."

"I wish it," the voice of James' companion whispered, and James whispered it as well, helpless not to. His voice made no sound at all.

He awoke, startled by some noise. The dream remained vivid in his memory so that it almost felt like he was still dreaming. He sat up in his bed and could tell by the moonlight that it was the very dead of night. Nearby, Graham slept with one arm dangling over the bed. The room was full of the silence of deep sleep.

"Cedric?" James whispered very quietly, careful not to wake anyone. He threw back his covers and slipped out of bed. There was no sign of the ghost. Perhaps he was down in the common room. James collected his wand and his glasses from his satchel and made his way to the stairs. He stopped near the doorway, noticing something strange. Scorpius' bed was rumpled but empty. James narrowed his eyes. Where was that little viper? He thought about Scorpius telling Rose he'd heard James talking in his sleep. Why had Scorpius been awake those times? He was surely up to something. Reluctantly, James determined to think about it later. He had more important things to do now. He turned and crept down the stairs to the common room.

The room was completely empty and dark except for the dull red glow of the fireplace. There was still no sign of Cedric's ghost. James whispered his name again, a little louder this time, but there was no response. James sighed and walked over to the fireplace. As he plopped into the high-back chair, a voice spoke up brightly, shocking him.

"Hey, James!" the voice said. "Where's everybody at?"

James spluttered, looking around. "What? Who… Zane?!"

Zane stood by the fireplace, apparently leaning on the mantle, although he didn't quite seem to be touching it. He grinned mischievously. "Who else? You got my duck, I see."

"Your—" James began, still recovering from the shock. "No. What? Your duck? What are you doing here?"

"I sent you a message by duck a few minutes ago," Zane said, referring to the Protean rubber ducks they used to send notes to each other. James had completely forgotten about his. "I assumed you got the message. I told you and Ralph to meet me by the fireplace in five minutes. So where's everybody else? This place is dead as a doorknob."

James rolled his eyes. "So that's what woke me up! Zane, it's the middle of the night," he exclaimed, stifling a grin. Zane's utter precociousness always amazed him. "Ralph's in bed down in the Slytherin quarters. You forgot the time difference again!"

"Oh yeah," Zane said, grimacing. "It's only eight here. I mean, there. Where I really am. So what do you think of this? Much better than the lunarfly dust. Do I look all right?"

James squinted. "Well, you did a minute ago. You're starting to fade a bit around the edges. How are you doing it?"

"It's pretty good, eh?" Zane replied. "Another of Professor Franklyn's brainstorms. The beauty of it is its simplicity. You ever hear of a Doppelganger?"

James frowned. "Er, yeah, actually. It's a mythical double of yourself. It shows up to warn you of your own impending death, right?"

Zane nodded brightly. "Yeah, exactly. Franklyn figured if we faked the circumstances of untimely death, the Doppelganger might show up. Then, when it did, we could harness it and send it out to relay personal messages, like this one."

"So you're in mortal peril over there?" James asked, furrowing his brow.

"Yes and no. The Doppelganger has to think so, but Professor Franklyn has it all worked out. There're loads of fail-safes. I'm only technically in mortal peril. When we finish talking, I'll be in the clear again. It's all a little complicated, but the Department has worked out most of the bugs. You have your wand with you?"

"Er, yeah," James answered.

"Shoot me with it, will you? It doesn't matter how. A Stinging Hex or something. I'm starting to fade out."

"What? I mean, are you sure?"

"Totally. Make it quick. See, the problem with this method of communicating is maintaining the magic over long distances. We need a boost from your end to keep it up; otherwise, I'll just fade out."

James produced his wand and, reluctantly, pointed it at the fading figure of Zane. "Acervespa," he pronounced. A thin, needlelike bolt shot out of his wand. Zane's figure seemed to absorb the bolt. It grew suddenly solid again.

"That hit the spot," Zane said. "So how're things across the pond?"

"Ugh," James said, slouching in his chair. "Complicated. Albus is a Slytherin, I'm getting phantom broadcasts through some kind of ghost scar, the son of Dad's mortal enemy stole my bed, and everybody is worried Merlin has gone evil."

Zane grimaced. "Whoa. That's a mouthful. One thing at a time. You don't think the big guy's gone evil, do you?"

James shook his head tiredly. "No, but some people do. Even Rose does. Especially after the other night."

James told Zane about the scene in the Amsera Certh Mirror. Zane listened critically, one corner of his mouth cinched up in his unique expression of thoughtfulness.

"So what happened then?" Zane asked once James had finished.

"What do you mean? That's it. Isn't that enough?"

"I mean, how'd Merlin get back if you shut the Focusing Book on him?"

"I don't know," James mused. He hadn't really thought about it. "But he did get back. I guess he has other means of getting around. If that was really him."

"It was him," Zane said, nodding. "You just don't want to admit it."

James frowned, but before he could object, Zane went on. "But the good news is he must have been there for all the right reasons. Otherwise, you'd be toast, wouldn't you?"

"What do you mean?" James asked warily.

"I mean, he saw you, didn't he? You said that the pale dude pointed out of the Mirror right at you, and everyone turned to look. That means Merlin saw you. If he was in league with these guys, he'd have come for you three the moment he got back. You'd all be banished to the Netherworld, or whatever it is guys like Merlin do to their enemies."

James furrowed his brow. "I hadn't thought of it that way."

"Of course you hadn't," Zane shrugged. "I was always the brains of the outfit."

James grimaced. "Well, either way, I'll know more after tonight. In fact, I thought you were my wakeup call. I've got some sneaking around to do and I'm a little nervous about it. I don't even have the Invisibility Cloak this time. So anyway, what about you? How are things at Alma Aleron?"

"You wouldn't believe it," Zane said, shaking his head. "Classes are positively huge, and the wizarding community over here is way different. There are actual Sasquatches in some of my classes. Bigfeet! And let me tell you, they're a lot smarter than they look, even if they do only talk in grunts. Also, the Progressive Element is all over the place around here, only they don't call themselves that. They just talk a lot about how the old ruling elite have always halted change and stifled progress, stuff that sounds all great until you remember that change and progress are the same things that make milk go sour. Anyway, a lot of them give me the evil eye because they think they know what happened there at Hogwarts last year. Madame Delacroix's in prison, you know. A lot of people talk like she's a hero, like some kind of political exile. It's completely quantum to me."

"The voodoo queen's in prison?" James asked, his eyes going wide. "They have wizarding prisons there?"

"Well, it's more of a mental hospital, but it's under total lockdown. She was never really the same after that night in the Grotto Keep. She got a little cracked, if you know what I mean. Technically, she's just under observation. In fact, she's right here on campus, in the medical building. Hey, Cedric. How's the ghosting going?"

James looked up and saw Cedric moving across the room, smiling halfheartedly.

"It's time," the ghost said, addressing James.

"That's right," Zane said, "you have your big plans to spy out the Headmaster. Look, are you certain that's a good idea? That guy must have anti-spy traps all over the place. You can't just waltz into his office even if you did have the Invisibility Cloak."

"I've got a plan," James said, firming his jaw.

"Oh," Zane replied, rolling his eyes. "Well, if it's as solid as the plans we came up with last year, then I feel loads better."

"You're fading out again, mate," James said, climbing out of the chair and turning to join Cedric. "Pop up anytime you want."

"You can count on it. Good luck. And James?"

James stopped and turned. Zane was fading almost to nothing. He looked even ghostlier than Cedric.

"Keep me in the loop, you know? I was there when Merlin showed up. If he has gone to the dark side, I want to know about it. Maybe I can help."

"He hasn't," James said. "Don't worry about it."

Zane grinned. "I didn't say I was worried."

A moment later, the figure of Zane evaporated like a puff of smoke.

As they slipped through the portrait hole, Cedric asked, "What was that all about?"

James shook his head. "Just Zane being Zane. Come on, let's get this over with."

"So what do you need me to do?"

James took a deep breath and looked down the very dark, very silent corridor. "Just get me into the Headmaster's office," he whispered. "After that, as Zane would say, it's all quantum."

James had hoped that the password to the Headmaster's staircase hadn't changed since he, Ralph, and Rose had gone to ask permission to start the Defence Club. By the time he got to the gargoyle guarding the entrance, he'd nearly forgotten the old Welsh phrase, but when he remembered it and said it aloud, the gargoyle stepped tiredly aside.

"Nothing good comes from such a late visit," the gargoyle muttered as James and Cedric passed. "But then again, what do I know? My head's made of marble."

At the top of the staircase, Cedric walked silently through the office door. A few moments later, the bolt shot back from the inside and the door creaked slowly open.

"They're all asleep," Cedric whispered, indicating the headmasters' portraits. "Even Dumbledore and Snape."

James nodded and crept into the room. The office was quite dark and foreboding despite the sound of mingled snores from the portraits. A single beam of moonlight laid a stripe across the floor, up the front of the massive desk, and across Merlin's Focusing Book. James crept across the floor toward the desk, not wishing to look at the Amsera Certh but unable to avoid it. The surface of the Mirror was thick with rolling, silvery smoke, casting its own pale light on the nearby furnishings.

"I only n-need a few m-minutes," James whispered, his teeth chattering. The Headmaster's office was unusually cold. James could see his breath puffing as he spoke. "I just need you t-to lock the door afterwards…"

There was no answer. Cedric had already gone out to the hallway to wait. He'd told James that he hated being in Merlin's office. "Too many traps," he'd explained simply, "even for a ghost."

Something white and flitting reached lazily out toward James. He jumped, and his heart lurched up into his throat, pounding wildly. It was only the linen curtains hung over the window, billowing in a sudden breeze. It was no wonder the office was so cold. Merlin had left his window open, leaving the cold night wind to play in the curtains. Through the window, James could just see the arc of the moon. It hung in the sky like a bone-colored scythe. He shivered and willed his heart to stop pounding. Trembling, he turned back to the desk.

The Focusing Book seemed to glow in the beam of moonlight. The closed cover was very thick, bound with polished wood and brass hinges. There was a lock, but it was unlatched. James touched the book, and then quickly opened it, wanting to get the task over as soon as possible. The pages were heavy, made of a rich, creamy paper that slid easily under James' fingertips. Every page was almost entirely blank except for a single line handwritten in ink: a place and a date. James flipped through them as quickly and carefully as possible, reading each one. After a minute, an idea struck him. He flipped to the end of the book and found blank pages. Quickly, he paged backwards, riffling through the heavy, blank pages until he got to the last one with writing on it. He stopped, jabbed a finger at it and read: 'THE GRAVE OF THE SOUGHT HOST, OCTOBER'.

This was it. He hoped it would work, and yet, even now, part of him also hoped it wouldn't. He backed away from the book, his eyes wide and his heart still hammering. He could tell by the change in the lighting of the room that the Mirror had focused. There was the sound of wind creaking in trees and rustling leaves. Slowly, James produced his glasses from the pocket of his pyjamas and put them on. He didn't want to miss anything this time. Finally, he turned around.

The scene was exactly as he'd remembered. There was the grave of Tom Riddle, choked with vines and topped with the smiling, handsome statue. Daylight filtered through the trees, grey and misty. Now that James knew what to look for, he could see the creature of smoke and ash standing in front of the grave. As before, the ragged bottom of the cloak blew in the wind with no feet coming out of it. Something about the figure defied the eye, forced it away, but James made himself look at it. Was this the Gatekeeper of whom Farrigan had spoken? James felt a sinking certainty that it was. As before, it looked less like a cloaked figure and more like a hole cut in space, showing some awful infinity of swirling blackness and swarming cinders.

James waited and watched, shivering in the cold of the Headmaster's office. Outside, the wind seemed to be increasing. It pushed restlessly through the window, flapping the curtains. Finally, as James watched, the Gatekeeper raised its arm, letting the sleeve fall back. The hand was thin and pale, as it had been the first time James had seen it, and James thought he could tell that it wasn't really a human hand at all, but simply a shape meant to look like one. This time, the hand didn't beckon. It remained upraised for a long moment. And then the figure turned its head. The cloak's hood was empty, but it was obviously looking at James through the Mirror. James gasped and stepped back.

Several things happened at once: a gust of wind roared in through the window, streaming the curtains and riffling the pages of the Focusing Book, the door to the Headmaster's office was thrown wide open, slamming against the inside wall, and light poured in from the hall, revealing a large, stalking silhouette. James plunged forward, trying to hide in the shadow of the Magic Mirror.

Before James' face, the mirror glass altered as the pages of the Focusing Book riffled. Scenes flickered past, rising and falling out of the silvery smoke. Elsewhere in the office, the portraits of the former headmasters were now awake, although none spoke. The silhouetted figure stalked through the room, searching it. James had been discovered. Whoever it was would see him at any moment. James huddled, pressing his hands to the glass, panting and terrified. He wished he could be anywhere else at that very moment.

And then, suddenly, he was.

There was a horrid, disorienting sense of flipping, as if James' entire body had been turned inside out. It was over almost before he knew what was happening. Suddenly, the scene in the Mirror wasn't the silvery smoke; it was the Headmaster's office, but backwards, somehow. James could clearly see the shadow of a large man moving over the floor on the other side of the Mirror, and then the man himself walked into view, very close. It was Merlin, his eyes wide and searching.

Without thinking James ducked below the surface of the Mirror. Desperately, he peered up, craning his neck to see if he'd been discovered. From this new angle, the scene in the Mirror looked different. In fact, the mirror itself was different. It was rather smaller, framed in silver, and hung on a stone wall rather than in a wooden frame. James frowned, confused and frightened. Now that he looked around, he could see he was in an entirely different place. Somehow, he'd come through the Mirror. When he'd wished to be somewhere else, he'd been touching the Amsera Certh, and the Mirror had apparently made his wish come true. How could he have been so careless? The Focusing Book's pages had been riffling in the wind, so there was no way to tell what page of the Book he had been sent to.

James tried to take stock of his surroundings. He was still huddled below the new mirror, hunkered in a narrow space between the wall and a sort of huge stone block. There were voices nearby. Very carefully, James raised his head. The block was about three feet high with an enormous, complicated shape rising out of it. With a start, James realized it was a statue. It looked vaguely familiar, although it was hard to tell from this angle. James peered around a monstrous carved foot, trying very hard not to breathe. The voices were very close by, and as James peered, he finally saw the owners of the voices. There were four people, all dressed in robes and cloaks of various colors. They were facing away from James, forming a rough line. Suddenly, there was a blinding flash and a puff of acrid smoke.

"One for the ages, methinks," a hearty voice cried. "A pity it won't be in color."

"Color will come soon enough, Godric," a woman's voice trilled happily. "And perhaps even movement, like little living paintings."

"We already have moving paintings," a second man's voice said with a hint of a sneer. "I fail to see how this process is in any way superior."

"Always the skeptic, Salazar," a different woman's voice commented. "Rowena's inventiveness should be lauded, not criticized. Leave that to the apprentices whose work it is to refine her technique."

James' eyes nearly bulged out of his head. Now that the photo had been taken, the four individuals were gravitating toward the rotunda exit. Nearby, a small, grizzled goblin was extinguishing the flash mechanism while another goblin disassembled a gigantic, ancient camera. As the two women and two men walked out into the sunlit hall, James looked up at the high archway. There, carved carefully in the stone at the peak of the arch, each letter as sharp as the chisel that had cut it, were the words: 'SCHOLA HOGVARTENSIS ARTIUM MAGICARUM ET FASCINATIONUS'.

James slumped back against the wall as the voices faded. There was no doubt about it. Somehow, impossibly, he had been hurled back in time to the founding of Hogwarts. He was in the old rotunda, hiding under the intact statue of the founders, as the founders themselves walked into the light of a thousand year old sunset. But what struck James as the most absurd thing of all was that Ashley Doone had been right that day in History of Magic.

James was the ghost in the plinth.