The Curse of the GateKeeper (James Potter #2) (39 page)

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.