James Potter and the Crimson Thread Page 4

  James plopped onto his seat, thankful that no one was immediately asking about his interview with Rita Skeeter. For a minute, he watched the trees and fields sweep past outside the train.

  It occurred to him that he would never again ride the Hogwarts Express as a student, and a momentary malaise descended over him. He thought back to his first, nervous ride to Hogwarts, filled with nearly crippling anxiety about living up to his father’s legendary reputation. A wan smile came over his face as he recalled his first meeting with Zane, the unexpected American with his precocious wit and roguish irreverence, and Ralph, the apparent Muggle-born, filled with apprehension, equipped with the ridiculously oversized, green-tipped wand.

  He replayed his other most memorable moments on the train: his and Albus’ first confrontation with Scorpius Malfoy, back when Scorpius had still been full of vim and vigour about becoming a Slytherin, before any of them knew that it was Albus who would go to the green and silver whilst Scorpius, amazingly, ended up a Gryffindor; the chasing of the strange shadow creature, the Borley, and the subsequent encounter with the swarm of Dementors around the crimson engine. The meeting with the otherworldly entity known as the Gatekeeper and the nearly disastrous train ride after, when Headmaster Merlin had miraculously saved the train from barreling to its doom in Sparrowhawk gorge.

  He mused on the many games of Winkles and Augers he had played with his friends as they travelled back to school, each year more confident, excited, and eager to face whatever awaited them.

  He remembered the giddy anticipation of new school subjects and experiences, of connecting with old friends and rivalries, of seeing teachers both beloved and abhorred.

  This, he thought again, cautiously probing the concept, was the last time any of those things would ever happen. James could scarcely appreciate each passing moment for the sense of sudden melancholy that it evoked in him. Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry had transformed from a frighteningly mysterious challenge during his first year to a deeply familiar old friend as he began his seventh. It had never been quite real to him that those days would one day end. Now he knew: there would be only one last train ride, eventually one final night slept in his bed in Gryffindor tower, one last meal in the Great Hall with his friends and all the teachers lining the head table on the dais, one last ceremonial school event in the form of his own graduation.

  And then after that, the real world awaited. Much larger and more exciting and infinitely more challenging than Hogwarts had ever been.

  It was a giddy, troubling realization, underlined by the steady rumble-clack of the train, carrying James inexorably forward into his future, whether he was ready for it or not.

  He turned to Rose and asked what she was reading, not so much because he was interested, but just to break the tension of his thoughts.

  “The second of those Cormelian Blitz detective stories,” Rose answered eagerly, not taking her eyes from the open pages. “You know, the female giantess who solves mysteries in old timey Diagon Alley.

  Written by professor Revalvier, although under a different name. Much different from her other stories, I have to say. A little on the violent side.

  Mum’s hair would probably stand straight up if she knew I was reading it.” She licked a finger and turned a page, flicking her gaze over it.

  James nodded, already bored with the topic. He let Rose fall back into her book and decided to get up and wander the train again, ostensibly in search of the cart lady, but hoping more for distraction than a licorice wand or a packet of Cockroach Clusters.

  2. – Winds of change

  “First years!” Hagrid boomed, raising his lantern as always, and summoning the newest students to himself. James spied the half-giant easily over the heads of the disembarking students as they milled on the Hogsmeade platform, and the sight gladdened him. “First years, this way to th’ boats! Step lively now. Yer trunks will be taken direc’ly.

  Follow me an’ watch yer step.”

  “I wish I could ride the boats again,” Lily commented wistfully from next to James. “So much better than the carriages, don’t you think?” The ever-present entourage of her friends cooed and agreed all around. James stepped away, not wishing to be seen in their company.

  He was a seventh-year after all, and was expected to be above hanging out with a gaggle of middle-year girls. Beneath this, however (although he would never admit it aloud), he half-resented the easy popularity that his sister had cultivated over the past few years. She and her friends burbled on, barely noticing his departure.

  Rose was waiting in line for black carriages and the ride up to the castle. James joined her, waving to Ralph further down the line where he waited with some of his Slytherin mates. Ralph waved back sheepishly. He’d been acting a little strangely ever since they’d met on platform nine and three quarters.

  “If I didn’t know any better,” James commented idly. “I’d say Ralph was up to something.”

  “Our Ralph?” Rose clarified, frowning and glancing aside.

  “Ralph Deedle? He’s about as cunning as a mint humbug. I wouldn’t count on it.”

  The carriage trip up to the castle was a familiar and splendid ride, with the sun just dipping behind the mountains and painting the clouds with watercolor pinks, purples and oranges. Against this panorama, Hogwarts castle loomed, seeming to lean back on its rocky perch, comfortable and welcoming. Its myriad windows glinted like golden coins flashing in the bottom of a pool. James found himself crammed into the carriage with Rose, Morgan Patonia, Ashley Doone, Graham Warton, and Joseph Torrance.

  “Good summer, everybody?” Graham asked blandly, seeming merely to pass the time. James didn’t answer. On his other side, Joseph Torrance brightened. “Went to the Hocus Brothers Circus when it came to Chudley. The levitating acrobats and juggling elephants are great, but Montague the performing dragon is best of all.”

  “What’s he do?” Rose asked from the front seat. Before her, as always, James could just make out the skeletal shape of the thestral in its harness, trotting into the shadow of the castle.

  “Oh, amazing things,” Joseph enthused. “Aerial stunts through flying rings, breathing fire to light torches held in bears’ mouths, balancing a whole team of dancers on its tail. It barely ate any of the people in the audience, and only stomped one or two of the concession stands. But even that was just for show, I’m pretty sure.”

  “It’s a dangerous thing, dragging dragons around the country these days,” Morgan sniffed. “I hear the Ministry is cracking down on those sorts of events, what with all the weakened borders around magical places.”

  “I hope not!” Ashley Doone piped up next to Morgan. “I want to see that show when it comes to Diagon Alley this winter! No way that’s not secure enough to host a magical circus.”

  James sighed to himself, impatient with the topic of magical security after his interview with Rita Skeeter. Deep down, he didn’t believe things were as bad as the newspapers and tabloids made them out to be, although he had an inkling that this might be false hope. His dad didn’t talk of it much, not because there wasn’t anything to say, James suspected, but because he didn’t want to worry his family. This was rather worrying in itself, of course, but it was a bland worry, without specifics, and easier to forget.

  “Did you hear about Damian Damascus and Sabrina Hildegard?” Rose suddenly asked, turning on her seat to look at James and Graham. “They dated all summer and just announced their engagement to be married. Can you believe it? Married!”

  “You’re joking,” Graham accused flatly.

  Rose shook her head. “Not a bit. Saw the invitation myself.

  Came by post just a few days ago. It’s horklump and hemlock themed.”

  Graham rolled his eyes grudgingly. “Well, that’s definitely Damien and Sabrina.”

  “Not really all that surprising when you think about it,” Morgan sighed. “I mean sure, Sabrina’s got a few points on him in the beauty department, but they were like
mortar and pestle all through school.

  I’m surprised it never occurred to them before that they were meant to be.”

  “But,” James finally spoke up, “they’re not old enough to be married! I mean, are they?”

  Ashley shrugged. “They’re adults, now, at least technically.

  Damien’s started himself a nice little alchemical practice in Puddlemere, and Sabrina’s studying for her curse-breaker certification. Plenty of people get married young. It’s romantic, I think.”

  James’ mind reeled at the idea. To him, Damien and Sabrina were still fellow mates and Gremlins, albeit graduated now. It didn’t seem possible that they were already so far along in their grown-up lives that they were making lifelong commitments and career choices.

  Shortly, the conversation drifted on to other topics, including James’ interview with Rita Skeeter. He told them briefly about it, assuring them that it was no big deal, and would probably barely warrant a few inches on the back page of the Daily Prophet, which he sincerely hoped, but didn’t quite believe.

  Soon enough the carriage squeaked to a halt in the main courtyard below the open front doors. James clambered out, along with the rest of the older students along the line of black carriages, and followed Graham and Ashley up the steps. Professor McGonagall stood watching next to the open doors, her face as imperious and grim as always, a parchment unrolled in her right hand. She peered at it critically, glancing up over her spectacles as the students passed, one by one.

  “Mr. Potter,” she said briskly, flicking her gaze at him, then those with him. “Misses Patonia and Doone. And you, too, Mr.

  Warton. Please make your way to the antechamber behind the Great Hall, and be quick about it.”

  “What,” Graham hesitated. “Are we in trouble already?”

  “Not if you do as I say,” the professor answered curtly. “And you as well, Mr. Deedle.” She nodded to Ralph as he clumped up the steps to join them. “And no stopping at your tables along the way. I don’t want to see any biscuit crumbs on the floor of the antechamber when I arrive.” She eyed Ralph pointedly. “Now hurry on, and take any other seventh-years with you, should you see any.” With that she dismissed them, returning her attention to the parchment in her hand.

  Rose looked mildly affronted. “Well then,” she huffed lightly.

  “Seventh-years only, it seems. See you later then, I guess.”

  “I wonder what this is all about?” James muttered as they stepped into the shadow of the main entrance, heading toward the glow of the Great Hall and the clatter of gathering students.

  “No idea,” Ralph shrugged. “Do you think she’d know if I ate a biscuit on the way, like? I’m dead starved.”

  “I wouldn’t risk it if it was me and my house on the line,”

  Graham proclaimed, clapping Ralph on the shoulder. “But it isn’t, so I say go for it, Mr. Slytherin.”

  Ralph didn’t, but as he passed the tables laden with freshly baked snacks and waiting plates and silverware, it seemed to be a very close thing. Overhead, as always, the hundreds of floating candles made a constellation of tiny flames, bright against the darkening sky that appeared magically imprinted on the rafters and vaulted ceilings. The massive and ornate rose window at the head of the hall glowed with sunset hues, spreading its diffuse light over the gathering, chattering, laughing students.

  As James threaded through them, making his way along the Gryffindor table toward the front of the hall, it occurred to him that perhaps he’d been looking at his return to school from the wrong perspective entirely. This wasn’t merely the last chapter of his Hogwarts career, after all. It was the beginning of one final hurrah, a year filled with whole weeks and months and seasons of new adventures and challenges, untold new experiences, familiar faces and lifetime memories just waiting to be made. It didn’t make the melancholy doldrums that he’d felt on the train go away, but it did balance them against the heady anticipation of the year yet to come. The current of time would carry him forward into his future whether he wished it or not. He might as well embrace the journey and enjoy the ride.

  James, Ralph and the rest of the seventh-years climbed the steps to the dais in a scattered line, skirted the head table where a few teachers were just beginning to gather and take their seats, and passed through the heavy wooden door on the right side. James had been in the antechamber only a few times before, but remembered it well. During his first year, it had been the sight of Merlin’s interview with Ralph’s father, wherein their true magical heritage as Dolohovs had come to light. The room looked exactly the same now as it had then: a collection of chairs and sofas scattered somewhat haphazardly around a large hearth, currently unlit and gray with cold ash. Paintings of various pastoral scenes and miscellaneous portraits surrounded the walls, packed between the pillars that supported the arcade ceiling. James recognized one of the paintings from the sketches in Ralph’s antique potions book: a crowded scene representing the coronation of the first wizarding king, Kreagle. In the far corner of the scene, a dark-robed figure leaned against a wall, smoking a long pipe and ignoring the festivities. The figure looked at James as he passed, its eyes distant but watchful. It was Severus Snape, of course, in one of his many disguised portrait forms, keeping an eye on the myriad corners and recesses of the school.

  “Anyone know what this is all about?” Trenton Bloch asked, throwing himself into a high-backed chair and kicking one knee up over the upholstered arm.

  “S’tradition, isn’t it?” replied Julian Jackson, the captain of the Hufflepuff Quidditch team, seating herself on an ottoman before the cold hearth and smoothing her skirt primly. “Every year, McGonagall gathers the seventh-years for a little secret pep talk or something, although they’re forbidden to speak of it afterward.”

  “I never noticed that before,” Ralph commented, frowning.

  “Face it, Ralph,” Deirdre Finnegan offered lightly, “What you don’t notice could fill the great hall from floor to ceiling.”

  Behind her, Kevin Murdock snorted a laugh.

  Ralph’s frown turned offended as he glared at Deirdre, but James smiled and nudged him with an elbow.

  Millicent Vandergriff stood near Julian Jackson, leaning lightly against the arm of a sofa. She met James’ eyes and gave a secretive little smile and wink. James nodded back at her, still smiling. She had changed her hair over the summer. Her long, straight locks had been trimmed to a shoulder-length blonde bob that swung lightly whenever she turned her head. James was less surprised that she had made the change than that he had actually noticed it. Millie Vandergriff had always been merely a background face in his world: funny, a little crude, and boisterously loud from her space at the Hufflepuff table, but generally forgettable. The new haircut changed her somehow, at least in his mind. For the first time, she struck him not just as a rather shrill laugh ringing in the halls or a whispering component of some inexplicable female cabal outside the door of the girls’ bathroom. Now, suddenly, she was a fairly fetching and curious girl who had, for whatever reason, taken some nominal interest in him.

  As James watched, she sat down next to Julian and engaged the other girl in some animated but low-key conversation.

  After a few minutes, Professor McGonagall entered, bringing with her an air of hectic gravity. The room quieted immediately and most of the students drifted into seats or clustered in knots against the outer pillars. The former headmistress circumvented the room until she stood with her back to the dark hearth, her eyes ticking over each face in a quick inventory.

  “A few brief words as you enter your final year, students,” she said with no preamble, pitching her voice low, by her standards. “As you may imagine, there are certain responsibilities that go with attaining your seventh year. For better or for worse, you are now the standard bearers for everything that this school represents. Your younger classmates will look up to you as examples and role models. Some of you will rise to this responsibility, and indeed have done so already throughout
your terms. Others,” she paused briefly and flicked her gaze over several faces, peering at them over her spectacles, “will struggle even to represent your own best interests, much less those of your fellows. To those who fall into the latter category, allow me to be perfectly clear: we expect better from you. The school expects better from you. And you should expect better of yourselves. You will soon embark on a new journey outside of these familiar walls, and there you will not find merely docked house points for flouting rules. Heed me, for this may be the last time anyone offers you this warning.” She paused meaningfully, letting the weight of her iron gaze settle over the room like a cold blanket. Then, she softened slightly, raising her chin and drawing a breath.

  “There are, however, certain privileges that accompany these responsibilities,” she said, almost with a note of reluctance. “I’ll thank you, as you may guess, not to flaunt these to your younger classmates.

  Let them discover them as you are about to now.” She produced a small scroll and unrolled it in her thin hands, beginning to read: “As per tradition and administrative decree, seventh-years shall not require special permission to access the restricted section of the library.”

  James blinked and glanced around the room, curious to see if anyone else found this a particularly exciting privilege. Rose would be thrilled with it, he knew, but no one else in attendance showed as much as a raised eyebrow.

  “Further,” McGonagall went on, still reading from the scroll, “Certain classes may be exchanged for an equal length of work in the career field of your choosing, by arrangement with the headmaster and/or related professor, not to exceed more than ninety minutes per week.”

  This did inspire a response from the gathered students, who glanced around at each other and stirred in their seats, clearly excited at the prospect of trading class time for some hands-on experience, perhaps even outside the school. James glanced aside at Ralph. They had both toyed somewhat idly with the idea of going into Auror training, more for lack of any other ideas than a particular passion for the career. Did this mean they could actually trade class-time for trips to the Ministry of Magic with James’ dad? Could they actually accompany him and his partner, Titus Hardcastle, on the occasional raid or investigation? It seemed almost too tantalizing to consider, and yet perhaps it was actually possible.