Текст книги "James Potter and the Hall of the Elders' Crossing"

Автор книги: G. Norman Lippert

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Текущая страница: 25 (всего у книги 37 страниц)

        Figgle raised her hands in the same gesture James had seen the house-elves in the Great Hall use to gather up the tablecloths. The pile of laundry clumped into a large ball and a bed sheet cocooned around it, the four corners tying at the top. Figgle tossed a small puff of pink powder onto the gigantic ball of laundry and snapped her fingers again. The ball of laundry vanished, presumably to reappear in the basements. She looked nervously at the stairs.

        "Well?" Ralph asked James in a tight, worried voice.

        "I can't see Tabitha," James answered, trying to keep his voice calm. "Or Philia Goyle. They aren't out on the pitch anymore as far as I can see."

        "What? Well, where are they?"

        "I don't know. They seem to be off the map at the moment."

Figgle was looking at them, her eyes wide and alert. She seemed to sense something was even more wrong than it had been a minute ago. James studied the Marauder's Map keenly, watching the huge blank spots to see if Goyle and Corsica would appear out of them. He kept a sharp eye on the blank spot at the door to the Slytherin quarters.

        "Oh, no," he said, his eyes widening. "Here they come! What are they doing here now?"

        "Get rid of the map!" Ralph said, his face going pasty white. "Come on! Zane!" he called up the steps. There was no answer.

        Figgle's expression had gone from alarm to raw panic. "Mistress Corsica is coming! Figgle has done an awful thing! Figgle will be punished!" She bolted for the stairs, snapping her fingers as she went. There was that sudden sensation of change, as if an invisible light had popped back on, and James knew that the Boundary Charm over the stairs was in place again. There was a clatter of footsteps and muffled voices both from upstairs as well as from the front door of the common room. James balled the Marauder's Map roughly and jammed it into his open backpack. Ralph threw himself onto the nearest couch, trying to affect a scene of lazy indolence. The door swung open just as James re-shouldered his backpack and turned.

        Tabitha Corsica and Philia Goyle stepped through the doorway. Their eyes fell on James and both of them went silent. Tabitha was dressed in a sport cloak and black capris, her broomstick over her shoulder. Her hair was in a neat ponytail, and even though she had, only minutes before, been swooping over the Quidditch pitch on her unusually magical broom, she appeared as cool and fresh as a tulip. She spoke first.

        "James Potter," she said mildly, having almost instantly recovered from her surprise at seeing him. "What a pleasure."

        "What are you doing here?" Philia demanded, scowling.

        "Philia, don't be rude," Tabitha said, moving into the room and passing James breezily. "Mr. Potter is as welcome among us as I'm sure we would be amongst the Gryffindors. If we don't have goodwill during these difficult times, what have we got? Good afternoon, Mr. Deedle."

        Ralph croaked something from the couch, looking remarkably awkward and uncomfortable. Philia continued to stare hard at James, her expression openly hostile, but she remained silent.

        "It's a shame about the Gryffindor Quidditch team," Tabitha called from a corner of the room as she hung up her cloak. "We always love a Gryffindor versus Slytherin match for the tournament, don't we, Ralph? I'm sure it pains your friends not to be out scrimmaging with us as we speak, James. Please give them our sympathies. By the way…," Tabitha crossed the room again, heading toward the stairs to the girls' sleeping quarters, "I saw several of the Ravenclaw players out at the pitch studying our drills. Interesting that your friend, Zane, wasn't among them. You haven't seen him, have you?" She tapped her broomstick on the floor idly, watching James' face.

        James shook his head, not daring to speak.

        "Hm," Tabitha murmured thoughtfully. "Curious, that. Nevertheless. Come, Philia."

        James watched, horrified, as Tabitha and Philia began to climb the steps. He thought furiously, trying to invent a quick diversion, but nothing came.

        "Sod off!" a pair of muffled voices suddenly squeaked.

        Both Tabitha and Philia stopped in their tracks. Philia, on the first step, whipped around angrily. Tabitha, ahead of her, turned much more slowly, a look of polite wonderment on her face.

        "Did you say something?" she asked James slowly.

        James coughed. "Er, no. Sorry. Got a, uh, frog in my throat."

        Tabitha watched him for a long moment, then tilted her head slightly and narrowed her eyes at Ralph. Finally, she turned away and disappeared up the rest of the stairs with Philia following, glancing back furiously. After a few moments, their footsteps could be heard from above. There were no angry screams or sounds of struggle.

        "Grotty blighter!" quacked the muffled voices again.

        "That crazy loon!" Ralph rasped, jumping up and grabbing his bag. "What's he doing?"

        "Come on!" James said, lunging toward the door. "If he's still up there, we can't help him."

         They both ran out into the hallway and threaded their way around several random corridors before finally stopping. Panting and hearts pounding, they dug their rubber ducks out of their bags, each examining his own even though they were identical. Two words were scrawled on the bottom of the ducks in black ink: Laundry room!

        "That crazy loon!" Ralph said again, but he was almost laughing with relief. "Figgle just took him down to the cellars with the rest of the dirty sheets! I say we leave him there."

        James grinned. "No, let's go get him before they try to stick him in the wringer. He probably deserves it, but first, I want to know what he might have found out."

The two boys ran to find the washrooms in the cellars. James stopped only once to ask directions from an annoyingly observant servant in a painting of a gaggle of dining knights.

        "I hardly had two minutes to look around before Figgle came up the stairs like a cannonball," Zane told James and Ralph when they found him in the washrooms. "She threw a handful of pink dust at me, and then pow! I'm down here."

        Ralph was looking around in awe at the enormous copper vats and the clanking machinery of the washers. Elves bustled around them, ignoring the three boys completely as they moved through the hive of their basement work space. Two elves on a catwalk above the vats were dumping wheelbarrows of powdered soap into the frothing water. White flakes filled the air and stuck like snow in the boys' hair.

        "Trust me, this all gets a lot less interesting after two minutes or so," Zane said tersely. "Especially when the Lollipop Guild here won't let you leave." Three elves were clustered around Zane, looking at him with obvious hostility.

        "Figgle brings a human down to the washrooms, we keeps him until someone explains why," the oldest and grumpiest elf said in a gravelly voice. "S'policy. Humans interfering with elf work is against Hogwarts Code of Conduct and Practices, section thirty, paragraph six. So, then, who be you two?"

        James and Ralph exchanged blank looks. Ralph said, "We're his… well, we're his friends, aren't we? We came to bring him back upstairs."

        "Did you, then?" the elf said with a penetrating glare. "Figgle tells a story about this human trying to do her work, she does. Says he was going on about elf welfare and such bilge. She was fair upset. Can't 'ave that sort of thing, you know. We gots a coalition agreement with the school."

        "He won't do it again," James soothed. "He meant well, but he's a bit dim about such things, isn't he? I'm sorry. He got out of our hands for a minute. Won't happen again."

        Zane acted offended, but stayed wisely silent. The head elf scowled thoughtfully at James. James was used to elves being subservient and meek or at least politely surly. Here, in their working realm, the rules appeared to be quite different. The elves had a coalition agreement with the school, the head elf had said. It almost sounded like they'd unionized, and that an essential rule of the elf union was that only elves did elf work. Perhaps they viewed it as job security. James wasn't sure if Aunt Hermione would view this as an improvement or a setback.

        Finally, the head elf grumbled, "I'm going against my better judgments, you know. The three of yous are on probation. Anymore interference with elfish protocol and I'll 'ave you before the Headmistress. We gots a coalition agreement, you know."

        "So I hear," Zane muttered, rolling his eyes.

        "But you don't even know our names," Ralph pointed out. "How are we on probation if you don't know who we are?" James elbowed him in the ribs.

        The head elf grinned at his fellows, who smiled back a bit disconcertingly. "We're elves," he said simply. "Now off with yous, and let's hope we don't see you again."

        The corridors leading out of the washrooms were, not surprisingly, small and short, with half-sized steps that forced James, Zane, and Ralph to mince carefully as they climbed them.

        "I don't know whether to congratulate you or kick you," Ralph said to Zane. "You almost got us caught by Corsica and Goyle."

        "But I did get into the Slytherin girls' sleeping quarters," Zane pointed out with a grin. "How many people can say that?"

        "Or would want to?" James added.

        "Be nice or I won't tell you what I found."

        "It better be good," said Ralph.

        "It's not," Zane sighed. "The girls' quarters have big wooden wardrobes alongside each bed. Only one of them was open, but I got a peek inside. Let's just say I'm not wondering where Tabitha keeps her broom anymore."

        They reached a larger door at the end of a flight of miniscule stairs. James pushed it open, thankful to be out of the heat and noise of the washrooms. "What do you mean?"

        "Well, they're magical wardrobes, of course, although they don't lead to any fairy wonderlands. The one I looked into looked like a combination vanity and walk-in closet. Seemed like a boutique had exploded in there, to tell you the truth. One of those really froofy ones, but with a gothic-vampire flair to it. There was a bottle of vanishing cream on the vanity, and from the looks of it, I don't think the vanishing part was a metaphor."

        "All the girls have a wardrobe like that?" Ralph asked.

        "Sure looked like it."

        James frowned. "Our chances of getting into the Slytherin girls' quarters again are pretty much zero. And even if we could, how would we even know which wardrobe was Corsica's, much less even get it open?"

        "I told you this was going to be right impossible," Ralph reminded James.

        "Smelled like my grandma's dresser in there, too," Zane said.

"Will you let off with the details?" James exclaimed. "This is serious. We still don't know where the Hall of Elder's Crossing is or when Jackson and Delacroix are planning to bring the elements together. For all we know, it could be tonight."

        "So?" Ralph said. "Like you said, they can't do anything without all the relics."

        Zane sighed, turning sober. "Yeah, but if they try it and nothing works, then they'll hide the rest of the relics and we'll never get to them."

        Ralph threw up his hands. "Well? There's got to be another way, then. I mean, she has to take the broom out of her wardrobe sometimes, right? We saw her with it today. What if we nick it somehow during a Quidditch match or something?"

Zane grinned. "I like that. Especially if we can do it when she's a hundred feet or so in the air."

        "Impossible again," James said in frustration. "Ever since my dad's day, there've been protective spells all around the pitch to keep people from interfering with matches. There were a few instances where dark wizards tried to use spells to hurt him or throw him off his broom. Once, a bunch of Dementors swarmed right onto the pitch. Ever since, there've been boundary areas set up by the officials. No spells can get in or out."

        "What's a Dementor?" Ralph asked, his eyes widening.

        "You don't want to know, Ralph. Trust me."

        "Well, then, looks like we're back to square one," Zane said dourly. "I'm all out of ideas."

        Ralph stopped suddenly in the middle of the corridor. Zane bumped into the larger boy, stumbling backwards, but Ralph didn't seem to notice. He was staring hard at one of the paintings lining the corridor. James noticed it was the one they had stopped at earlier to ask for directions to the laundry room. The very observant servant in the rear corner of the painting had caught James' attention on the way down, but only as someone they could get directions from. James had become almost inured to the random, watchful characters in the paintings all over Hogwarts. The servant stared sullenly out at Ralph as the knights in the painting hoisted their tankards and turkey drumsticks, slapping each other happily on their partially armored backs.

        "Oh, great," Zane said, rubbing his shoulder where he'd run into Ralph. "Look what you've done, James. Now Ralph's obsessed with every fifteenth painting. And not even the good ones, if you ask me. You two are the weirdest art lovers I've ever met."

        James took a step closer to the painting as well, studying the servant standing in the shadowy background with a large cloth over his shoulder. The figure took a half-step backward, and James felt sure that it was trying to blend further into the dim recesses of the painted hall. "What, Ralph?" he asked.

        "I've seen that before," Ralph answered in a distracted voice.

        "Well, we just stopped at this painting not ten minutes ago, didn't we?"

        "Yeah. It looked familiar then, too, but I couldn't place it. He's standing different now…"

        Ralph suddenly dropped to one knee, flinging his backpack onto the floor in front of him. He unzipped it quickly and dug inside, almost frantically, as if worried that whatever inspiration had struck him would flee before he could confirm it. He finally produced a book, gripped it triumphantly, and stood up again, riffling toward the back. Zane and James crowded behind him, trying to see over Ralph's broad shoulders. James recognized the book. It was the antique potions book his mum and dad had given Ralph for Christmas. As Ralph flipped through the pages, James could see the notes and formulae that crowded the margins, crammed alongside doodled drawings and diagrams. Suddenly, Ralph stopped flipping. He held the book open with both hands and slowly raised it so that it was level to the observant servant in the background of the painting. James gasped.

        "It's the same dude!" Zane said, pointing.

        Sure enough, there, in the right-hand margin of one of the last pages of the potions book, was an old pencil sketch of the observant servant. It was unmistakably the same figure, right down to the hook nose and the sullen, stooped pose. The painted version recoiled from the book slightly, and then crossed the hall as swiftly as it could without actually running. It stopped behind one of the pillars lining the opposite side of the painted hall. The knights at the table ignored it. James, watching intently, narrowed his eyes.

        "I knew it looked familiar," Ralph said triumphantly. "He was in a different position when we first came across him, so I didn't place it straight off. Just now, though, he was in exactly the same pose as the drawing in this book. Now, that is weird."

        "Can I see?" James asked. Ralph shrugged and handed the book to James. James bent over it, flipping back to the front of the book. The margins in the first hundred pages were filled mostly with notes and spells, many with sections scribbled out and rewritten in a different color, as if the writer of the notes was refining his work. By the middle of the book, though, drawings and doodles began to crowd in with the notes. They were sketchy, but quite good. James recognized many of them. Here was a rough sketch of the woman in the background of the painting of the king's court. A few pages later he found two quite detailed drawings of the fat wizard with the bald head from the painting of the poisoning of Peracles. Again and again, he recognized the sketches as the characters in the paintings all over Hogwarts, the secondary figures who'd been watching James and his friends with avid, unconcealed interest.

        "Amazing," James said in a low, awed voice. "All these drawings are from paintings all over the school, you see?"

        Ralph squinted at the drawings in the book, then back at the painting again. He shrugged. "It's weird, but not all that amazing, is it? I mean, the guy who owned this book was probably also a student here, right? Sounds like he was a Slytherin, like me. That's why your dad gave me the book. So whoever he was, he liked art. Lots of art lovers sketch from paintings. Big deal."

Zane's brow furrowed as he looked back and forth between the drawing of the observant servant and his painted equivalent, who was still skulking near the pillars in the background. "No, these aren't just sketches," he said, shaking his head slowly. "These are the originals, or so close it's impossible to tell the difference. Don't ask me how I know. I just know. Whoever sketched these drawings was either a master forger… or he was the actual artist."

        Ralph thought about it for a moment, and then shook his head. "That doesn't even begin to make sense. These paintings were painted at lots of different times. No way one bloke was responsible for all of them. Besides, a lot of these paintings are old. Way older than this book."

        "It makes perfect sense," James said, clapping the potions book shut and looking down at the cover. "Whoever painted these didn't paint the whole paintings. Think about it: not a single one of these sketched characters is of a dominant person in any of the paintings. Every one of them is a drawing of some totally unimportant background character. Whoever drew these just added the characters into existing paintings."

        Zane cinched up the corner of his mouth and furrowed his brow. "Why would anyone do that? It's like graffiti, but nobody would notice it except the guy who painted it. What's the fun in that?"

        James was also thinking hard. He nodded slightly to himself, looking down at the old book in his hands again. "I think I have an idea," he said, narrowing his eyes thoughtfully. "We'll find out for sure. Tonight."

         "Come on, Ralph!" James complained in a harsh whisper. "Quit tugging! You're yanking it up. You can see my feet!"

        "I can't help it," Ralph moaned, crouching down as far as he could. "I know you said your dad and his mates used to do this all the time, but one of them was a girl, remember?"

        "Yeah, and she didn't eat seven meals a day, either," Zane said.

The three of them shuffled down the darkened corridor, crammed under the Invisibility Cloak. They'd met at the base of the staircases, and apart from one tense moment when Steven Metzker, the Gryffindor prefect and brother of Noah, had passed them in the hall singing slightly off key, they had encountered no one. When they reached the intersection near the statue of the one-eyed witch, James directed them to stop. The three of them maneuvered clumsily into a corner and James opened the Marauder's Map.

        "I don't see why all three of us need to do this anyway," Ralph complained. "I trust you two. You could've just told me about it tomorrow at breakfast."

        "You seemed plenty excited about it when we planned this, Ralphinator," Zane whispered. "You can't lose your nerve now."

        "It was daytime then. And I wasn't born with any nerve, just so you know."

        "Shh," James hissed.

        Zane bent over the map. "Is anyone coming?"

        James shook his head. "No, looks safe. Filch is in his office downstairs. I don't know if he ever sleeps, but for now, at least, the coast is clear."

        Ralph straightened up, pulling the Invisibility Cloak a foot off the floor. "Then why are we under this thing at all?"

        "It's tradition," James said without looking up from the map.

        "Besides," Zane added, "what good's having an Invisibility Cloak if we don't use it to float around the halls unseen every now and then?"

        "There's nobody to see us, anyway," Ralph pointed out.

        James directed them toward the right angle of the intersection and they shuffled on. Soon enough, they came to the gargoyle guarding the stairway to the Headmistress' office. James could tell it was watching their feet under the raised cloak even though it remained perfectly still. James hoped that the password hadn't changed since he'd accompanied Neville to the Headmistress' office a few months earlier.

        He cleared his throat and said quietly, "Er, Gallowater?"

        The gargoyle, which was relatively new, having replaced the one that had been damaged in the Battle of Hogwarts, stirred slightly, making a sound like a mausoleum door grating open. "Is that the one with the forest green field and the sky blue and red patterns?" it asked in a carefully measured voice. "I can never remember."

        James conferred in harsh whispers with Ralph and Zane. "Forest green field? I don't even know what it is! It's just the word Neville used to get in!"

        "How'd he answer the question, then?" Zane asked.

        "It didn't ask him any questions!"

        "It's a tartan pattern, I think," Ralph rasped. "My grandmum is mad about them. Just say yes."

        "Are you sure?"

        "Of course I'm not sure. Say no, then! How should I know?"

        James turned back to the gargoyle, which seemed to be staring fixedly at James' shoes. "Er, yeah, sure."

        The gargoyle rolled its eyes. "Lucky guess." It straightened and stood aside, revealing the entry to the spiral staircase. The three boys shuffled toward it and clambered onto the lower steps. As soon as all three were on it, the staircase began to rise slowly, carrying them up with it. The hall outside the Headmistress' office lowered into view before them, and they stumbled into it, swearing and jostling each other under the cloak.

        "That's it," Ralph said in an annoyed voice. He yanked at the cloak, struggling out from underneath it, and then let out a stifled shriek. James and Zane pulled the cloak off their heads and glanced around nervously, looking for whatever had startled Ralph. The ghost of Cedric Diggory was standing in front of them, smiling mischievously.

        "You've really got to stop doing that," Ralph said breathlessly.

        Sorry, Cedric said in his far-off voice. I was asked to be here.

        "Who asked you?" James inquired, trying to keep the annoyance out of his voice. The hair on the back of his neck was still prickling. "How would anyone know we were coming here tonight?"

        Cedric just smiled and then gestured toward the heavy door that led into the Headmistress' office. It was shut tight. How'd you plan to get past that?

        James felt his face heat a little in embarrassment. "I forgot about that," he admitted. "Locked, is it?"

        Cedric nodded. Don't worry about it. That's why I'm here, I guess. The ghost turned and walked effortlessly through the door. A moment later, the three boys heard the sounds of the lock being unbolted. The door swung open silently and Cedric grinned, welcoming them in. James entered first, and Zane and Ralph were surprised to see him turn immediately away from the Headmistress' massive desk. The room was extremely dim but for the reddish light of the banked fireplace. James lit his wand and held it up.

        "Get that thing out of my face, Potter," a voice drawled quietly. "You'll wake the rest with it, and I suspect that this is meant to be a private conversation."

        James lowered his wand again and glanced around at the rest of the portraits. All of them were sleeping in various poses, snoring gently. "Yeah, you're right," James agreed. "Sorry."

"So you deduced a version of the truth, I see," the portrait of Severus Snape said, his black eyes locked on James. "Tell me what you believe you know."

        "It wasn't much of a deduction, really," James admitted, glancing at Ralph. "He figured it out. He's got the book."

        Snape rolled his eyes. "That dratted book has been more trouble than it was ever worth. I should've destroyed it when I had the chance. Do continue."

        James took a deep breath. "Well, I knew something was going on when I noticed all those characters in the paintings watching us. I also knew they all looked a little familiar, even though they were all really different. I don't think I'd have made the connection if Ralph hadn't shown me the drawings in the potions book, though. I knew the book had belonged to a Slytherin my dad had loads of respect for, so I thought of you and it all just came together. You painted all those characters into the paintings all over the school, and every one of them is a portrait of you, but in disguise. That's how you've been watching us. You spread yourself out through all those paintings. And since you are the original artist, nobody else can ever destroy the portraits. It was your way of assuring you could always keep an eye on things, even after death."

        Snape studied James, scowling. Finally he nodded slightly. "Yes, Potter, quite true. Few knew it, but I had some natural inclination toward the task. Being adept at potions, mixing the necessary enchanted paints was the simple part. It did take me quite some time to hone my rendering skills enough to modify the paintings, but as with any other art, painting was mainly a matter of practice and study. I agree with you, however, that you'd have never made the connection if it weren't for my own blind arrogance in allowing that book to continue to exist. I may have been a genius, but pride has been the downfall of greater geniuses than myself. Nevertheless, it has proved to be a very successful endeavor. I have been able to observe you and the rest of this school's operations rather freely. So tell me: why do you come to me now? To gloat over your luck?"

        "No," James said firmly, and then paused. He didn't want to say what he'd come to say. He was afraid Snape would laugh at him, or worse, refuse their request. "We came… we came to ask for your help."

        Snape's expression didn't change. He regarded James seriously for a long moment. "You came to ask for help," he said, as if confirming he'd heard James correctly. James nodded. Snape narrowed his eyes slightly. "James Potter, I'd never have suspected it, but you have finally impressed me. Your father's greatest weakness was his refusal to seek assistance from those better and more knowledgeable than him. He always required their help in the end, but usually to their great, and sometimes final, detriment. You seem to have thrown off that weakness, albeit reluctantly. If you had come to this realization a few weeks ago, we might not have had to rely on pure fortune and good timing to save you from a fate worse than death."

        James nodded again. "Yeah, thanks for that. I know it was you who sent Cedric to help when we were going to open Jackson's case."

"Foolhardy and ignorant, Potter. You might've known better, although I admit I'd have been surprised if you had. The robe is exceedingly dangerous and you are stupendously negligent to keep it here. As much as I am loath to admit it, you should turn it over immediately to your father."

        "What do you know about the Merlin conspiracy, then?" James asked excitedly, ignoring the rebuke.

        "I know little more than you do, unfortunately, other than the wealth of knowledge I've accumulated through my studies of the legend and the multitude of previous attempts to facilitate the return of Merlinus Ambrosius. A study I can assure you would've proven far more helpful to you than your current ridiculous fantasies of capturing the Merlin staff."

        "Why are they ridiculous?" Zane asked, stepping a bit closer.

        "Ah, the jester speaks," Snape sneered in a low voice. "Mr. Walker, I believe."

        "It's a fair question," James said, glancing at Zane. "The staff is probably even more dangerous than the robe. We can't let it be controlled by the sorts of people who believe Voldemort was just some misunderstood sweetie who wanted everybody to be pals."

        "And who might these people be, then, Potter?" Snape asked silkily.

        "Well, Tabitha Corsica, for one."

        Snape regarded James with open contempt. "Typical Gryffindor prejudice."

        "Prejudice!" James exclaimed. "Whose house is it that believes that all Muggle-born wizards are weaker stock than the purebloods? Whose house invented the term 'mudbood'?"

        "Don't ever say that word in front of me again, Potter," Snape said dangerously. "You believe you speak of what you know, but let me save you from your ignorance by reminding you that what you know is as limited as it is one-sided. Easy judgments about individuals based on their house of origin is another of your father's greatest mistakes. I'd hoped that you would surpass that as well, based on your own choice of companions." Snape's black eyes darted to Ralph, who had hung back, watching silently.

        "Well, Ralph's different, isn't he?" James said weakly.

        Snape responded quickly, his eyes still on the larger boy. "Is he? Different from what, Mr. Potter? What, precisely, do you believe you know about the members of Mr. Deedle's house? Or, dare I ask, Mr. Deedle himself?"

        "I know what the tree sprite told us," James said rounding on the portrait, his voice rising in anger. "I know that there is a bloodline of Voldemort alive in these halls even now. His blood beats in a different heart. The heir of Voldemort is alive and he walks among us."