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

Автор книги: G. Norman Lippert

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        "Aha!" Prescott said excitedly. "Real magic! Being performed by children!"

        "Just as promised," Hubert said proudly. "Mr. Walker here is among the best in his class. Mr. Walker, what year are you, by the way?"

        "First year, sir," Zane said, grinning happily.

        "Excellent form, my boy," Hubert replied. "Try a loop, why don't you?"

        The students applauded politely as the bust raised and spun slowly in the air. Then, suddenly, it dropped, falling onto a mattress which had been placed in the center of the floor.

        "Oh, too bad, Mr. Walker. So close," Hubert chided.

        "It wasn't my fault!" Zane yelled. "It was my backstage! Ted, you dolt, you yanked when you were supposed to swoop! How many times do I have to explain that!"

        "Hey!" Ted objected, bursting noisily out of a closet at the rear of the room. He held a handful of wires in his hand, all of which snaked up to a series of pulleys attached to the ceiling of the closet. "You want to try coming back here and working these controls in the dark? Huh? Besides, Noah is the one to blame. He was slow with the cross pulley."

        A voice from the depths of the closet yelled angrily, "What? That's it! I want to be on stage next time. I've had it with this 'assistant' role. I want to wear the hat!"

        "Nobody's wearing the hat, Noah," Zane said, rolling his eyes.

        "Well, somebody needs to wear the hat!" Noah cried, his face appearing around the doorway of the closet. "How does anybody know who's the magician and who's the assistant?"

        "Boys, boys," Hubert placated, raising his hands. "We only have one hat per classroom, and Miss Morganstern is using it to practice the rabbit trick. Mr. Prescott, Mr. Finney, would you like to see the rabbit trick?"

        "Why, yes," Finney said brightly.

        "No!" Prescott yelled.

Tabitha Corsica had pushed herself to the front of the students crowding the doorway. Her face was red with anger. "Mr. Prescott," she began, "you–"

        Hubert turned slowly to face Tabitha. "This is hardly the time for autographs, Miss Corsica."

        "I'm not here to get his autograph, Chancellor…," Tabitha spat, raising her arm to point at Hubert. There was a small notebook and a pen clutched in her hand. She stopped in mid-sentence, staring at the two items. The cover of the notebook was pink and had the word 'autographs' printed on it in white script.

        "There will be plenty of time later for such things, Miss Corsica. But I'm sure Mr. Prescott is flattered by your, er, interest."

        "Chancellor Hubert?" Petra interjected, peering into a black top hat which was sitting atop a ridiculously glittery table. "I think something might be wrong with Mr. Wiffles. Do rabbits usually lie on their backs like that?"

        "Not now, Miss Morganstern," Hubert said, flapping his hand dismissively. "Mr. Prescott, I believe you wanted to see our sawing-in-half room?"

        But Prescott was gone, stalking past the suddenly silent Tabitha Corsica and heading down the corridor behind her. The crew scrambled to chase him as he poked his head into each room. At the end of the hall, he gave a muffled shout of triumph and waved for his crew to join him in the furthest classroom.

        "Here!" Prescott yelled, gesturing wildly with his right arm. The crowd poured into the room, followed by the watching students, who were beginning to grin. "Right before your eyes! A ghost professor! Make sure you get plenty of footage of this, Vince! Proof of the afterlife!"

        There was no gasp of surprise this time. Vince moved in close, focusing carefully with one hand.

        "Ah, yes. Professor Binns," Hubert said happily. "Say hello to the nice folks."

        Professor Binns blinked owlishly and passed his gaze over the crowd. "Greetings," he said in his thin, distant voice.

        "It's just a projection on smoke," Vince, the cameraman, announced.

        "Well," Hubert said, a bit defensively, "he's not meant to be seen quite so close to like that. The students are usually well back from him. Creates a nice sense of mystery and the supernatural, really."

        Ralph was among the students seated in the classroom. He addressed the cameraman with a note of annoyance. "You're ruining the effect, you know. You don't have to go and spoil it for everybody."

        "Greetings," Binns said again, passing his gaze over the crowd.

        "Impossible!" Prescott shouted angrily, striding toward the front of the room. "It's a ghost! I know it is!"

        "It's a projection, Martin," Vince said, lowering the camera. "I've seen these before. It's not even a very good one. You can hear the projector running. It's right there, under the desk. And see here? Dry ice machine. Makes the smoke."

        Finney cleared his throat near the door. "This is getting rather embarrassing, Mr. Prescott."

        "Greetings," said Professor Binns.

        Prescott turned wildly. He was obviously coming rather unraveled. "No!" he shouted. "This is all a setup! It's his fault! He's trying to trick all of you!" He pointed at Hubert.

        "Well, that is what we do here," Hubert said, smiling politely. "We're in the business of tricks. Although we prefer the term 'illusion', if you don't mind."

        "It's maaaaa-gic," Delacroix suddenly said, a bit inanely. She gave a ghastly grin.

        "I see what you're all trying to do here," Prescott said, still pointing at Hubert, and then McGonagall and even Sacarhina and Recreant, who shook their heads vigorously. "You're trying to make me look like a madman! Well, my public knows me better than that, and so do my associates. You can't hide everything! What about the moving staircases? Or the giants? Hmm? Or…" Prescott stopped, his finger still in midpoint. His eyes went unfocussed for a moment, and then he grinned maliciously. "I know just the thing. Just the thing indeed. Vince, Eddie, the rest of you, come with me."

        Hubert followed as the crew clanked and jostled through the crowd of students. "Where are you going, Mr. Prescott? I'm your guide, if you recall. I'll show you whatever you wish."

        "Yes?" Prescott said, spinning back toward Hubert. The curious students had parted for him and his crew, so that Prescott glared back between them, glancing from side to side. "Will you show me…," he paused dramatically and tilted his head up, "the Garage?"

        "The…," Hubert began. He blinked, and then looked aside at Professor McGonagall. James suddenly felt Harry's hand tighten on his shoulder. Something was wrong. "The… Garage?" Hubert repeated, as if he was unfamiliar with the word.

Prescott's grin grew predatory. "Aha! Weren't prepared for that, were you? Yes, I had myself a good long look around the grounds while you were all busy this morning. Peeked here and there and got quite an eyeful! There is a garage," he said, turning to face the camera, "that penetrates the very fabric of space and time, creating a magical portal between this place and another place thousands of kilometers away! America, if I may be so bold as to guess! I have seen it myself. I have been inside the structure, and smelled the air of that far-off place. I have seen the sunrise of that land, while the sun here was high above the horizon. It was no trick, no illusion. These people would have us believe that they are mere tricksters, while I maintain, as I have witnessed with my own eyes, that they are dabblers in a form of magic that is purely and simply supernatural. Now I will prove it!" With a flourish, Prescott turned and marched away, heading back to the Entrance Hall. Harry fell in line next to Hubert, but couldn't get his attention.

        "Mr. Prescott!" Hubert yelled over the sound of the now agitated crowd. "I really must insist that you allow me… Mr. Prescott! This is highly irregular!"

        Prescott led his crew out of the main entrance and across the courtyard. The crowd of students had grown considerably, and the noise of their passage had become quite loud. Everyone had seen the exterior of the Alma Aleron's Garage, but very few had been inside or seen what it housed. The babble of worry and curiosity was a dull roar.

        "This could be bad, James," Harry said, keeping his voice below the noise of the crowd.

        "What can we do?"

        Harry merely shook his head, watching Prescott turn the corner, leading the group toward the canvas structure overlooking the lake. He turned, framing himself before its canvas walls. His crew arranged themselves in position, lowering the boom microphone over him and adjusting huge white umbrellas to reflect the sunlight on his shadowed side. Prescott turned slightly, showing his best side to the camera as Vince squatted slowly, focusing. It was, James had to admit, a very dramatic moment.

        "Ladies and gentlemen," Prescott began, raising his natural orator's voice, "my crew and I, and all of you, have been the victims of an elaborate hoax. This is no simple school of sleight of hand and card tricks. No, I have witnessed within these walls true magic of the most astounding and blood-chilling variety. I have seen ghosts and watched actual levitations. I have observed doors appearing magically in otherwise solid stone walls. I have seen beasts and giants that boggle the mind. Today, we have been played for fools, deceived by a pack of wizards and witches–yes, actual magical people–who believe they can fool us with parlor tricks. But now I will reveal the truth of this place. Behind this canvas is a form of uncanny magic that will shock and astound you. When this truth is revealed, Mr. Rudolph Finney, detective for the British Special Police, will be inclined to launch a full-scale, official investigation into this establishment, with the help of police agencies from all across Europe. After today, ladies and gentlemen, our lives will never be the same again. After today, we will be living in a world where we know, without a doubt, that witches and wizards are real, and that they walk among us."

        Prescott paused, letting his words echo over the stunned crowd. Then he turned toward the area where McGonagall, Hubert, Sacarhina, and Recreant were gathered. Finney stood next to the Headmistress, frowning slightly, his eyes wide. "Mr. Hubert," Prescott called out, "will you open these doors for us? This is your last chance to do the right thing."

        Hubert's expression was grave. He stared very directly at Prescott. "I have to advise you against this course of action, Mr. Prescott."

        "You open it or I will."

        "You'll ruin everything, sir," Hubert said. Next to him, Delacroix was grinning even more manically.

        "I'll ruin nothing but your secret, Mr. Hubert. The world needs to know what is behind those canvas doors."

        Hubert seemed frozen in place. It looked as if he wasn't going to do it. And then he moved forward, lowering his head. There was a long, collective gasp from the crowd. Prescott stepped aside, glancing triumphantly at the camera as he did so. Hubert approached the tent and stood in front of it. He sighed deeply, and then reached up, grasping the knotted strips of canvas that held the tent's wide flaps closed. He turned his head to look at Prescott. After a terrible pause, he pulled. The knot came undone and the flaps dropped open, unfurling like flags, slapping the poles at either side of the broad tent opening. The crowd gasped, and then there was a long, puzzled silence.

        James peered in. He couldn't immediately make out what it was. The inside of the tent was rather dark, but he could see that the flying vehicles were gone. Most of the tent's interior was obscured by a large, oblong shape. A few people near the front of the crowd began to giggle, and then a wave of laughter washed over the crowd.

        "Well, you've done it," Hubert said, still staring at Prescott. "You've ruined the secret. And this was meant to be our big finish. I have to say, sir, you are no fun at all." Hubert finally stepped back, getting out of the way of the tent so that the camera crew could see directly inside. Tiny, colored Christmas lights flashed in sequence around the huge papier-mâché flying saucer. Black letters were painted on the side, clearly visible in the flashing lights.

"And I hate to say it, Mr. Lupin," Hubert said, turning to Ted, "but you misspelled 'rocket'. How dreadfully embarrassing."

20.Tale of the Traitor

        "But I saw them!" Prescott said insistently, his voice growing rather hoarse as he followed Vince between the Landrovers. "Giants! One of them was as tall as the trees! They made footprints the size of… the size of…!" He gestured with his arms desperately. Ignoring him, Vince packed his camera into a foamlined suitcase.

        "You've made quite a fiasco for yourself, Mr. Prescott," Detective Finney said, polishing his glasses on his tie. "Don't make it any worse."

        Prescott turned to the older man, his eyes wild. "You've got to investigate this establishment, Detective! It's not right! They've tricked you all!"

        "If I spearhead any investigations, Mr. Prescott," Finney said mildly, "they'll be investigations of you and your methods. Did you have permission to trespass on these grounds in the first place?"

        "What, are you mad?" Prescott sputtered. He stopped and collected himself. "Of course. As I've already told you, I was tipped off about what was happening here. Someone on the inside led me here."

        "And you checked the background of this person?"

"Well," Prescott said, "the chocolate frog was pretty convincing. I didn't really…"

        "Excuse me. Did you just say 'the chocolate frog'?" Finney asked, his eyes narrowing.

        "I… er, well. The point is, yes, my source was quite certain that something strange was going on here…"

        "That they were, in fact, teaching magic?"

        "Yes. Er, no! Not tricks! Real magic! With monsters and giants and… and… vanishing doorways and flying cars!"

        "And the chocolate frog confirmed this, did he?"

        Prescott opened his mouth to answer, and then stopped. He straightened to his full height, angry and indignant. "You're making fun of me."

        "You make it hard not to, sir. Would you be willing to let me speak to this source of yours?"

        Prescott brightened. "Yes! In fact, I would! I arranged with Miss Sacarhina for him to come along. He's right over…" He glanced around, his brow furrowing.

        "You arranged with Miss Sacarhina?" Finney asked, glancing up toward the top of the courtyard steps. Much of the school faculty, as well as a number of students, were watching with benign interest as the crew industriously packed their gear. Neither Miss Sacarhina nor Mr. Recreant was in sight. "She knows this source of yours, does she?"

        "She knows him, all right," Prescott said, still scanning the crowd. "Where is he?"

        "He came with the crew?" Finney asked, glancing around. "I don't remember meeting him."

        "He was there. Quiet, squirrelly fellow. Had a twitch in his right eyebrow."

        "Ah, him," Finney nodded. "I thought he was a little odd. I'd very much like to have a word with him."

        "So would I," Prescott agreed darkly.

        On the top of the steps, Mr. Hubert turned toward Headmistress McGonagall, Neville, and Harry Potter. "I think we can trust our friends to manage their departure from here. Madam Headmistress, I believe we have a few loose ends to attend to?"

        McGonagall nodded, then turned and led the group inside. Harry smiled down at James. "Come along, James. Ralph and Zane, you too."

        "Are you sure?" Ralph asked, glancing up at the Headmistress as she strode into the hall.

        "'Mr. Hubert' specifically asked for you three to accompany us," Harry replied.

        "Nice to have friends in high places, isn't it?" Zane said happily.

        "Well," the Headmistress said as they entered the empty silence of the Great Hall, "that went as well as could be expected, even if Mr. Ambrosius was a little heavy-handed with his Amorous Charm. Mr. Finney has insisted that I join him for dinner next time I find myself in London."

        "An offer I believe you should take him up on, Madam," Merlin replied, taking off the gigantic hornrimmed glasses and shaking his hair out of the 'Mr. Hubert' ponytail. "I enchanted him with the slightest possible charm. How could I have known that Detective Finney would have a natural predilection for tall, strong, handsome women?"

        "How indeed," McGonagall answered. "I believe you are grinning, sir."

        James spoke up. "But how'd you know about the Garage, Merlin? I thought for sure we were sunk!"

        Merlin glanced back over his shoulder. "I didn't know about the Garage, James Potter. It was beyond the knowledge of the trees, unlike the Anglia vehicle and Madame Delacroix. Improvisation, however, has always been one of my stronger talents."

        "But how'd you get the Wocket in there?" Ralph asked. "That was totally brilliant!"

        "The trees knew about that, therefore, I did as well," Merlin replied. "It was simply a matter of encouraging an exchange of environments."

        Zane grinned. "So the Alma Aleron's cars are out in that old barn in the field?"

        "It'll do them some good, I expect," Merlin nodded.

        The group walked purposefully through the Great Hall and climbed the stairs onto the dais. McGonagall opened a door in the rear wall and led the others through, into a large antechamber with a stone floor and a dark fireplace. Sacarhina and Recreant were there, sitting on either side of a third person James didn't recognize.

        "This is an outrage, Headmistress," Recreant said, leaping to his feet. "First, you bring in this… person to usurp our authority, and then you have the gall to perform the Langlock jinxon us! The Minister will–"

        "Do shut up, Trenton," Sacarhina said, rolling her eyes. Recreant blinked, wounded, but clamped his mouth shut. He looked back and forth from Sacarhina to the Headmistress.

        "Wise advice, if ever I heard it," Harry agreed, stepping forward. "And I suspect that the Minister will, in fact, hear about this."

"We've done nothing wrong, Mr. Potter, as you know," Sacarhina said, glancing idly at her fingernails. "Mr. Ambrosius' appearance has secured the secrecy of the magical world. All is well."

        Harry nodded. "I am glad you feel that way, Brenda, although I find it interesting that you already seem to know 'Mr. Hubert's' real name. No doubt there will be no link proven to connect him, you, and the unfortunate Madame Delacroix. What are we to make of your friend, here, however?"

        All attention turned to the man seated in the chair between Sacarhina and Recreant. He was small, pudgy, with thinning black hair and a twitch in his right eyebrow. He shrunk from the gaze of everyone in the room.

        Ralph, who'd been the last to enter, pushed his way between Merlin and Professor Longbottom, his brow furrowed in bewilderment. "Dad?" he said, frowning. "What are you doing here?"

        The man grimaced miserably and covered his face with his hands. Merlin looked down at Ralph, his large, stony face somber. He placed a hand on the boy's shoulder. "This man says his name is Dennis Deedle. I was afraid you'd recognize him."

        "What is he doing here?" Neville asked.

        "I think his role in this debacle is fairly evident," the Headmistress replied, sighing. "He is the man responsible for leading Mr. Prescott into our midst."

        "What?" Ralph said, rounding on McGonagall. "Why would you say that? That's terrible!"

        "He came with Mr. Prescott's crew," Harry said quietly. "He was trying to remain unobtrusive. Perhaps he was worried that you'd recognize him, Ralph. Later, when it was all over, it wouldn't have mattered, of course. But then again, things didn't happen as he expected."

        "This is ridiculous," Ralph insisted. "Dad's a Muggle! He signed the Muggles' non-disclosure contract, didn't he? He wouldn't do this, even if he could! I don't know what he's doing here, but it isn't what you all think!"

        Merlin still had his hand on Ralph's shoulder. He patted him slowly. "Perhaps you should ask him yourself, then, Mr. Deedle."

        Ralph glanced up at the enormous wizard, his face pinched with anger and trepidation. He looked around the rest of the room, from face to face, ending with his father. "All right, then. Dad, why are you here?"

        Dennis Deedle still had his hands on his face. For several seconds, he didn't move. Finally, he took a huge breath and sat back, dropping his hands. He looked at Ralph for a long moment, and then glanced around at everyone assembled.

"All right. Yes," he said, having composed himself, "I told Prescott. I sent him the Chocolate Frog and the GameDeck. I'd used it to communicate with somebody on the school grounds, somebody who went by the name Austramaddux. Once I'd done that, I knew that Prescott could locate the school with his GPS."

        Ralph's face was frozen with disbelief and misery. "But why, Dad? Why would you do such a thing?"

        "Oh, Ralph. I'm sorry. I know this looks bad to you," Dennis said. "But it's all very… very complicated. Prescott's show, Inside View, they offer money for proof of the supernatural. Well, we haven't been doing all that well, son. I've been looking for work ever since I got laid off, but it's been hard. We needed the money. I thought the Chocolate Frog would be enough. I really did! But Prescott wanted more. I knew I'd have to show him something really amazing, so…" He faltered, glancing nervously around the room again.

        "But you never got the money," Merlin said in his low, rumbling voice. "And that wasn't the real point, was it?"

        Dennis' eyebrows worked furiously as he gazed up at Merlin, apparently struggling with what to say. Next to him, Sacarhina cleared her throat meaningfully. Dennis glanced at her, taking his eyes from Merlin. "The money," he said uncertainly, "Prescott said we'd get it when the program aired. He promised."

        "But there will be no program now," Merlin said quietly.

        "You thought it'd be worth selling out the whole magical world just to help us get by for awhile, Dad?" Ralph said, his voice not accusing, but truly questioning. It broke James' heart to hear the disappointment in the boy's voice.

        "No, son!" Dennis answered, but then looked away. "I didn't think it'd threaten the whole magical world. I mean, it's just a stupid television show. Besides…" He stopped, chewing on his words, wrestling with himself.

        "Besides what?" Merlin asked calmly.

        Dennis looked back at Merlin, his face tense, his right eyebrow twitching. "Besides, what did the magical world ever do for me?" he spat, then covered his face with his hands again. He took a deep, shuddering breath. "Left me all alone, that's what. Shunned and abandoned, like some kind of… some kind of worthless mutant! Stripped of my name and my family, abandoned by my own parents because I wasn't like them! I was forbidden to ever contact them or speak of them again. They said I'd be adopted into the Muggle world, where I belonged. They said I'd be happier there. Well, I guess I showed them, didn't I? They didn't want me to ruin their reputation in the magical world. Well, why should I care about the secrecy of the magical world at all?"

        Ralph's face was a mask of unhappy consternation. "What are you talking about, Dad? You're not a wizard. Grandma and Grandpa died before I was born. You were as surprised as me when we got the letter from Hogwarts."

Dennis tried to smile at his son. "I'd almost forgotten about my own past, Ralph. It had been so long, and I'd tried so hard to bury it. I'm a Squib, son. Your grandparents and your uncle were witches and wizards, but I wasn't born with their powers. They raised me for as long as they could, but they hated my nature. When I came of age and they could see for sure that I didn't have any magical skills, they couldn't bear it. They hid me from the rest of the magical world. I was their ugly little secret. But they couldn't hide me forever. Finally, when I was twelve, they sent me away. I went to a Muggle orphanage, under the pretense that my parents had died in an accident. They made me vow never to mention them and never to try and seek them. My mother was… she was sad. She cried and hid her face from me. But my father was hard. She couldn't budge him. He hired a Muggle driver to take us to the orphanage. Mother stayed in the car when my father took me inside. She tried to embrace me, to say goodbye, but Father wouldn't let her. He said it would be better for both of us. He performed memory modifications on the workers at the orphanage. He made them believe I had been delivered by the state after the deaths of my parents. I was given a bed and a set of clothes, and then my father left. I never saw my parents again."

        Dennis Deedle's eyes didn't leave his son's face when Merlin spoke. "You were very hard done by, Mr. Deedle. I assume Deedle is not your given name, is it?"

        "No. My father invented that name for me," Dennis said blandly. "I hate it."

        "What is your given name, sir?"

        "Dolohov," Ralph's father answered, his voice growing distant, almost dead. "My name is Denniston Gilles Dolohov. Son of Maximillion and Whilhelmina Dolohov. Younger step-brother of Antonin."

        There was a moment of very cold silence, and then McGonagall spoke. "Mr. Dolohov, do you realize that what you've done could send you to Azkaban?"

        Dennis blinked, as if coming out of a trance. "What? No, no, of course not. I was promised that nothing I did was against the law."

        Sacarhina coughed lightly. "Perhaps, Mr. Deedle, you'd prefer to refrain from answering any more questions until your legal representation can be present."

        "Why?" Dennis said, glancing at her in alarm. "Am I in trouble? You said–"

        "It would be for your best interests, sir," Sacarhina interrupted.

        "You said I was doing the world a favor!" Dennis exclaimed, getting to his feet. He glanced at Harry. "She promised me that I'd be taken care of even if Prescott and his people didn't come through with the money! She said this was more important than money, anyway! When I came to them–"

        "Sit down, Mr. Deedle!" Sacarhina said, her voice icy.

"Don't call me that! I hate that name!" Dennis backed away from her, glancing back at Harry. "They told me it was all right to talk to Prescott! I told them what I was thinking of doing. I knew I had to check with the Ministry. They said the contract I'd signed wasn't binding because I wasn't a Muggle. And I left the wizarding world before I was old enough to sign the Wizarding Vow of Secrecy, too, so I wasn't breaking any laws. She promised me it was all right! She said it was for everybody's good and that I'd be a hero!"

        "Miss Sacarhina," Harry said, producing his wand, but not quite brandishing it, "what do you have to say in response to this man's accusations?"

        "I have nothing to say whatsoever," she replied easily. "He is clearly deranged. No one would believe the word of such a person."

        "Mr. Recreant?" Harry said, turning to the stunned man. "Do you concur with Miss Sacarhina's assessment?"

        Recreant's eyes moved like flies, flicking back and forth between Sacarhina and Harry. "I'd…," he began, and then lowered both his eyes and his voice. "I'd like the chance to discuss this outside of Miss Sacarhina's hearing."

        "Mr. Recreant, as your superior, I forbid–"

        "You'll forbid nothing, Madam," Neville said sternly, slipping his own wand from his robes.

        "In the name of ambassadorial security, I have to insist…," Sacarhina began, but stopped as Harry pointed his wand at her.

        "In the name of the Ministry of Magic and the Auror Department," he said, "I place you, Miss Brenda Sacarhina, under arrest for attempted violation of section two of the International Code of Wizarding Secrecy and for the theft of Ministry of Magic property."

        Sacarhina tried to smile, but it was a relatively poor attempt. "You can't prove anything, Mr. Potter. This is a foolish and dangerous game you are playing. I will only warn you once to stand down."

        "You should think twice before conspiring with people who despise you, Miss Sacarhina," Merlin said, smiling ruefully. "I had a charming and illuminating conversation with Madame Delacroix when I discovered her in the forest. She has much to say about you, I'm afraid, and very little of it is what I'd be prepared to call flattering."

        Neville was leading Mr. Recreant out of the room, with the Headmistress following. Harry gestured with his wand. "Come, Miss Sacarhina. Titus Hardcastle awaits to escort you back to the Ministry, and patience is not one of his stronger suits."

Sacarhina's face went blank as she realized she had no choice but to follow along. No doubt she had a very good defense ready, James thought as she stalked out of the room in front of his dad. People like her always had lots of ways to cover their tracks. Still, it didn't look good for Brenda Sacarhina. As the door leading to the Great Hall swung open, James saw Titus Hardcastle grinning mirthlessly, his wand pointing carefully at the floor.

        James found himself left only with Merlin, Zane, Ralph, and Dennis Dolohov

        Dennis looked at his son, and then touched him on the shoulder. "I'm sorry, Ralph. I really am. I was… confused."

        "You should've told me, Dad," Ralph said, dropping his eyes.

        Dennis nodded. After a moment, he raised his eyes to Merlin. "Am I going to go to wizarding prison?" he asked, trying to firm his voice. "I'll… I'll go along quietly, I guess."