James Potter And The Morrigan Web (55 page)

There was a murmur of conjecture, but no one seemed to have any meaningful answer. Draco raised his voice and went on.

“Even more important, perhaps, is this: Ms. Morganstern is not alone.”

Hermione gasped. “You mean she’s traveling with her half-sister, Isabella?”

“Well yes, much of the time, as evidenced by the few things she does purchase, including occasional meals and, strangely, dolls. Her young sister, apparently, has rather a thing for China dolls. But it seems she has a male traveling companion as well. His own transactions have occurred regularly enough at the exact same time and places to firmly establish that they are together virtually constantly.”

“Who?” Angelina asked, a bit breathlessly.

“His name is Marshall Parris,” Draco replied, accompanied by the shuffling of turning pages as he apparently consulted his notes. “Formerly of New Amsterdam. A Muggle, but one with a history of interactions with the magical world. He performs services as a hired investigator, and his list of former clients includes a surprising number of American wizards and witches, some of them quite prominent.”

“I’ve heard of him,” Professor Jackson said disdainfully. “Calls himself an expert in the ‘trans-mundane’. Pure nonsense. Causes more trouble than good with the Magical Integration Bureau. In fact, if I am not mistaken, they have attempted to shut him down on more than one occasion.”

“Why in the world,” McGonagall queried sceptically, “would any witch or wizard hire a Muggle for investigative purposes?”

Jackson scoffed. “No one knows, and no one asks. And yet, somehow, he seems to get results. He has made enemies of some of the darkest and most notorious wizarding families in New Amsterdam. One would think he should be cursed dead a hundred times over. And yet, he persists, just one more of New Amsterdam’s countless, apparently immortal cockroaches. Whatever enchantment or talisman he uses to protect himself, it must be singularly powerful and unique. Either that, or he is simply the luckiest damned man to ever walk the earth.”

In the cramped dimness of the bathroom, James frowned to himself.
Marshall Parris
. He’d seen that name before. It took him a moment to remember, and then it struck him. It had been scribbled in Petra’s handwriting on the parchment of her dream story. It was probably still there, hidden away in its sealed packet in his trunk on the top floor. He reminded himself to check it again later that night. If, that was, he ever got out of the door-less bathroom.

“So whatever Ms. Morganstern is seeking,” Professor Longbottom mused, “she feels she cannot find it on her own. She has enlisted the help of a Muggle who is especially gifted, somehow, with finding magical things.”

“And making enemies in the wizarding world,” Uncle Ron added gruffly. “With this, he sure has outdone himself. If he’s helping Petra Morganstern, he’s making enemies of every witch and wizard on the planet.”

Harry didn’t respond to this. Instead, he asked Draco, “Any ideas where she and this Marshall Parris bloke may be going next?”

James could almost hear Draco shake his head as he sighed. “There is literally no rhyme or reason to their movements. They travel hundreds of miles in a matter of minutes, then seem to fall off the map for days and weeks on end. One may as well throw a dart at a map and come up with as good a guess as mine.”

There was a long pause. Then, Harry asked, “Any sightings of them in New Amsterdam since the Night of the Unveiling?”

“Well, that is the question, isn’t it?” Draco replied. “As far as Gringotts is concerned, New Amsterdam has gone completely dark. All business is closed. If money is changing hands there, it is doing so completely anonymously. It won’t show up again until it re-enters the market outside of the quarantine zone. And at that point, the trail would be too cold to matter.”

There was another murmur of agitated conversation. After half a minute, Draco spoke up once again, and this time his voice reminded James of Draco’s dead father, the venomous Lucius Malfoy. “I do have a question for you as well, Harry,” he drawled. “And I hope you won’t mind my asking. I suspect you can understand the nature of my concern.”

“Go on,” Harry said. “You’ve been very helpful. Ask away.”

“Well then,” Draco said, lowering his voice. “I cannot help wondering. If the Ministry of Magic has deemed evidence gained from Gringotts’ transaction tracking illegal and inadmissible, what do you, as a representative of the Department of Aurors, a Ministry entity, hope to accomplish with this information?”

Hagrid answered this, speaking for the first time. “That’s not exactly any o’ our business now, is it?” he said brusquely, his voice rumbling through the bathroom wall. “‘Arry here is more’n an Auror. We all know that. It’s not our place to go questioning ‘is methods.”

“It’s all right, Hagrid,” Harry soothed. “Draco is right to ask. After all, he’s placed himself at great risk. He deserves to know his efforts haven’t been for nothing. The fact of the matter is, as some of you know, I am not in charge of the search for Petra. Officially speaking, I’ve been placed on strictly administrative and diplomatic duties. Titus Hardcastle is in charge of the street operations and raids.”

“Whut?” Hagrid proclaimed in disbelief. “Whatever for, then? You’re the best Auror ‘at’s ever been! Everyone knows that!”

To James’ surprise, it was Uncle Ron that spoke up. “The Ministry, and by that I mean Loquatious Knapp and his new best mate, Rechtor Grudje, have decided that Harry’s loyalties in this matter are compromised. Harry and his family housed Petra, after all, on two occasions, both times after she had been accused, and in one instance later convicted, of serious crimes.”

“Wellnow,” Hagrid objected, raising his voice. “I don’ believe I like the tone o’ that. If ‘Arry puts someone up in ‘is ‘ouse, it’d be for a damn good reason. You can’t blame ‘im for ‘avin’ a heart! E’s still a professional!”

“We all understand that and agree with you, Hagrid,” Hermione interjected. “But the Minister can’t be budged on the matter. He feels that Harry, and many of the rest of us, cannot be relied on to do our jobs objectively, without letting our personal feelings get in the way.”

“And what do you say to that, Harry?” Draco asked, all aloof courtesy gone completely from his voice. “Can you do your duty objectively? Can you do what it takes, officially or otherwise, for I assume that is why we are all here, meeting in secret-- to apprehend Petra Morganstern and stop her from causing any more irreparable damage to both the wizarding and Muggle worlds? Can you, in fact, perform this duty without letting your feelings get in the way?”

There was a long, heavy pause, one that not even Hagrid (who was surely seething with barely restrained anger at Draco’s temerity) interrupted.

And then, as if in answer, a heavy concussion shook the entire house. The noise and juddering vibration of it surprised James so much that he nearly leapt out of the dark bathtub. The mirror over the sink popped loose and shattered in the basin, raining James with silvery shards.

“What in heaven…!” Professor McGonagall’s voice shrilled suddenly from beyond the wall.

A chair clattered against the wall as several people in the next room seemed to leap to their feet. “That, I daresay,” Kendrick Debellows growled, “was
not
the house settling.”

James’ first thought was that Kreacher was using some especially powerful elfish magic to capture him, Rose and Albus. Almost immediately, however, he knew that was ridiculous. Elf magic was exceedingly powerful, but being borne of servitude, it was always subtle. Whatever had shaken the house, it had most certainly not been subtle.

“The
Repello Inimicum
charm,” Ron Weasley proclaimed in a hushed voice. “Something hit it. And hard!”

Voices echoed gruffly, this time from behind James. There was the familiar whooshing
CRACK
of apparition, followed by thumping footsteps. James patted his pockets for his wand, and then remembered that he had foolishly left it in the attic dormitory. If he was going to get out of the truncated bathroom and see what was happening, it was going to happen only when someone else let him out.

He wasn’t sure if he was more disappointed or relieved by that fact.

Two sets of running footsteps converged in the hall behind James. Through the wall, he heard a hoarse voice growl, “There’s a large congregation in the room five paces beyond that wall-- the dining room, if I recall. Guard the perimeter and don’t let any pass, either by magic or hidden passage, for this house is lousy with secrets. We’ll flank from the main entrance on the other side.”

The speaker thumped away quickly, apparently leaving his companion. James barely had a moment to register the words when the wall behind him produced a frightful shudder, showering the bathtub with plaster dust. When he looked up, a huge oak door had appeared in the wall, its brass knob glinting over the ledge of the tub. The knob turned and the door swept silently open, revealing a dark figure, its wand extended in one gloved hand.

“What the…?” the dark figure exclaimed huskily, taking a step backward from the bathtub which blocked the door and the fifteen year old boy lying inside it. James was surprised to realize the figure was a woman. She recovered from her surprise almost instantly and levelled her wand at him.

James reacted purely by instinct. He grabbed the witch’s wand hand by the wrist and used it to heave himself out of the tub toward her. She cursed angrily, still keeping her voice professionally hushed, and pivoted, hurling James through the door and against the wall behind her, dislodging a large portrait of a grim-faced Black patriarch. The portrait fell atop James, which was fortunate, for it deflected the red bolt that leapt from the witch’s wand. The bolt burst into sparks, awakening the portrait with a start.

“What’s all this then?” it demanded stridently.

James clambered to his feet and shoved the portrait upwards with him, using it like a shield against the intruder. She cursed again, losing her composure, and stumbled backwards through the door she had conjured. The tub connected with the back of her knees and she collapsed noisily into the dark of the bathroom, rapping her head sharply on the edge of the tub as it caught her. This time her exclamation of anger was neither hushed nor professional. She clambered wildly, her legs flailing as she began to thrash her way out of the bathtub.

James threw the portrait at her. It knocked against her knees and fell atop her, covering the tub like a gilded lid.

“This is an outrage!” the portrait cried in a muffled voice.

“
Shut up
!” the woman hissed. Suddenly, James realized that her voice was vaguely familiar. He took no time to consider this, however, instead darting along the narrow hall toward the main staircase. Another dark figure appeared there, apparating directly onto the stairs with a swoosh and a crack. Like the woman, the figure was dressed head to toe in black, its face hidden beneath a heavy cowl. Its wand was already out. In an instant, the wand pointed toward James.

“Stop him!” the woman cried from behind, clattering out from beneath the portrait.

James ducked under a narrow table just as a bolt of red lit the air. The Stunning spell struck the small table, knocking it aside. James ran, his feet pounding wildly and slipping on the hallway rug. More bolts sizzled over his head.

He scrambled around a corner and ran into something so large and firm that he bounced off it, rebounding to the hall floor on his bum. The something leaned over him and extended a monstrous slab of a hand. James slapped at the hand before he realized who it belong to.

“Behind me!” Hagrid boomed. “
Now
!”

James felt himself lifted from the floor and swept behind the half giant, whose hulking form seemed to fill the entire corridor. Amazingly, red bursts exploded against Hagrid’s shoulder and chest, forcing him to stumble backwards, but not, as one would expect, knocking him to the floor like a felled tree.

“Who are you!” a voice nearby demanded. James dimly realized that it was his father. “Cease fire and identify yourselves!”

Amazingly, the spells stopped. The smell of spent magic, faint but acrid, hung in the air. James glanced up and saw his father, Neville Longbottom, Uncle George, Professor Jackson, and Kendrick Debellows, all with their wands extended, crowded around the enormous slab of Hagrid’s shielding body. Hagrid swayed precipitously but kept his feet. James hunkered down and peered around the hem of Hagrid’s coat.

The figure on the stairs had been joined by three others, one of whom was the woman James had encountered outside the bathroom. All he could see of her face was a somewhat pointed chin and angrily pursed red lips. Wands projected from the intruders’ fists, held as firm as stone. Finally, the figure on the stairs, easily the tallest of the group, clumped down the stairs, lowering his wand. The others followed suit, if reluctantly. As the tall figure reached the main floor, he raised an arm and swept back his cowl, revealing a tangled bush of a beard, matted ginger hair, and eyes as beady and black as onyx.

“Titus,” Harry exhaled harshly. “What’s this all about?”

“We might ask you the same thing,” the woman demanded angrily, her wand still clenched in her fist. “You were supposed to be at the Burrow! That’s what you told all of us!”

“Hush Lucinda,” Titus growled. James’ eyes grew wide when he heard the name. Lucinda Lyon was one of his dad’s best Aurors. She had been to their house in Marble Arch on several occasions, both professionally and socially. She had always seemed very friendly and jocular, which was somewhat unusual for an Auror. James could hardly reconcile the affable, joking Lucinda he had known before to the cold, angry woman that stood before him now.

“We had a change of plans,” Harry answered sternly. “Last I checked that wasn’t against the law.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure of that anymore,” Titus sighed, tucking his wand into the recesses of his robe. Despite the disarming gesture, James noticed, Titus’ eyes never flinched from the congregation gathered before the dining room archway. “These are treacherous times, Harry. Caution is always wise. And large gatherings tend to arouse suspicion, especially in light of this evening’s events. You might have informed us.”