James Potter And The Morrigan Web (89 page)

The next several days were filled with the worst sort of anxiety.

The return trip out of the Alma Aleron cellars had been almost disappointingly uneventful. With the Gowrow trapped on the other side of the iron barricade, Tabitha Corsica had simply entranced it with a child’s lullaby charm until it fell into a deep, snoring sleep. Sneaking past it had been silently hair-raising, but relatively easy. Ralph, the last to be side-along apparated past the barricade, had resumed consciousness by then, although his wand had been confiscated by Corsica until the return to Hogwarts.

No one had spoken during the entire return trip, knowing the worst was yet to come.

Since then, Tabitha Corsica had surely told Headmaster Grudje everything that had happened. James didn’t know which detail boded the worst for them: that they’d been searching for information about a magical super weapon, or that they had attacked a professor in the process, threatening to feed her to a monster if she didn’t reveal what she knew.

This would not be merely a matter of punishment, James knew. This would surely result in expulsion, or worse.

“Ralph here will get the brunt of it,” Scorpius whispered as they huddled at a table in the library late one night, ostensibly studying. “He’s the one that pulled a wand on Corsica. Not us. Besides, it seems she’s had a bat in her bonnet about him for years.”

“Even so, we can’t just let him take the blame,” James said, keeping his head lowered over his History of Magic essay.

Scorpius shrugged. “I’m pretty fine with it, actually.”

“I don’t care what happens to me,” Ralph muttered morosely. “Maybe it’d be best if I did get expelled. I could go back to my dad. Together we could tell the Order what we know.”

“Nobody’s getting expelled if we can help it,” James said, with rather more determination than he felt.

“That’s all well and good,” Scorpius said with a low, humourless chuckle. “But Grudje doesn’t seem to have any trouble getting rid of the people he wants gone. He’s already eliminated Revalvier, Longbottom and McGonagall.”

“And let’s not forget,” Ralph added darkly, “Professor McGonagall ended up in St. Mungo’s after being attacked by a bunch of W.U.L.F lunatics.”

“Ugh! It’s the suspense that I can’t stand!” Rose rasped, gripping her Astronomy textbook so hard that it vibrated. “I just wish they’d get it over with!”

James understood his cousin’s fears, and yet there seemed to be nothing for it but to wait. For her own part, Tabitha Corsica seemed to enjoy their prolonged anxiety. At the following Herbology lesson she favoured James and Ralph with a long glare and a subtly threatening smile.

Finally, on Monday morning, Filch gathered James, Ralph, Rose and Scorpius after breakfast, herding them brusquely toward the headmaster’s office, muttering under his breath while Mrs. Norris hissed at their heels. Dread settled slowly in James’ stomach as they ascended the spiral stairs and approached the closed office door. Filch rapped on it with his knuckles.

Putting an obsequious lilt into his voice that sounded as authentic as a tin galleon, he called, “The students you requested, headmaster.”

Grudje’s voice rumbled through the door, which creaked open of its own accord. “Do send them in, Mr. Caretaker.”

Filch glared at the four students, pressing his lips into a mean, harried grimace. “In with you, then! Don’t keep the headmaster waiting!”

He shoved James on the shoulder, hurrying him along. As the four shuffled reluctantly into Grudje’s office, the door swung shut with a resounding slam, leaving Filch in the antechamber.

Grudje sat at his enormous desk, writing with a huge white quill, ignoring the students as they stood nervously as far back as possible. The office was as drab and cold as before, with no fire lit in the hearth and the window covered with a heavy velvet curtain, allowing only the faintest grey light to filter into the gloom. Glancing around, James was curious to see that the portrait of Merlinus Ambrosius had been hung despite its all-too-noticeable lifelessness. Perhaps even more curious, the nearby portrait of Albus Dumbledore was completely empty, showing only a dark chair, lost in shadow. Something about it implied that this was not unusual. The chair almost looked dusty, as if it had been undisturbed for quite some time.

Grudje stirred, bringing James back to the moment. A single candle guttered on the headmaster’s desk, making an orb of light that left the rest of the office dense with shadows.

“Professor Corsica tells me a rather astonishing tale,” he said without looking up. His quill scratched busily. “She tells me that the four of you managed to sneak into the cellars beneath the American Wizarding school of Alma Aleron, assisted by your cohort, Mr. Walker.”

James shuffled his feet. He opened his mouth to offer some defence, but realized that the headmaster had not actually asked for any.

“Ms. Corsica showed professorial foresight in sensing that a plot was afoot,” Grudje went on, his gravelly voice calm and cold. “Of course, I myself was not in the least surprised when she informed me of what transpired.”

“Headmaster,” Rose said suddenly, stepping forward. “We--”

Grudje silenced her with a raised left hand, its palm as white as a fish’s belly in the candlelight. His eyes flicked up from his parchment, pinning her from beneath grey eyebrows. “I am not interested in your explanation, Ms. Weasley. Do hold your tongue, for your own sake, unless I ask you to speak.” He waited, assuring that she meant to obey. Rose took half a step backward and lowered her head.

Grudje observed this stoically. Finally, he lowered his quill and gave the students his full attention. “The four of you have been seen on several occasions banding about, engaging in hushed conversations and secret congress. This is against the rules, as you well know, but I have allowed it. Why, you may well ask? Because I was curious to know what you were up to. Now, however, you have passed beyond even my patient indulgence. Ms. Corsica has confirmed this. As a result, I can no longer allow you to thwart the rules of this establishment.”

He paused, shifting his glare from student to student, marking all four of them.

Scorpius cleared his throat softly. “Are we,” he asked, cocking his head inquisitively, “expelled? Sir?”

Grudje flicked his eyes back to Scorpius. “Expelled, Mr. Malfoy?” he repeated. “Do you believe you are deserving of expulsion?”

James glanced at Scorpius, but the blonde boy did not return his look. “No, sir. Not this time. Just trying to be clear, sir.”

“You may indeed deserve expulsion,” Grudje said, raising his chin speculatively. “And perhaps I should make it so, despite the lack of a concrete reason. Your secret counsels here at Hogwarts have been suspect enough. But to take your meetings to Alma Aleron, to its most clandestine locations, completely outside the realm of our supervision, that I simply cannot allow.” The old man sighed deeply, still ticking his gaze from face to face. “As you now know, Ms. Corsica was intrepid enough to follow you. She briefed me on everything she witnessed: your clandestine meeting in the caverns, adjourning your cabal of malcontents. She tells me that she listened intently, hidden in the shadows. And she tells me, rather unfortunately, that despite her best efforts… she was unable to overhear your secrets.”

James stared at the headmaster, his mind spinning. Tabitha had not told the headmaster everything! He could scarcely bring himself to believe it. Was this, perhaps, a trick? Was he teasing them? Dimly, he realized that Grudje was glaring at him, silently measuring his response.

“Oh,” James said suddenly, groping to sound angry, offended, anything. “Er. That sneak! Why, I can’t believe she listened in on us…!”

Grudje pressed his lips into a thin, sceptical line. “Is there anything,” he growled slowly, “that you would like to tell me, Mr. Potter?”

“Anything to tell you,” James repeated, his face burning red. “Er…”

“I think I
know
what this secret counsel of yours was about, young man,” Grudje interrupted impatiently, picking up his quill again. “There is no need to lie. It will only make matters worse for you. Admit it and I may let you off easily. Relatively speaking.”

“Er,” James said again, glancing desperately from Ralph to Scorpius. “Er…”

Scorpius sighed. “Night Quidditch, sir,” he said resignedly. He hung his head.

James held his breath, his eyes wide.

Grudje’s eyes were like chips of ice as he watched Scorpius, suspicion rolling off him in waves. The moment seemed to last hours. Finally, the headmaster sat back and nodded, eyes narrowed.

“Thank you, Mr. Malfoy. I am pleased that one of you, at least, shows enough sense to speak up. Such truly inane foolishness, this Night Quidditch. After the dismissal of Mr. Longbottom, I assumed it would naturally come to an end. Apparently my expectations for good sense are too lofty for some of you.”

With an imperious flourish, he signed his name to the parchment on his desk. “This, students, is the terms of your probation. According to it, none of you shall be seen interacting with the other at any time. No two of you will study together, sit next to each other in lessons, or engage in conversation during lessons or private hours. If you do so, believe me, I shall know, and there will be no further warnings. Breaking the terms of this probation will result in immediate expulsion from this school. Have I made myself exceedingly clear?”

Next to James, Ralph and Scorpius nodded. Rose muttered assent. James took a small step forward.

“Just curious, Headmaster,” he said, steeling his nerve. “How will you know if we break the probation?”

Grudje regarded him before answering. “Surely you don’t expect me to answer that question, Mr. Potter.”

James’ cheeks burned. “I… thought I might ask, sir. If we knew that there really was no place to sneak off to, I just thought it might help us to, you know, avoid temptation. We’re, sort of, incorrigible that way.”

“I have my ways, young man,” Grudje said dismissively, returning his attention to the parchment before him. “I do not need to explain my methods to assure you that there is no part of this school beyond my benevolent eye. You should thank me for this. By my vigilance, I may yet save you from your worst enemy: yourself.”

“Yes, sir,” James answered, stepping back and pretending to be mollified. “Er, thank you, sir.” He lowered his eyes, but his mind was suddenly racing.

Grudje tapped the probation notice with his wand, creating a small stack of exact duplicates. “I shall distribute these to your teachers, heads of houses, and prefects within the hour. For now, you may return to your lessons. And please, let there be no talking along the way. I will know if you disobey.”

“Yes, sir,” James said again, more emphatically this time. His eyes were narrow with growing suspicion as he stared at the floor.

Behind them, the headmaster’s door creaked open again, announcing their dismissal. Silently, Scorpius led the other three from the room, quickening his pace as he reached the antechamber. Four sets of footsteps rang on the spiral stairs as they descended.

James knew that what he should be feeling most was relief. For some reason, Tabitha Corsica had not told Headmaster Grudje the most damning parts of their trip to the cellars of Alma Aleron-- neither the bit about the Morrigan Web nor the part where Ralph had threatened her with toothy monster death. Normally, Corsica would like nothing more than to see James, Ralph and his friends kicked out of the school, humiliated and defamed. Why she had avoided such a golden opportunity was a mystery of truly epic proportions. As he stalked along the corridor making for the stairs, he sensed Rose’s eyes on him, expressing her own surprise and shock at this inexplicable development.

And yet what James was feeling most was a sudden, vindictive certainty.

As he reached the top of the stairs, he glanced back, assuring that Grudje had not followed them. The halls were completely empty, punctuated only by the dull, echoing warble of classes in progress behind closed doors. Satisfied, James turned to a very large painting that overlooked the staircase. The painting depicted a group of witches reclined around a boiling cauldron, most sipping enormous tankards or dozing in the morning sunlight.

“It’s you, isn’t it?” he whispered harshly, leaning close and addressing a tall but otherwise nondescript witch in the background. “You’re the one spying for Grudje. Admit it.”

The witch regarded James sternly, defiantly, offering no response.

“James!” Rose hissed, pulling on his sleeve. “Come
on
! What are you doing?”

“You look rotten as a witch, you know,” James went on, ignoring his cousin. “You can’t fool me now that I know what to look for. The whole school is lousy with paintings of you. You’re the gardening monk in the greenhouse painting in Professor Longbottom’s sitting room. You’re the knight in Professor McGonagall’s portrait of King Kreagle. It’s you who’s spying for Grudje, telling everyone’s secrets. Admit it.”

Rose boggled at James, and then leaned to look closer at the painting. Scorpius joined her, putting on his glasses and squinting through them. Ralph nodded over James’ shoulder.

“You’re right!” he said, realization dawning on him. “Blimey, he does look awful as a witch.”

“Oh, do step back, the four of you,” the witch said in a strangely low, drawling voice. “And consider investing in a good anti-pimple potion.”

“Headmaster
Snape
?” Rose breathed in an awed voice. She suppressed a giggle. “Is that really… er, you?”

The painted figure sighed irritably. “I see you are as good at keeping secrets, Potter, as you are potion making. Make your way to your classes, the lot of you, before you get yourselves into even worse trouble.”

“How can you be helping him?” James demanded furiously. “I thought you were our friend!”

The costumed visage of Snape sneered at James. “I have never been your ‘friend’, Potter. I am, however, one of your guardians, and for that you should thank me. Headmaster Grudje is quite right. You need someone to save you from your own disregard for the rules and pathological delusions of grandeur. I am all too willing to assist in that endeavour.”