James Potter And The Morrigan Web (19 page)

“I took a private class at Durmstrang when I was twelve,” Lance said off-handedly, in reference to the students queuing up before the international vanishing cabinets. “A very good program regarding the dark arts, really. They teach some defence, but they also teach a lot of the actual curses and jinxes. Even some of the unforgiveable ones. You have to understand them to know how to fight them, you know.”

Penelope Bones, a second year girl with dark brown curls, asked in a low voice, “
You
know the unforgiveable curses?”

Lance gave a half shrug. “There are places in the world where it’s important to know how to defend yourself at a moment’s notice. Last year, my parents and I spent the winter in the German Black Forest. There are still tribes of giants there that have never seen a human being.”

“What were you doing there?” James asked, frowning.

“Mother studies giant languages,” Lance replied. “She’s writing a book on it. Father and I spent most of our time at camp in one of the more civilized tribes. Giants can actually be quite entertaining if you know some of the language.”

“We went to a giant’s wedding last year,” James announced. “Right here in the Forbidden Forest. The giant king was there and everything.”

Lance seemed slightly impressed. “The giant king, eh? Of course, you know the giants have almost as many kings as they have tribes. Still, a giant’s wedding is a pretty secret event. Mother’s only seen a few, and those were from some distance away. They can be pretty dangerous affairs for humans who get underfoot.”

“I remember,” James nodded fervently. “We spent most of the time huddled up in the trees, just trying to stay out of the way.”

Leaving the Great Hall some time later, James felt rather pleased to have gotten into Lance’s circle. The boy was actually quite interesting and knowledgeable, despite his obvious arrogance. Ralph, however, disliked him intensely.

“He’s the worst kind,” he said under his breath, showing an unusual level of venom. “The kind who will butter your bread with honey on one side and poison on the other.”

“You’re confused,” Graham said. “That’s Slytherins you’re thinking of. Lance is a Gryffindor. It’s your lot who are usually the backstabbers and traitors, not us.”

“That just makes us experts on the subject,” Trenton Bloch said, coming alongside Ralph. “We know a lout when we see one.”

“Slytherins are motivated by ambition,” Ralph growled. “But there are plenty of other reasons for a person to lie and use others. Sometimes the ones with the most seemingly noble intentions are the worst of the lot. They think anything is all right if it’s ‘for the cause’.”

“Oh, Lance is just a little spoiled,” Rose said quietly, glancing back to make sure no one overheard them as they made their way to the Ancient Runes classroom. “He’s all right, really. He can’t help being a bit stuck up. It’s the way he was raised.”

“His parents are Muggle rights activists,” Graham added pointedly. “They’ve both written loads of books and studied all over the world. His father was once a teacher at Bragdon Wand, back before Lance was born.”

“So why’s he here, then?” Ralph asked tersely. “Why’s he slumming it with the likes of us? Are we all just some pet project, like the giants are to his mother?”

“Ralph!” Rose exclaimed. “That’s a terrible thing to say!”

Ralph’s face reddened but he didn’t back down. “I just don’t like him. He’s a fraud.”

“You just think all rich wizarding families have to be Slytherins,” Graham said as they reached the classroom. “Not all rich families are pureblood, Muggle-hating and evil.”

“Who’s Muggle-hating and evil,” a voice piped up next to James. “I thought old Tabs Corsica graduated or went to Azkaban or something. Either way, she’s gone, right?”

James glanced aside and a grin broke out on his face. “Zane! What are you doing here?”

“Ancient Runes,” Zane shrugged, matching James’ smile. “Same as you. It was either this or flying class, and I’d hate to make you all look worse on a broom than you already are.”

“It’s good to see you, mate,” Ralph said seriously, clapping Zane on the back.

“Sheesh, Ralph,” Zane said, rubbing his shoulder and looking up at Ralph’s dour expression. “What’s the deal with you? You look like somebody else ate the last cupcake.”

Rose shouldered past the boys and plopped into a seat. “It’s been a weird couple of days,” she said, pulling her Ancient Runes textbook out of her bag and thumping it unceremoniously onto the table. “All this brotherhood and tolerance is getting under everybody’s skin.”

Most of the class looked up as the new Ancient Runes professor entered the classroom, sweeping briskly up the aisle. He was fat and uniformly bedraggled, with miss-matched patches on his ill-fitting robes, a crooked mortar board cap wobbling on his head, and a brambly, yellowing beard. His eyes were very large and sharp behind his tiny spectacles as he reached the desk and turned, surveying the class intently.

“Ancient Runes,” he said in a high, clipped voice, “is
not
a history class. Runes are alive with power, vibrating with portents, pulsing with purpose. The sooner you understand that simple truth, the better we shall all get along.” He paused for a moment to hoist and drop an enormous carpet bag onto his desk. The bag was decked with all manner of badges, buttons, and banners. The largest badge bore flashing yellow words on a red background: MUGGLES ARE PEOPLE TOO.

“Well?” the professor demanded suddenly. “Why aren’t you all writing that down?”

There was a sudden shuffling around the room as heads bent over parchments and quills began to skritch and bob.

“I am called,” the professor proclaimed stridently, “Professor Voltaire Votary. Magical runes, glyphs and logograms are my life’s passion, and I will appreciate your taking them precisely as seriously as I do. Why, you may ask? You!” Here Votary pointed at Hufflepuff Kendra Korner, seated in the front row. “You wonder why this must be, yes?”

Kendra leaned back in her seat, away from the pointing finger. “I--”

“Because we live in unforgiving times, pupils,” Votary interrupted zealously. “Times that will demand much of us, times that will determine whether we, as witches and wizards, will rise to the challenges before us and launch into a new era of enlightenment, or fall back into our old prejudices, failing to meet our destinies, as so many would have us do.” As the professor spoke, he unclasped his carpet bag, reached inside, and produced a pile of huge, dusty books, several magnifying glasses, a telescoping wand, and a fully decked silver tea tray, its kettle steaming gently. He settled the tray onto the desk with a small clatter and began to pour himself a cup.

Zane leaned close to James and whispered, “This guy’s a bit like Trelawney on a bad day after a few Firewhiskys,”

“Professor Trelawney, young man?” Votary wheeled around, his huge eyes sweeping toward Zane. “The teacher of Divination, yes? This is what you liken me to?”

Zane’s eyes bulged slightly in surprise. James knew that Zane was rather unaccustomed to being caught at anything.

“You’re one of the Americans,” Votary sighed, deflating a bit. “I was told you would be attending. Very well. I know you are with us in spirit, even if your disciplines leave much to be desired. But no. Divination will not help us in the coming days. What will help us is cunning, insight, and fearlessness to lay bare the deceits of those who cling to the tired past. In this, the wisdom of the ancient runes may help us. I will teach you. If, that is, you prove teachable.”

As the class wore on, Professor Votary divided his time between intensely dry lectures about the subtleties of ancient pictograms and surprisingly exciting tales of his years spent studying archaic scripts in some of the most dangerously cursed places on earth. Unfortunately, both the class and Professor Votary were regularly frustrated by the disparity of interest between the two.

“A question, young man?” Votary said, interrupting himself and nodding toward Kevin Murdoch’s urgently raised hand.

“How many mummies did you say were chasing you?”

Votary frowned and adjusted his spectacles. “I don’t believe I did say. It isn’t exactly important. The typical Pharaoh retinue was about six personal guards, ten servants, and forty foot soldiers. I
did
mention, however, that traditional mummies are notoriously slow. They were well behind us, on the other side of the spear traps and viper pit and such. Much more interestingly, of course, were the inscriptions on the sarcophagus, which were--”

“How many of your team did you lose in the viper pit?” Ashley Doone asked breathlessly, not waiting to be called upon.

“Well, none, technically,” Votary replied, blinking rapidly. “They merely used a standard sleeping spell to quiet the snakes until they could climb out. Anyway, as I was saying, the inscription was written in a very curious combination of Middle Bronze Age left-to-right hieroglyphs and Demotic pictograms, which, as you may imagine, caused us
quite
a conundrum. In fact, there’s a very amusing anecdote wherein my colleague, Doctor Mumbutu, mistakenly assigned the spatial preposition ‘without’ to what was actually a Meroitic number seven, and you can simply imagine the endlessly diverting mistranslations that were the result--”

“What about the curse of the scarabs?” Trenton interjected impatiently. “They were eating away at the golden door already! Did any of them make it through?”

“Well of course they did,” Votary replied irritably. “They were a cloud of metal-eating bronze beetles after all. They burrowed a hole through the centre of the vault door but could only come through one at a time, of course. My assistant merely melted them with his wand as they burst through. The
truly
interesting thing, though, is that the sarcophagus incantation was
purposely cross-coded
with the language of two separate dynasties in order to confound any grave robbers foolish enough to--”

Zane jabbed a hand into the air. “When you got out, did the golden sphinx eat you and your crew or had you figured out its riddle by then?”

“Really, young man,” Votary exclaimed, losing his patience. “Think about the stupidity of your question.
Of course
we figured out the riddle. The answer was carved right there on the chamber wall in ancient graffiti, along with a variety of anatomically impossible Egyptian limericks. Really, I do think you are all
quite
missing the point…”

This went on for twenty more minutes until the end of class. Frustrated and annoyed, Votary assigned a rather shocking amount of reading homework and proceeded to dump his tea tray directly into his carpet bag.

“This might actually be sort of fun if we can keep him off point,” Zane commented as they funnelled toward the door. “What do you lot have next?”

“Study period,” James replied. “Good thing, too, with that much reading to do.”

Zane shook his head and clucked his tongue. “Studying during study period,” he said mournfully. “You should be ashamed of yourself.”

“What about you?” Ralph asked as they emerged into the darkening corridor. ”Dinner is in an hour. Will you still be here?”

Zane laughed. “It’s not even lunchtime in my world. But I’m not heading home just yet. We’ve got one more class here at Hoggies. Advanced Charms with good old Flitwick. It’ll be good to see that old hinkypunk again.”

“Who’s ‘we’?” Rose asked, stopping to look curiously back at Zane.

As if in answer, a girl wove toward them through the dispersing throng, a huge hot pink backpack slung over one shoulder. She spied Zane and approached him.

Both Ralph and James saw her at the same time. Ralph shot a look at James, stifling a wry grin. Rose frowned at the girl’s purple hair, matching mascara and glittering nose ring.

“This is Nastasia,” Zane announced, threading an arm through the girl’s as she joined them. She smiled ironically and surveyed the group, her gaze finally stopping on James. Zane went on obliviously, “She’s from Pixie house, if you couldn’t tell. I met her at a pep rally for the upcoming inaugural Clutchcudgel match between the Pixies and the Zombies. Of course, we were there for very different reasons, what with her side cheering and our side… well, not so much jeering as sneaking into Aphrodite Heights with a generous stock of week-old cafeteria jambalaya. Nastasia, this is the crew I told you about. This is Rose Weasley. Those mokes lurking against the wall back there are Scorpius Malfoy and Graham Warton. And these two--”

“Oh, there’s no need for introductions in their case,” Nastasia spoke up, still studying James with a strangely disconcerting smile. “
We’ve
… already met.”

Zane was obviously quite taken by the enigmatic Nastasia. James saw them once more that evening as they made their way back to the Alma Aleron vanishing cabinet. Zane was leading Nastasia by the hand, pointing enthusiastically at the enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall, no doubt chattering away about his year as a Ravenclaw. Nastasia allowed herself to be pulled along, an expression of patient boredom on her face. She spied James at the Gryffindor table and locked onto him with her oddly intent gaze. James frowned.