James Potter And The Morrigan Web (39 page)

“Sorry,” Rose amended, not looking at him. “Either way, the Collector and his cronies are possibly creating something really horrible. I think it would be best for us to find out everything we can about it.”

James nodded. “And I’ll find out what I can about Professor Avior.”

“With my help,” Nastasia insisted, bumping him with her hip.

“But why did I have to bring this?” James asked Rose, holding up his blank parchment, ink and quill.

“For the same reason we met in the Owlery,” Rose said emphatically. “Because this time,
you are writing to your Father
. I’ve written a letter to my own parents. We need help. Who better to ask than the Ministry’s head Auror and the two people who helped him defeat the most evil wizard of all time?”

James glanced aside, saw Nobby ruffle his feathers high on a nearby perch, already eager to go.

“You’re right, Rose,” James said, squatting to the floor and spreading a parchment on his knee. “This is too serious to handle ourselves.”

Rose sighed with obvious relief. She produced an already sealed envelope from her knapsack. “We’ll need to use Nobby to send both letters. We can’t risk interception with any of the house owls. We need to tell our parents everything.”

James nodded, already scribbling carefully on his own parchment. It really was a good idea, and he felt slightly ashamed that he hadn’t already written to his father himself.

But still. He was not quite prepared to tell his father
everything
.

Lily was waiting for James in the Gryffindor common room as he crept downstairs, skrim in hand.

“Where’s Scorpius and Dev and everyone else?” she whispered excitedly, jumping to her feet.

James shook his head in annoyance. “We all sneak out separately. It’s safer that way. And what are you doing here? Get yourself back up to bed.”

“Nice try, Big Brother,” she announced, unfazed. She trotted lightly across to the portrait hole and beckoned him forward. “Out with the Invisibility Cloak. I know you’ve got it with you. You’re no good at sneaking around without it.”

James sighed and smiled. Secretly, he liked his sister’s cheerleading, hushed as it had to be. He approached her and shook out the Invisibility Cloak. “How about you lead tonight, Lil,” he prodded, then stopped. “It is just you, right? You don’t have a pile of your first year friends hiding under the furniture to follow us out, do you?”

“No,” Lily said, “But that’s not a bad idea. I’ll try that next time.”

Ten minutes later, the two darted onto the darkness of the Quidditch pitch, joining the others already gathered there. A fat three-quarter moon hung low on the horizon, scrubbed with marching clouds so that the pitch glowed with bony moonlight one moment, and then descended into dense shadow the next. Cold wind moaned through the grandstands, whickering in the banners high overhead.

“Almost got nailed by Filch tonight,” Devindar announced, shaking his head. “He and that scruffy cat came around the corner of the third floor arcade just as I was hitting the stairs. I’m almost positive they saw me, but I jumped the bannister before they could catch up.”

Willow swept her blonde hair back, tying it into a ponytail. “Filch won’t catch any of us unless we’re totally clumsy.”

“What if he spies the glowing game balls from one of the castle windows?” Lily asked.

“Already thought of that,” Scorpius answered. “The Bludgers, Clutch and Snitch are all charmed with slow light. It drops off after a few hundred feet. From the castle, the pitch is just as dark as, well, pitch.”

“Scorpius is very proud of that slow light thing,” Dev added. “Technomancy is a fancy of his. It’s all quantum to me.”

“Besides,” Willow went on, mounting her broom. “If Filch ever tried to come out to the pitch, he’d get his cane stuck in the mud and spend the night going in circles.”

Lily laughed at that. To James she said, “I’m going to head up into the stands tonight. Look! We have spectators!”

James frowned and glanced up toward the nearby Gryffindor grandstand. Sure enough, a scattering of figures had collected in the seats. One of them waved down. It was Nastasia. Next to her, Zane sat bundled in a heavy cloak and scarf. Obviously, they had stayed behind after the meeting in the Owlery. Above them, James was almost sure he recognized Professor Longbottom, a large peaked hat pulled low over his brow, hunkered amongst a group of Hufflepuff Night Quidditch players. Without looking back, Lily clumped up the stairs to join them.

“Well, look who the Hinkypunk dragged out,” a voice called overhead.

James recognized the voice but couldn’t quite believe his ears. He glanced up and saw a dark figure hovering twenty feet up, a green scarf fluttering over its robed shoulder. “Albus!” James rasped. “What are you doing here?”

“Writing a Charms essay. What’s it look like?”

“But Night Quidditch isn’t supposed to be open to day players! You’re on the regular Slytherin team!”

“It’s not really a rule, exactly,” Albus shrugged. “Just a sort of guideline. Sorry if you think my presence gives Slytherin an unfair advantage.”

“
Unfair advantage
,” James growled, dropping his skrim and hopping onto it. “I’ll show you unfair advantage
.
” He leaned hard over the board, curling his fingers over its tip, and rocketed into the air, swooping close enough to his brother to flick his green scarf. The scarf flung around Albus’ face, temporarily blinding him.

“Night Quidditch is a different cauldron of newts from day Quidditch, Al,” James called back. “I hope you’re wearing your big boy underpants tonight.” He swept high into the air without looking back, dropped into a sudden squat and drew a tight, vertical loop, coming to rest next to Willow.

“You’re on Seeker tonight, James,” she said. “Watch out for Beetlebrick. He’ll try to take you out with a well-placed Bludger. Here.” She tossed him a spare beater bat, which he caught deftly. “Just for protection. It’s going to be a rough night, and no mistake.”

“They’re playing Albus,” James grumped, brandishing the bat.

Willow shrugged. “Brother against brother. That’s a little poetic, isn’t it? You won’t go easy on him, will you?”

James glanced at her, shocked at the very suggestion. “You don’t have any brothers or sisters, do you, Willow?”

She shook her head. “How’d you know?”

James hunkered over his skrim, preparing to launch into motion. “I’m psychic.”

A moment later, the Clutch lobbed into the air. Five glowing balls streaked in five different directions, drawing pale lines against the dark. Flying robed shapes collapsed on them, crashing wildly into one another in mid-air. James waited, watching for the narrow green streak of the Snitch. It spun away toward the Hufflepuff grandstand like a supercharged lightning bug. James launched forward in pursuit of it.

The match lasted nearly four hours. In the end, exhausted and bruised, covered in cold sweat, James found himself in a shoulder to shoulder race against Albus for the Snitch. The two bashed each other mercilessly as they sped toward the swooping, glowing streak, James leaning hard over his skrim, Albus craning forward on his broom, his nose only inches above its shaking tip.

The score was two-hundred and thirteen to one hundred and ninety-two, with Slytherin holding onto a slim, constant lead.

“No!” Albus cried, straining forward, his outstretched fingers ready to close on the tiny golden ball.

“It’s mine!” James grunted, urging his skrim ever faster.

Before them, the Snitch ticked back and forth, hurtling through the dark, past the grandstands, out over the trees of the Forbidden Forest.

James balanced on the edge of his skrim, lunging for the fluttering shape. He brushed it with his fingers, felt its whickering wings, and then closed his fist with a snap.

Whump!

Suddenly, inexplicably, the world turned upside down. Black earth and night sky swung around each other, switching places, and James realized dimly that his hand had closed on emptiness. A long narrow shape spun away against the swinging night; his skrim, suddenly separated from his feet. James was floating, falling, tumbling through the dark. Cold wind howling in his ears but all he cared about was that he had missed the Snitch.

“Drat! Drat! Drat! Drat! Drat!” he yelled as he dropped, forgetting for the moment even to be frightened.

Suddenly he was being swatted, swiped repeatedly with springy, prickly shapes. Dully, he recognized the limbs of a large pine tree as they slapped at him, crackling and snapping, slowing his fall. Finally, one particularly large bough caught him, bowed deeply under his weight, and then sprung upward again, launching James out of the tree. Something broad and flat filled his vision, reaching up to collect him. He crashed into it, through it, and fell flat onto a heavily cushioned surface. Bits of thatch and broken wood peppered him from above, clattering all around. James squeezed his eyes shut against the debris and covered his head with his hands. When the noise subsided, he opened his eyes again only to find himself staring down the length of a long, pink umbrella, its tip pointed directly at his nose.

“James?!” a gruff voice announced in disbelief. “What in th’ ever lovin’ bloody hell are yeh doin’?”

James peered up at Hagrid, realization dawning on him. He had been blasted from his skrim by a Bludger at the very last moment, and had narrowly avoided being killed by a fall over the edge of the Forbidden Forest. He looked up beyond Hagrid, toward the enormous hole in the hut’s thatched roof, and then aside, at the fat bearskin rug he had fallen onto. Bits of broken roof lay all around. As James watched, his skrim dropped almost elegantly through the hole in the roof and thumped onto Hagrid’s table, knocking aside his oversized tea set.

7. ECHOES OF UMBRIDGE

“Out with yeh!” Hagrid bellowed, hoisting James roughly through the door of his hut. “Of all the ridiculous, hare-brained, irresponsible…!”

“I really am sorry, Hagrid,” James insisted, still trying to keep his voice low. “I just fancied a late night fly! I hit something and fell off. A bird or a bat maybe! Yeah, a bat! A really big one! I didn’t mean to--”