James Potter And The Morrigan Web (46 page)

Longbottom shook his head slowly. “No… no I don’t think so. But how, James? How in the world can you get a message to your father?”

“We write it,” James answered. “In the sky, with all of
us
forming the letters. My dad has the Marauder’s Map-- it shows the whole castle and the locations of everyone in it-- and he says he’s keeping an eye on it. I think he knew something dodgy was going to be happening this year. He already caught me sneaking around once before. If he’s checking in on me tonight, he’s sure to see all of us gathered out here on the pitch. If we hop on our brooms, we can make a formation of letters and words that he’s sure to be able to read on the Marauders Map.”

“Wow,” Zane said appreciatively. “That’s Zombie-calibre thinking! Nice one! You really think it will work?”

“If Dad’s watching.” James shrugged. “He couldn’t possibly miss it.”

Longbottom studied James’ face for a long moment. Finally, he nodded curtly. “We have to be quick. Get everyone together. Before I explain, I’ll allow anyone who doesn’t want to be involved the freedom to leave. If just one person tells, though, James, it’s all over. Not just for you, but for me as well. We must both be willing to take that risk.”

James blew out a harsh breath. “It’s our best chance, I think. Besides, you’re the unofficial founder of Night Quidditch. I think the league will go along if you lead the way.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Longbottom muttered darkly. “Very well, then. Let’s get on with it.”

It took rather longer than expected. Fortunately, not a single one of the Night Quidditch players elected to leave, despite the dangers. With so many people on brooms, however, it was especially difficult to arrange into the necessary formations. James and Professor Longbottom oversaw the process, taking turns viewing the arrangement from high above, calling down instructions as necessary.

“The G is drifting,” James called down, cupping his hands to his mouth against the cold wind. “Fiera, just stay next to the far ring. That’s your anchor. Everyone, else, keep a tight formation. No more than arms’ length from each other.”

“This is harder than it looks!” Albus called up. “You try hovering between two people in a bloody hurricane without crashing into each other!”

“Turn your broom into the wind,” Willow instructed. “First rule of advanced flight; there’s no spell to combat wind shear.”

“I’ll combat whatever I want,” Albus muttered loudly. “Are we almost done? What are we spelling, anyway?”

“Nearly there,” Professor Longbottom announced. He broke away from the formation and swooped up alongside James. Together, they peered down at the undulating, moonlit formation of broom riders.

“GRYF FLOO 12 AM,” James read aloud. “Do you think dad will understand?”

Longbottom nodded. “If he’s seeing it, he’ll get it. Gryffindor Floo, tomorrow, midnight. If you don’t mind, James, I’d like to be there myself, and perhaps a few others. I’ll spread the word. There will certainly be a few more people interested in speaking to your father, however briefly.”

James glanced at the professor, realizing again the gravity of their situation. “Er, yeah. Whatever you say, Professor.”

From Below, Herman Potsdam called, “How long do we need to hold this up? It’s a lot less fun up here when I can’t whallop Bludgers at Albus’ head.”

“It’s been nearly five minutes since the message was readable,” James nodded. “If dad didn’t see us getting into position, then waiting around probably won’t make any difference.”

“Here’s hoping,” Longbottom sighed harshly and then called down, “Well done, everyone! Carefully break formation, spread out, and make your way back down to the pitch.”

Like dandelion seeds, the formation broke apart and drifted into meaninglessness. One by one, the Night Quidditch players dipped toward the frosty grass. James followed, landing on the centreline next to Professor Longbottom.

“What do you say, Professor,” Albus grinned, his cheeks red and his eyes sparkling in the moonlight. “Since we’re all out here anyway, how about a quick match?”

“Yeah!” a scattering of voices chimed in.

Longbottom shook his head. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he said, with obvious reluctance. “There’s no time. And besides, there’s no more Somnambulis potion. You all need to get back to your beds.”

His instructions were drowned out by increasingly enthusiastic appeals as more players gathered round.

Beetlebrick was wide eyed with inspiration. “We can set a target score! One hundred points! First team to get there wins! No Snitch! We’d be done in less than an hour!”

“No snitch!?” Albus interrupted stridently. “That’s not Quidditch, you heretic!”

Zane piped up, “We could field full teams with this many people! Forget houses for the night, just random squads for the fun of it! After all, the league’s been shut down. Think of it as an exposition match!”

“Enough!” Longbottom announced firmly, raising his hands. “Quiet down now, all of you!” He stopped, waiting as the gathering reluctantly fell silent. He looked around at them all, his eyes hard beneath his cowl. Finally, he drew a deep breath and shook his head. “
Seventy-five
points,” he allowed. “Snitch wins the whole match. Because Albus is right. There’s no Quidditch without the Golden Snitch.”

A rough, barely restrained cheer arose from the players, who immediately began to break up into swiftly arranged teams.

“This is totally daft,” Longbottom muttered under his breath, but James heard the smile in his voice. The professor produced his wand from the depths of his robe and pointed it at the Quidditch trunk. A bolt of yellow unlocked the trunk and it sprang open, revealing the restlessly glowing balls inside.

“Listen close, now,” Longbottom announced, turning back to the players. “Seriously, this is it. After tonight--”

Behind him, the Quidditch trunk slammed closed with a loud clunk.

James jumped and turned toward the trunk. An old boot was planted in the centre of the lid, holding it closed. With a swish and a flourish of fabric, the boot suddenly became the bony figure of Argus Filch, his foot pressed firmly on the Quidditch trunk, the invisibility cloak fluttering in his outstretched hand. He raised his cane slowly, menacingly, in the other.

“Indeed, Professor,” he growled triumphantly. “This
is
very much
it
.”

For one long, awkward moment, Professor Longbottom merely stared at Filch, his face unreadable. Finally, he pushed the cowl back from his head and stepped forward.

“Thank you, Mr. Filch,” he said brightly. “As you can see, I have arranged this little midnight outing. Herbology club, you see. Midnight blossoms and the like. Your vigilance is appreciated, but unnecessary. I will escort the students back to the castle now that we are finished.”

“Oh, I don’t think so, Professor,” Filch breathed slowly, his grin growing even more toothy, the cane unwavering in his upraised hand. “If you’ll just hand me your wand, we can avoid any… unpleasantness.”

James felt a chill shake him to his heels. Filch had never once, in his experience, defied a teacher.

“Argus,” Longbottom said calmly. “I would hate for you to do anything you’d regret later…”

“Your wand, Mr. Longbottom,” Filch demanded in a louder voice, taking a step toward the professor. “And it is you who might be regretting things right about now.
If
you please.” He held out a horny hand, palm up.

“I would do as he says,” a thin voice instructed from the darkness. James heart lurched into his throat as he turned, straining to see past the gloom of the grandstands. A tall figure stood there, watching: Rechtor Grudje, his face hidden in impenetrable shadow. “I have some very serious questions for you, Mr. Longbottom. Come along to my office. Perhaps we can sort this out swiftly. Perhaps it is an easily explained misunderstanding.”

Longbottom glanced around at the stunned students clustered behind him, his face resigned. “I’ll take full responsibility,” he stated. “Go with Mr. Filch back to your dormitories. There will be no detentions tonight.”

“That’s right,” Filch agreed viciously, taking the professor’s wand from him. “Teachers don’t get detentions, after all. Oh, no. Not by a long sight.”

Wind moaned through the grandstands, creaking in their dark heights. The sound mingled eerily with Filch’s monotonous, wheezy laugh.

9. THE MIDNIGHT ASSEMBLY

It was the very pit of night when James woke up.

All around, the castle was as still as a tomb. The dormitory stove had burned low, leaving the air so cold that James could see his breath rising above his bed. If he stayed awake much longer, he could watch one of the Hogwarts house elves appear to stoke the stove back to life before dawn, silent and secretive, employing its own unique magic.

James didn’t know why he was suddenly awake, but he wished he wasn’t. Stormy thoughts circled his head, swooping in to land as he rose to full consciousness: Professor Longbottom captured by Filch and Grudje; the uncertain message to his father; the eerily familiar Avior Dorchascathan; the malevolent Lady of the Lake and Petra’s dream story…

The Collector…

The Morrigan Web…

A low scraping sound came from the stairs. James’ ears perked up and he turned his head to look. The sound had been tiny, subtle, and yet, against the dead silence of the castle, it had been as clear as a knocking footstep. He squinted into the darkness of the spiral staircase and strained his ears.

“James,” a voice whispered in his ear.

He jumped, flailed in bed, and fell to the floor with a thump, taking the blankets with him. He scrambled to his knees and peered over the bed, eyes bulging.

Nastasia knelt on the other side. She looked at him with glassy, serious eyes.

“You,” James breathed, trying to calm his pounding heart. “How did you…?”

“Can we go down to your common room?” she whispered earnestly.

James nodded weakly. “Fine. I’m awake anyway.”

“Wait here for a minute,” she said, her eyes still locked on his. “Then come down and meet me. Don’t watch. OK?”

James frowned in tired annoyance. “You sneak into my dormitory and tell
me
not to watch? I already know you can change into a snake. That’s it, isn’t it?”

“Just…” she said in a small voice, “just don’t watch. Promise me. I know you can keep your promises, so do it.”

He shook his head impatiently. “Fine. I promise. Slither away.” He closed his eyes and leaned on his bed.

Across from him, a shuffle sounded, and then a dry scrape, like fine chain mail dragged on stone. In her snaky form Nastasia was, in fact, remarkably quiet. The next time he heard her she was on the stairs, descending in faint, sweeping slithers.

James counted to thirty, tired to the bone but almost preternaturally awake. Then, with a sigh, he stood, scooped his robe from the hook on his bedpost, and shrugged into it as he crept down the stairs.

Nastasia was seated in the darkness by a window, barely a girl-shaped silhouette against the gloom. James joined her, plopping onto the chair across from her. He waited for her to begin.

“You kept your promise,” she said.

“That’s what promises are for,” he commented curtly. “Otherwise they’re just lies.”

Nastasia laughed darkly, weakly. “Sometimes it isn’t that simple.”

James was in no mood for riddles. “So you can turn into a snake,” he stated bluntly. A thought struck him and he slapped himself on the thigh. “I guessed that!” he rasped suddenly. “Back on first night when you snuck in, I knew there was something you weren’t telling us! The cabinets were closed for human use, but somehow you got through. I told Scorpius and Rose and Ralph that you had to be an animagus or something! It was the only way! Wait until I tell them that…” he stopped himself, frowned again, then flopped back into his chair. “Right. I can’t.”

“I’m not
exactly
an animagus,” Nastasia muttered, turning her chin toward the dark window.

“I may only be a fourth year wizard,” James replied, “but I know what it’s called when a witch can turn herself into a snake. It’s called animagus. Get it? Animal and magic?”