James Potter And The Morrigan Web (51 page)

“Kreacher!” Lily burst out in relief. “Is it really you?”

James shook his head, caught between barking anger and laughing out loud. “But… where are we then?”

“Yes,” Victoire demanded, jamming her fists onto her hips. “This is not the Burrow.”

“Humblest apologies, masters and mistresses,” Kreacher grumbled, dipping his head perfunctorily. “It was your parents’ idea. There will be no Christmas at the Burrow this holiday, despite what you-- and many others-- have been led to believe. I am afraid you will instead be spending it here… at number twelve Grimmauld Place.”

10. A CLANDESTINE CHRISTMAS

“I can’t believe you forgot your glasses,” Ginny Potter shook her head stridently, unpacking her suitcase and separating a pile of clothes for James and Albus. “If you only wore them when you’re supposed to you wouldn’t go leaving them behind when you travel on holiday!”

“I knew you’d blow a cauldron about that,” James sighed, standing back as his mother moved about the room, socking folded clothes into dresser drawers and levitating the suitcases onto a high shelf. “I woke up late, Mum. I barely had time to get dressed. You’re lucky I’m wearing pants!”

“And yet somehow you managed to remember your wand,” his mother commented sharply. She shoved a pile of folded clothes into his arms and turned to Rose, who was watching from the hall with a smug smile on her face. “Rose, does James wear his glasses to class?”

“It’s never happened once,” Rose answered immediately.

Ginny turned back and glared at her son.

“She’s not even
in
most of my classes!” James insisted. “How would she even know?”

Albus stepped past Rose and scooped a pile of his own clothes off the bed. “I don’t think he’s worn them once since school started,” he commented airily. “I keep telling him he’s supposed to. I keep telling him ‘there’s no magical cure for poor vision’.”

“You do not!” James exclaimed furiously.

“Enough!” Ginny shook her head. To James, she said, “You wear those glasses when you are supposed to or I’ll tell your father and he’ll permanently hex them to your face. And you,” she turned to Albus, “Don’t be a rabble-rouser. The day you give helpful advice is the day I win the Quidditch World Cup.” With that, she strode out of the room, James, Rose and Albus on her heels.

“So why are we here at Grimmauld Place instead of the Burrow, Mum?” Albus asked, unperturbed.

She sighed, “Ask your father. Or any of your uncles. This was all their plan. Not that I disagree,” she added. “It’s just that they can explain it better, if they choose to explain it at all.”

Rose glanced at James and Albus, and then turned toward the stairs, taking them two at a time. Albus and James gave chase, pounding down the steps in her wake. Ralph was on the second floor landing with Lily, both peering at the portrait of old Mrs. Black in her curtained alcove.

“She’s restless lately,” Lily was saying, “Not as hateful and filthy as she used to be when she would just scream and curse about halfbloods in her house. But still, ever since the Night of the Unveiling…”

James paused on the landing and glanced at Mrs. Black in her frame. Years before, the family had accidentally discovered that the hateful portrait could be mollified with Muggle television, and had hurried to have one painted right into her canvas. Normally, the chat shows and courtroom dramas kept her in a sort of trance-like fugue. Now, however, she muttered to herself in agitation, occasionally awakening enough to glance out of her frame, recoiling in horror at the sight of those on the landing.

“Desecration,” she hissed, her eyes darting from the painted, flickering television to Ralph and Lily. “
Impure
… House of my fathers…”

James looked closer at the television in her painting. On it, a news program warbled away, showing a scene of world leaders gathering at a long table. It was entirely possible, James thought, that his own father had appeared on the news, standing in the background as agreements were signed, shoring up the Vow of Secrecy with suspicious Muggle governments. Perhaps this was what was agitating old Mrs. Black.

“The wizard and Muggle worlds are closer together than they have been in centuries,” a man’s voice commented from nearby. James turned, as did the others, to see his uncle Percy, his eyes grave as he studied the painted television. “Walburga Black is not the only person who senses this. We are living in interesting times, children.”

“Hi Uncle Percy,” Lily said, approaching the man and putting her arms around him. Percy hugged her, and then looked around at the others. James thought-- and not for the first time-- that his Uncle had changed quite a lot since the death of his adopted daughter, Lucy. His pompousness had been replaced with a sort of dull gravity, a haunted look that was never fully absent from his gaze.

“Molly and your Aunt Audrey and I just arrived. They’re still down in the kitchen,” he offered a wan smile. “Looks like it will be rather cramped quarters this holiday, doesn’t it? It’s a good thing we all like each other.”

Albus shrugged. “I wouldn’t mind if James had stayed back at Hoggies. He snores.”

“I do not,” James shoved his brother. “You’re feet stink so bad it’s like that time those Flobberworms died under your bed.”

“Stop,” Lily said soothingly, stepping between her brothers as Percy proceeded up the steps. “There’s no point in arguing. You’re
both
right.”

Behind them, Rose tramped down the remaining stairs. “I’m going to see what this is all about.”

“Rosie!” a man’s voice called as she passed the sitting room. Rose grinned and angled through the archway, followed by James and Ralph. Inside, the hearth burned with Goblinfire, crackling almost inaudibly and making no smoke whatsoever. Seated around it on a scattering of old, miss-matched furniture were three of the Weasley brothers, Ron, Bill and Charlie. Luna Lovegood was also there, draped languidly across the lap of her new husband, Rolf Scamander, who sat bolt upright in a tall wingback chair, his thick glasses magnifying his eyes into an expression of perpetual surprise.

“Dad!” Rose cried, throwing herself onto her father’s lap.

“Uncle Bill! Uncle Charlie!” Albus grinned, striding toward the sofa and squeezing between his uncles.

“You little rogue!” Bill smiled, tousling his hair roughly. “How are things in the dungeons? You keeping those Slytherin snakes in line?”

Charlie elbowed Albus affectionately. “Heaven knows they need a Potter there to remind them of what’s what.”

“I’m afraid times have changed, dear Uncles,” Albus replied mournfully. “It’s the Gryffindors who are all sneaky and underhanded these days. Why just a few weeks ago, James nearly got us all thrown out of school for being out after hours, sending illicit messages and whatnot.”

“We heard about that,” Bill said, gesturing toward Ron. “That was some brilliant thinking, James. You do the Order proud.”

James smiled at his uncle and felt a blush rise to his cheeks. “The Order?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Shush, all of you,” Luna said, raising her mug. “It’s Christmas. Let’s not speak of such things.”

“For now, at least,” Ron agreed. He smiled at Rose, who snuggled on his lap. “How was the Portkey?”

“Fine,” she replied. “But Grandma Weasley will probably leather you with a hex for using your old sweater. So why are we meeting here instead of the Burrow like we were supposed to?”

“Nothing wrong with old Grimmauld Place,” Bill answered heartily. “I daresay Kreacher makes it nearly as festive as a chestnut. Why, when we arrived he had those old house elf heads singing Christmas carols.”

“No!” Albus exclaimed. “He’s been trying to do that for years but Mum never allows it!”

Luna smiled. “She’s been a bit busy trying to arrange for us all to be here. Still, I do rather like the singing. It’s curiously… unconventional.”

Behind her, Rolf nodded meaningfully. James knew why: few people appreciated-- or identified with-- the curiously unconventional as much as Luna Lovegood-Scamander.

“Seriously,” James said, plopping onto the arm of the sofa next to his uncle Bill. “Why here? You lot sent Albus a letter saying we’d be traveling by Portkey to the Burrow, and then you brought us all here instead. And just now you mentioned ‘the Order’…”

“Last minute change of plans,” Charlie stated, waving a hand in the air. “Your dad suggested it a few days ago and we all loved the idea. Enough said, and here we all are.”

“And Goblinfire in the hearth,” Rose said, perking up on her father’s lap and narrowing her eyes. “No smoke for the chimney.”

“Extremely dodgy,” Albus agreed, turning to look closely at his Uncle Charlie. “You’re hiding something. What is it?”

“Poppycock,” Ron said firmly. “Stop being so bloody suspicious, all of you. There’re more bedrooms here than there are at the Burrow, it’s as simple as that. And we’ve charmed the attic to function as a dormitory for the lot of you. You saw it when you first arrived.”

“If you charmed the attic,” Rose said, cocking her head, “you don’t have much of an idea of what a dormitory is.”

“Bloody hell,” Ron muttered, climbing to his feet and depositing his daughter onto the chair behind him. “I thought Hermione was doing it. And she likely thought
I
was doing it. And now she’s out helping Ted Lupin get a tree. Seriously, though, she’s much better at furniture transfiguration than me…”

He started for the archway, and then stopped, glancing back sternly. He pointed at the three students one by one. “All of you, keep your noses to yourselves. There’s nothing suspicious going on--” he stopped, seeing the look on Rose’s face. “And I’m totally wasting my breath, aren’t I?”

“You’ve never been able to lie, Dad,” Rose shook her head. “Sorry. You’re just too honest by nature. Leave it to Uncle Charlie.”

“Damn right,” Charlie agreed, hoisting a mug of cider. “Let them be, Ron. They’ll find out soon enough. We bloody would have when we were their age.”

Ron fumed silently for a moment, and then seemed to resign himself with a shake of his head. “Luna’s right,” he shrugged. “It’s Christmas. Let’s not speak of such things.” He sighed deeply and gave a small smile. “I’ve got an attic to transfigure. Who wants to help?”

“I’m in,” Albus jumped up eagerly. “I want quadruple bunks, all the way to the ceiling, James on the very bottom.”

“James? Rosie?” Ron prompted.

“No thanks,” James said, getting to his feet. “I want to go say hi to everyone else.”

“Me too,” Rose said quickly, joining him.

Ron rolled his eyes. “You’re both as transparent as ghosts. Fine. Go see what secrets you can dig up. But I’m telling you, you’re wasting your time.”

In that, it turned out Uncle Ron was quite right.

Grandma Weasley, to no one’s surprise, was in the kitchen, surrounded by brilliant sunbeams from the high windows and the warm scent of baking. Bowls stirred themselves busily on the butcher block while a huge wooden spoon swiftly dolloped raw cookie dough onto baking pans. Fleur was with her, looking unnecessarily spritely in an immaculate white apron, her blonde hair pulled back in festively ribboned pigtails.

“Good morning, James, Rose,” Grandma Weasley sang delightedly, dusting her hands on her apron and drawing them into a mutual, crushing embrace. “So good to have you all here! Where are the others?”

“Mostly upstairs,” Rose smiled, squeezing her grandmother as tightly as she could. “Turning the attic into a hostel.”

Fleur commented briskly, “With all ze magic zey are pouring into zis ‘ouse it’s a wondair it doesn’t grow legs and dump us all straight out onto ze street. Adding floors, enlarging zis, reducing zhat. It is more than an old ‘ouse can take!”

“Who’s enlarging things and adding rooms and floors?” James asked as casually as he could, but his grandmother merely flapped a hand at him.

“Never you mind that. If you’re going to hang about the kitchen, we can use your help, both of you. It’s no small task cooking and baking for a family this size, especially with all these extra visitors and unexpected guests.”

“Who’s unexpected?” Rose pressed. “Are there even more people coming?”

“And where’s dad?” James added. “Don’t tell me he’s traveling again?”