James Potter And The Morrigan Web (53 page)

Ron and Harry extinguished their wands immediately.

“Who was that?” Ron asked quickly, wide eyed.

“It came from behind the wall,” Rose volunteered, pointing toward the end of the room.

“You incompetent clods!” a woman’s voice cried furiously, muffled behind the fireplace. James glanced at his father. It was Aunt Hermione. There was a thump, a clatter, and a series of rather unladylike curses. “You engorged the dining room right into the downstairs bath!”

A look of pure mortification fell over Uncle Ron’s face. He lowered his wand instantly and bobbed up on his tiptoes. Trying to keep the panic out of his voice, he called, “Are you all right, love?”

“I’m stuck!” she shouted back furiously. “In the
bathtub
!”

“Under the circumstances,” Harry nodded firmly, “I think you’d better be the one to go and charm her a new door, Ron. The back hallway should do nicely.”

Ron’s face was pale as he nodded. “Coming, love!” he called tremulously.

“And Ron,” Harry added, stopping Ron as he reached the door. “You should probably take a robe.”

Ron’s eyes widened again. He nodded vigorously and left, muttering nervously.

Fifteen minutes later, the newly engorged dining room table was surrounded by a happy throng of eating and drinking people, many of whom James was rather surprised to see. Seated on either side of Neville Longbottom were Professors Flitwick and McGonagall, both dressed in far more casual clothing than any of the students were accustomed to seeing them in (although McGonagall’s green and red tartan vest and huge, puffed sleeves were by far the most disconcerting of the lot). Further down, speaking loudly and intently across the table with his huge forearms crossed over his plate, was Professor Kendrick Debellows, his crew-cut bristling in the firelight and his voice booming from the walls. And dominating the end of the table with his enormous, bearded bulk was Hagrid, his holiday tankard of butterbeer nearly as large as a barrel and decorated with a massive, scrolled pewter handle.

“When did all these people get here?” Rose asked James as she peered around the table.

“Trickled in one by one over the course of the afternoon,” Louis answered knowledgeably, reaching for another roll. “Most came via the cellar floo but a few, like Flitwick and that Auror bloke, Apparated just before dinner. Had their own family holidays to attend first, I heard Uncle George say.”

James shook his head, wondering. “Why are they all here, then?”

“It’s obvious, innit?” Louis replied, shooting up his eyebrows. “It’s the old Order, all coming together again!"

Albus scoffed. “That’s ridiculous. Grimmauld Place isn’t even all that secure anymore. Not like it used to be, back when dad was a kid. Besides, the Order of the Phoenix was about defeating Voldemort. Unless I’ve been missing some major news, I’m pretty sure he’s still dead.”

“The Order was about the safety of the magical world,” Rose countered softly, looking over the length of the table. “And as much as I hate to say it, Louis is right. A lot of these people are original members. We joked about it before, but perhaps it’s true. The Order of the Phoenix might be reconvened.”

Albus shook his head. “Why? Because some nutter headmaster gave Filch a magical cane?”

James felt a rising sense of apprehension, despite the raucously festive atmosphere. “There’s way more going on in the world than we know at Hogwarts. Grudje may be part of it… but he’s not all of it.”

“Then why isn’t Titus Hardcastle here?” Albus asked, rising in his seat and craning around the table. “There’s a few other blokes from the Auror department, but no Titus. Seems like an odd one to leave out, doesn’t it?”

James shrugged. “Maybe he’s coming later.”

“Maybe,” Ralph nodded. “I heard my dad say to Ron Weasley that he spoke to somebody at Alma Aleron on the Shard and they’ll be showing up later tonight.”

“Alma Aleron?” Rose whispered shrilly. “You mean, they’ll just be popping up as apparitions or something, using some of Chancellor Franklyn’s experimental communications techniques, right?”

Ralph shook his head doubtfully. “I don’t think so. I think they’re going to be here in person. Whatever it’s about, I don’t think they want any chance of being overheard or spied on.”

“Who’s coming?” Louis asked, leaning over the table. “You can tell us!”

Ralph shrugged. “I don’t know. I didn’t hear any names.”

“Well that settles it,” Albus said firmly. “We need to get into that meeting somehow.”

Louis threw up his hands. “Not a chance. You know we’ve been banished to the attic once the sun goes down tonight. Kreacher will be standing guard, too. He’s as stubborn as a wart on a hag’s nose. Nobody can get past him.”

“Well,
you
couldn’t, that’s for sure.” Albus admitted.

“Shut up, all of you,” Rose hissed. “If they catch wind that we’re even talking about this, they’ll do worse than have Kreacher stand guard!”

James nodded agreement. At that moment, Grandma Weasley and Aunt Fleur appeared with double armloads of fresh puddings, some half as tall as the women and bedecked with red and green gumdrops. Suddenly, however, the last thing James wanted was a plate full of sweets.

For the first time in his life, in fact, he was impatient for Christmas dinner to be over.

Ralph and Louis half-heartedly played Hex the Hag on the attic floor, taking turns hexing the tiny clockwork figure so that it ran back and forth across the game board, knocking tiny cauldrons aside. From beneath a nearby bunk, Crookshanks’ huge green eyes glowed like lamps, watching the figure greedily. Beyond the stacks of bunks, Kreacher’s voice could be heard muttering incessantly just outside the locked attic door.

“We could levitate one of us out the window,” James suggested with a shrug.

“Don’t be an idiot,” Rose grumped, her chin resting on her hands and her feet kicking idly over the side of a top bunk.

Behind her, in the darkness of the attic’s depths, Albus clambered noisily, moving crates and ferreting through trunks.

“What’s he doing back there?” Lily asked, peering through the shadows. “And why’s he in such a good mood, us all being stuck in the attic while big exciting things are being discussed downstairs?”

“I heard Professor Jackson is here from Alma Aleron!” Louis spoke up suddenly. “I would love to meet him. He wrote the book on Technomancy.”

“Literally,” Ralph nodded.

“Maybe one of us could Apparate!” James proposed, brightening for a moment. “That’s possible here these days, isn’t it? We could just pop down one floor! Kreacher would be none the wiser!”

“Have you ever
seen
someone get splinched?” Rose asked archly.

James glowered at her. “No.”

“I once saw a fifth year end up halfway through a desk, upside down.”

James firmed his jaw. “Well. That doesn’t… er… sound so…”

“His head was in the bottom drawer.” She added.

“Look, I don’t hear you coming up with any amazing ideas!” James proclaimed, waving a hand at his cousin.

Across the room, Victoire, lounging languidly on a middle bunk, lowered her book.

“All of you, give it up. It’s none of our business anyway. Why you waste so much energy on such pointless things is truly beyond me.”

Rose rolled her eyes. “Says the girl who subscribes to
Fashion Enchantment Weekly
.”

“Look at me!” a voice laughed suddenly. “I’m old Mrs. Black!”

James wheeled around on his bunk to see Albus standing near the attic window resplendent in a monstrous purple dress, his head nearly buried under a hat the size of a lorry tire. A ghastly stuffed owl leaned precariously from the hat, its topaz eyes flashing. “There’s a whole wardrobe of this stuff back here. Jewellery, too! Look!” He thrust out his wrist, showing a collection of silver bracelets, charms and jewelled bands that would have made Professor Trelawney green with envy.

“Albus, you berk,” Rose said sternly, but James heard a laugh stifled beneath her words.

“My name is Walburga Black!” Albus proclaimed in a high falsetto, framing his face with his hands. “How dare you desecrate the house of my fathers, you horrible Muggle-rubbing cauldron tossers! Sod off with the lot of you or I’ll hex you as ugly as myself!”

“Albus Severus Potter,” Lily giggled helplessly. “Put those things back! Seriously, you’ll get us all into trouble.”

“Oh, you don’t know what trouble is, dearie!” Albus shrilled, grabbing a fringed, jewel-handled umbrella and brandishing it like a sword. “You watered-down halfblood huggers will feel the sting of my curse! How dare you set foot in my father’s house! I’ll wear even more hideous clothes at you, see if I don’t!” He spun on the spot and jammed his feet into a pair of high-heeled green leather boots. “Now come over here so I don’t have to walk in these!”

A rush of cold air swept through the room as the attic door suddenly wrenched open. Everyone turned to see Kreacher looming in the doorway, his knobby shoulders hunched, his face pulled down in a frown so pronounced that it seemed nearly to reach the floor.

“Found my mistress’ things, they did,” he growled emphatically, his deep bullfrog voice vibrating through the floorboards. “Making a mockery of my dearly departed mistress, and no mistake. Show no respect, they don’t.”

And then, with no fanfare whatsoever, Kreacher vanished.

“Augh!” Albus screamed. “What the…! Get off me!”

James wheeled around again. Kreacher had reappeared directly behind Albus, his face etched with such refined rage that it appeared to be carved in granite. Swiftly, he pointed his bony fingers at Albus, stinging him with hexes so that Albus began to involuntarily disrobe, jerkily and spasmodically.

“Agh!” Albus gasped. “All right! Stop it! ARGH! OW! Sod off, you miserable little OUCH!!”

Kreacher paused as Albus kicked off the boots desperately, falling to his bum on the dusty wooden floor. The house elf caught the boots deftly, still glaring unblinking at Albus, his mouth pressed into a tight line of fury.

“They should not touch Mistress’ things,” he growled in his gravelly voice. “Once a Mistress, always a Mistress. And Mistress strictly instructed that no one was ever to meddle with her boudoir. Not even any new ‘Masters’.”

“I wasn’t
meddling
,” Albus protested, rubbing his arms where Kreacher had stung him. “I was rooting about! Just having some fun. What do you expect, us being all locked up here in the attic all night!”

“Shows no respect,” Kreacher muttered again, making a summoning gesture into the shadows. In response, the open trunks snapped shut and lurched forward, rocking back and forth noisily on their corners. “Must find a new home for my Mistress’ things so long as the new ‘Master’ is about, him never having learnt any manners. A shameful thing it is. Oh, how my Mistress could have taught him. Bore no such insolence, did she. Knew how to train children. Knew when a wand was more effective than a word.”

As he muttered, Kreacher crossed between the bunks, leading a clunky procession of trunks, hat-racks, and one very narrow, gilded wardrobe, its ancient mirrors clouded nearly black and smeared with dust. One by one, the items marched through the doorway and into the hall as Kreacher watched. Finally, with a malevolent, beady glance back at Albus, he followed. The door slammed shut behind him, shaking the walls and raining grit from the rafters. Dimly, the clunking procession faded toward the other end of the house.

“And
that,
” Albus announced, jumping up and swatting dust from his behind, “is how you get rid of Kreacher. So, who’s coming?”

Lily blinked owlishly at her brother. “You mean to tell us that… you
planned
that?”

“While you lot were wasting your breath trying to figure out how to out-magic the old imp,” Albus nodded. “I remembered what Professor Debellows taught us.” Here, he lowered his voice and threw out his chest. “‘Don’t exploit your enemy’s weakness, for he may have none. Exploit his passion and the battle is yours.’”

“Wow,” James said approvingly, jumping down from his bunk. “You really took one for the team. I was sure that Kreacher was going to straight up murder you there for a second.”

“I admit I may have overdone it a bit,” Albus acknowledged, rubbing his arms again. “But when duty calls…”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Louis piped up. “And you lot are daft if you do. After that affair, if Kreacher does catch you out, he totally
will
kill you.”

“Nonsense,” Lily said. “Kreacher’s our house elf. He wouldn’t hurt any of us.”

“Kreacher came with Grimmauld Place,” Victoire corrected, sitting up on her bunk. “He’s the
house’s
house elf. He just obeys you lot because obedience is a hard thing for house elves to shake. Louis is right. You’re nutters to sneak out. If you do, we’ll both turn you in.”

“You do,” Rose said firmly, approaching the door, “And I’ll tell Teddy Lupin how you
really
spent that month when you and he broke up ‘for the good of the relationship’.”

Victoire’s face darkened dangerously. “You little munter. You wouldn’t.”

Rose put on an elaborate French accent and clasped both hands next to her cheek. “Oh, Nolan Beetlebrick! How
beeg
and
strong
you are! And so good at Quidditch! I know eet is wrong, but there is somezing about Slytherin men that ees just so…
naughty
!”