James Potter And The Morrigan Web (67 page)

13. DEAD WARLOCK’S CLUE

Comstock continued to yell, allowing the others to follow the sound of his voice through the dense trees. James and Lucia caught up to Rose and Scorpius as they neared the main path.

“You can shut it now,” Scorpius called wearily. “We’re right here.”

“About bleedin’ time!” Comstock shrilled as the others met him in a small weed-choked clearing. “I got sick of waiting for you and decided to try to follow you…!”

“Made it all this way, did you?” Scorpius said, spying the path only a dozen yards away.

Rose plucked a twig out of her thick hair. “Really, Comstock. There’s nothing to be afraid of this close to the castle.”

“Is that so?” Comstock countered wildly. “Maybe you ought to try telling that to
him
!”

He pointed to a dark hollow where two fallen logs poked from the brush. James gasped in surprise, realizing that the shapes weren’t logs at all, but a pair of legs clad in dark pants, ending in a pair of natty black shoes, tilted akimbo toward the sky.

Lucia let out a little scream and clamped her hands over her mouth. Rose grabbed Scorpius’ sleeve in both fists, her eyes bulging in the darkness. “Who is it?” she asked weakly.

“Bloody hell if I know!” Comstock quavered. “I tripped over his legs on the way into the clearing! Do you hear me? I
tripped
over a dead man’s
legs
!”

“We don’t know for sure that he’s dead,” James suggested faintly, approaching the body with great reluctance. “Lumos.” His wand flared alight, revealing the man’s face. It stared blankly up from the weeds, the mouth open slightly. A black beetle trundled slowly across the man’s forehead.

“He’s dead,” Scorpius confirmed with a nod.

Comstock spluttered and ran both hands through his bristly hair. “Is this, you know,
common
for you magical types? Finding dead people willy-nilly under bushes and stuff? Because it sure bloomin’ isn’t where I come from!”

“Shut up, Morton,” Lucia said gently, putting an arm over his shoulders and turning him away from the sight.

Rose renewed her grip on Scorpius’ sleeve. “We need to go for help,” she said firmly. “Back to the castle. Professor McGonagall will know what to do.”

“Hold on,” James suddenly frowned, lowering his wand over the dead man’s face. “I know this bloke.”

Scorpius leaned closer as well, dragging a reluctant Rose along with him. “Never seen him before myself. Are you sure?”

James nodded slowly. “I am. How could I forget? He nearly killed me with my own wand last summer, out in the North Sea.”

Rose stared hard at the dead man’s face, and then looked back at James. “You mean the man who escaped from Azkaban? The specialist in dark magic weapons and curses?”

“Worlick,” James said with grave certainty. He shuddered. “I never thought I’d see
him
again.”

Scorpius extricated himself from Rose’s grip and knelt next to the body. “Bring your wand lower, Potter,” he said, pushing aside the weeds and opening the dead warlock’s robes.

“Scorpius,” James said, repulsed. “What are you doing?”

“This is the bloke that might have been helping the Collector with his big magical super weapon, right?” Scorpius explained impatiently. “The one who’s now the new American vice president? What do you think I’m doing? Rooting around for spare galleons? I’m searching for clues.”

“Shouldn’t--” James gulped. “Shouldn’t we, you know, leave that to the professionals?”

Scorpius’ eyes were bright in the wandlight. “You mean like Grudje?”

“I mean my dad!”

“Your dad’s out of the loop, Potter,” Scorpius rolled his eyes. “I thought you knew that. My father told me all about it. ‘No one in the Ministry trusts Harry Potter anymore’ he says. They’ve unofficially handed all Auror operations over to that great brute Titus Hardcastle. Honestly, do I really need to be the one to tell you these things?”

James pressed his lips together in mingled fear and anger. He
did
know these things, of course. It was just very difficult to accept. He shook his head and gestured with his wand. “Fine! Do it! But be quick about it!”

“What’s he doing?” Comstock demanded from behind them. “This is a crime scene! Don’t you know you never interfere with a crime scene?”

“Rose,” Scorpius muttered tensely, rummaging through the dead man’s robes. “Tell me you know some memory charms.”

“You know I don’t,” Rose rasped. “We’re not even allowed to practice them, just because there’s the chance ‘you might accidentally wipe someone’s mind totally blank’.” She fumed, and then shrugged. “I’ll go talk to Lucia and Comstock, tell them to keep this quiet.”

“Ah-ha,” Scorpius muttered, plucking a wand from Worlick’s inner pocket. “Never even got it out.”

“You think someone killed him?” James asked breathlessly.

Scorpius shot him a scornful look. “He sure didn’t die of ugly. Somebody cursed him, and he wasn’t expecting it, otherwise I’d have found this in his hand.” He waggled the dead man’s wand.

“The voices we heard,” James said, realization dawning on him. “The figure we saw earlier! Maybe they were having a secret meeting, and things turned sour…”

Scorpius returned to his search of the body. “Or the other guy got what he needed and decided to get rid of a possible witness. Makes the most sense, really.”

James realized he was shivering. “Your mind is a pretty scary place, Scorpius.”

“That reminds me. This your wand? You told us he stole yours when he got away from Azkaban.”

James peered at it and shook his head. “No.” He was secretly glad. The idea of getting his old wand back from a corpse was extremely unsettling.

“Hold on,” the blond boy cocked his head as he stuffed the dead man’s wand back into his robes. “What’s this?”

“What now?” James demanded, vaguely dreading the answer.

Scorpius withdrew a neatly folded newspaper from Worlick’s robe pocket. James recognized it as a copy of the
Daily Prophet
. Scorpius studied it for a long moment as he knelt next to the body. Finally, he lowered it and climbed to his feet, his eyes narrowed thoughtfully.

“What?!” James repeated, holding out his free hand for the paper. Scorpius handed it to him and turned back toward the others. Lowering his wand, James read the headline that the newspaper had been folded to reveal:

MINISTRY CONFIRMS: HOGWARTS TO HOST MAGICAL MUGGLE “QUIDDITCH SUMMIT”

The headline had been circled several times in red ink. James unfolded the newspaper to reveal the photograph that went with the headline. A grainy image of Headmaster Grudje shook hands with Minister of Magic Loquatious Knapp. Between them stood the Muggle Prime Minister, his eyes flicking from Grudje to Knapp, then up out of the photograph at James. His practiced smile looked a bit frayed about the edges. The caption beneath the photo ran:
Muggle Government officials worldwide to witness first-hand the benign nature of the wizarding world. Knapp: “What’s better than a Hogwarts Quidditch final?”

“Fine,” James heard Comstock saying behind him. “Your business is your business. I don’t care. Just get us out of here.”

“Was he,” Lucia asked a bit hopefully, “you know, like, a bad guy?”

“Bad enough,” Scorpius concurred. “Come on. We’ll lead you back to the castle. From there you can make your own way to the rotunda entrance. After that you’re on your own.”

“And happily so,” Comstock said truculently. “Let’s just get this over with!”

“James?” Rose called as they turned back to the path.

“I’m not coming back with you,” James announced suddenly, refolding the newspaper.

Rose stopped and peered back at him in the darkness. “What do you mean, ‘not coming back’?”

“Look,” he said briskly, stepping forward to rejoin the others. “Scorpius found this on Worlick. It’s a
Daily Prophet
story about some big meeting between magical and Muggle governments from all over the world, set to happen right here at Hogwarts.”

He handed the newspaper to Rose, who opened it and scanned the headline by the light of his wand.

“The Quidditch Final,” she frowned thoughtfully. “But, why show that to a bunch of Muggle world leaders?”

“To prove we’re harmless,” Scorpius answered simply. “Look what we do with our magic, world. We chase flying balls around a pitch on brooms. Nothing to be afraid of here. Feel free to sign some treaties and agreements.”

Lucia stepped away from Comstock, her brow furrowed. “But why would some bad wizard be running around the forest with that newspaper clipping in his pocket?”

“Because,” James sighed reluctantly. “We’re
not
all harmless.”

“He’s a warlock,” Rose said thoughtfully, realization darkening her face. “He may well have helped create the Morrigan Web, the mythical doomsday weapon of the magical world. All that his partners needed was the perfect place to set it off.”

James nodded and held up the newspaper. “He found the perfect place. If they succeed, they can wipe out Muggle and magical leaders from all over the world in one swipe!”

“Leaving those positions open to be conveniently filled by an assortment of plotting witches and wizards.” Scorpius added, a note of something like admiration in his voice. “That explains why the Collector wormed his way into the American vice presidency. If he succeeds in knocking off the president
he’ll
be next in line. It’s the ultimate dark wizard end-game: complete rule over the Muggle world. Quite brilliant, actually.”

“But,” Lucia said sceptically, nodding toward the newspaper photo. “That’s your Minister of Magic, right? Are you saying that he’s part of this plot to take over the governments of the world?”

James shook his head. “I don’t think he has any clue. He’s just a politician stuck in a tight place, what with the vow of secrecy falling apart and people demanding action. He’s doing what makes sense to him.”

“He’s doing what Grudje
tells
him,” Scorpius countered seriously. He tapped the photograph, emphasizing the handshake between Grudje and the Minister of Magic. “Ten galleons says that this was the headmaster’s idea.”

“Now look,” Rose said. “Grudje may be a horrible headmaster, but this is some super serious stuff here. And besides, it’s the Collector who threatened us all. Why, that was probably him we were following just now!”

“But it wasn’t!” Lucia suddenly exclaimed.

Scorpius and Rose both looked at her, frowning in surprise. Lucia glanced past them to James. James gulped and drew a deep breath.

“We saw someone. Down by the White Tomb.”

Rose boggled at him in confusion. “When?”

“Right as Comstock started hollering,” he answered. “A man appeared in front of the door of the tomb.”

“He wasn’t
in front
of it,” Lucia clarified. “He was inside it! The door was opened! And it was--”

“Professor Avior!” James said, at exactly the same moment that Lucia exclaimed, “Headmaster Dumbledore!”

Scorpius’ eyes narrowed even further as he looked back and forth between Lucia and James.

“I don’t know,” James finally said, tossing up his hands. “It was Avior. But it was also Dumbledore. That’s how it’s been all along. Avior
is
Dumbledore somehow.”

“But,” Rose said, turning to peer closely at Lucia. “You saw him too?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” James demanded. “I knew you’d think I was mad! Why do you think I didn’t want to bring it up?”

“Look, James,” Rose explained patiently. “We can argue about how you feel about this later--”

“I’m not arguing about how I feel about it!”

“--but this is important, so if you don’t mind, just belt up for a minute.” She met James’ eyes, waiting for him to agree. He fumed silently at her for a moment, and then slumped. Rose turned back to Lucia. “Now, tell me exactly what you saw.”

Lucia suddenly pressed her lips together, as if afraid to answer. Finally, nervously, she said, “I don’t know who this Professor Avior is. But what I saw… well… it was Albus Dumbledore. He had the beard, the little half-moon glasses, everything. Not to mention that he was standing in the doorway under his own name!”

Rose nodded. “But this is the important bit,” she said earnestly, her gaze unflinching from Lucia’s face. “Was it a ghost?”

Lucia looked from Rose to James again, as if begging him to answer for her. She seemed to struggle with her thoughts for a moment. Finally, slowly, she shook her head. “I’ve never seen a ghost. Not even Professor Binns. They won’t let us take his class, think we’re not ready for it. But…” Her eyes cleared as she looked at James again, and exhaled deeply. “No. I don’t think he was a ghost.”

Rose nodded. “Then it had to be Professor Avior.”

“
Thank
you,” James said, both relieved and annoyed. “But why?”

“Avior’s no ghost, but he is apparently identical to Dumbledore,” Rose explained with a shrug. “It’s just logic.”

“And now it begins to make sense,” Scorpius said. “At least in one small way. Avior was one of the experts on the Morrigan Web. If he was here tonight, he might have been consulting with Worlick.”