James Potter And The Morrigan Web (93 page)

Harry nodded. “Professor Snape was never what anyone might call strictly ethical. And yet, I cannot help but think that even he would not contribute to Grudje’s iron rule without knowing his true goals.”

“Well,” Scorpius admitted, “he did tell us the Room of Requirement was safe from Grudje’s view.”

“Did he?” Hermione brightened. “Well, that is something, then.”

“Time’s wasting,” Debellows announced briskly, clapping his meaty hands and rubbing them together. “As good as it is to know how we’ve been observed-- and how to avoid it from this point onward!-- we have a disaster to avert.”

“Quite right,” McGonagall observed.

James looked up at his father. “But how? What’s the plan?”

“That’s why we summoned you here tonight,” Harry answered, shifting his gaze from James to Ralph and Scorpius. “As much as I wish it were not the case-- and believe me, your mother will barely speak of it-- you lot are integral to our plan.”

A second wave of relief flooded James where he sat. “I was worried we were on our own,” he confessed. “And we’re all totally out of ideas.”

Harry nodded understandingly. “First thing’s first, then. Can you tell us anything we don’t already know? What’s happened since you last spoke to Professor McGonagall on the Sylvven Tower?”

James drew a deep breath, but it was Ralph who spoke first. “We learned about the Morrigan Web,” he announced firmly. “Well, mostly. There’s a missing piece. We don’t know how important it is, but here’s what we do know.”

He proceeded to describe their misadventure in the cellars beneath Alma Aleron. James and Scorpius helped, contributing details about the overheard conversation between Crone Laosa and Tabitha Corsica.

At the mention of Corsica’s name, however, Harry interrupted. “You’re certain that Tabitha Corsica was the one interviewing this Crone Laosa?”

“Absolutely,” James nodded emphatically. “She cornered us afterward and dragged us all back to Hogwarts.”

Harry studied his son’s face seriously. “And then what happened?”

James shook his head. “Days went by. We knew she’d told on us. But then when Grudje called us all to his office it seemed like he didn’t really know everything. He thought we’d snuck off to Alma Aleron to discuss night Quidditch.”

“Well,” Ralph clarified, “Scorpius here helped with that.”

“And I’m not entirely positive that Grudje bought it,” Scorpius admitted. “But he definitely didn’t seem to know what we were really there for.”

Harry nodded slowly. “All right, then. Go on.”

James looked up at his father suspiciously. There was something he wasn’t saying-- something about Tabitha Corsica. Scorpius, however, continued the story before James could ask.

When the three boys had completed their somewhat rambling tale, Revalvier finally spoke again.

“So we know two of the three markers to identify the Morrigan Web, if indeed that is the method that our enemies will use…”

“An assumption we are forced to make in the absence of any other theories,” Debellows interjected.

Hermione agreed reluctantly. “It’s too terrible to consider. All those innocent people!” She glanced at James, her eyes shining in the firelight. “You can’t be there, James! None of you! Victoire, Louis, my Rosie…!”

“Hermione,” Ron began, but James interrupted him.

“We have a plan for saving ourselves, and at least some of the others,” he said as soothingly as he could. “We’re hiding our wands during the tournament. If the Web works by unleashing some sort of super killing curse, not having our wands with us will keep us safe. We think.”

“Brilliant in its simplicity,” Debellows agreed, impressed.

“Well,” James shrugged, “We can’t take credit for that. It was Rose’s idea.”

“
That’s
my girl,” Ron sighed deeply, putting an arm around his wife’s shoulder.

“So, then,” Flitwick said, bringing the conversation back on point. “The Morrigan Web must be fuelled by something that once belonged to a very powerful dark witch or wizard, now dead. It will be a very personal item, I’d wager. Something that would have absorbed the subject’s strength and purpose over many years.”

Revalvier pushed back her hood and nodded. “And the second marker is proximity. It will be right in the centre of the gathering. A focal point.”

Debellows narrowed his eyes. “Since the event is a Quidditch match,” he suggested. “Perhaps the cursed object will be one of the game balls.”

“Possible,” Harry agreed. “Although Hogwarts Quidditch equipment does not often belong to only one person.”

Hagrid stroked his beard. “This is no common Quidditch match, yeh know,” he said. “Could be somebody will pull out some ancient traditional bit o’ equipment, all special like. A Quaffle from some famous old world cup or the like. We jus’ need ter keep watchin’ for anythin’ unusual.”

James’ eyes widened suddenly as an idea struck him. It was so obvious, so perfectly plain, that for a long moment he could not force his mouth say it.

“What is it, James,” his father asked, frowning aside at him. “You know something?”

James’ mind raced, outpacing his tongue. Finally, he looked at Ralph, his eyes still bulging in their sockets. “The Crystal Chalice!” he rasped.

Ralph’s eyes also widened as the realization struck him. Next to him, Scorpius finally sank to the grass, one hand rising to his forehead in amazement.

Ron glanced around the clearing in confusion. “What’s the Crystal Chalice?”

“The new Quidditch tournament trophy,” Flitwick said wonderingly. “Of course!”

Debellows smacked a fist into an open palm. “It’s ancient. Likely belonged to some massively powerful old wizard king or queen, ruthless and tyrannical.”

Hermione glanced at Harry, her eyes grave. “It’ll be the centre of attention when they introduce it at the beginning of the match.”

“Where did it come from?” Harry asked, turning to his son.

“Lance Vassar’s parents,” James answered spitefully. “They’re explorers and teachers, spend all their time studying magical cultures and history and stuff. If they’re anything like Lance, they’re a pair of arrogant twits who think money and brains are the same thing.”

“Be that as it may,” McGonagall countered, shooting James a reproachful glance, “that doesn’t make them enemies. This is a very serious accusation we are levelling against them.”

“They need not even know of the plot,” Revalvier suggested. “They may merely be willing dupes, unaware that the relic they’ve obliged to donate will be used for murderous purposes.”

“Either way,” Ron said, scanning the gathering for agreement, “this is the best lead we’ve got. Any disagreement?”

James looked around the fire, searching the circle of faces for dissent. When none appeared, McGonagall suggested, “Can we destroy the Chalice before the match?”

“Preferable but unlikely,” Debellows sighed. “If it is indeed the source of the Web, it will be guarded extremely securely until the time of its use. We must be prepared to take it in the moments before it is triggered.”

“To be safe,” Flitwick said, his eyes flashing in the firelight, “I suggest we follow young Miss Weasley’s counsel and attend the tournament wandless.”

This was greeted with a circle of sober nods. Professor Debellows, James noticed, did not join in. The big man glared into the fire, his face stony, and James had an idea that it would be a cold day in hades before the old Harrier went anywhere without his wand.

“But we should keep them within reach,” Harry said. “And let us hope that such precaution is unnecessary.”

Hermione gave a fervent murmur of agreement. To James’ ear, it almost sounded like a half-prayer. He glanced up at his father. “Does this mean you’ll be there, Dad?”

Harry nodded sombrely. “Myself, your Uncle Ron and Aunt Hermione, yes. Hagrid will help us sneak in. That will be no small feat, considering that Titus is in charge of security.”

“What will he do if he catches you?”

At that, Harry offered James a true smile. “Remember who’s head Auror, son,” he narrowed his eyes. “Trust me. We won’t get caught.”

“What are
we
to do, then?” Scorpius asked, glancing up.

“You’ve done your bit,” Debellows answered firmly. “From here on out, your job is to be careful. Stay out of Headmaster Grudje’s way. Avoid Mr. Filch wherever you can.”

“Pass your exams,” Hermione offered with a half-hearted smile.

“And keep trying to get as many people as possible to go to the tournament wandless,” Ron added seriously. “Just in case.”

With that, the meeting seemed to break up. Professor McGonagall climbed to her feet with the assistance of Professor Revalvier. Debellows unsheathed his wand and snuffed the fire with a whispered command. “I shall wait for you to return first, professor,” he said to Flitwick. “If you enter by the main courtyard, I will use the rotunda.”

Flitwick nodded. Tugging his hat lower on his brow, he made off, tramping through the brush with surprisingly little noise.

“I’ll escort yeh three back,” Hagrid said, clapping James and Ralph on the shoulder. “Already got a nice collection of bursting mushrooms back at th’ hut. Professor Heretofore will be right pleased with yer night’s work.”

“Good thinking, Hagrid,” Hermione said, her voice still stitched with worry.

“Don’ yeh fret now, Hermione,” Hagrid soothed. “Everythin’s gonna be jus’ fine. Yeh wait and see.”

Nearby, a pair of flat
cracks
struck the air. James recognized the sound of Professors McGonagall and Revalvier disapparating-- obviously Hagrid had walked them far enough to take them outside the protective boundary of the school, making apparation possible.

“Dad,” James asked, “Where’s Professor Longbottom? Why wasn’t he here tonight?”

“Watching Professor Revalvier’s flat,” he replied, consulting his watch. “Minerva has been staying with her ever since the attack. As a result, we never leave the place deserted. Too easy for the wrong people to sneak in and lie in wait. Juliet will fill Neville in upon her return. Believe me, he is raring to get back to Hogwarts.”

James nodded. “I
bet
he is. And I wouldn’t want to be Filch when he does.”

“I wouldn’t want to be Filch even on his best day,” Scorpius said meaningfully.

“Hear, hear!” Ron agreed.

“Off with the four of you,” Hermione urged, pushing the boys toward Hagrid. “And be careful!”

“We will, Aunt Hermione,” James replied, reluctant to say goodbye but knowing it was time.

“And tell Rose I said hello!” she added, lowering her voice. “Tell her we’re sorry she couldn’t come out with you, but I was worried about her. Tell her her mum and dad love her!”

“Hermione,” Ron said, taking her by the shoulders. “Come. We have to get back.”

“I’m coming,” she snapped. James saw that his aunt was nearly trembling with worry. Uncle Ron seemed to realize this as well. His own face was pale in the darkness as he hugged his wife to him. He nodded at James.

“We’ll see you lot in a few days,” he said. “But if all goes well, you won’t see us. Stay out of trouble.”

“That’s a fine thing for you to say, Uncle Ron,” James said.

“He’s right,” Harry agreed soberly. “This is no time for heroics. Lay low. Get those wands stowed. And James…”

James sighed tiredly. “Yeah, Dad?”

“Good work,” his father said, stepping alongside Ron and Hermione and shifting his gaze to Ralph and Scorpius. “All of you. You’ve done more than any of us thought possible.” He frowned slightly. “I suppose, eventually, we’ll have to punish you for a good bit of it, especially if James’ mother has any say in the matter…”

Hermione laughed weakly. Ron smiled.

“But for now,” Harry concluded, “I’m proud of you.”

James nodded at his father, a surge of surprising happiness welling in his chest.

A moment later, Harry, Ron and Hermione vanished in a trio of echoing
cracks
.

Hagrid sniffed. “Jus’ like old times,” he said, producing a hanky. He blew noisily. “Well, we best be gettin’ back, then. Evenin’ Professor.” This last he addressed to Professor Debellows, who James only now realized was still standing across the clearing, blending preternaturally into the trees, awaiting his chance to return unnoticed.

“Good evening, Professor Hagrid,” his deep voice rumbled. “Students.”

By the shifting moonlight, James, Ralph and Scorpius collected their metal pails and began to follow Hagrid back through the Forest. As before, Trife bounded ahead, tracing back and forth through the bushes, growling at the tiny, gruff voices of the occasional wild garden gnomes.

As he walked, James thought back on the remarkable meeting he had just witnessed, filled in equal parts with burgeoning hope and deep dread. For the first time in months, he was teased with the possibility that everything might turn out all right after all. And yet, if it didn’t, more than students and Muggle world leaders might die. His father would be there, along with his Uncle Ron and Aunt Hermione. If the Morrigan Web went off, would they have their wands safely stowed? Or would they, like Kendrick Debellows, be willing to sacrifice themselves for the cause of constant readiness?

“What’s a witch or wizard without a wand?” he muttered fearfully to himself, his voice lost in the clanking of the bucket at his side.

The Forest brooded all around, thick with shadows, but empty of answers.