James Potter And The Morrigan Web (95 page)

21. THE THIRD MARKER

The final Quidditch match of the term was always a massively popular event, each grandstand filled raucously with students and teachers, peppering the air overhead with firework charms and bursts of confetti, all in various team colours. This year, however, the crowd was far thicker, packed to overflowing as students were crammed into the upper seats, leaving room in the lower boxes for Muggle dignitaries and their entourages, along with their wizarding counterparts and a liberal collection of ambassadors and translators from various international Ministries of Magic.

Even before James, Rose and Scorpius reached their seats, threading with difficulty through the milling, noisy throng, Rose was excitedly pointing out the foreign gatherings all around.

“That’s the prime minister of India and his wife!” she exclaimed, hopping on her toes and pointing over Scorpius’ shoulder. “And over there with the Slytherins, look! That’s the German chancellor! And the French president sitting next to the French Minister of Magic and Madame Maxime!”

Sidling to a bench above Heth Thomas and Deirdre Finnegan, James asked, “How do you know all these people?”

“I read Lily’s ambassador instruction packet,” Rose admitted, settling into her seat. “It had a listing of all the attending government representatives. Extremely impressive, all of them being here today.”

“Muggles at a Quidditch match,” Scorpius shook his head. “What’s the world coming to?”

“Hush,” Rose scolded.

James glanced from grandstand to grandstand, watching the various Muggle leaders gaze from their seats with a wide-eyed mixture of wonder, anxiety, and undaunted curiosity. A collective gasp rippled around the pitch as the Hufflepuff and Slytherin teams emerged from the locker rooms far below, spiralling up into the air on their brooms and swooping around the grandstands like hummingbirds, their cloaks snapping behind them. The crowd of students raised a deafening cheer, joined somewhat more respectably by the government representatives and ambassadors. In the lowest box of the Hufflepuff grandstands, James spied the American president-- Drummond was his name-- clapping mildly amidst a knot of men in black suits and ties. His vice president was conspicuously absent, of course.

“Look!” Rose suddenly exclaimed, pointing. “Aunt Ginny!”

A thrill of sick shock descended upon James as he followed his cousin’s pointing finger. Sure enough, making her way to her seat above the Minister of Magic, was his mother, her red hair shimmering in the sunlight, her face drawn and pale.

“What’s she doing here?” he asked, both angry and dismayed.

“Her son’s playing in the match, if you hadn’t noticed,” Scorpius answered with a roll of his eyes.

“Not to mention,” Rose added proudly, “that she was a professional Quidditch player herself. That’s why she gets to sit in the VIP box along with the Minister of Magic.”

James shook his head. “I don’t care,” he said worriedly. “She shouldn’t be here.”

Rose leaned close and dropped her voice harshly. “She’s well aware of what’s happening here today, James. You can’t expect her to stay away with her family in danger.”

“That’s exactly why I wish she
had
stayed away,” James replied helplessly. As he watched, Lily, Chance Jackson and Marcus Cobb joined his mother in the VIP box, wide-eyed and pointing at the various important people all around. Ginny put her arm around Lily. When she looked up, James saw that she was looking across the pitch straight at him. She did not wave, but merely nodded at him tensely.

James sighed and nodded back.

On the pitch below, a hastily assembled band struck up a spirited rendition of the Hogwarts salute, led by Professor Flitwick on a tall wooden stool. Simultaneously, the new scoreboard erupted with showers of gold and green sparks. The competing house names glowed boldly in their colours, accompanied by a pair of matching, flashing zeroes.

“It really is quite a spectacle,” Rose admitted. “If only I could relax and enjoy it.”

“Everything’s under control,” Scorpius said with a curt nod. “There’s nothing for it but to watch.”

As the team players drifted back toward the pitch, dismounting their brooms for the ceremonial captain’s handshake, another wave of excitement arose from the spectators. James craned to watch as a pair of enormous figures lumbered into view, skirting the edge of the pitch far below.

“It’s Grawp!” Deirdre called happily, pointing. “And who’s that with him? She’s completely monstrous!”

“Prechka!” James answered, grinning despite himself.

Rose jumped excitedly in her seat, clutching James’ arm. “Look how they’re dressed!” she exclaimed. “They’re here as representatives of their clans! Prechka’s wearing the apron of the mountain dwellers and Grawp has on the crown of the cave tribe!”

Sure enough, Prechka, whose head bobbed along level with the lower boxes of the Ravenclaw grandstand, was wearing an extraordinarily lumpy smock fringed with rippling, swaying ribbons of dyed burlap. Grawp, shorter than his wife by nearly a dozen feet but still twice as tall as the equipment shed, wore a black iron crown so complicated and twisted that it might have been the nest of some kind of clockwork pterodactyl. The bulk of it seemed to weigh down his head, forcing him to hunch beneath it despite his wide, brick-toothed smile.

“The Vassars asked for them specifically,” James heard Willow Wisteria explaining. “They spent a load of time living with the giants, learning their language and customs. Mrs. Vassar especially thought it was important that as many magical communities as possible be represented.”

As James watched, a troupe of Aurors, led by Titus Hardcastle himself, trotted onto the field, surrounding the giants for inspection. Both Prechka and Grawp seemed to expect this. They waited awkwardly, apparently trying not to accidentally step on the Aurors.

Behind the giants, another shape trundled onto the pitch.

“What in the world is that thing?” Rose asked, squinting down at the field. “And is that Hagrid pushing it?”

James perked up at the mention of Hagrid’s name. Sure enough, emerging from behind the giants was a large cage on wooden wheels, pushed gamely by Hagrid. The cage seemed to be stuffed with puffy, squirming gold and green shapes. James recognized them as Pygmy Puffs, probably hundreds of them, all dyed the colours of the competing teams. The cage’s doors buckled slightly at the mass of the squirming creatures.

“Do you think…?” Rose whispered, nudging James with her elbow.

James merely shook his head, afraid to answer. He tried to imagine what it might be like to be his father, Uncle Ron and Aunt Hermione hidden in the midst of that squirming, stifling mass of fur.

“Too obvious,” Scorpius muttered.

James watched breathlessly as Titus held up a hand, halting Hagrid in his trundling course past the giants. The Aurors approached the cage, abandoning Grawp and Prechka and producing their wands.

“Oh no,” Rose whispered, raising a hand to her mouth.

Hagrid moved around the cage, apparently warning the Aurors to keep their distance, but Titus nodded at the Auror next to him, Lucinda Lyon, apparently instructing her to inspect the packed creatures. She approached the cage, wand raised, and began to scan the interior with a faint purple beam. Hagrid watched this tensely, wringing his hands. When Lucinda reached the bulging doors at the rear of the cage, he tried to interrupt her again. She raised a hand to him warningly. At that moment, however, the strain of the Pygmy Puffs overcame the buckling cage doors. They wrenched open, spilling the creatures forth like a freight of giant yellow and green cotton balls, momentarily burying Lucinda.

Titus leapt forward, flinging Pygmy Puffs in every direction, but he needn’t have bothered. These creatures, as James could clearly now see, had apparently been bred just for the occasion. Tiny, fluffy wings unfurled from each of the Puffs, flapping in mad blurs and lifting them into the air. They bobbed like clumsy balloons, swirling up in a great, expanding cloud.

A roar of confused laughter and applause greeted the floating Pygmy Puffs, even as, down on the pitch, Hagrid and Titus pulled Lucinda to her feet.

“The cage,” James said, confused. “It’s empty…”

As the Pygmy Puffs drained from the cage, floating awkwardly into the afternoon air, they left nothing but blank wooden floor.

“Look at the giants!” Rose hissed.

Both Grawp and Prechka had taken their seats at the base of the Ravenclaw grandstand, plopping directly onto the grass at the edge of the pitch. Grawp’s massive iron crown sat next to him, casting a complicated shadow up onto the door of the Ravenclaw locker room. As James watched, the shadow moved furtively. A pair of figures climbed out of the crown, ducking into the locker room door. Next to Grawp, Prechka’s smock wriggled. One of its lumps became a third, slighter figure as it slipped lithely out of a pocket and disappeared behind the she-giant.

“Eww,” James muttered in a hushed voice.

“Poor Mum,” Rose whispered, recognizing the shape of Hermione Weasley as she crept into the shadow of the Ravenclaw locker room. “Being stuffed into a giantess’ pocket is no way to travel…”

“Told you the cage was too obvious,” Scorpius said smugly.

A mingled sense of deep relief and nervous anticipation filled James now that he knew his father, uncle and aunt had successfully snuck onto the pitch. The team locker rooms, he knew, were connected by short tunnels beneath the grandstands, giving the threesome access to the entire circumference of the pitch if necessary.

Down on the pitch, the Hufflepuff and Slytherin Quidditch teams were taking their positions on either side of the centre line. James saw Albus in his green tunic on the far edge, in the shadow of the Slytherin grandstand, his broom planted at his side. Cabe Ridcully stood between the teams in his official’s tunic, a yellow cape fluttering from his broad shoulders. Gabriel Jackson, the Hufflepuff captain, joined him there, squaring her shoulders against Slytherin’s Nolan Beetlebrick, who was easily twice as wide as her and well aware of it. She squinted up at him appraisingly, seemingly unimpressed.

“Welcome students, ladies and gentleman from the world over,” Ashley Doone’s voice echoed from the announcer’s box, “to this very special and truly historic Hogwarts Quidditch tournament match!”

A roar of wild applause filled the air, along with an eager display of sparkling fireworks and waving banners. For half a minute, Ashley’s amplified voice was drowned out by the crowd. James swept his gaze around the grandstands, taking in the sight of the gathered world leaders. Most smiled and applauded in a dignified manner. A few nodded and waved up at the crowd. The American president seemed to be in a close conversation with one of the Magical Integration Bureau agents who leaned toward him, speaking directly into his ear. In the VIP box, headmaster Grudje sat grimly next to the Minister of Magic, Loquatious Knapp, who stood as he applauded feverishly, his face red and serious. Behind him, James’ mum sat stolidly, her face tense.

“In honour of today’s momentous match,” Ashley went on, her voice waking echoes all around the grandstands, “we are pleased to witness the generous gift of an all new Quidditch winner’s cup, donated by intrepid explorers and proud Hogwarts parents, Draven and Lyddia Vassar!”

James looked down at the pitch in time to see the Vassars step out into the sunlight, blinking and waving proudly. Mr. Vassar was tall and handsome, with a prominent chin and black hair almost as perfectly coiffed as his son’s. Lyddia Vassar was extremely thin, almost birdlike, with long blonde hair draped over her narrow shoulders. A pair of tortoiseshell glasses enlarged her green eyes as she waved up at the grandstands all around. Lance joined them as they strode onto the pitch, followed by professors Heretofore and Shert, who were levitating a large object between them, draped in heavy black cloth.

“There it is,” Rose said, a note of dread coming into her voice. “The Crystal Chalice.”

James nodded wordlessly. A wave of coldness came over him as he looked down at it. Even hidden beneath the thick black fabric, the Chalice seemed to emanate a silent pulse of power. How, he wondered, would his dad, aunt and uncle manage to abscond with it in the moments before the Morrigan Web was triggered? He glanced around the pitch for any sign of them. Apart from the Vassars themselves, every eye in attendance was trained on the levitating object, eager to see it unveiled. Even the giants, Grawp and Prechka, were mesmerized where they sat, wide-eyed in the sunlight at the edge of the pitch.

“Wait a minute,” James whispered suddenly, leaning forward and squinting down at the giants. “Who’s that?”

Rose craned to follow his gaze. “What?”

“Somebody else is down there. Hiding behind Grawp and Prechka…”

Rose frowned and shook her head. “I don’t see--” she interrupted herself with a gasp as a figure flitted behind Prechka, angling into the shadow of the Ravenclaw grandstand.

“Corsica,” Scorpius said darkly. “What’s
she
up to?”

There was no mistaking that tall, lithe shape. Tabitha Corsica glanced back once, assuring that no one on the pitch had spied her, and then disappeared into the Ravenclaw locker area.