James Potter and the Morrigan Web by G. Norman Lippert
With that, he turned to regard the president with a smile. President Drummond, James saw, flinched slightly away from that smile.
"I don't care what he's calling himself," James said, unable to tear his eyes away from the man on the screen. "But he's no Muggle. He's a wizard. He's evil. And the last time I saw him, he called himself… the Collector."
11. QUINN'S STORY
A series of rattling clanks ran the length of the Hogwarts Express as the great red train began to crawl out of King's Cross station, emerging into a fine, greasy drizzle. James shared a compartment with Rose, Ralph, Albus, Louis and Lily, who leaned against his shoulder, half-lidded, watching London scroll past the rain-smeared windows as if it was the world's most boring movie. As the narrow streets and buildings began to whicker past, James saw that most of the snow had melted, leaving only grimy slush and dripping gutters.
No one spoke.
The end of the holiday had been uncomfortably urgent and hushed. James understood it only vaguely. The strangely antagonistic appearance of Titus Hardcastle had apparently solidified a growing rift in the Auror department. On one side was James' father, Harry, head of the department and reluctantly famous symbol of the fight against dark magic. On the other side, rather shockingly, was Titus Hardcastle, long-time loyal partner, but sudden confidante and trusted favourite of the Minister of Magic and his closest advisor, Hogwarts' very own headmaster Grudje.
Of course, nothing official had changed. Harry Potter was still in charge of the Auror department. And yet there was a definite shift in responsibilities, with Hardcastle being assigned the bulk of the active duties, while Harry was increasingly waylaid for diplomatic and ambassadorial missions.
Professor McGonagall, who had remained long into the night after Hardcastle's appearance on Christmas night, had admitted her own suspicions.
"Hardcastle is an obedient soldier," she had spat under her breath, her eyes flashing like flint. "Not a thinking man. That's why they prefer him over you, Harry. He follows orders and does not question them.
Men like him are invaluable to tyrants."
James' father had not been as confident. "Loquatious Knapp is hardly a tyrant," he sighed, helping Ron Weasley to shrink the dining room back to its normal size. "It's complicated. Ever since the debacle in the states last year, when I fell under the suspicion of the Magical Integration Bureau, the Ministry has thought it best that mine not be the face of national wizarding enforcement. It's politics, plain and simple."
James had a feeling that, in a way, they were both right. This was made all the more disturbing by the appearance of The Collector in the guise of the new American vice president. It wasn't so much that his father doubted James' word-- he had, in fact, shown great seriousness and trust regarding the subject-- but that there seemed to be very little he could do about it.
"The Minister of Magic won't hear a word of it," he admitted reluctantly. "The fact is, there are conspiracies and threats everywhere, what with the magical world infringing more and more into Muggle affairs. But I will be watching, and not just me. There are plenty who remain loyal. Even some of those who work alongside Titus. Lucinda, for instance."
James had spluttered. "But…! She shot at me! She was with him tonight when they fell on this place like a load of thieves!"
"Lucinda is different," Harry insisted, his brow darkening. "She follows orders, but she thinks. She's caught between loyalties. Don't think this is easy for her. She'll be true in the end. Trust me."
By the time he, Albus and Rose had been returned to the attic, under the malevolent gaze of a very disgruntled Kreacher, it had been nearly midnight. And even then, Ralph, Lily and the others had insisted on a detailed explanation of everything that had happened. The bulk of this responsibility fell on James, who alone had overheard the discussion in the dining room and observed the arrival of Hardcastle and his aurors. Finally, hours later, he had told them the most important bit of all.
"The Collector," he shook his head wearily. "He isn't hiding out in New Amsterdam anymore, enslaving people to help make his Morrigan Web super weapon. He's somehow wormed his way into becoming the new American vice president. Probably sent his own people to kill off the old one, just so he could take his place."
Saying it out loud, James realized just how truly frightening it was. The others seemed to sense it as well, their glassy, tired eyes shining with shock and disbelief. All except for Victoire and Louis, who were incredulous of the entire affair.
"You're all bloody deluded," Louis announced grumpily, reaching to blow out the lantern over his bunk. "Even if you did meet some evil wizard bloke in New Amsterdam, it can't be the same one whose taking over the vice presidency. There's, like, laws about that sort of thing. The president can't just name any old mate of his to the vice presidency."
No one responded to Louis' objection, partly because they were too tired, but also partly because, as James could see on Rose's and Ralph's faces, they secretly wanted to believe him. Suddenly, the thrill of the mystery had become a very real stab of fear, the sense that things had begun to spin out of control on a truly monumental and terrifying scale.
If a dark wizard had murdered and tricked his way into becoming the second most powerful man in the Muggle free world, what would keep him from finishing the job? What would stop the Collector from killing the president and taking over completely? Isn't that-- the conquering and subjugation of the Muggle world-- what the darkest of dark wizards had always striven for? Voldemort had attempted it via insurrections in the wizarding world, armies of dark comrades, and widespread magical terrorism. Now, the Collector (and his mysterious benefactor) seemed poised to finish the task with simple treachery. It would have been impossible but for the all-important erosion of the Vow of Secrecy, set in motion by Petra Morganstern, months ago.
James slept very little that night. He sensed, by the restless noises coming from the bunks around him, that he wasn't alone.
Thus, as the Hogwarts Express wound its way into the foggy patchwork of fields and rolling hills, lorded over by a pall of low, slate clouds, it was a worn and weary group that lolled in James' compartment. All except for Louis, who had snoozed until ten in the morning and was as chipper as a wood sprite.
"All right," he announced finally, "who wants to play Winkles and Augers? James? You're always worth a laugh."
"Quiet," Ralph muttered, receding further into the collar of his heavy cloak.
"You all are a load of chuckles," Louis announced in exasperation. "I should have gone with Scorpius to spy out the Slytherins. Scorpius may be a smarmy little berk, but the Slytherins always have good snacks."
"Well you'll just have to pardon us," Rose stiffened. "We were up all night discussing the end of the world is all."
"Even if it is the end of the world," Louis said, rolling his eyes, "doesn't mean we have to mope around like a load of Flobberworm." He climbed onto his seat, reached for James' bag on the overhead rack, and began to rummage through it. "Where's your wand, James? No one's quite as much fun to beat at Winkles and Augers as you."
James turned away, flapping a hand irritably. "Get out of my things, you obnoxious git. My wand's not even in there."
"For once you actually have it on your person?" Albus said archly. "That's about as shocking as you showing up on time for a Quidditch try-out."
"Ow!" Louis suddenly cried. "What the bloody…?"
James turned back. Louis was frowning down at something in his hand. "You really need to clear out your luggage a little more often, James. You've got a load of weeds or something growing in the bottom of it."
"Give me those!" James announced, jumping to his feet. "Those are mine."
Louis jumped down, cocking his head suspiciously. "Tell me what they are."
"The Yuxa Baslatma," Ralph said wonderingly, spying the pair of spiny burs in Louis' hand. "I totally forgot about those. But…" he glanced back at James. "But Professor Avior took them from you, didn't he?"
J
"Yuxa Baslatma," Rose repeated. "Dream inducers? Let me see."
Louis shrugged and dumped the spiny burs into Rose's upturned hand. "Ugly little things if you ask me. What do they do?"
Rose peered at the burs carefully. "Well, if they are what Ralph says, they are seriously magical objects, though really unpredictable, and pretty dangerous. Where did you say you got them?"
James and Ralph described their experience in Professor Avior's Durmstrang class, explaining how the Yuxa Baslatma had attached itself to James' robe, leaving a mass of burs that had been subsequently confiscated by Avior.
"But he didn't get them all," Rose nodded knowledgeably, "because the Yuxa Baslatma had chosen you. Which plant was it?"
"What's that matter?" Albus interjected. "Just work the magic, already. It's a divination tool, right? Maybe it'll tell us how James here will meet his ultimate demise. It'll be dead boring, I wager."
Rose rolled her eyes impatiently. "These aren't like Trelawney's tea cups, you dolt. This is powerful magic. There are hardly any real Yuxa Baslatma left in the world. It sounds like Avior has the biggest collection of them anywhere. If these aren't used properly, they can be extremely dangerous. And it's important to know which plant these came from, since they all do slightly different things."
Ralph nodded, remembering. "It was something about the answer to your most important question."
James agreed. "'The question which vexes you most'. That was the exact wording, I think."
"Well," Louis chimed in, "That's an easy one. Which one of you is the most totally daft. My money is on James."
Lily gave Louis a shove, and then stood up, brushing her hair out of her face. "What makes it dangerous, Rose?"
Rose handed the burs back to James. "It's simple, really. They're dream inducers. They do their work only when the subject is asleep. Drop one in some water, drink it down, and go to sleep. Ten or fifteen minutes later, the magic happens as a very powerful, very real dream. But if you aren't asleep when they take effect, they can be… well, pretty harmful."
Lily frowned. "What's 'pretty harmful'?"
"They drive you completely mad," Ralph admitted. "The dream fights against the waking world, overloading the mind and pretty much making it go kablooey."
"So get to it, then, James." Albus urged, plopping onto his seat. "Swallow those things down and have a little nap. We'll wait. When you wake up, you can tell us the answer to our most vexing question."
"It's not that simple," Rose insisted irritably. "We should know what the question is."
"Well that's obvious, isn't it?" Lily suggested. "How do we stop this Collector person?"
Albus shook his head. "That's not the biggest question at all. It's how to find Petra Morganstern. She's the key to the whole thing, isn't she?"
"Even if we knew where Petra was," Rose objected, "It doesn't mean anyone can catch her. I think the most vexing question is who Avior Dorchascathan is. That's probably why he tried to confiscate the dream inducers from you, James. He's trying to protect his secrets-- what he knows about the Morrigan Web and what his connection to Albus Dumbledore is."
"What if the question is supposed to be about Headmaster Grudje?" Louis interjected. "Why's he so scary and vicious, giving Filch powers and shutting down the post and all?"
Ralph spoke up. "You're all forgetting the most important thing of all. The big question is what the Morrigan Web is. What does it do and how do we stop it?"
James shook his head slowly. "This is the problem, isn't it? They're all really serious questions. All of them are important. How do I know which one really is the one the dream inducer wants to answer?"
"I have a novel idea," Albus shrugged. "Why don't you just try it and find out?"
Ralph nodded thoughtfully. "It's worth a try. What's the worst that could happen?"
Rose stared hard at the burs in James' hand. "I guess most of the danger really is just in getting to sleep. I suppose the answer will explain the question, once you wake up. Perhaps Albus is right."
"I don't know," James said, suddenly hesitant. The burs prickled in his palm, tickling it slightly. "Maybe one of you should do it instead. Rose, you try it. You're the smartest one of all of us."
"Hah," Albus scoffed.
"I can't," Rose replied, putting her fists on her hips. "The Yuxa Baslatma chose you. It will only work for you. For me, or any of the rest of us, it would just be a really strange, wild dream, full of nonsense."
"Like all of my dreams," Ralph nodded.
James gulped. "Suddenly I'm not all that tired."
"Oh, we can totally help with that," Louis said cheerfully, jumping to his feet. "We can make you a nice bed out of all our cloaks and then shoot them full of sleep charms. Rose knows those backward and forward, right Rose?"
Rose nodded. "Sure, yeah. They're super simple, and work a treat. What do you say, James."
James looked from Rose, to Albus, to Louis, to Ralph. All of them looked back at him with hopeful expectancy. Finally, he looked aside at Lily.
"You don't have to, James," she said worriedly. "It doesn't seem all that safe. Perhaps it isn't worth it."
Strangely, his sister's warning helped make up James' mind. "I don't think we can afford not to try," he said, mustering his determination. "And I guess I'd rather try it with all your help than by myself in the dormitory."
"Excellent!" Albus declared, producing his wand. "This is better than Winkles and Augers any day. Everyone toss your cloaks and stuff here on the bench. Rose, warm up those sleeping charms."
A few minutes later, James clambered awkwardly onto the pile of cloaks, stretching out full length on his back.
"You don't look like you're ready for a nap," Rose criticized. "You look more like a dead body that misplaced its casket."
"I'm not used to napping with a load of people gathered around staring at me!" James complained nervously. "All of you just cram in on the other bench and quit ogling."
"How're those sleep charms working, then?" Ralph asked, wedging himself into a seat next to Rose. "Feeling tired yet?"
"I feel less tired than I have my whole life." James groused. This was not entirely true, however. Even as he lay on the cushion of cloaks, his fists crossed over his chest, he could feel the subtle magic of the charms seeping into his body, loosening his tight shoulders and relaxing his tensed jaw.
Lily was the only one still standing. "Here, James," she said, handing him a small bottle. "It's what's left of Louis' liquorice soda. It'll have to do."
James sat up (with some effort, considering the effects of the sleep charms) and accepted the bottle.
He opened his other fist, revealing the somewhat mashed pair of burs. "You think I should do the whole thing?" he asked, turning to Rose.
"All or nothing," Albus nodded. "Down the hatch already."
Rose merely shrugged. "Too much might be dangerous. Perhaps you want to save one for another question? If they even work that way."
James took a deep breath. Finally, he tipped his hand over the mouth of the bottle, allowing both burs to roll into it. They caught there and he poked them with his finger until they plopped inside. He shook the bottle slightly, nervously, and then held it up to the light of the window.
"They've dissolved already," he said.
Louis rolled his eyes. "They're magic. Drink up."
James didn't like taking orders from Louis, but there didn't seem to be any point in putting it off. He sniffed the bottle, which smelled strongly of black liquorice (with only a hint of something wild and musty), then, squeezing his eyes shut and holding his breath, he tipped the bottle against his lips. He gulped until the bottle was empty.
"How was it?" Lily asked, a bit breathlessly.
James shrugged, stifling a belch and handing the bottle to her. "Like liquorice soda. I don't like it any old time, but it
"Make with the napping, then," Albus insisted, leaning forward in his seat. "You've only got ten minutes before magical brain scramble time."
"No pressure, though," Lily squeaked.
James flopped backwards onto the bed of cloaks. He knew that, on some level, he was nervous. But the feeling was distant, almost academic. Mostly, what he felt was a pervasive sense of extreme comfort, as if every muscle in his body, including his brain, had happily turned into pudding. The others continued to talk as he closed his eyes, but their voices were suddenly unimportant and far away. The subtle shimmy-rattle of the train became a lullaby, escorting him down, down, through descending layers of consciousness, until all that remained was a fog of expectancy.
The answer to my most vexing question, he thought dimly, concentrating on the words, trying to cling to them.
The train lumbered on beneath him, and suddenly the journey seemed much longer than usual. It was no longer a journey of mere hours and miles; it was a journey of years and leagues, across oceans, over decades, spiralling below normal sleep and into something as bottomless as space and endless as time.
And slowly, on the other side of that great divide, James began to wake up.
"For Fredericka," a girl's voice said faintly. James looked to the side. A young woman, barely older than James himself, stood nearby. In her outstretched hand, smoking lazily, was a small pistol.
"For Fredericka," she repeated faintly, "from her fiancé, William. And from me, her sister. Helen."
James followed the aim of the pistol and saw a man lying face down, obviously dead. There was nothing else to see-- only the girl (Helen) and the dead man (Magnussen!), surrounded by infinite black void. But then, slowly, shapes began to resolve out of the dark. James looked around as buildings unsheathed from the empty fog all around. Wet cobbles spread away from Magnussen's body. Barrels and crates shimmered into view, cramming a narrow, dank alley.