James Potter and the Curse of the Gatekeeper

10. THE BEACON STONE

James waited until the goblins finished disassembling the handmade camera equipment, loaded the pieces onto a rough cart, and wheeled it away, talking the entire time in a strange goblin language. When they were gone and the rotunda was empty, James jumped up. He peered into the silver-framed mirror, wondering why anyone would hang a mirror behind a statue. The mirror showed merely the shadowy backsides of the statues and James' own face, which was rather wild-eyed. His glasses were askew. He whipped them off and stuffed them into his pyjama pocket. For a moment, he was filled with a horrible panic. The Mirror-portal had closed! How would he ever get back? But then, as he placed his hands on the surface of the mirror glass, the reflection changed. Merlin's office leapt into view, as if summoned by James' touch. Candles had been lit and Merlin stood at his desk, his back to the Mirror. He was turning the pages in the Focusing Book. He seemed to sense James' gaze, for he suddenly turned his head, peering back at the Mirror, his eyes sharp. James leapt aside, throwing himself against the stone wall next to the mirror. The moment his fingers left its surface, however, the reflection changed back to normal; the Headmaster's office winked away, replaced by the reflection of the enormous statue and the rotunda.

James breathed a huge sigh of relief. All he needed to do was to wait until Merlin left his office again. Then, James could simply touch the mirror on this side and wish to go back to his own time. Hopefully, he'd be sent back through the Amsera Certh again. Once he got back, he'd still have to escape the Headmaster's office undetected, but he'd work that out when the time came. Quietly, James hunkered down behind the statue plinth and leaned against the wall.

Now that he had calmed down a bit, James began to notice the noises and smells of this ancient version of Hogwarts. The rotunda itself was empty, but the rest of the castle sounded like a hive of activity. Voices echoed, overlapping and busy. There was the sound of footsteps and even the clatter of hooves on stone. Clanks and hisses indicated a nearby kitchen. The smells were a mingled potpourri of stew and plowed earth, sawdust and animal dung. James found that he was curious. If he had to wait anyway, was there any reason he shouldn't explore the original Hogwarts a little? Rose would probably punch him if he didn't take advantage of the opportunity. James climbed up and peered between the enormous feet of the statue of Helga Hufflepuff. The rotunda remained completely still and empty. Cautiously, James crept out from behind the statue and crossed the room. It was just like the old rotunda in the Hogwarts he knew, except that it wasn't old; every block in the wall was straight and sharp-edged, perfectly fitted in its place. At the archway, James turned back and looked at the statue. He'd often wondered what it had looked like before it was broken. The stone figures of the founders were each twenty feet tall, all smiling except for the statue of Salazar Slytherin, which seemed to smirk slightly, the eyes narrowed. On the wall behind them, above the silver-framed mirror, was a gigantic Hogwarts crest fashioned from wood and painted brightly. The overall look was quite imposing.

"Boy!" someone cried nearby. James jumped, wheeling so fast that he nearly fell on the floor.

A man in a long fur cloak was standing in the doorway of the rotunda entrance. His bushy eyebrows were furrowed over bright, deep-set eyes. He held the reins of a regal white horse. "Stable the packhorse and send word to your lord that his guests are arrived. We can find our own quarters if none can be bothered to greet us."

James was completely flummoxed. Not knowing what else to do, he ran over to the man and tentatively reached for the reins. The man looked him up and down suspiciously, and James remembered that he was dressed in blue- and white-striped pyjamas.

"Not the steed, boy," the man growled. "No one handles this beast but myself. Your charge is yonder packhorse." He pointed out over the portico to a huge packhorse laden with canvas burdens. Hitched to it was a cart with thick, wooden wheels. The man leaned toward James threateningly. "Are you a stable boy or a jester? What manner of reception is this?"

"Er, sorry sir. No problem," James stammered. "I can handle your horse, uh, Sire. Master. Er, Your Highness."

The man's face suddenly spread into a toothy grin, as if he thought James was mocking him and was pleased to plan his comeuppance. "Amusing, boy. Your lord will surely enjoy the joke as much as I do. See to it that our baggage is brought to our quarters, and I'll personally strop the porter who proves careless. Spread the word."

With that, the man flung the reins of his steed over the nearby hitching post and strode into the dimness of the castle, his furs swaying. He left a strange, spicy scent behind him. James turned back to the enormous packhorse and the wagon. He considered simply running away now that no one was watching, but then thought better of it. Surely, he could at least lead the horse to the stables. All he'd have to do was follow his nose. Besides, the task would allow him a view of the original castle without looking too conspicuous. First though, he needed something else to wear. He looked around quickly. Instead of the weedy hilltop of James' time, the rotunda entrance overlooked a carefully cropped courtyard surrounded by a low fieldstone wall. Running across the center of the courtyard was a babbling stream, fed through stone gates on either side. There, sitting on a large boulder near the stream, were three baskets of clothing. James ran over, hoping whoever was doing the washing would stay away a bit longer.

The contents of the baskets were very rough robes, much larger than James could comfortably wear. He struggled into one anyway, trying to roll up the enormous sleeves. The bottom of the robe pooled around his feet comically. The robe was better than his stripy pyjamas, but not by much. Perhaps he'd find something better later. He turned and ran back to the packhorse, holding up the robe to avoid stumbling over it.

He took the reins of the horse, which was easily twice his height. The horse continued to crop the grass of the courtyard, chewing methodically, but it followed amiably as James tugged the reins. The wheels of the wagon creaked as the horse pulled it. James didn't know where he was going, but he assumed if he walked around the castle he'd eventually come to the stables. He took the opportunity to look around.

Hogwarts castle was much smaller than he knew it in his time. It huddled around the rotunda entrance, which was festooned with a great iron portcullis, currently raised. The turrets gleamed in the sunset, their conical roofs looking sharp enough to prick James' finger. Much higher than the turrets was the Sylvven Tower, which James knew well. It looked exactly the way he remembered it, although in this time it dominated the silhouette of the entire castle. As James circled the castle, leading the horse through a rough stone gate, he noticed that the land around the castle was dotted with farms and cottages. James was a little surprised. In his time, Hogwarts castle stood alone in a large, forested wilderness, secluded and hidden. Here, however, the castle overlooked a bustling community. People moved busily all around, obviously consumed with the business of peasant life. As James led the horse and cart, trying to look like he knew where he was going, he passed people carrying baskets and pots, herding sheep and cows, or pushing wooden handcarts laden with vegetables. Several people shot James careful looks, and at least one woman laughed, but at least no one was accosting him or demanding to know what he was doing.

Finally, James caught the scent of fresh animal dung on the shifting breeze. He looked and saw a huge stone barn. He grinned, recognizing it; it was the same barn that Hagrid, in James' time, was currently holding Care of Magical Creatures in. The roof was different, and there was something like a blacksmith's shed attached to the side, but it was otherwise unchanged. As James approached, he heard the stamp and whicker of horses and the clang and hiss of the smith.

"What's all this, then?" a burly man with bare arms called, stepping out of the main barn door and eyeing James.

"Er, this packhorse needs stabled," James replied, holding up the reins. "The owner sent me here. I'm not really a stable boy."

"That I can tell," the man said gruffly, scowling, "seeing as you've brought me yonder horse without even releasing its cart. Perhaps you expect me to stable it as well?"

"No!" James replied. "It's supposed to be unloaded and taken to the owner's quarters. He said he'd… er, strop anyone who wasn't careful with his stuff."

"Don't tell me how to do porter work, boy," the man said, rolling his eyes wearily. "I'd strop you myself if I had the time. Thomas! Send for the page. We need this cart returned to the valet before Lord Maarten gets frisky."

The man looked down at James again, sighing. "You're either a thief or you're the youngest cleric I've ever seen. Your mistress will lash you good when she sees what you've done to that robe. What's your name?"

James' heart jumped, but he couldn't think of a lie fast enough. "Er, James, sir. James Potter."

"The Potter's boy, eh? Well, then, you had best run along back to the market. And tell your da that the pestle for which we traded him has got a crack on the rim. I'll send the wife down with it at the morrow."

The man seemed to dismiss James. He turned and walked back into the shadow of the barn, calling again for Thomas. James sighed in relief. Obviously, the man thought James was the son of the village pot maker. He turned and looked back the way he'd come. The landscape between the castle and the barn was completely different in this time. James could only see the flat top of the Sylvven Tower poking over a stand of birches. He began to make his way back, ducking through the carts and farm animals.

A sort of marketplace was erected around the back of the castle. Wooden stalls, benches, and carts were arranged haphazardly, each decked with all manner of goods. People thronged near the stalls, shouting and waving, bartering and arguing. Livestock mingled with the peasants, adding their own voice and smell to the scene. James darted through the fracas, trying to stay out of people's way and avoid stepping in animal dung. Bits of conversation drifted over him as he moved, and James began to sense that these were mostly Muggles, although they seemed aware of the magical nature of the castle and its inhabitants.

"This here's an authentic enchanted fork, it is," a man was saying to a skeptical-looking peasant woman. "Makes any meal taste like it is fit for a king. My Lars found it in the grass after some of the magical folk had a picnic. Only two chickens and it can be yours."

The woman scoffed and turned away. The man seemed unperturbed. He saw James looking. "What think yeh, lad? Fancy a bit o' real magic? Tell yer mam to stop on by, will yeh not?"

James shrugged and backed away.

As he entered the shadow of the castle, James spied a broad doorway. Clanks and hisses emanated from the space beyond, and James guessed by the smells that it was the kitchen. He remembered hearing the kitchen from the rotunda and decided this entrance was probably his best option for getting back to the statue and the mirror. He sauntered toward the door, trying to look inconspicuous. It occurred to him that he'd look more appropriate if he was carrying something. Near the door, a stack of copper pots sat next to a huge cauldron boiling over a fire. James glanced around, assuring that no one was looking, and then grabbed the pot on top. As he turned, cradling the pot in his arms, he heard a rattling crash. He glanced back. The rest of the pots had fallen over, the topmost one spilling water onto the fire, which hissed and sputtered.

"What's this?" a woman's voice cried, stridently. "Making off with the wares, are yeh? That's the coppersmith's lot! Thief!"

James dropped the pot and ran. He heard the ruckus behind him as the woman screamed and gave chase, but he didn't look back. He plunged into the darkness of the kitchen, weaving past a man in a leather vest and knocking over a woman carrying a platter. The kitchen was very dark but for the blaze of the brick oven. James aimed for it, and saw another doorway.

"Thief!" another voice called, joining the chorus from outside. "Stop him!"

A burly man with no shirt and a stained apron hanging from his middle stepped in front of James, grinning wickedly under his huge black mustache. He held a butcher knife in his hand, fingering it like it was a cutlass.

James tried to stop, but he was moving too fast and the stone floor was wet. He slipped, fell on his behind, and slid right between the man's spread legs. The man looked down as James passed beneath him.

"Stand fast!" the man cried, spinning. James struck the wall on the opposite side of the corridor and scrambled up. Keeping as low as he could, he bolted down the corridor. The man roared and raised the knife, but someone else grabbed his wrist from behind.

"Calm yourself, Larkin! He's just a lad. Dropped the pot outside, even," a voice admonished. "Planning to split his skull for makin' you look a fool? If that was a killin' offense, you'd have to execute the entire kitchen."

James sensed the pursuit had ended, but he couldn't make himself stop running. He came to an intersection in the corridor and was pounding straight through it when a hand snagged his wrist like a vice. James spun, momentum carrying him around, and tumbled to the floor, looking up at the figure that had stopped him.

"We do not approve of running in the halls," Salazar Slytherin said, staring down his nose at James. His fingers were still clamped on James' wrist. They were very cold. "What manner of revolt is this? A single boy?"

"I'm not part of a revolt," James said, panting. "I was just… er…"

"You are indeed revolting," Slytherin growled, slitting his eyes, "but only because of your dirty blood. How dare you cross into these halls, Muggle?"

James felt an angry response welling up in him, but with an effort of will, he quelled it. "Sorry, sir. I was… lost."

Slytherin leaned toward James, using the grip on his wrist to pull him close. "You dare look me in the eye as if you believed me an equal?" Slytherin hissed. "The soft hearts of my fellows have bred insolence in your kind, but I will not have it. You will address me as 'Master', and you will avert your eyes, or I will have them for my collection. Is that clear, son of dirt?"

James used Slytherin's grip as leverage, pulling himself to his feet. When he was upright, he yanked as hard as he could, wrenching his wrist from the wizard's grasp.

"Blimey," James said angrily, "the history books sure got it right about you."

Slytherin's eyes blazed and his expression turned wary. He reached for his wand with one lightning quick movement. James scrambled to find his own, but it was too buried under the ridiculous robe.

"Salazar," a voice suddenly called. Slytherin froze. James whirled around, thankful for the interruption. The woman James recognized as Rowena Ravenclaw had just walked around a bend in the hall. Her eyes were suspicious as she glared over James' head at Slytherin. "We've been waiting for you. The audience with Lord Maarten is begun. How much longer do you intend to palaver with this, er, young cleric?"

Rowena dropped her eyes to James and winked, unsmiling.

James turned back to Slytherin, who glared at him furiously. Then, suddenly, his face changed. He smiled indulgently and patted James lightly on the head.

"Run along, lad," he said in a singsong voice. "I'm sure we'll have a chance to finish our 'palaver' soon enough."

James stared up at Slytherin, thinking that the wizard might simply curse James in the back as soon as he turned away. Slytherin's expression didn't change, but his eyes hardened. Go now or face the consequences, the eyes seemed to say. James risked it. He turned and walked as quickly as he could, taking a corridor at right angles to the one Slytherin and Rowena Ravenclaw occupied. It curved to the right and met a short flight of stairs. When James reached them, he looked back. Slytherin was no longer visible. Breathing yet another sigh of relief, James took the stairs two at a time.

As he navigated the corridors, he could still hear the echoing clatter of the kitchens. He had to be very near the rotunda. Nothing looked familiar however. Torches flickered and sizzled in great iron wall brackets, making shadows leap on the walls, disorienting James. He passed more people, some of them no older than he was, and assumed he was encountering some of Hogwarts' original students. They turned as he passed, their eyes curious or outright suspicious. He began to panic. Finally, as James passed a pair of older boys in green tunics, he turned, meeting their stares.

"Sorry, I'm new here," he ventured, trying to keep his voice even. "Do either of you know where the rotunda is?"

"What might you need in the rotunda, boy?" the taller one replied, showing his teeth in a parody of a charming smile. "You must know that it's time for Alchemy class."

"Perchance he doesn't know," the second boy said, his brow lowering. "His garb tells me he is a Muggle interloper. Lost, are you?"

"Or perhaps not," the darker boy suggested, advancing on James. "Perhaps you are up to something a bit more nefarious? Methinks the Head of House shall be the judge."

"No, no," James cried, throwing up his hands. "I think I've already met him! He, er, says hello!"

James spun on his heels, tripping over the oversized robe. The two boys advanced on him. One of them reached for the hood of the robe, but James finally got his footing. He lunged away, yanking away from the boy's grasp.

"Capture him!" the darker boy ordered, giving chase.

James bolted down the corridor, his heart pounding. He turned at random hallways, leaping up short stairways and ducking into doorways. After one turn, he encountered an alcove with a statue in it. To James' amazement, it was the statue of Lokimagus the Perpetually Productive. Without thinking, James shimmied into the alcove and hid behind the stooped statue.

His pursuers' footsteps echoed closer. They clattered to a halt directly in front of the statue.

"He can't have gotten far," the darker boy barked. "You go on ahead. I'll double back and make sure we didn't miss him. That Muggle brat will pay for crossing the path of Slytherin House."

James held his breath until he was sure they were gone. Finally, he clambered out from behind the statue. He checked both directions, and then darted out into the corridor again. He hoped desperately that he wouldn't encounter any more students. If he got caught now, he might never make it back to the Magic Mirror; he'd be trapped in ancient Hogwarts forever.

James crept around a large archway and gasped. There, across a broad marble floor, were the gigantic statues of the founders. He'd made it back to the rotunda! He could see the glint of the silver-framed mirror behind the statues. James trotted across the floor as lightly as possible, determining to go back through the mirror now even if Merlin was still in his office. He'd have to take his chances with an angry Headmaster and hope he'd give James a chance to explain himself. This ancient world was just too dangerous to muck about in.

Even as James was thinking this, however, something began to move from behind the statues. Someone had been standing in their shadow and was now coming out as if to meet him. James tried to stop, to duck into another hiding place, but there was nowhere to go. It was already too late. Salazar Slytherin grinned wickedly at James, triumphant. He had his wand in his right hand and carried something under his left arm. It was covered in thick black fabric.

"Imagine meeting you here, my young friend," Slytherin said smoothly. "You know, I'm beginning to think you aren't a Muggle at all. I'm beginning to think you are a spy. Very tricky of you, travelling via Mirror. I had made the mistake of believing that was impossible."

James shook his head, "It's not what you think! I just need to—"

Slytherin's voice turned icy. He held his wand up but didn't point it at James. "I can promise you one thing, though, my young friend," he said, turning, "I will not make that same mistake twice."

A bolt of white light shot from Slytherin's wand. It struck the silver-framed mirror, which exploded into sparkling bits. The pieces flew between the stone legs of the statues and pattered to the floor.

"No!" James cried, dropping to his knees. He reached for one of the shards, but it was no use. The tiny fragment showed nothing meaningful. The portal was destroyed.

"They say it's seven years bad luck to break a mirror," Slytherin commented lightly. His footsteps crunched on the bits of broken glass as he walked toward James. He grinned maliciously. "I guess that just shows what they know, doesn't it?"

James scrambled away from Slytherin, struggling to extricate his wand from the oversized robe. Slytherin stepped casually after James, shaking his head in amusement. As James finally found his wand and pointed it, the bald wizard was already flicking his. There was a sharp crack and James' wand flew out of his hand. It clattered several feet away.

"I'd thought that I was one of but two men in the earth who knew the ways of the Mirrors," Slytherin said, still advancing on James. With a deft flourish, he pulled the black cloth off the object he'd been holding under his arm. It was another mirror, small and oval-shaped, its golden frame fashioned into the shape of a coiled snake. "This one is particularly interesting, especially to someone in your predicament. No, I'm sorry to say it isn't a portal. It's a bit more… one-way."

Slytherin held the mirror so that James saw himself in it. The reflection showed a boy in a pathetically oversized robe, his eyes wild and fearful.

"Have you ever heard of the old Muggle superstition that if you stare into a reflection for too long, you'll become the reflection?" Slytherin asked smoothly, still holding the mirror toward James. "They fear that if they then walk away from the reflection, they will simply… disappear."

James had been inching slowly toward his wand, which was lying on the floor a few feet away. Now he steeled his nerve and lunged for it. An instant later, pain roared up his arm, crippling him. He fell to the floor, screaming. Desperately, he looked to see what had caused the damage, and then gasped in shock. His entire right arm had vanished up to the shoulder. He stared at the place where it should have been, unable to resist trying to grab at it with his left hand. Slytherin was laughing happily. He approached James again, and as he did, James' arm faded back into existence. The pain receded.

"There's nothing so instructive as a practical example, is there, my young friend?" Slytherin said, holding the mirror so that James could see himself in it once more. "As you've just illustrated, if you choose to stay within the reflection, you will be perfectly safe. If, however, you attempt to leave it… well, I really do not need to say any more, do I?"

Slytherin flicked his wand again. James' wand lofted into the air, turning end over end. The bald wizard caught it deftly and held it up. "Curious, this. Such a beautifully fashioned wand in the hand of a boy who barely knows how to use it. You are not a student of this establishment, and yet you seem to know us. So very many questions do I have for you. And do you know what, my friend?" Slytherin pocketed James' wand and his eyes turned narrow and icy. "I have every confidence that you will answer them."

Several minutes later, James found himself in a darkened room in Slytherin's personal chambers. The room was quite low, stone-walled, and surrounded by tapestries depicting rather unpleasant scenes of dancing skeletons and flaming mountains. Tables on both sides of the room gave James the impression that this was Slytherin's personal magical laboratory. The table on the right was laden with gigantic books, parchments, quills, and paints; the one on the left was arrayed with a mind-boggling collection of vials, jars, and pots, all arranged on stacked shelves surrounding a large cauldron. Only one candle burned in the room, blood-red and embedded in the top of a human skull. James had the distinct and unsettling impression that very few people had ever seen this room. He sat against the rear wall in a very straight chair with a high ladder-back. It was rather uncomfortable, but it was the only chair from which he could see himself in the oval-shaped mirror. Slytherin had positioned the mirror on an easel in front of the double doors, assuring that James could not approach the doors without leaving his reflection.

"As much as I would enjoy interviewing you immediately," Slytherin had explained, "I am a very busy wizard, and you've caught me at a rather bad time. Let me assure you, though: as soon as I complete my evening's appointment, you will have my full and undivided attention."

With that, Slytherin had pulled the doors mostly closed, but not completely. Through the gap, James could see a tiny portion of Slytherin's main office. As James waited, he could hear the bald wizard moving about, shuffling parchments and muttering darkly. Finally, there came a single, loud knock on the outer office door.

"How quaint of you to pretend you are not already in the room, my friend," Slytherin's voice said. "I sensed your arrival minutes ago, but I assumed it rude to say so. Please do make yourself comfortable."

Through the crack in the double doors, James saw a shadow move. A figure passed in front of the crack. There was the creak of a heavy footstep, and then a deep sigh.

"I despise the very stone of this place," a deep, rumbling voice said. "The cobbles of its floors are like knives to my feet. I'd call up the fires of the earth's belly to consume it if I could, and damn your miserable college."

In the darkness of the laboratory, James gasped. He recognized the voice of Slytherin's visitor. It was incredible, and yet it seemed to fit all too well. How could he not have made this connection before? His heart pounded and he strained his ears to listen.

"I sympathize, Merlinus," Slytherin said. "This must be a very disquieting homecoming for you. Still, you cannot imagine that we'd have allowed this castle to go unoccupied. As you may guess, not a single Muggle lord wished to claim it after Lord Hadyn's unfortunate… accident. Ironically, they believe the castle is cursed rather than magically fortified. I join you, however, in despising much of what this place has become. My fellow founders are increasingly double-minded. They coddle the unmagicked and the dirty half-bloods. They plot against me as we speak. I fear that my time here is near an end."

"What a pitiful shame," Merlin said, his voice oozing contempt. "And you had once believed this college would be the dawn of your pureblood utopia. You must be positively heartbroken."

"My 'pureblood utopia', as you call it, will be a reality whether I assist it or not, my friend," Slytherin said. "It is the nature of things. The rulers of this world will only live among the cattle for so long before they rise up. My role in the process is insignificant, although I admit I wished to live to see the day. And do not pretend disgust at my words, Merlinus. You are the greatest proof of my claims even if you deign to ignore it."

"You believe that I detest the unmagicked as you do, but I am not so simple-minded," Merlin said dismissively. "One rabid wolf doesn't justify killing the pack. Domination is your only aim, not justice."

"Is it wrong to dominate those unworthy of equality?" Slytherin replied, as if he and Merlin had had this argument many times before. "One can make the claim that it is a kindness to govern those who are unable to govern themselves. Besides…," here, Slytherin's voice became silky, "it was more than one rabid wolf, wasn't it?"

There was a long silence, and then Merlin said, "I'll not speak of such things with you."

"Oh, but you do not need to," Slytherin replied. "Everyone knows the truth of what happened now, don't they? After all, it happened right here, four moons past. It is the gossip even of the Muggle peasants how the great Merlinus was humiliated by the Lord Hadyn and his accomplice. How it must boil your blood to know your name has become a paean to foolish love."

"I'll not speak of such things with you," Merlin repeated slowly, his voice low and dangerous.

"I'll be friend enough not to remind you that you were warned from entangling yourself with the Muggle woman," Slytherin went on, ignoring Merlin's words. "Judith, I believe her name was? Known jokingly among the peasants as the Lady of the Lake? Even I implored you not to lower yourself to her affections. Love makes a fool of any man who indulges it, and the greater the man, the greater the fool he must become. You were a very great man, Merlinus. And yet even you were not immune. Love blinded you when your wits should have been at their sharpest. Perhaps, had you not been so enamored, you might have seen the truth."

"Hadyn gave me her corpse," Merlin growled menacingly. "He promised to return her to me. It was the bargain he agreed to if I doubled his lands and fortified this very castle. But how was I to guess that the man would dare cheat me so gravely while still maintaining the letter of his bargain?"

"He gave you a corpse," Slytherin said sorrowfully. "But you might have known it was not hers. The body was spoiled beyond recognition, but you were the great Merlin. You could have divined the truth had you tried. But you chose not to."

"She was to have been my wife," Merlin said, and his voice was like distant thunder. It rumbled the floor beneath James' feet. "I could not bear it. I could not bear even to look at that decimated body."

"And Hadyn knew such would be the case. Otherwise, how could he have dared attempt such obvious trickery? He knew you would be too stricken to verify the body was truly your Judith. And finally, when you planned your revenge, when you tracked his coach through the forest, you could have divined the truth even then. You could have used the birds and the trees to look into the coach, to assure yourself of who was inside, but you didn't. Your rage, fuelled by your love for the poor Muggle woman, blinded you, didn't it? If you had but looked, you could have known the truth. You could have saved her. For, as everyone now knows, Lord Hadyn loved Judith as well. He claimed her as his own, and she allowed him to. He gave you the body of a dead servant woman and kept Judith for himself. She betrayed you."

"She had no choice!" Merlin cried, his voice cracking.

"There's always a choice," Slytherin insisted. "She could have died for your love, couldn't she? But no, she chose to be with him instead. She chose to be with him that very day, in his coach."

"She was only human! She believed I would come for her!"

"She was only human," Slytherin agreed. "A flawed, weak, unmagicked human, despite your own pathetic attempts to teach her the arts. And then, in the name of your love-blind revenge, she was a dead human. Lost, along with her new husband, Hadyn, in a mysteriously tragic coach accident. Drowned, wasn't it? They say the storm came up with the force of Jupiter himself, washing the coach right off the bridge. It was carried quite some way, they say, and smashed to sticks. Along with every… person… inside."

"I will NOT speak of such THINGS WITH YOU!" Merlin suddenly roared, shaking the very walls. There was a flash of angry light as every candle and every flame in the fireplace suddenly exploded into a blue torch. The flame on the red candle in the laboratory erupted upwards, brightly illuminating the room for one terrifying moment. Then, as suddenly as it had happened, the moment passed. The room plunged back into darkness.

In the silence that followed, Slytherin's voice was quiet and silky. "Forgive me, my friend. I've decided it is my duty to remind you of what was taken from you, and who took it. I warned you not to trust the Muggles. They are beasts, incapable of nobility. Their only role is servitude. We are their masters. It is not only our right to rule them; it is our duty. For their sake as well as ours."

"You are a lying snake, Salazar Slytherin," Merlin seethed.

"Snake I may be," Slytherin chuckled, "but liar I am not. You are here because you agree with me, although your foolish conscience bids you not to admit it."

Merlin said, "In fact, I am only here because you have something I need."

Slytherin sighed. "Yes, I know. I have already spoken to your apprentice, Austramaddux, and for once, I agree with him. Your plan is for the best. This world is no longer yours, Merlinus. The kingdoms advance their civilizations. They parse the land and plow it; they tear down the forests and turn them into hovels. They are taming the earth, rendering it mute to you. I alone know what that does to your powers, for you are unlike other wizards, my friend. You are not a wizard at all. You are a sorcerer, perhaps the very last and best of your kind. I am glad you have accepted my suggestion to step out of this plane of existence. You will return to a better time. Austramaddux will watch for it."

"There may never again be such a time," Merlin said gravely. "But it matters not. You are right about one thing: this world is no longer fit for me, nor I for it. The days are darkened before my very eyes, and by my own bloody hands. I have chosen to remove myself from the realm of men, but for my own reasons, Slytherin. You would not understand them. Your heart is as dark as pitch."

"And yet it is of something dark that you've come to speak, my friend," Slytherin replied without missing a beat. "I have divined it. The stone knows when it is wanted."

"Don't mock me, Slytherin. I know you desire me to break the boundary of worlds without the stone, for you would then control that which returned with me."

"You speak of the legend of the Gatekeeper's Curse? You mustn't take such things seriously. My, what dreams and fancies idle men imagine, don't they?"

"I am not fooled by your guile. You have the stone, and the Darkbag, for you are a lover of such dark trinkets. If I am to do what no other man on this world is capable of doing, I will do it with the tools no other man on this world could possibly need."

"Tell me, Merlinus," Slytherin said conversationally, "what do you know of these 'trinkets'?"

"As if the stories of them were not plain enough for a child," Merlin sighed. "The Darkbag contains the last remnant of pure nothingness left from the dawn of time. Its uses are myriad and unique. The stone, however, is the only relic from pre-time. It is a single black onyx, whose origin is the Void between the worlds. It is immune to time; thus, it is the Beacon of the Gatekeeper. The holder of the stone may be granted visions of those who've passed unto death. But more importantly, he who possesses the stone is the Gatekeeper's Ambassador, should that creature ever cross into the realm of men."

"Surely you do not believe in such things," Slytherin teased, and yet James could tell that Slytherin himself believed them fully.

"I believe that none have ever dared to test the legends," Merlin stated flatly. "But that is only because none have ever been capable of it. It is pure speculation that he who breaks the boundary between the worlds for any length of time will attract the Gatekeeper of the Void, possibly bringing it back with him. If I do it, and if I return, I wish to be the charge of anything that returns with me."

"But why?" Slytherin suddenly rasped, his voice eager and dripping with hate. "Let the Destroyer be loosed upon the earth! If man is the scourge of this world, reducing your power bit by bit, eating it up like locusts, then let the Gatekeeper be descended upon them! It is their due! If my prediction is accurate, then the realm of the wizards will have overcome the Muggles by that day. The magical kingdom will be able to defend itself against the Gatekeeper, and possibly even ally with it! Only the Muggle insects and the impure will be destroyed by its hand, and good riddance! The legend says that the Curse of the Gatekeeper will hearken a new age! An age of purity, of crystalline perfection! So let it be, Merlinus! Be the harbinger of the Curse! What more fitting way to reclaim your title as king of all wizards?"

"If I am to be the harbinger of the Curse, I wish to control it," Merlin replied calmly.

"I would have it no other way," Slytherin answered. "Without the Beacon Stone, you might not even gain the attention of the Gatekeeper. However…"

Merlin waited silently, but James, still sitting in the dark of the laboratory, could sense the great wizard simmering, his rage all but smoking off his skin.

Slytherin went on. "The stone is far too powerful to be removed from the earth entirely. Knowing this day might come, however, I have arranged for it to be split into two equal pieces. The halves have been set into two rings. One ring will go with you; the other will stay with me."

"You cannot deceive me, Slytherin," Merlin rumbled. "You wish to maintain control of the Gatekeeper upon hope of its descent. You wish to use it to exact revenge upon your enemies. You and they will be long dead by that time."

Slytherin laughed lightly. "It isn't of any consequence to you, my friend. My half of the stone will remain, regardless of my own short time upon this earth. It will be passed on. When and if you do return, signaling the descent of the Curse, the stone will find its way into the hands of my descendents. I merely wish for them to be prepared. It is only fair, don't you agree? Besides," Slytherin went on, his voice dropping, "if you do decide to abandon your course and thwart the Gatekeeper, well, are you not Merlinus the Terrible, the last of the line of Myrddred? Are you not the greatest sorcerer of all the ages? Surely, such a creature as you does not require the use of a mere 'dark trinket'."

Merlin was silent again, and James sensed him simmering. Finally, he said, "As you wish, Slytherin. Provide me my half of the stone and I will take my leave of this place."

There came the sound of a drawer opening, and then the clunk of a small box. A long silence followed.

"I could simply take both halves of the stone from you, my 'friend'," Merlin said quietly. "After all, am I not Merlinus the Terrible?"

"You forget the conditions of your lamentable bargain with Hadyn," Slytherin replied. There was the clunk of a box closing. "You are unable to touch the hair of anyone residing within this castle. Your threats are formidable, but fortunately, they are to no effect here. I do, however, appreciate the sentiment of it. You may consider it returned."

The floor creaked as Merlin stood. James saw the shadows change in the room as Merlin prepared to leave. A figure suddenly blocked the view through the opening in the double doors. It was Slytherin. He opened the doors slightly and peered in at James. A thoughtful look crossed his face. His eyes narrowed.

"And by the way, Merlinus," he said, not taking his eyes off of James, "if you do return in a future age, beware of enemies. Your disappearance will certainly be legend. Some will be looking for you, and not all will intend to welcome you."

"I am quite accustomed to dealing with enemies," Merlin's voice replied, echoing from the depths of the room beyond.

"Nevertheless, if you should come across a certain young man… brown-eyed, with short, unkempt raven hair and a look of constant insolence, beware of him. He is your enemy. I have divined it. You must dispose of him."

"I dispose of no one without just cause," Merlin growled. "Regardless of your divinations. And even those who deserve such disposal occasionally slip through my grasp."

"Whereas some who don't deserve it still fall under its judgment," Slytherin declared coldly, as if twisting a knife. "But suit yourself, Merlinus. Watch for the boy. Or ignore him at your peril. I care not which."

A moment later, there came a burst of warm air and a smell of dirt and growing things. Merlin was gone. Slytherin bared his teeth at James.

"You said history had gotten it right about me," he said, grinning viciously. "Somehow, I don't believe history will even know your name, my young friend."