James Potter and the Curse of the Gatekeeper

19. THE SACRIFICE

James illuminated his wand as he trotted down the ancient stone staircase. Rose and Albus followed, eyes wide, with Zane and Ralph in the rear. James' phantom scar had been aching ever since that horrible burst of pain when he'd moved to kiss Petra; now, as he entered the dark chamber, the ache increased to a throbbing pulse.

"I was in the Chamber of Secrets once before," Rose called, her voice echoing in the dark, cavernous space. "Years ago, when it was still on the Hogwarts tour. My parents refused to go down with me because they'd already seen it of course, and didn't want to relive any of that, so I went with Uncle George. There wasn't much to see, really, since they'd taken the dead Basilisk out years ago. It was just an open space underground. Most of it had caved in."

James gasped and stumbled to a stop, throwing out one hand to warn the rest and holding his wand high in the other.

"Was this a part of the tour when you were here, Rose?" he asked breathlessly.

Rose stopped behind him, her eyes widening. Behind her, Ralph and Zane clambered to a halt as well.

The floor ended at James' feet as if it had been broken away. Beyond it, seamless black space indicated a chasm of unimaginable depth. Ominous whooshing sounds wafted out of the blackness, and as James raised his wand, its light glinted off the edges of huge, swinging blades.

"No," Rose breathed. "This was definitely not a part of the tour. Where did it come from?"

"I'd say it was opened only recently," Zane said, pointing. "Look!"

James saw what Zane was pointing at. A pair of huge stone doors stood open on either side, overlooking the depths of the chasm before him.

"How did Petra open those?" Rose asked incredulously. "They must weigh tons!"

"I'm more interested in how she crossed that," Ralph said, gesturing at the chasm and the huge swinging blades. "We'll never be able to follow her!"

James stooped down and hefted a medium-sized rock. He weighed it thoughtfully in his hand, and then heaved it out over the chasm as hard as he could. It tumbled into the darkness, turning slowly, and then there was a flash and a spark as one of the magical blades swooped down. It pulverized the rock in midair, and then sucked back up into darkness.

James looked aside at Rose and Ralph, his eyes wide. Ralph shrugged helplessly.

Albus drew a deep sigh. "I think I might know a way to cross that," he said, as if he dreaded admitting it.

"What, Al?" James asked, but his brother had already turned. He walked a few paces away until he stood at the base of the stone steps again. He glanced back.

"Dad taught me this one," he said. "It saved his life once. Maybe we can use it to save Lil." He turned back to the stairs, raised his own wand, and as loudly as he could, shouted, "Accio broomstick!"

Almost a minute passed, and James had begun to doubt the spell had worked when an exclamation of alarm echoed down the stone steps.

"No!" Tabitha's voice cried. "Not my broom! You can't!"

Ted called over her, "Incoming!"

The broom dipped down the stone steps and halted next to Albus. James, standing nearby, could hear the faint hum of the broom. He remembered it well from his doomed attempt to commandeer it last year.

"You can't be serious," Zane said, stepping forward and examining the broomstick. "This is Tabitha's broom! The bogus Merlin staff from last year. You're not going to try to ride it across that chasm, are you?"

"It's my broom now," Albus said grimly. "Tabitha gave it to me, although she may well be regretting it."

Rose proclaimed, "But you can't just fly across! You saw what happened to the rock! I don't know how Petra made it across with Lily, but there must be some other way!"

Albus strode to the edge of the chasm and straddled the broom. "This is no ordinary broom, Rose. I don't know where Tabitha got it, or how it works, but it knows where it needs to be. In a way, it's kind of the reverse of James' Thunderstreak. It knows where to go, and it puts it into the mind of the rider. The broom won't let us get chopped. And besides, we don't have a choice. Hop on behind me, James, and hold on as tight as you can."

James gulped and climbed onto the broom, wrapping his arm tightly around his brother's waist.

"Wait!" Rose cried. "This is mad!"

"That's why we can't wait, Rose," James said, gritting his teeth. "If we wait, we'll realize how completely daft this is. Go, Al!"

James felt Albus tense. Together, they coiled, and as Rose reached forward to grab James, her face terrified, Albus threw himself forward, taking James and the broomstick with him.

The broom plummeted under the weight of both James and Albus, and James squeezed his eyes shut, hugging his brother as he leaned over the broomstick, struggling to pull it upright. The broom corrected swiftly, angling upwards and accelerating. James still had his lit wand in his fist. He gripped Albus with his left arm and held the wand aloft, fighting the force of their momentum. Wandlight flashed off a long, steely blade as it dropped alongside them, scything the air. Albus lurched sideways as the broom banked away, and James nearly dropped his wand, fighting to hold on. The air hissed on all sides as huge, curved blades sliced the darkness, dropping like swords and barely missing them. Amazingly, the broom seemed to determine the course on its own, dodging with lightning speed through the flashing, deadly barrage. James struggled to hold on, trying to keep his body as close to the broom and Albus as possible. There was a high, rasping sound as one of the blades sliced a neat seam in his robe, and James felt the chill of the metal whoosh past his skin. He yelped and leaned away, pulling the broom slightly off course.

Albus swore, trying to correct, but it was no use. The broom seemed to have lost its bearing. It pushed upwards beneath them, and James had a sense that they were nearing the other side of the chasm. Suddenly, a rough stone wall loomed into view, as if it were falling on them. Albus pulled up, trying to help the broom to reach the ledge, but it was too high. The broom struggled, flying nearly straight up, still weaving past falling blades. And then, suddenly, there was light and space, and James was spinning off the broom, flailing for something to hold onto. He landed hard on stone, rolled, and scrambled up, his chin scraped and bleeding but otherwise unhurt.

Albus lay ten feet away, dangerously near the edge of the chasm they had just traversed. He moaned and clutched his head.

"Al!" James called, stumbling over to him. "Are you all right?"

"I think we crashed," Albus replied, shaking his head as if to clear it. "That was just sick, wasn't it? Ow!"

James glanced down, "Oh no! I think we broke it!"

"My leg?" Albus asked, examining his shin critically. "Ouch! I'm pretty sure it isn't supposed to bend in that direction, but it's nothing Madam Curio won't be able to fix, right?"

James blinked at Albus' crooked leg. "Oh. Ew. No, that's not what I meant. Sorry, Al. I meant that." He pointed at the broomstick, which was splintered messily into two pieces.

"Oh no! That hurts even worse than my leg! How are we going to get back now?" Albus exclaimed, picking up one of the pieces.

James shook his head. "Like you said, let's just rescue Lily, and we'll figure out the rest later."

Albus started to scramble to his feet, and then hissed in pain, falling back. "I'm no good, James. Unless you plan on carrying me, I'm stuck here."

"Come on, I can't do this by myself!" James said, feeling a sudden, helpless anger.

"Well, if you hadn't pulled us out of control back there, I wouldn't be in this condition, you stupid berk!"

"Me? Whose idea was it to ride the Broom from Hell across the pit in the first place?"

"Well, you sure weren't coming up with any brilliant ideas, were you?"

"Shh!" James suddenly hissed, half turning.

"Don't shush me, you big git!" Albus cried. "If my broken leg wasn't still attached, I'd beat you with it!"

"SHHH!" James insisted, waving one hand frantically. He cocked his head, listening. Albus stopped and listened as well, furrowing his brow.

"It's a voice," he whispered. "Sort of. That's creepy,"

"It's coming from that cave over there," James pointed. As his eyes adjusted to the gloom, he could see a greenish light flickering from the mouth of the cave.

"Go, James," Albus whispered urgently. "Go get Lily back if you still can. And if you can't, I swear I'll kill you."

James nodded. "All right. I just hope nobody else beats you to it."

He took a deep breath, still staring at the green glow of the cave mouth, and then began to walk toward it.

James' phantom scar began to sing a long, high note of pain. It rang in his ears, throbbing with the steady thrum of his heartbeat. Petra wouldn't really hurt Lily, would she? He truly wanted to believe she wouldn't, but he remembered the dreams, remembered the coaxing, lulling, infuriating words of that phantom voice. It had promised Petra she could get her parents back if only she was willing to make the hardest choice of all, to repay blood for blood. Petra was obviously not in her right mind. She was in a sort of trance, wasn't she? She was under the control of that horrible voice, and the last shred of the soul of Lord Voldemort which beat in her veins. But even as James approached the entrance to the cave, he knew that was not entirely true. Petra was being influenced, yes, but she wasn't being forced to do anything. The shred of Voldemort wasn't enough to completely control her, only to sway her, to coax and persuade her. The greatest influence inside Petra was her own broken heart, and her deep, unspoken rage, and the desperate, bottomless hunger for judgment on those who'd taken her parents from her. In the thrall of those emotions, James knew that Petra may well do almost anything if she was convinced that it would satisfy those needs.

Thinking that, James shuddered. He stepped into the mouth of the cave and saw it all.

There was the flickering green pool, lit from within, and there was Petra, still dressed in her pink costume dress. The curls had begun to fall from her hair, and her make-up had run, forming tear-streaks down her cheeks. Her eyes were dry now, however. She had her wand out, pointed at Lily, who stood before her, expressionless and limp, like a puppet. The high, horrible voice was babbling, and James could only now make out the words.

"The boy James comes!" the voice said with delight. "Look upon him, my dear! He comes, just as predicted!"

James gasped, hearing his name in that awful voice, but then Petra turned to him, and his gasp turned to a violent shiver as the pain in his forehead spiked. Petra's eyes were eerily dead. In the flicker of the greenish pool, her face looked like a mask. She held his voodoo doll in her free hand, and James could see that someone had drawn a crude green lightning bolt onto its forehead.

"James," she said blankly, still pointing her wand at Lily, "you shouldn't have come. Now it's too late."

James stumbled forward, moving into the light of the cave. "Petra, what… what are you doing?"

Petra shrugged slightly, and then turned her gaze back to Lily. "What I was made for," she answered, sounding eerily like Tabitha Corsica. She nodded at Lily and said, "You know what to do, dear."

Without blinking, Lily walked slowly around the glowing pool, her bare feet making no noise on the stone. On the far side of the pool, James saw that a series of steps led down into the water. Quite slowly, Lily began to descend the steps. With a shock of horror, James realized that his sister was under the Imperius Curse.

"I'm sorry, James," Petra said. "I know you can't possibly understand why this has to happen. It seemed awful to me at first too, but now I know it is the only way. It really is best for everyone, even Lily. You have to trust me."

"…have to trust me," the horrible, keening voice echoed. It seemed to be speaking constantly, muttering under Petra's words, almost as if it was feeding them to her.

"Lily!" James called, stepping forward. "Stop!"

Lily's eyes didn't so much as flicker. She took another step into the eerie green pool. James reached desperately for his wand, but it wasn't in his pocket. Too late, he realized he must have dropped it when he and Albus had crashed the broom. He ran forward, meaning to drag his sister bodily from the pool, but just as he was within reaching distance, something repelled him. He hurtled backwards through the air, as if pulled by a rope around his waist. He struck the mossy stone wall and fell, the breath knocked out of him.

"One at a time, James," Petra said sadly, still pointing her wand at Lily. "I'm sorry. Please don't try that again. I really don't want to hurt either of you before it's all over."

James gasped for breath, and the phantom scar on his forehead burned like a branding iron. The awful voice echoed Petra's every word, and for the first time James wondered if Petra was even aware of the voice. Was it possible that she didn't realize how it was influencing her? He glanced around, looking for the source of the voice. Just as in his dreams, it seemed to emanate from a shadowy figure in a dark corner. It stood perfectly still, apparently wearing an old bowler hat and a dusty coat. Its arms hung loosely at its sides.

James struggled to get up, but he felt weak and heavy, as if something was pushing down on him. It was the awful weight of some new presence, filling the room like black smoke, darkening it. It was the Gatekeeper. Silently, eerily unseen, it descended into the Chamber, watching, preparing to enter Petra once she completed the necessary rite of willingness: murdering Lily.

Lily took another step into the pool. Her yellow dress began to float about her, sinking into the murky water, and as she descended, something else seemed to be ascending from the other end of the pool. James recognized the shape. It was the young woman he'd seen so often in his dreams: Petra's mother. As Lily lowered into the water, Lianna arose from her own reflection, smiling at her daughter, raising her hands. Petra's eyes shone as she looked at the ascending shape.

"Petra!" James called, catching his breath. "That can't really be your mother! It's a trick! She's not real!"

"Don't listen to him," the high voice whispered, wheedling. "He is the son of those who let her die. He is full of lies and deception. But his voice will soon be stopped forever, and with his death, you shall have your father back as well! Then all will be prepared; balance will be restored. The new age of judgment will be at hand, and all because of your sacrifice…"

"All because of my sacrifice," Petra said quietly, tears running down her face again, smearing her makeup.

Lily's chin touched the surface of the pool. A drop of water hung there, and then she stepped forward again, her mouth dipping below the surface. Her hair spread around her, floating on the water like a corona. The ghostly figure of Lianna Agnellis put one foot onto the stone floor. She wasn't even wet.

"This isn't real!" James screamed desperately, struggling to his feet. "It's all coming from that voice! What is it?"

"There is no voice," Petra sang lightly, rocking her head back and forth. "There is no voice other than the voice of my dead father. You see, I have brought his things here, where they await him. His shoes and hat, his coat. Even his Cloak of Invisibility, which I've used myself these many visits. He'll be so happy to see them again, don't you think?"

James shook his head fervently. "That's my father's Cloak, Petra! You're being deceived!"

Petra didn't seem to hear him. Her eyes gazed trancelike at the shape of her mother, but her wand was still pointed at Lily as she descended the last step, slipping beneath the surface of the water. The heavy, dark sense of the Gatekeeper's presence increased. The task was nearly done; Lily would soon be dead and the Gatekeeper would unite with Petra, its host. Then there would be no sending it back, no stopping it from running rampant upon the earth. James wanted to lunge toward the pool again, risking everything to pull his sister out of the water, but even in his desperation he knew Petra would easily repel him once more. There was no hope, and yet James realized this was his last chance for action. Frantically, he looked from his drowning sister to the shadowy figure in the corner. He could see now that it wasn't a figure at all but simply an assembly of clothes—Petra's father's belongings, propped like a scarecrow. The voice came from within, hidden somehow. Suddenly, horribly, James knew what he had to do.

"This isn't your father," he exclaimed, scrambling across the room, skirting the pool and his dying sister. "Petra, look!"

Before Petra could stop him, James grabbed the empty arm of the coat. He pulled as hard as he could, yanking the coat loose. It tore away from the shape that had supported it, knocking the hat loose as well, and the horrible voice cried out in fury.

"Nooo!" it keened. "Beastly boy! How dare you touch me!"

James stumbled backwards, nearly fainting at the intensity of the pain in his forehead.

Petra gasped, and her wand wavered. "James… what have you—" she exclaimed, and then her voice changed, became very slightly doubtful. "Father?"

The coat had concealed a portrait in a frame. James could see instantly that the portrait had been quite severely damaged, almost entirely destroyed, and then very systematically sewn back together and repainted. The repainted portions didn't move very well, giving the face a twisted, maimed look, but James could clearly see who the portrait represented. One eye stared blankly while the other followed him malevolently, glowing red with one snakelike, vertical pupil.

Petra's face contorted in involuntary disgust. "You're not my father… you're… you're…"

"Finish the task!" the portrait hissed furiously. "Kill Lily Potter first! Then James Potter! Correct my one fatal mistake! It matters not who I am! All that matters is what was stolen from you, and making those responsible for it pay! It is the only way to return those you've lost!"

"Correct your mistake?" Petra said, her expression melting slowly into horrified revelation. "But I thought…"

"My single mistake!" the portrait of Voldemort shrieked urgently. "Killing James Potter first, leaving the stronger one to protect the boy! It was old magic, but powerful magic, and I forgot it! She should've died first, leaving the man and the child to wither before my wand! It was my single, fatal mistake! I was foolish, yes, but now the circle will be closed! You, my soul's final vessel, will kill the girl, Lily Potter, and then the boy, James Potter, and then—" the voice dropped to a seething, greedy hiss, "Harry Potter will come, and finally—finally—we… will… kill… him!"

"Harry Potter?" Petra whispered.

"The doll was meant to summon him," the portrait said quickly. "The plan seemed so simple: add a scar to the forehead, thus making it the father instead of the son. Surely, once Harry Potter's scar reawakened, he would come, and then he would be ours! But instead, we have lured the boy James, granting him the phantom scar and the ability to know our plans, and this, my dear, is even better! I might have foreseen it! My one mistake will be rectified, the order reversed! Lily Potter dies, then James, and then, finally, Harry Potter will lie dead at our feet!"

Wonderingly, Petra said, "But my parents… the promise of balance and perfection… you used me…" Her voice rose, became angry. "You used me!"

"That is because in your heart, you and I are one and the same!" the horrible portrait rasped. "Your living soul carries the last vestige of my own, like a flame in a lantern! We wish for the same things, but from different directions. In the end, we arrive at the very same place: revenge!"

Petra shook her head sadly. "What have I done? I didn't want revenge," she said. "All I wanted was justice…" She turned away from the portrait and looked back at the woman standing on the ledge of the greenly flickering pool. Petra's mother smiled back at her sadly and nodded. Petra hitched a sob. "Justice… and my parents back," she said, her voice cracking. She raised her wand. "Wingardium Leviosa!"

"NOOO!" the portrait screamed, so loud that it seemed to shake the walls.

Lily flew up out of the pool, limp as a rag and streaming water. The shape of Lianna Agnellis fell in on itself, reverting to water. It splashed onto the stone floor and streamed back into the pool.

"Mum!" Petra screamed, unable to resist reaching out to the departed shape, tears shining in her eyes. "I'm sorry, Mum! Dad! I'm so sorry! I couldn't do it!"

James ran forward to the suspended shape of his sister. He reached and pulled her to him, hugging her. She was as limp and cold as death. Gently, he laid her on the floor, and placed his ear to her chest.

"Her heart's still beating!" he cried.

"You foolish girl!" the portrait roared, its face distorting grotesquely. "It is the only way! The part of me in you rebels even now! Resist at your own peril! Kill the girl! It is not yet too late!"

Petra shook her head slowly, approaching the portrait.

"You can't destroy it, Petra," James called, cradling Lily in his arms. "Look at it; other people have tried! Portraits can only be destroyed by the painter, remember?"

Petra was still shaking her head, tears streaking her face but her expression a mask of stern resolve. "That's not entirely true, James," she said quietly. With both hands, she gripped the portrait by its frame and lifted it.

"You are the host of the Gatekeeper!" the high, cold voice of Voldemort proclaimed urgently. "Even now it awaits you! You can feel its presence! You have been chosen since the time of Salazar Slytherin himself! Hundreds of years of prophecy lead to you! You cannot turn aside from the weight of that destiny! It will crush you! Turn back! All is not yet lost! It is not too late!"

"There are two people that can destroy a portrait, although the second person is rarely ever available to do it," Petra said, speaking to James and ignoring the raving voice. She held the painting out with both hands, leveling it over the rippling surface of the pool. "A portrait can only be destroyed by its painter, or if fate allows it, a portrait can be destroyed… by its subject."

"NOOO!" the portrait shrieked, and James saw the canvas bulge slightly at the force of it. Petra dropped the portrait and it fell into its reflection, splashing heavily. The voice of Voldemort's painted visage continued to scream furiously, bubbling as it bobbed for a moment. Horribly, the painted face began to run and streak, as if the liquid in the pool were acid rather than water. Paint bled over the sinking canvas and mingled with the glowing waters, diluting and thinning, drawing feathery black tendrils into the depths. The voice gurgled and faded, ran out of breath, rasped desperately, and then died, leaving only its echo in the Chamber of Secrets. The portrait frame sank out of sight and was lost forever in the bottomless pool.

"Is she breathing?" Petra asked, dropping onto her knees next to Lily.

"I don't know!" James exclaimed, hugging her wet, slight body. "She's so cold!"

Petra nodded and leveled her wand at Lily's throat. "Expelliaqua," she said firmly.

Several seconds went by, and James was sure the spell hadn't worked, but then Lily suddenly lurched in his arms. She coughed thickly and vomited a quantity of water. James helped her into a sitting position, pounding her gently on the back. She coughed more water and gasped a great, ragged breath. James was so preoccupied that he barely noticed the sense of the Gatekeeper fading from the Chamber. Its host had failed the final test. Petra had not killed for it. Weakened and silent, the Gatekeeper streamed away.

"James?" Lily croaked, looking blearily at his face. "Where am I? What happened?"

James shook his head and laughed with relief, tears welling in his eyes. "You're with me, Lil. That's all that matters."

"Hi, Petra," Lily said weakly, glancing aside. "You were great. I cried when you drank the Marsh Hag's sleeping poison."

Petra smiled wanly. "Thanks, Lily."

James and Petra helped Lily to her feet and James put his arm around her, leading her back out of the cave. Petra gathered the Invisibility Cloak but left the eerie collection of her father's clothing. She looked back only once, her face flushed and sad.

"Hey, Petra," Albus said gamely as they approached. "You feeling a bit more yourself, are you?"

Petra nodded but didn't reply. Silently, she knelt next to Albus and examined his leg.

"You're pretty good at this," James said, watching Petra tear a strip of ribbon from her dress. Carefully, she used the ribbon and a length of the broken broom to splint Albus' leg. When she was done, she stood and pulled Albus to his feet.

"Hey," Albus said, surprised. "That feels loads better. How'd you do that?"

"It's sort of a talent," Petra answered, averting her eyes. "Besides, it was just a fracture. You'll be fine in a day or so, once madam Curio has a look at that leg."

James didn't say anything, but he had the distinct sense that Petra was lying about Albus' injury. It had certainly been far more than a fracture. James himself had seen the ugly angle below Albus' knee. Now he was standing on it with the help of a simple splint. It was as if Petra meant to repay them for what had happened, but secretly, and using a rather extraordinary kind of magic.

Petra stood again, gathering the voodoo doll and the Invisibility Cloak. She looked at them in her hands. "These aren't mine," she said, and then handed them to James. "I wasn't even aware of the doll until the portrait mentioned it. I was carrying it the whole time, but somehow I barely knew it. I'm so sorry James. I don't know what else to say."

James accepted the doll and the Cloak. "You were being deceived," he answered simply.

Petra nodded morosely and looked out over the chasm. "I was," she agreed. "But mostly, I was deceiving myself. I can't deny that."

"You've got reasons to be angry and hurt, Petra," James said quietly. "That wasn't the way to deal with it—Ted wanted me to tell you that—but there are other ways. The feelings are real. You just have to figure out what to do with them, right?"

Petra nodded slowly. In the darkness, James saw one more tear track down her cheek.

"You still in one piece, Lil?" Albus asked his sister, looking her up and down. "Why are you all wet?"

Lily frowned and looked down at her sopping yellow dress. "Honestly, I don't have any idea."

"Explanations later," Albus sighed heartily, hopping on his good leg. "First, how are we going to get back across that?" He gestured toward the dark chasm.

"Same way I got here," Petra answered softly. "We walk."

Albus grimaced. "Walk? What are you? A ghost?"

"No," Petra replied, almost to herself. "Apparently, I'm the Bloodline of Lord Voldemort." She stepped forward, walking straight off the edge of the cliff. James gasped, horrified but unable to look away. Petra didn't fall however. Her footstep was supported by a small stone platform, rather like a stepping stone, that had appeared out of nowhere. She looked back, one foot still on the edge of the chasm.

"Stay close and try very hard not to think about what you're doing," she said, and James shivered. She didn't sound entirely confident that it would work, but what choice did they have? James hesitated, but then he realized that, for the first time in nearly an hour, the phantom scar on his forehead didn't hurt. He sighed and moved in behind Petra, herding Lily and Albus in front of him.

"This is completely insane," Albus commented.

"Don't look down," Petra answered. Without a pause, she began to walk. Jerkily, Albus, Lily, and James began to follow her. Against all probability, none of them fell as they moved out over the depths of the chasm. Neither did the swinging, whooshing blades descend on them. James' footsteps landed on rough stone steps, each about the size of a dinner plate, and the moment his heels pulled away from each step, they sank away quickly, falling into darkness. Dimly, James heard the clank and rattle of machinery, and he recognized it. It was the same sound he'd heard in his dreams of this place, only now he knew what it was. Somehow, the stones were raised mechanically, operated by the sheer magic of Petra's passage. Perhaps the mechanism could only be summoned by the Bloodline, or perhaps it merely responded to anyone who knew the proper talisman, as Petra obviously did. Either way, it definitely helped not to think about what one was doing or to look down. As James placed his last footstep on the opposite ledge, collected into the waiting arms of Rose, Ralph, and Zane, he couldn't resist looking back. The last stepping stone fell away into darkness, attached to a complicated rigging of struts and coils. It squeaked and rattled as it retracted, and then it was gone, as if it'd never been there at all.

"Petra!" Rose exclaimed, weak with relief. "Lily! Everyone's all right!"

Zane grinned incredulously. "I thought you both were goners for sure. What happened?"

"James crashed us," Albus griped, shaking his head. "About broke my leg off. It's a good thing Petra here is a quick one with a splint."

"Yeah, she's a great one to have around in a medical emergency," Ralph agreed, looking at Petra a little worriedly.

"Lily, you're soaked!" Rose exclaimed, laughing and wiping a tear from her eye. "Here, let me help you." Rose produced her wand and waved it at Lily in a complicated gesture, pronouncing the proper spell. Hot air suddenly blew from the tip, drying Lily's dress and making her giggle.

"And what of the Gatekeeper?" Zane asked James as the group made its way toward the stone stairs and the light beyond.

"Gone," James answered. "I felt it leave."

"For good?"

James shrugged. "It didn't get Petra as its host. She wouldn't kill for it, not in the end. It doesn't have a foothold here anymore. It's finished."

Zane nodded, frowning a little. "If you say so, mate. Let's get out of here. This place creeps me out big time."

"Yeah. There's a reason they call it the Chamber of Secrets," Albus agreed.

James nodded, glancing back. Fervently, he said, "Let's just hope that was the last of its secrets."

"sAnd that's the story as well as I can tell it," James said, sitting back in the single chair across from the Headmaster. It was the next day, and the bright sunlight and birdsong of late morning wafted in through the open window. "We came up through the girls' second-floor bathroom and Ted led Tabitha straight here to your office. The rest of us took Lily to the Great Hall to meet up with Mum. She called Aunt Hermione, Uncle George and Uncle Ron back from the search and everybody decided to go ahead with the wrap party after all, although it was more a celebration of Lily's return by that point."

Merlin nodded slowly, his fingers steepled. He shared a look with Harry Potter, who stood nearby, arms folded and staring at the floor.

"And Miss Morganstern attended the party?" Merlin asked.

James shook his head. "No, I think she thought it'd be best for her not to be there. I mean, considering everything."

Harry spoke without raising his head. "It wasn't her fault. She was being deceived."

"It was not entirely her fault," Merlin corrected grimly. "She was being deceived, yes, but she was allowing the deception to occur. She has admitted so herself. The fact that she was able to throw off the deception in the end is proof that she could have done so all along, had she so chose."

"She is cursed with the last ghost of the soul of Voldemort in her very blood," Harry said, finally raising his eyes. "He was a wily liar and a master manipulator. Far greater witches and wizards than Petra Morganstern succumbed to his deceptions."

Merlin nodded. "And they were also responsible for the choices they made as a result."

James sat forward in his seat. "What are you saying? You think Petra is evil just because she was unlucky enough to get chosen for that stupid Horcrux dagger?"

"No, James," Merlin said gently. "For that, she is truly unfortunate. To the extent that Petra allows herself to be influenced by that accursed soul, however, she may still choose to do that which would make her evil indeed. She has admitted that she was the one that cursed Josephina Bartlett with the Vertigo Hex, knowing everyone would blame Miss Corsica, all just to prove to herself that she could do it. She came very close to making the ultimate evil choice last night, and nearly doomed all of mankind in the bargain. Had you not been there at exactly the right moment, revealing the mysterious portrait, all might well have been lost."

"You don't know that," James said, but uncertainly.

"Oh, but I do, James," Merlin said, looking James in the eye. "And for that, I owe you an apology."

"An apology? Why?"

Merlin sighed deeply. "I was very wrong about you, James Potter." The big man paused, as if unwilling to elaborate. He was gazing straight ahead, and James realized that he was looking past him, at something on the rear wall. James turned and looked over his shoulder. The portrait of Albus Dumbledore was meeting Merlin's gaze. He smiled slightly and nodded. Then, barely noticeable, Dumbledore winked at James. James frowned and turned back to Merlin.

"I've been advised," Merlin said sardonically, "to avoid the temptation to keep secrets or tell halftruths. Your Albus Dumbledore and I have discussed the topic at great length, and I admit that, until recently, I did not much agree with him. Regardless, recent events have shown the validity of his argument. James Potter, in the presence of your father, I will tell you the whole of the truth." Merlin sighed again, and then stood. He moved from behind his desk, passing in front of Harry.

"It is true," he explained. "I was well aware of the possibility that the entity called the Gatekeeper might follow me back from my long journey outside of time. Salazar Slytherin made it very clear to me. He hoped and planned for it, and my heart was in such a state that I did not much care. 'Damn the world,' I thought. 'If the Doombringer is to come, then fate will save mankind or it will not.' I washed my hands of it. Last year, when I returned to the world of men, I despised this age. I determined that if the Gatekeeper had indeed followed me, I would not even use the small power at my disposal to keep it at bay." Merlin held up a hand, displaying the glinting black ring. "And then I discovered the presence of the Borleys. Nuisances, really, the magical equivalent of cockroaches, and yet it proved to me that things had indeed followed me from the Void. If the Borleys were here, then surely the Gatekeeper was as well. I determined to capture the Borleys using the best tool for such a task: the Darkbag, which, as you know, contains the last earthly shred of pure darkness from the Void. I imprisoned the Borleys inside it, dozens of them, although at the time I could not say why I chose to do so; it seemed merely right and responsible. The truth is that I was coming to know this age, and while there was—and still is—much of it that I find wretched, I discovered I did not hate it as much as I'd thought. More important, I had come to care for some of the people in this age. Chiefly, you, Mr. Potter, and your rambunctious, irreverent friends.

"As I realized this, I knew I had but one choice: I must do what I could to rid the world of the Gatekeeper, whose very presence in this sphere was my responsibility. Having decided that, I came to know that there were those in this world who knew of the Gatekeeper, and wished to use it. These were the disciples of Slytherin, who, like him, had fooled themselves into believing the Gatekeeper could be controlled and used as a hand of vengeance. I knew of the other half of the Beacon Stone, and sensed that it was in the possession of these bent individuals. I followed their progress as they sought the Gatekeeper. I watched and waited, using this very Mirror." He indicated the Amsera Certh, which stood hooded nearby. "My devices could sense events of dark magical power, pinpointing their location. When that happened, I watched in the Mirror. Eventually, I became involved, travelling to the place where the agents of Slytherin met the Gatekeeper. I suspect that you witnessed this, Mr. Potter, along with Miss Weasley and Mr. Deedle. I found them in an unplotted forest, at the tomb of Tom Riddle. There, the Gatekeeper had revived the memory of Voldemort, forcing it to speak through the grave statue. The Gatekeeper demanded to be led to the human who would best serve as its host. The statue told of the boy who had defeated Voldemort, and the Gatekeeper assumed that this boy, Harry Potter, would be the logical choice for its host. I sensed it turning toward you, Harry, homing in on you…" Merlin looked up at James' father. "It located you without even leaving the grave. It sensed you in the web of humanity, and determined that it could not have you. I felt it turning you over in what passes for its mind, felt it dismiss you, not as unworthy, but as unconquerable. It knew it could never bend you to its purposes."

Harry visibly shivered. "I remember that," he said in a low, wondering voice. "I was in the Auror offices at the Ministry, talking to Kirkham Wood. All of a sudden, it was like I was outside myself, looking down on my body as if I'd been shoved aside while something else shuffled through the contents of my brain. It only lasted a few seconds, and then suddenly, it was over. Kirkham hadn't noticed a thing. I decided I'd imagined it, or that I was just a bit overstressed. But it must have been that… thing… examining me."

Merlin nodded. "It would take a powerful wizard to sense it. The Gatekeeper numbs its prey so that few ever remember its passing. Surely, that fact alone was part of why it knew it could never claim you, Harry. So it moved on. Even as that demented Lucius Malfoy spoke to it, beckoning for it to join them, telling it that they had prepared a Bloodline to be its host, I sensed it moving on, past you, Harry, looking further… looking for you, James."

"Me?" James exclaimed, shocked. "Why?"

"It makes perfect sense if you think about it from the Gatekeeper's view. The prophecies all claim that the host of the Gatekeeper would be a child of great loss, or an orphan. It sought out Voldemort, the orphan who most represented the Gatekeeper's aims, and found him a corpse. Thus, it logically sought out the one powerful enough to have bested Voldemort, and found yet another orphan: Harry Potter. He, however, was too strong, and therefore of no more use to the Gatekeeper than the dead Voldemort. So it looked just a bit further, to the first-born son of Harry Potter. And it found, interestingly, that that very boy had recently experienced his own tragedy, the sudden loss of your grandfather. Further, it sensed that you were in attendance on the very night that the Gatekeeper had arrived in the earth, and that you, James Potter, had even helped facilitate its descent."

"But I didn't mean to!" James blurted. "I was trying to stop it!"

Merlin held up a hand. "It matters not to the Gatekeeper. I sensed it homing in on you, learning of you, all in that moment in the graveyard, even as Lucius Malfoy was speaking to it. I sensed you in its thoughts, James, and that is when I stepped out into the open, to distract it. I called to the Gatekeeper, identifying myself as the bearer of the Beacon Stone. It remembered me from my time in the Void. The first thing it did was ask for you, James. I told it as sternly as I could that you knew nothing of it, that you would never consent to be its host. But it laughed. It told me that you had already sought it out, and that you were watching at that very moment. Lucius Malfoy looked and saw you, reflected in the window of an abandoned shack nearby. He pointed at you, and the Gatekeeper smiled. It had known you'd been watching from the moment it turned its attention to finding you, James. I turned and saw your reflection for myself. I knew I had to get back, to warn you, but you closed the Focusing Book, shutting me out. It took me much of a day to get back to the castle by other methods, and by then, I had determined a rather different opinion of you, I am afraid."

"You'd decided I was on the Gatekeeper's side?" James asked, perplexed.

"Not consciously," Merlin answered. "No more than Petra Morganstern was on the Gatekeeper's side. I decided you were being manipulated by it, and by your own desires. I regret to admit this, James, but I feared that your desire to be like your father was being exploited, used by the Gatekeeper and the forces of chaos. When your mother's Howler went off, telling us all that she believed you'd stolen the Invisibility Cloak and the Marauder's Map, it further convinced me that you were, in fact, working toward the Gatekeeper's ends. I decided to watch and to wait, hoping that I was wrong about you. And then, when your own sister went missing on the night of the play, I knew that it was the moment of truth. I could scarcely believe you'd harm her, but those in the thrall of deception have done even worse things than murder their sisters. I planned to take you away from the school, removing you from whatever plan the Gatekeeper had for you. You foiled me, of course, by the simple expedient of being young and quick. Even then, I could have taken you had I truly wished to. In my deepest heart, however, I had decided to trust you—and fate. It was my own trial of the cord, much like your test, James, in the cave of my cache. You chose to hold onto the golden cord even though letting go would have been far easier. Thus, I chose to hold onto the one thin cord of trust in you as well. If I did so foolishly, then the world would not last long enough to blame me. As it turns out, however, that moment of trust was indeed wise. In fact, I believe it saved us all."

James blew out a sigh. "Wow. So that was why you were so secretive and scary that day in your office."

"The portrait told me it was a mistake," Merlin admitted, glancing aside. "Dumbledore did not approve of my attitude toward you, and told me so upon your departure."

From the wall behind James, Dumbledore's voice spoke. "I was nothing if not respectful, Merlinus. But yes, I did warn you that you doubted the boy at your own peril."

Merlin nodded. "Yes, you made your point quite clear, as I recall."

"I am cursed with the burden of helping those who've succeeded me to not make the same mistakes I did," Dumbledore said, looking at Merlin, then Harry. "I myself only learned these lessons mere days before my death. Too late to make much of a difference, although I did what little I could."

Harry nodded, unsmiling. "So what is to be done with Petra Morganstern, then?"

Merlin shrugged, returning to his desk. "She is guilty of possession of stolen property in the form of the Invisibility Cloak and kidnapping Lily Potter. As Head Auror, the owner of the Cloak, and the girl's father, Harry Potter, I might ask you the same thing."

Harry thought seriously for a long moment. Finally, he looked at James. "I won't be pressing any charges," he said. "James, do you agree?"

James nodded. "She didn't know what she was doing, Dad. And when I showed her how she was being deceived, she turned things around really quickly. She doesn't want to hurt anyone."

"Be very aware of what you are doing, my friends," Merlin said quietly. "Miss Morganstern is a very complicated young woman."

"But she isn't evil," James said emphatically.

"No more than you are, James, or your father, or I myself. And yet I, at least, have wrought great evil, all in the name of love. We are all capable of evil, depending on the choices we make and the philosophies we embrace. The greater the potential for good in any of us, the greater the opposite potential for wickedness. Miss Morganstern has, to say the very least, great, great potential. The only question is how she will choose to invest it."

"But she did the right thing," Harry said. "In my experience, those who choose to do right usually get addicted to it. The soul of Voldemort has a toe-hold in her, yes; she can't help that. But she has proven that it isn't enough to rule her."

"It is enough to divide her," Merlin answered. "And she will never conquer that one small part of her that belongs to him. It will always be there, wheedling, poisoning, tempting, lying. Further, his power is her power. She has shown that she uses that power—granted, for good, so far, such as in healing Albus' leg—but how long will she be able to control it? Even now, she leaves these walls to return to a loveless and bitter life. She has denied herself the return of her own parents so that Lily and you, James, might live. Meanwhile, she watches you go home to loving parents and a life she can only dream of. Don't think that, despite her actions, she will not lie awake on cold, lonely nights, pining hopelessly for her dead parents, and wondering, wondering, if on that fateful night in the Chamber of Secrets she made the wrong choice."

James shook his head, not wanting to believe it. "She'd never think that. Petra is good."

"She wants to be good," Merlin agreed. "I will grant you that, James. Let us hope that that is enough."

Harry approached James and put his hand on his son's shoulder. "Scorpius has agreed to help us locate his Grandfather Lucius. He's actually a little more enthusiastic about it than I'm comfortable with, to tell you the truth, but his grandfather's lies and manipulations have turned the boy into quite a valuable ally for us. Still," he said, turning his attention to Merlin, "what of Tabitha Corsica? She's returned the map. Apart from Stunning Ralph, she hasn't technically done anything wrong whatsoever, despite her best efforts. I have no jurisdiction over her at all."

"Leave her to me," Merlin replied, sitting down at his desk again. "She is not so far gone that she cannot be helped. I have known someone like her."

"You're kidding!" James said, getting to his feet as his father prepared to leave. "You think Petra's going to go all Dark Lord on us, but you think there's hope for Corsica just because you've 'known someone like her'?"

Merlin looked up at James, his brow lowered. "Perhaps I misspoke," he said, his voice rumbling. "What I meant to say was I have been someone like her."

James stared at the Headmaster, frowning in consternation, but Harry steered him away with his hand. "Come on, son," he said, smiling a little. "The Headmaster has a lot to do. I saw your performance on the Omnioculars, by the way. You're quite the little actor. Makes me wonder about the time you told me you had nothing to do with that broken clock in the parlor, eh?"

James changed the subject as quickly as he could. "So are you heading home right away?"

"No, actually," Harry answered, closing Merlin's door. "I'm going to check in on Albus down in the Slytherin quarters. And then I, er, owe someone a visit, apparently."

James began to tromp down the spiral staircase. "Who's that?"

"Moaning Myrtle," his dad sighed, smiling. "Rose insisted. She said she promised. Just come and get me if I'm in there for more than an hour, all right?"