19. Hagrid's Detention - Speedbump

James Potter and the Morrigan Web
G. Norman Lippert
19. Hagrid’s Detention
The next several days were filled with the worst sort of anxiety.
The return trip out of the Alma Aleron cellars had been almost disappointingly uneventful. With the
Gowrow trapped on the other side of the iron barricade, Tabitha Corsica had simply entranced it with a
child’s lullaby charm until it fell into a deep, snoring sleep. Sneaking past it had been silently hair-raising, but
relatively easy. Ralph, the last to be side-along apparated past the barricade, had resumed consciousness by
then, although his wand had been confiscated by Corsica until the return to Hogwarts.
No one had spoken during the entire return trip, knowing the worst was yet to come.
Since then, Tabitha Corsica had surely told Headmaster Grudje everything that had happened.
James didn’t know which detail boded the worst for them: that they’d been searching for information about a
magical super weapon, or that they had attacked a professor in the process, threatening to feed her to a
monster if she didn’t reveal what she knew.
This would not be merely a matter of punishment, James knew. This would surely result in
expulsion, or worse.
“Ralph here will get the brunt of it,” Scorpius whispered as they huddled at a table in the library late
one night, ostensibly studying. “He’s the one that pulled a wand on Corsica. Not us. Besides, it seems she’s
had a bat in her bonnet about him for years.”
“Even so, we can’t just let him take the blame,” James said, keeping his head lowered over his History
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of Magic essay.
Scorpius shrugged. “I’m pretty fine with it, actually.”
“I don’t care what happens to me,” Ralph muttered morosely. “Maybe it’d be best if I did get
expelled. I could go back to my dad. Together we could tell the Order what we know.”
felt.
“Nobody’s getting expelled if we can help it,” James said, with rather more determination than he
“That’s all well and good,” Scorpius said with a low, humourless chuckle. “But Grudje doesn’t seem
to have any trouble getting rid of the people he wants gone. He’s already eliminated Revalvier, Longbottom
and McGonagall.”
“And let’s not forget,” Ralph added darkly, “Professor McGonagall ended up in St. Mungo’s after
being attacked by a bunch of W.U.L.F lunatics.”
“Ugh! It’s the suspense that I can’t stand!” Rose rasped, gripping her Astronomy textbook so hard
that it vibrated. “I just wish they’d get it over with!”
James understood his cousin’s fears, and yet there seemed to be nothing for it but to wait. For her
own part, Tabitha Corsica seemed to enjoy their prolonged anxiety. At the following Herbology lesson she
favoured James and Ralph with a long glare and a subtly threatening smile.
Finally, on Monday morning, Filch gathered James, Ralph, Rose and Scorpius after breakfast,
herding them brusquely toward the headmaster’s office, muttering under his breath while Mrs. Norris hissed
at their heels. Dread settled slowly in James’ stomach as they ascended the spiral stairs and approached the
closed office door. Filch rapped on it with his knuckles.
Putting an obsequious lilt into his voice that sounded as authentic as a tin galleon, he called, “The
students you requested, headmaster.”
Grudje’s voice rumbled through the door, which creaked open of its own accord. “Do send them in,
Mr. Caretaker.”
Filch glared at the four students, pressing his lips into a mean, harried grimace. “In with you, then!
Don’t keep the headmaster waiting!”
He shoved James on the shoulder, hurrying him along. As the four shuffled reluctantly into Grudje’s
office, the door swung shut with a resounding slam, leaving Filch in the antechamber.
Grudje sat at his enormous desk, writing with a huge white quill, ignoring the students as they stood
nervously as far back as possible. The office was as drab and cold as before, with no fire lit in the hearth and
the window covered with a heavy velvet curtain, allowing only the faintest grey light to filter into the gloom.
Glancing around, James was curious to see that the portrait of Merlinus Ambrosius had been hung despite its
all-too-noticeable lifelessness. Perhaps even more curious, the nearby portrait of Albus Dumbledore was
completely empty, showing only a dark chair, lost in shadow. Something about it implied that this was not
unusual. The chair almost looked dusty, as if it had been undisturbed for quite some time.
Grudje stirred, bringing James back to the moment. A single candle guttered on the headmaster’s
desk, making an orb of light that left the rest of the office dense with shadows.
“Professor Corsica tells me a rather astonishing tale,” he said without looking up. His quill scratched
busily. “She tells me that the four of you managed to sneak into the cellars beneath the American Wizarding
school of Alma Aleron, assisted by your cohort, Mr. Walker.”
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James shuffled his feet. He opened his mouth to offer some defence, but realized that the headmaster
had not actually asked for any.
“Ms. Corsica showed professorial foresight in sensing that a plot was afoot,” Grudje went on, his
gravelly voice calm and cold. “Of course, I myself was not in the least surprised when she informed me of
what transpired.”
“Headmaster,” Rose said suddenly, stepping forward. “We--”
Grudje silenced her with a raised left hand, its palm as white as a fish’s belly in the candlelight. His
eyes flicked up from his parchment, pinning her from beneath grey eyebrows. “I am not interested in your
explanation, Ms. Weasley. Do hold your tongue, for your own sake, unless I ask you to speak.” He waited,
assuring that she meant to obey. Rose took half a step backward and lowered her head.
Grudje observed this stoically. Finally, he lowered his quill and gave the students his full attention.
“The four of you have been seen on several occasions banding about, engaging in hushed conversations and
secret congress. This is against the rules, as you well know, but I have allowed it. Why, you may well ask
Because I was curious to know what you were up to. Now, however, you have passed beyond even my patient
indulgence. Ms. Corsica has confirmed this. As a result, I can no longer allow you to thwart the rules of this
establishment.”
He paused, shifting his glare from student to student, marking all four of them.
Scorpius cleared his throat softly. “Are we,” he asked, cocking his head inquisitively, “expelled Sir”
Grudje flicked his eyes back to Scorpius. “Expelled, Mr. Malfoy” he repeated. “Do you believe you
are deserving of expulsion”
James glanced at Scorpius, but the blonde boy did not return his look. “No, sir. Not this time. Just
trying to be clear, sir.”
“You may indeed deserve expulsion,” Grudje said, raising his chin speculatively. “And perhaps I
should make it so, despite the lack of a concrete reason. Your secret counsels here at Hogwarts have been
suspect enough. But to take your meetings to Alma Aleron, to its most clandestine locations, completely
outside the realm of our supervision, that I simply cannot allow.” The old man sighed deeply, still ticking his
gaze from face to face. “As you now know, Ms. Corsica was intrepid enough to follow you. She briefed me
on everything she witnessed: your clandestine meeting in the caverns, adjourning your cabal of malcontents.
She tells me that she listened intently, hidden in the shadows. And she tells me, rather unfortunately, that
despite her best efforts… she was unable to overhear your secrets.”
James stared at the headmaster, his mind spinning. Tabitha had not told the headmaster everything!
He could scarcely bring himself to believe it. Was this, perhaps, a trick Was he teasing them Dimly, he
realized that Grudje was glaring at him, silently measuring his response.
“Oh,” James said suddenly, groping to sound angry, offended, anything. “Er. That sneak! Why, I
can’t believe she listened in on us…!”
Grudje pressed his lips into a thin, sceptical line. “Is there anything,” he growled slowly, “that you
would like to tell me, Mr. Potter”
“Anything to tell you,” James repeated, his face burning red. “Er…”
“I think I know what this secret counsel of yours was about, young man,” Grudje interrupted
impatiently, picking up his quill again. “There is no need to lie. It will only make matters worse for you.
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Admit it and I may let you off easily. Relatively speaking.”
“Er,” James said again, glancing desperately from Ralph to Scorpius. “Er…”
Scorpius sighed. “Night Quidditch, sir,” he said resignedly. He hung his head.
James held his breath, his eyes wide.
Grudje’s eyes were like chips of ice as he watched Scorpius, suspicion rolling off him in waves. The
moment seemed to last hours. Finally, the headmaster sat back and nodded, eyes narrowed.
“Thank you, Mr. Malfoy. I am pleased that one of you, at least, shows enough sense to speak up.
Such truly inane foolishness, this Night Quidditch. After the dismissal of Mr. Longbottom, I assumed it
would naturally come to an end. Apparently my expectations for good sense are too lofty for some of you.”
With an imperious flourish, he signed his name to the parchment on his desk. “This, students, is the
terms of your probation. According to it, none of you shall be seen interacting with the other at any time.
No two of you will study together, sit next to each other in lessons, or engage in conversation during lessons
or private hours. If you do so, believe me, I shall know, and there will be no further warnings. Breaking the
terms of this probation will result in immediate expulsion from this school. Have I made myself exceedingly
clear”
Next to James, Ralph and Scorpius nodded. Rose muttered assent. James took a small step forward.
“Just curious, Headmaster,” he said, steeling his nerve. “How will you know if we break the
probation”
Grudje regarded him before answering. “Surely you don’t expect me to answer that question, Mr.
Potter.”
James’ cheeks burned. “I… thought I might ask, sir. If we knew that there really was no place to
sneak off to, I just thought it might help us to, you know, avoid temptation. We’re, sort of, incorrigible that
way.”
“I have my ways, young man,” Grudje said dismissively, returning his attention to the parchment
before him. “I do not need to explain my methods to assure you that there is no part of this school beyond
my benevolent eye. You should thank me for this. By my vigilance, I may yet save you from your worst
enemy: yourself.”
“Yes, sir,” James answered, stepping back and pretending to be mollified. “Er, thank you, sir.” He
lowered his eyes, but his mind was suddenly racing.
Grudje tapped the probation notice with his wand, creating a small stack of exact duplicates. “I shall
distribute these to your teachers, heads of houses, and prefects within the hour. For now, you may return to
your lessons. And please, let there be no talking along the way. I will know if you disobey.”
“Yes, sir,” James said again, more emphatically this time. His eyes were narrow with growing
suspicion as he stared at the floor.
Behind them, the headmaster’s door creaked open again, announcing their dismissal. Silently,
Scorpius led the other three from the room, quickening his pace as he reached the antechamber. Four sets of
footsteps rang on the spiral stairs as they descended.
James knew that what he should be feeling most was relief. For some reason, Tabitha Corsica had
not told Headmaster Grudje the most damning parts of their trip to the cellars of Alma Aleron-- neither the
bit about the Morrigan Web nor the part where Ralph had threatened her with toothy monster death.
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Normally, Corsica would like nothing more than to see James, Ralph and his friends kicked out of the school,
humiliated and defamed. Why she had avoided such a golden opportunity was a mystery of truly epic
proportions. As he stalked along the corridor making for the stairs, he sensed Rose’s eyes on him, expressing
her own surprise and shock at this inexplicable development.
And yet what James was feeling most was a sudden, vindictive certainty.
As he reached the top of the stairs, he glanced back, assuring that Grudje had not followed them.
The halls were completely empty, punctuated only by the dull, echoing warble of classes in progress behind
closed doors. Satisfied, James turned to a very large painting that overlooked the staircase. The painting
depicted a group of witches reclined around a boiling cauldron, most sipping enormous tankards or dozing in
the morning sunlight.
“It’s you, isn’t it” he whispered harshly, leaning close and addressing a tall but otherwise nondescript
witch in the background. “You’re the one spying for Grudje. Admit it.”
The witch regarded James sternly, defiantly, offering no response.
“James!” Rose hissed, pulling on his sleeve. “Come on! What are you doing”
“You look rotten as a witch, you know,” James went on, ignoring his cousin. “You can’t fool me
now that I know what to look for. The whole school is lousy with paintings of you. You’re the gardening
monk in the greenhouse painting in Professor Longbottom’s sitting room. You’re the knight in Professor
McGonagall’s portrait of King Kreagle. It’s you who’s spying for Grudje, telling everyone’s secrets. Admit
it.”
Rose boggled at James, and then leaned to look closer at the painting. Scorpius joined her, putting
on his glasses and squinting through them. Ralph nodded over James’ shoulder.
“You’re right!” he said, realization dawning on him. “Blimey, he does look awful as a witch.”
“Oh, do step back, the four of you,” the witch said in a strangely low, drawling voice. “And consider
investing in a good anti-pimple potion.”
“Headmaster Snape” Rose breathed in an awed voice. She suppressed a giggle. “Is that really… er,
you”
The painted figure sighed irritably. “I see you are as good at keeping secrets, Potter, as you are potion
making. Make your way to your classes, the lot of you, before you get yourselves into even worse trouble.”
“How can you be helping him” James demanded furiously. “I thought you were our friend!”
The costumed visage of Snape sneered at James. “I have never been your ‘friend’, Potter. I am,
however, one of your guardians, and for that you should thank me. Headmaster Grudje is quite right. You
need someone to save you from your own disregard for the rules and pathological delusions of grandeur. I am
all too willing to assist in that endeavour.”
Rose looked both shocked and crestfallen. “It’s you, sir” she clarified, glancing from the painting to
James and back. “You’ve got portraits scattered all over the school And you’re using them to spy on
everyone for Headmaster Grudje”
“‘Spying’ is a subversive term,” Snape sniffed. “I am obliged to offer the entirety of my services to the
new headmaster. As a result, I have been charged with observing. Those with nothing to hide have nothing
to fear.”
James shook his head. “Because of you, we’ve lost Revalvier, McGonagall and Longbottom!”
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“I had nothing to do with any of their predicaments,” Snape glanced away dismissively. “Each of
those professors earned their own removal. If you disagree, take it up with the Headmaster. It is none of my
affair.”
Rose’s disappointment was quickly boiling into anger. “Everyone’s living in fear because of you!” she
declared, struggling to keep her voice low. “Good people-- people who were your friends and comrades-- are
afraid to speak up against what’s going on, all because you’re broadcasting their every word to Grudje!”
“That’s Headmaster Grudje, and it behooves you to remember it, Miss Weasley” Snape declared,
rising to his full height in the painting. “Like it or not, he is in charge, now, and things will be done
according to his design. Those who chafe under that requirement are, by definition, unfit to serve under his
leadership, regardless of their history, either with me or this school.”
“But,” Ralph frowned sadly, “Professor McGonagall got attacked. She’s still in St. Mungo’s. All
because somebody wanted to keep her quiet. Maybe even Headmaster Grudje. Is that who you want to work
for”
“Conjecture and hearsay,” Snape retorted under his breath, but James could see that this had struck a
nerve with the painted former headmaster. He moved closer to the painting and lowered his voice.
“You don’t have any choice in the matter,” he whispered. “Do you You have to do what Grudje
wants. Because, being dead, you don’t really have free will any longer…”
Snape refused to meet James’ eyes. “As usual, Potter, you speak as if you know what you are talking
about. And also as usual, you do not.”
“Just like the portrait of Headmaster Phineas Nigellus Black,” Rose nodded slowly. “My mum says
he had to do what Headmaster Dumbledore asked, whether he liked it or not. All the old headmaster
portraits are honour bound to serve the living headmaster. Phineas Nigellus seemed to think it was a curse
more than a duty.”
Snape glared at Rose from the painting. “None of you have the slightest idea what you are talking
about. Move along. Go to your classes.”
“It must drive you mad,” Scorpius mused. “Having to do what that crazy dictator wants. After
everything you did when you were alive to shut down people like him.”
“I was people like him,” Snape countered. “Men like Headmaster Grudje are the tip of the spear, the
ugly truth that few are willing to acknowledge. Without men like him-- without men like me-- neither the
wizarding nor Muggle worlds could survive.”
“But you weren’t like him,” Rose persisted softly. “You knew that power was nothing without
wisdom and… well, love. That’s why Dumbledore trusted you. That’s why Uncle Harry named his second
son after you.”
Snape shook his head, breaking his gaze. “Off to your classes with you. Do not speak as you go.
Your probations are in effect, and Headmaster Grudje is right: he will know if you disobey.”
James hitched a long, disconsolate sigh. Disgusted, he turned away and began to tromp down the
stairs. After a moment, Rose turned to follow, as did Scorpius and Ralph.
“It is a terrible shame,” Snape’s voice commented faintly, apparently to itself, “that I never did
manage to get a portrait into that damned Room of Requirement.”
James stopped in mid-step, glancing back over his shoulder. The others crowded behind him,
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coming to a messy halt. Scorpius’ eyes sharpened, registering what the painting seemed to imply.
report you.”
“Did you just say, sir,” he asked, “that you have no portrait in the Room of Requirement”
Snape’s voice was low and cunning. “I said that you should all get to your lessons before I have to
“I see, sir,” Scorpius answered. “Certainly, sir. Thank you, sir.”
Turning and sharing a collection of secretive grins, the students continued their tromp down the
staircase. As they reached the bottom, they split up, Rose and Scorpius turning right for Transfiguration with
the new Professor Tofty, Ralph and James heading out into the morning sun in search of Hagrid’s Care of
Magical Creatures, already in progress.
The portrait of Severus Snape sighed in his painting, relaxing once again into the background.
“Damn,” he muttered to himself darkly. “Phineas Nigellus was right.”
At breakfast the following Monday morning, with less than two weeks left of term, Headmaster
Grudje finally announced the upcoming Quidditch Summit.
“In ten days,” he rumbled in his standard monotone, “this school will be host to an event of historic
importance. For the first time in nearly a thousand years, Muggle and Magical leaders will meet officially,
here in these very halls.”
Most of the students had heard about this event by now, despite the restricted post and news
blackout. Still, with the official announcement, the room descended into a buzz of animated whispers.
Grudje allowed this for a moment before going on.
“We are all quite aware of the reasons behind this meeting. After many centuries of peaceful
concealment, the wall of secrecy that has protected our worlds has been breached. Even now, despite our best
efforts, it continues to crumble. Magical enforcement of the Vow of Secrecy is increasingly erratic.
Unfortunately, some less scrupulous Witches and wizards have begun to take advantage of this. Conversely,
intrepid or unfortunate Muggles have begun to infiltrate worlds that have been, for a millennium, beyond
their reach. Some of you, I am quite sure, have heard the tale of the ill-fated Muggle family that inadvertently
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stumbled into Knockturn Alley by way of an unguarded portal.”
A smatter of mean laughter peppered the hall, mostly emanating from the Slytherin table. James had
indeed heard the tale, as had everyone else. A trio of hags had discovered the family of four hiding behind a
pile of trash bins, hopelessly lost and trembling with terror at the sight of the milling witches, goblins, and
various nefarious creatures that frequented Knockturn Alley’s shadowy corners. It had taken a week of
memory modifications at St. Mungo’s to undo the damage, and even then the father had continued to suffer
from an irrational terror of warts.
“It has become necessary, therefore,” Grudje went on, “to involve our Muggle brothers and sisters in
the management of affairs from this point onward. Along with representatives of the Ministry of Magic and
other magical administrations, a careful selection of ambassadors and leaders from Muggle governments
worldwide will descend upon this school for the advent of the final Quidditch match between Slytherin and
Hufflepuff…”
At the mention of their names, both the Slytherin and Hufflepuff tables erupted into raucous
applause. Grudje’s face paled and his eyes narrowed.
“This is not an occasion for petty house loyalties,” he declared with surprising volume, quelling the
applause. The hoots and handclapping fell away, reducing the hall to awkward silence as Grudje frowned at
the tables, the weight of his gaze like a cold wind. In a low, severe voice, he continued. “These are very
serious times, pupils. The gravity of this summit is heavy upon us. We have been chosen to represent the
entirety of the magical world. Our task is to show that witches and wizards are not threats to be feared, but
friends and helpers, partners in a new world of peaceful coexistence. As such, many of you will be chosen as
amateur diplomats. You will both serve and entertain our Muggle guests at events in their honour, held at
various locations throughout the school.
“Most importantly, however, will be the display of magical competition and camaraderie that is the
Quidditch tournament. This will be the keynote of the summit, and will involve each and every one of you.
You will attend, and you will be on your best behaviour. Whomever wins, we shall all display the greatest
respect, deference, and school spirit. And in the end, our Muggle guests will know that we are a culture they
need not fear. Indeed, they will be welcomed and disarmed by our combined sportsmanship and magical
heritage.”
Grudje paused, his cold eyes still roaming over the hall, measuring each face. Finally, he relaxed
slightly. “On a happier note, however, this term’s Quidditch tournament will also be witness to the unveiling
of an all new tournament trophy, the soon-to-be-coveted Crystal Chalice, presented via the generous donation
of Mr. and Mrs. Draven Vassar, parents of our own Lance Vassar of Gryffindor. The Chalice, an ancient and
immensely rare magical relic discovered by the Vassars in the course of their historical explorations, will serve
as an enduring symbol of excellence for centuries to come. How fortunate will be the first winner to bear
such a legacy.”
With that, Grudje favoured the hall with one of his rare, ghastly smiles.
“Ugh,” Rose muttered, cupping a hand to the side of her face to block the sight. “It looks like
magical fish hooks are tugging at the corners of his mouth.”
Graham Warton’s face was pale with anger as a smattering of applause rippled through the Hall.
“Isn’t it just like Lance Vassar to lose us the Quidditch cup and then produce some even better cup to award
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the winner.”
James was distracted, however, by the chilling certainty of Grudje’s announcement. Until now, the
Quidditch Summit had seemed like a disturbing but nebulous premonition-- something that simply might
not happen if he only refused to believe it. Now, it was not only a concrete reality, it was less than two weeks
away. And worst of all, despite what they had learned during their misadventure in the cellars of Alma
Aleron, they didn’t seem any closer to unravelling the mystery of the Morrigan Web.
With the announcement, the final days of term seemed to trickle by with eerie, capricious speed.
This was due in large part to the typical end of term rush of examinations, accompanied by the mountains of
homework that continued to be piled on. James tried heroically to attend to his studies and keep on top of
homework, not so much for the sake of his grades but simply to stay out of Filch’s way. Even now, the old
Caretaker was assigning crushing detentions to students who failed to turn in their assignments, which only
succeeded in taking more time from their homework and studies, leading to even more detentions. The
unfairness of it was all too infuriating, offset only slightly by the fact that Filch himself seemed the most
harried of all, driven as he was by the increasingly demanding expectations of Headmaster Grudje.
As the days slipped by, James arranged fleetingly brief meetings with Rose, Ralph, Scorpius and
sometimes even Albus, Zane and Nastasia in the Room of Requirement, which he had learned how to access
back in his first year, thanks to his father. During the meetings, the Room of Requirement presented itself as
a small command centre, complete with Sneakoscopes and a Foe-Glass, a library of books on magical spying
and espionage, and a large plotting table bearing a map of Hogwarts and the surrounding grounds. Despite
these tools, the gathering was consistently frustrated in their attempts to work out how the attack on the
Quidditch Summit might happen, much less how to prevent it.
“Even if we knew Avior’s plan,” Scorpius declared finally, “The pitch will be absolutely crawling with
guards.”
Albus nodded grimly. “Titus Hardcastle will be in charge of security. Nothing gets past him. He’ll
have all the Aurors on high alert, especially after the disaster over the holidays when the American vice
president was killed.”
“Will Uncle Harry not be there at all” Rose asked.
James shook his head. “The Minister of Magic will probably have dad scheduled to count cauldrons
in some warehouse in Siberia or something. They’re going out of their way to keep him away from the action
these days.”
“I never thought I’d say this,” Zane sighed, pushing the map away and leaning back in his chair.
“But this is out of our hands. It was one thing when we faced off against loopy Madame Delacroix and even
the Gatekeeper. Those were plots involving just a few powerful people working under the radar. This time
it’s the whole Ministry of Magic and powerful people working right out in the open.”
“It’s still only a few people,” James persisted, pounding the table with a frustrated fist. “It’s Avior
working alongside Judith, the Lady of the Lake. I don’t know how they met, but obviously they have the
same goals in mind. He wants power over Muggles, she wants chaos and destruction. Either way, it’s still
just the two of them.”
“It may only be the two of them with the wicked little plans,” Nastasia agreed breezily, “but they’ve
got the whole brute force of your Ministry of Magic behind them, paving the way without even knowing it.”
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Ralph’s face was stony with resolve. “We can’t just give up, either way. We just need some help.”
“Help from where” Scorpius asked, meeting Ralph’s eyes. “Anyone who knows enough to join us is
either already gone or too squashed under Grudje’s thumb to do anything about it.”
Albus frowned. “Where’s he at most of the time, anyway How’s he keep everyone so terrified when
it seems like he’s gadding about who knows where every other day”
Ralph shrugged. “Probably meeting up with the Minister of Magic to give him his orders.”
Rose’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully. James regarded her curiously.
“What are you thinking, Rose”
She shook her head. “Nothing. Just… something strange.”
“The whole thing’s strange,” Zane sighed.
“What about all those Yuxa Baslatma vines and leaves and stuff that got caught up in your robes
when the Jiskra was chasing us,” James prodded, still watching Rose. “Maybe they’ll tell us what we need to
do if you just use them”
“Rose has some Dream Inducers” Ralph asked, sitting up hopefully.
“I already told you,” Rose snapped, “Not a chance! They’re all jumbled together and miss-matched.
There’s no way to know even which pots they came from. Nobody’s using them, and especially not me. It’s
way too dangerous.”
“Rose,” James insisted intently. “If the Morrigan Web goes off at the Quidditch final, it’ll kill every
witch and wizard there! Players, students, Ministry people, guards, even Titus Hardcastle and his Aurors!
We’re seriously running out of options, here!”
But Rose was firm in her resolve. “Those Yuxa Baslatma fragments won’t help us, James. They’re
too mixed up and torn apart. If I was smart I would just bury them somewhere and forget about them. But I
do have an idea for how we can save at least a few people, and maybe even more than a few, if the Morrigan
Web does go off. We just need to get started immediately.”
“What, Rosie” Zane asked eagerly, leaning forward again.
Rose looked from face to face. “It’s too simple, really,” she said. “The Web connects every wand in
the vicinity with some sort of ultra killing curse, right We just go to the Quidditch final without our wands.
Us and as many other people as we can convince.”
There was a moment of awed silence as everyone considered this. James nodded, remembering. “In
Crone Laosa’s story, her mother survived by not having her wand with her. She’d broken it that morning in
some sort of accident. She was right in the midst of the Web, but since she didn’t have a wand, it didn’t hurt
her…”
Ralph, however, was sceptical. “Hard to imagine that the best way to go into magical battle is to
leave your wand at home.”
Nastasia tittered.
“It is if you want to live to see the actual battle,” Rose countered, giving Nastasia a steely glance.
“And I’m not suggesting we leave them back in the dormitories. I say we find a place to hide them nearby,
perhaps beneath the grandstands or even the equipment shed, safely stowed but available to us afterwards.”
“That’s pretty grim, Rose” Albus said. “You’re suggesting we watch everyone else get murdered, then
pick over their bodies to grab our wands and fight Avior and whatever bad guy squad he’s assembled”
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“You have a better idea” Rose asked, clearly unhappy with the prospect herself. “We’ll need to
protect the Muggle survivors. It’s not a perfect plan, but it’s all we’ve got at the moment.”
“This is worse than last year,” Ralph shook his head with slow emphasis. “It was bad enough when
Lucy was killed and New Amsterdam was laid out there for all the Muggles to see. But this is just worse.
This is like… like…”
“Like the end of our world,” James sighed morosely. “The end of Hogwarts. The end of the
Ministry of Magic. It’ll be a massacre.”
“I can’t believe you lot are even considering this!” Albus suddenly declared. “Ralph already said it!
We can’t just give up! We have to stop the Morrigan Web, not just figure out how to survive it like…” he
waved his hands helplessly, “like cockroaches!”
This was followed by a long moment of awkward silence. James was sure that everyone was thinking
the same thing, even if they could not bring themselves to say it. Uncomfortable glances were passed furtively
around the room. Stopping the Morrigan Web may well be impossible, those glances said, but surviving is better
than dying.
Thankfully, Scorpius spoke up, breaking the pause. “No one is giving up,” he said with a decisive
nod. “But until we figure out something better, we do what we can to convince as many as people as possible
to hide their wands away. We’ll stow them in a trunk beneath the Gryffindor grandstand, and we’ll do it
hours before the tournament, before Hardcastle and his Aurors arrive as guards.”
“We’ll have to conceal the trunk somehow,” James agreed. “Hardcastle’s crew will sweep the pitch
for anything suspicious.”
“We could hide it under the invisibility cloak,” Ralph suggested, brightening.
“We could,” James agreed pointedly, “if Albus here hadn’t left it lying on the floor of Avior’s office.”
“I didn’t just leave it lying,” Albus protested. “I was being chased by a mad two-headed, firebreathing
bird monster if you recall!”
Zane gave a low whistle. “You left your dad’s prize invisibility cloak in the bad guy’s office Does he
know”
Albus deflated. “No. And neither does Filch, fortunately. We nicked it from his desk but he’s been
too swamped to notice.”
Scorpius dismissed these concerns with a wave of his hand. “Either way, Ralph can put a Visum
Ineptio charm on the trunk to make it look like a rock or something. He’s good at that kind of magic. With
all the wands hidden away, the Web can’t hurt us.”
Rose sighed deeply. “Then, if we fail to prevent it…” She swallowed hard. “We can protect the
survivors: the Muggle government leaders that Avior and his people will try to assassinate once everyone else is
dead.”
“Bloody hell,” Ralph murmured. “Merlin was right. This changes everything.”
There was a rumble of grave agreement as the meeting broke up.
The next few days were some of the tensest days of James’ life. One at a time, he, Ralph, Rose, Albus
and Scorpius met with as many students as they dared trust, attempting to warn them of the impending
attack. They refrained from referring to the Morrigan Web, since that would only incite scepticism or
confusion, and either way demand lengthy explanations. Instead, they exploited the general sense of angry
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suspicion the entire school harboured toward Headmaster Grudje and his Draconian policies.
“I knew he was hiding something!” Graham hissed angrily as he and James threaded their way to the
Astronomy tower. “You say he’s covering for some big conspiracy”
James nodded. “Something like that. The point is it’s absolutely essential that we all hide our wands
before the Quidditch tournament. Seriously. Life and death.”
Graham glanced at him, not with scepticism, as James had expected, but grim awe. “What’s the old
power-monger up to” His mouth dropped open in shocked revelation. “He’s going to confiscate everyone’s
wands next, isn’t he First he clamps down on the post, then Hogsmeade weekends, and now he’s taking
away our wands so we can only use them when he wants to let us! Of course! Why, that total dictator!”
James did not dissuade Graham from this suspicion. Frankly, it did seem like the sort of thing
Grudje would do. “We’ll be collecting wands the night before the tournament and hiding them away. No
one will find them.”
Graham nodded. “And then, when Grudje tries to confiscate them, boom, no wands to confiscate!
And later, we can all collect them again. Brilliant! That’ll teach the old tyrant.”
James nodded and shrugged at the same time. He didn’t like lying to Graham, but not disabusing
him of his own notions seemed acceptable under the circumstances. Unfortunately, most of the other
students James spoke to were not as easily persuaded as Graham.
“I’m not going anywhere without my wand, James,” Mei Isis insisted stubbornly. “Not the way
things have been going lately. Especially if, like you say, something terrible is going to happen at the
tournament.”
Heth Thomas and Deirdre Finnegan felt the same way, seemingly caught between refusing to believe
James’ warning, and feeling that even if it was true, their wands were their own best recourse.
“But your wand will be the weapon!” James insisted frantically.
“Of course my wand’s the weapon,” Deirdre rasped impatiently. “That’s the whole point! Have you
even been to a Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson”
By the time he cornered Gabriel Jackson, captain of the Hufflepuff Quidditch team, outside the
Ancient Runes classroom, she had already heard rumours of James’ whispered warnings.
“None of the Hufflepuff players carry wands while in the air,” she assured him dismissively. “My
own rule, ever since that incident my third year when my sister Julian got blindsided by one of Beetlebrick’s
Bludgers and decided to fry him with a friendly Stunner in mid-air. Lost the match on a technicality that
time. No way I’m going to let that happen again. No wands while the match is on.”
James accepted this with a relieved sigh.
“Still,” Gabriel mused thoughtfully. “Beetlebrick did deserve it. And he’s never blindsided Julian
again, I’ll tell you that. Overall it was probably a net gain for the team. Maybe we should revise the no
wands rule next year.”
“You do that,” James nodded. “Next year.”
Rose, Ralph, Scorpius and Albus had had similar luck with their own contacts.
“Joseph Torrance and Cameron Creevey were easy,” Rose muttered as she followed James into the
Great Hall for dinner. “Joseph trusts you, and Cameron is your biggest fan. Lily and her friends will go
along as well. No luck with Aloysius, Shivani or Penelope, though. Even worse with the Hufflepuffs who
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aren’t playing in the tournament. They want to be able to celebrate with firework charms, the clueless
morons.”
James nodded gravely. Secretly, he couldn’t blame the Hufflepuffs, or anyone else, for doubting their
story. Without details, it sounded paranoid and stupid even to his own ears.
Scorpius, who could be surprisingly persuasive, and who had taught Defence club during his first
year, had somewhat better luck, convincing almost half of the Ravenclaws to stow their wands the night
before the tournament. Albus and Ralph, however, had made almost no headway with the Slytherins who,
like the Hufflepuffs, were keen on magically celebrating their predicted win.
Still, with only four days left until the Quidditch Summit, they had convinced over a third of their
fellow students to attend the tournament wandless. It wasn’t much-- it was, in fact, horrifyingly unsatisfying-
- but it was indeed better than nothing.
James and Ralph prepared an old Quidditch trunk to house the stowed wands, hiding it in the
shadows beneath the Gryffindor grandstands and disguising it with one of Ralph’s Visum Ineptio charms.
Walking away from it, James couldn’t help feeling that, despite their best efforts, they were resigning
themselves to watching most of their classmates killed before their eyes. It was a dreadful, harrowing thought.
And yet, even now, he felt no closer to unravelling Avior’s plan. Despite what they had learned in the cellars
beneath Alma Aleron, they simply could not guess how the Morrigan Web might be powered, or what form it
might take. As the days crept by and preparations for the Summit loomed, a sense of deep, palpable dread
settled in James’ stomach.
This was worsened by the frustrations with not being able to meet in the open. Even the brief, secret
conversations he, Rose, Ralph and Scorpius had engaged in while waiting in line for lessons or while
navigating the halls between classes became too dangerous, as Filch seemed to have been charged with
watching them specifically. He could regularly be seen hovering outside their classrooms, steely eyed and
silently seething, gripping his black cane like a lifeline.
And then, strangest of all, at the last Care of Magical Creatures class of the term, Hagrid himself gave
James, Ralph and Scorpius a detention.
“You lot,” he called across the barnyard, his voice uncharacteristically gruff. “Talking during lesson,
are yeh Why that’s the last straw. Detention for yeh!”
James straightened, his mouth dropping open in shock as foot-long purple salamanders ran pell mell
about the yard, chased futilely by the other students. “What Of course we’re talking! We’re trying to round
up these crazy lizards you set us on!”
“Talkin’ back, too,” Hagrid frowned, his beard bristling. “Double detention then. Report back here
tonight at dusk and not another word from any o’ yeh.”
James could scarcely believe his own ears. He turned to Ralph and Scorpius incredulously. Ralph
shrugged while Scorpius merely rolled his eyes. James didn’t know if he was more surprised or hurt by
Hagrid’s sudden antagonism. All he knew was that it contributed to what was already a thoroughly miserable
day. This carried into the dinner hour as Lily displayed an official-looking parchment emblazoned with the
Hogwarts crest.
“I’ve been chosen as a student ambassador!” she trilled happily, waving the parchment. “I get to
attend the big dinner after the tournament! We’ll be singing the Hogwarts salute from the head table and
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answering questions about the school. I’ll get to meet presidents and queens and all sorts of important
people!”
“Quit showing off,” Graham muttered. “And don’t remind us of the stupid Quidditch tournament.
No collection of Muggle stuffed shirts is going to distract us from the fact that we aren’t even competing this
year. Stupid Lance Vassar. The gall of his parents, donating some stupid Chalice on a year there’s no chance
Gryffindor can win it. And it’s all his bloody fault!”
“You can’t lay all the blame at Lance’s feet,” Deirdre commented, frowning at Lance and his cronies
further down the table. “James deserves a lot of the credit. If he’d shown up for try-outs--”
“We all know the story by now,” James interrupted tersely. “Give it a rest already!”
James spent the rest of the evening in the Gryffindor common room, trying unsuccessfully to focus
on his homework and studies. It was utterly useless.
At a nearby table, Rose sat with Shivani Yadev and Willow Wisteria, shooting him worried glances
but unwilling to risk joining him for a chat. As the sun set outside the tall windows, James finally gave up
and shut his books. He glared out the window, lost in feverish thoughts and mounting worry.
Finally, thankfully, Scorpius interrupted him.
“Detention,” he said briskly. “With Hagrid, remember”
James nodded, glad of the distraction, despite the worrisome mystery of Hagrid’s behaviour.
Ralph met them on the landing, standing in the light of the Heracles window as the lowering sun
shone through it, brilliantly illuminating the colourful stained glass. Silently, shoulders slumped, the three
stepped out into the evening heat and deepening shadows. Crickets chirred from the depths of the Forbidden
Forest as they made their way, as slowly as possible, toward Hagrid’s hut.
“What do you suppose he has planned for us” Ralph asked.
Scorpius muttered, “Probably scooping up dragon poo in the barn.”
“Or worse,” James agreed. “What do you think’s gotten into him He’s never given us detention
before.”
“Maybe he decided he’s still cross at you for dropping through his roof,” Scorpius suggested idly.
James didn’t think that was it, but had no better ideas.
A thin stream of white smoke issued from the hut as they entered its shadow. Scorpius knocked
while Ralph and James waited in the garden.
When the door opened, Hagrid leaned out into evening air, regarding the three students sternly.
“Here yeh are, then!” he proclaimed, far louder than necessary. “And ‘bout time, too! Here!”
James frowned as Hagrid collected three large metal pails, pushing one each into his, Ralph’s and
Scorpius’ hands.
“What’s this for, then” Scorpius asked, his voice echoing in the huge bucket.
“Mushroom collecting fer Professor Heretofore,” Hagrid boomed, straightening. “Bursting
mushrooms, that is. Sense motion, they do, and get agitated if threatened. Fair to cut their stems quick
enough an’ they’ll explode with enough force to take off yer fingers.”
Ralph blinked at the half giant. “Seriously”
“Never been more serious in m’ life,” Hagrid agreed. He produced three stubby knives from a pouch
on his belt and clattered one each into the buckets. “Bursting mushrooms are red with white spots. You’ll
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recognize ‘em when they start a-swellin’. Use those blades to cut ‘em right at the stem, and like I said, be
right quick about it.”
Scorpius peered worriedly into his pail. “Or else”
“Or else yer detentions will end in the hospital wing,” Hagrid answered, his voice ringing over the
garden. “Trife! Here boy!”
At the call of his name, Hagrid’s bullmastiff dog bounded noisily out of the forest.
“Atta boy,” Hagrid said, covering the dog’s head with his meaty hand and offering him a rough pat.
“Been sniffing out some mushrooms, ‘ave you But keepin’ a safe distance, I see! At’s my smart boy. Lead
on, then.”
With that, Trife spun and bolted back toward the Forest again, turning impatiently as the others
began to follow.
“No dawdlin’ now,” Hagrid announced, louder than ever, glancing back over his shoulder. “Sooner
begun, sooner done.”
Accompanied by the clink and clank of the knives in their buckets, James, Ralph and Scorpius
followed Hagrid into the descending gloom. Elephantine tree trunks spread out ahead of them, interspersed
with waving ferns, lush vines, and the occasional fallen log and hillock. Trife bounded ahead, tracing a
meandering trail deeper and deeper into the depths of the Forest.
“When do you think we might start seeing these mushrooms, then,” Scorpius asked, peering around
the shadows.
“Oh, soon enough, I expect,” Hagrid called back, his voice much lower than before.
James followed along nervously. He had been this deep into the Forbidden Forest on a few other
occasions, but that did not diminish the general creepiness of it. The Forest was still home to the Centaurs,
after all, as well as the scattered descendants of Arogog the Acromantula. Darkness lowered gradually,
blotting out the leafy canopy overhead until shadows seemed to surround them, thick and worrisome.
Hagrid, James realized, did not carry a lantern.
“How are we supposed to see these mushrooms, then, Hagrid” he asked, trying to keep the shudder
out of his voice.
“Hush now,” Hagrid replied, his own voice low. “We’re almost there.”
James was about to ask what in the world Hagrid meant when a flicker of firelight illuminated a circle
of tree trunks ahead. Trife angled toward this, leaping happily through the underbrush. Hagrid followed the
big dog approaching a line of tall bushes that surrounded a small clearing. Beyond the bushes, firelight
crackled faintly, casting its yellow light up onto the leaves above.
Hagrid paused. Raising a hand to the side of his mouth, he produced an extremely unexpected, but
very convincing, twitter of birdsong.
James frowned up at the big man.
Then, even more surprisingly, a familiar voice spoke from the other side of the brush.
“If this monstrous dog of yours wasn’t clue enough of your identity, Hagrid, the clanking of those
buckets certainly was. All of you, come inside and join us.”
Hagrid harrumphed happily and turned back to James, Ralph and Scorpius. “Guess I could’a had
you leave those buckets a mile or so back. Didn’ occur to me. I was so wrapped up in convincin’ anybody
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who might’a been listenin’ that I was givin’ yeh detentions. Sorry ‘bout that, by the way.”
James dropped his bucket with a clank and followed Hagrid around the edge of the nearest bush.
Seated before a small, tidy fire were Professors Flitwick, Debellows, and Revalvier. Completing the
circle, smiling gravely at the newcomers, was Professor McGonagall, her face pale in the firelight and a long
scratch still healing on her cheek, alongside James’ Uncle Ron, Aunt Hermione, and completing the scene, his
glasses glinting in the firelight, James’ own father.
Harry Potter stood, welcoming Hagrid, Scorpius and Ralph. James ran to him, gratefully accepting
the arm his father threw around his shoulders, giving him a hard, comforting squeeze.
“Welcome, gentlemen,” he announced in a low, clear voice, “to the new Order of the Phoenix.”
Here endeth Chapter 19
in which Tabitha Corsica does not see James and friends expelled. What’s her game And
the New Order of the Phoenix! Finally, the Golden Trio returns to Hogwarts! What is
their plan Find out tomorrow! Probably…
Check back tomorrow for the next chapter, hopefully!
In the meantime, if you are itching for some new readables from me, your loyal author, or just want to show
support for the JP stories, feel free to check out my other works. Thanks for coming along for the ride!
www.ruinsofcamelot.com
www.girlonthedock.com
www.riverhousebook.com
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