G. Lippert - James Potter and the Curse of the Gatekeeper

"Wouldn't dream of it," James growled through his own loving smile. "Just try not to fall on me, all right? You're still looking rather tipsy."

He made sure to miss Josephina's lips by a wide mark. A moment later, the lights extinguished and Tabitha called for a ten-minute break while the stage crew refilled the rain machine.

That night, James had the dream one more time, although this time he felt that it was a true dream and not a direct vision into someone else's reality. It began as always with the flash and whicker of blades and the rattle of old wood. The figure in the dream walked toward the rippling pool and looked in. As always, two faces swam up out of the depths, a young man and a young woman. This time, however, they looked different. He recognized them vaguely as his own long dead grandparents, his dad's mum and dad. They didn't seem to be looking at the girl with the long dark hair. Instead, they seemed to be looking directly at James, where he floated in the darkness next to her. Their faces seemed grave and worried, and although they couldn't speak, they communicated with their eyes: Beware, grandson; watch closely and step lightly. Beware…

The dark-haired girl turned away from the faces in the pool, and James looked up at her. Even now that he knew she was Tabitha Corsica, her face remained lost in shadow. James tried to speak, to tell her not to hide any more, that there was no point, but his lips felt as if they were sewn shut. He moved along with her as she passed the pool, and as she moved, the dream changed. The mossy, dark walls faded into distance and were replaced by cold wind on a grassy hilltop. A huge full moon burned overhead, yellow and bloated, as if it meant to fall on him. The Tabitha shape continued to walk, and James saw that they were in a graveyard. A leaning wrought-iron fence marched drunkenly on the right, embracing a collection of worn headstones and crypts.

"I've never been here before," a young man's voice said. James looked and could just make out a tall silhouette walking next to the Tabitha shape. Tabitha herself seemed taller as well, and her voice was rather different when she spoke.

"Why would you have come here before?"

"My grandparents are buried here," the young man's voice said somberly. "I've no memory of visiting their graves."

"How sad for you," the Tabitha shape said.

"If you say so."

They came upon a glow in a hollow. It emanated from a lantern hooked onto a post. Near it, a stooped man was scooping earth from a grave. He straightened as they approached, surveying them with a cold, appraising look, as if he'd been expecting them.

"Whose grave is this?" the Tabitha shape asked.

The young man sighed, and suddenly James recognized who it was. "It is mine," Albus answered, turning to the Tabitha shape. James finally got a good look at him in the lantern glow. He looked about seventeen or eighteen, handsome but sallow, gaunt, as if he hadn't eaten in days. "You knew this day was coming," he said, removing his wand from his robes. "All sides have been chosen. He senses you are here; he comes now, flying like the wind. But there is something you must do first."

And Albus handed the Tabitha shape his wand.

Even knowing this was a dream, James tried to cry out, to warn Albus, but his lips wouldn't obey him. He could do nothing but watch. The Tabitha shape raised Albus' wand, pointing it toward the sky. She sniffed, and her shoulders hitched as if she were crying. Then, without warning, there was a burst of green light and an awful hiss. The stooped man with the shovel looked up first, and then so did the Tabitha shape. Albus didn't raise his eyes. Finally, James found he could look up. Spreading overhead was a bright, shimmering shape. It was a huge green skull, its mouth open. Out of the skull's mouth poured a leering snake, its jaw unhinged and menacing. The eerie glow of the Dark Mark lit the entire graveyard. On one of the nearer headstones, James saw his and his sister's names. His blood chilled even though he knew these were the names of his dead grandparents.

There was a loud crack, and another figure appeared, wand already out and pointing.

"Stop!" the figure cried, and James thought the voice sounded oddly familiar. "Both of you! I know what you think you have to do, but it doesn't have to be this way! Albus, don't let it end like this!"

"Do it," Albus said, but James couldn't tell if he was speaking to the newcomer or the Tabitha shape.

"No!" the newcomer cried, and there was an edge of desperation in his voice. "The rest are coming, and they won't waste time on words! We only have a few seconds! Albus, don't be a fool!"

"I'm sorry," Albus said, still looking at the Tabitha shape. He nodded slowly to her. She lowered the wand, aiming it at him.

The newcomer stepped forward, crying the name of the Tabitha shape, appealing to her. "Please don't! This isn't who you really are!"

"You're right, James," the Tabitha shape said quietly, almost sadly. "As of tonight, I will be known by an entirely different name."

There was an ears-splitting cry and a blast of light, obliterating everything. James fell into that light, struggling to maintain the dream, but it broke apart like glass, like a scene glimpsed in a shattering mirror.

James woke up, panting and slick with sweat. He scrambled to a sitting position on his bed, his heart pounding. The phantom scar on his forehead throbbed so hard he thought it must split his skull open. He clapped a hand to it, hissing through his teeth. After a minute, the pain began to recede, but very slowly. When he could bring himself to do it, James turned to sit on the side of his bed. He opened his satchel in the darkness and rooted inside, searching for his quill and a bit of parchment. Finally, just as the sweat on his body began to cool in the midnight air of the dormitory, he leaned over his bedside table and scribbled three words. He stared at his own handwriting in the moonlight. It didn't make any sense. Probably it was meaningless. It had only been a dream, and not at all like the other dreams his phantom scar had induced. But it had been wrong in some fundamental, very worrying way. For reasons he couldn't bring himself to admit, he felt that it was important to remember it.

Finally, now shivering, James folded himself back into his covers. He had no idea what time it was. Tomorrow was the official performance of The Triumvirate, and after that, the last week of school. Somewhere out there, perhaps not far away, the Gatekeeper was lurking, waiting for its human host. And here, inside the very same walls, was that host, preparing herself for the task that would make her worthy. And somehow, in some way, James was meant to stop it all from happening. Your father's battle is over, the dryad had said, yours begins. They were not comforting words, but they were the words that rang over and over in his head, following him as he descended, slowly, into a fitful, dreamless sleep.

Nearby, Scorpius Malfoy lay awake, watching, not speaking or moving. When he was certain that James had finally drifted back into sleep, he slid out of his own bed. Tiptoeing, he crossed the room, passing before the window and casting his shadow over James. Scorpius leaned over carefully, squinting. He didn't have his glasses, but the moonlight was very bright and Scorpius could just make out James' handwritten words. He scowled at them for a long time, unmoving in the moonlight. Finally, Scorpius made his way back to his own bed.

Unlike James, Scorpius did not sleep for the rest of the night.

"Today's the big day!" Noah proclaimed, plopping into a seat next to James at the breakfast table. "Eat up, 'Treus'. Can't have you fainting onstage, can we? After all, you don't have an understudy."