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

"What sort of spells do you intend to practice? And who do you expect to be involved?"

"Anyone who wants to be involved," James answered. "And we'll just be practicing basic defensive techniques. Stuff we learned in our classes last year. We'll only be practicing on dummies and targets, never each other. Any teachers who want to supervise can come, of course. Although I expect that it'd be a little… er, boring."

James stopped, feeling that that last bit might have been too much. He was counting on the fact that no teacher would wish to volunteer for any extra time in class just to watch a bunch of students fling Expelliarmus spells at wooden dummies, but Merlin was quick enough to see through such a ruse. Knowing him, he might just assign a rotation of teacher chaperones, and Debellows would probably be first on the list.

Merlin opened his mouth to respond when, suddenly, the brass device on his desk shifted. Everyone in the room looked down at it. It was something like a hollow globe made of interconnected brass hoops, marking the globe's latitudes and longitudes. Inside, a complicated network of gears and ratchets operated a silver pointer. The pointer had begun to spin, making the globe roll slightly on the desk. After a moment, the pointer ceased spinning, ratcheted upwards a few notches, and went silent. Merlin stared at it.

"What is—" Ralph began, but Merlin interrupted him.

"You may proceed with your club, my young friends. Please send me a notification of when and where you plan to meet as well as a list of students who choose to be involved. After all, what kind of Headmaster would I be if I didn't keep abreast of such things?" Merlin had produced an official parchment with the Hogwarts crest emblazoned on the top. He scribbled a few notes on it and signed his name at the bottom with a flourish. "This should suffice in terms of official sanction. I wish you the best of success."

Ralph glanced at James, wide-eyed and smiling in relief.

"But Headmaster—" Rose began.

"If you will excuse me," Merlin said, rising, "it happens that I have some unexpected business to attend to. I'd hate to detain you, as I expect that you have preparations to make. Please do see yourselves to the staircase, and close the door on your way out, thank you."

"Thank you, sir," Ralph said, herding James and Rose toward the door. "You won't regret it!"

"Ralph!" Rose hissed.

The three nearly stumbled over each other as they crowded through the doorway.

"'You won't regret it'?" Rose whispered at Ralph, rounding on him in the hallway. "What kind of thing is that to say? You want him to be suspicious?"

Ralph grimaced. "I was nervous! So sue me! Come on, let's just get out of here before he changes his mind."

James was just pulling the door shut when he stopped suddenly, his eyes going wide. "The permission parchment!" he exclaimed, looking from Ralph to Rose. "Did either of you pick it up?"

"I didn't get it," Ralph said. "I thought Rose got it. She was closest."

"You shoved us out of there before I could get to it, you giant prat!"

"I'll get it," James said, turning back. The door hadn't yet latched shut. He pushed it slightly open, peering in.

"Headmaster?" he called. "We forgot the parchment you signed for us. Can I just…"

James frowned and pushed the door further open. The Headmaster's desk was vacant. The room appeared to be completely empty and was almost unnaturally still. Perhaps Merlin had gone somewhere by Floo Network. The brass device on his desk must have been an alarm or a reminder, telling him of a meeting he had to rush off to. James walked across the office and grabbed the parchment from the Headmaster's desk. As he turned back toward the door, a strange feeling came over him. With a sudden chill, he remembered the dart of pain that had shot through his forehead when he'd been waiting in the hall, right before he'd seen Merlin staring at him through the door. His heart quickening, James looked around and saw why the office seemed so unnaturally still. Across the rear wall of the office, from floor to ceiling, were the dozens of portraits of the former headmasters. Among them, of course, were the portraits of Severus Snape and Albus Dumbledore, although as usual, Dumbledore's portrait was empty. Every portrait was perfectly still and silent.

Ralph and Rose had edged into the room, following James. Rose was staring at the portraits, her eyes wide and nervous.

"Now that's just eerie," she said in a low voice.

"This is the only place on earth where a wall full of unmoving paintings is a bad omen," Ralph said. "But I am in total agreement with you, Rose. What's going on here? Where's Merlin?"

James crossed the room and stood in front of the portrait of Severus Snape. He had spoken to this portrait several times last term, and had been insulted by it on more than one occasion. Gingerly, he reached out and touched the portrait's face. He could feel the texture of the dried paint, feel the stroke that formed the man's hook nose. The face didn't so much as blink.

Rose gasped. "Look," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

James turned. The black curtain had once again been lifted from the Amsera Certh, but the surface of the Magic Mirror no longer showed merely swirling, leaden smoke. It showed a scene. The view was hazy and murky, as if seen through a very dirty, very imperfect window. James and Ralph joined Rose by the Mirror and peered past their reflections, trying to make sense of the cloudy scene.

The view looked through a stand of gnarled trees into a thick forest. It was very foggy, and the trees were dense enough to block most of the stormy daylight. There was a small clearing beyond the nearer trees, and in the center of the clearing was a sort of monument, caked with moss and vines. It was tall, thin, and leaning. As the scene moved in and out of murkiness, James could see that the monument was a statue of a man. The stone figure was rather handsome, dressed in a very old-fashioned suit. On the base of the statue were lines of engraving, but James couldn't make them out.

Rose suddenly covered her mouth, stifling a gasp. "I know what that place is!" she whispered. "But why would the Mirror be showing this?"

James had a terrible feeling he also knew the place. He'd heard about it but never seen it. Very few people ever had. On the base of the statue, just below the unreadable words, three large letters were engraved: T. M. R.

"T. M. R.," Ralph said wonderingly, then gasped. "Tom Marvolo Riddle! Is it really Voldemort's grave? Who'd bury a monster like him?"

"Nobody knows," Rose said quickly, still studying the ghostly scene. "There was an anonymous donation for the burial costs and the monument, specifying that he was to be buried as Tom Riddle and not Voldemort. No wizarding cemeteries would accept the remains, though. They finally buried him in a secret location in an unplottable forest. Hardly anyone even knows where it is."

In the Mirror, a figure moved. The three students gasped in unison. The figure hadn't walked into the scene, nor had it appeared. It was as if it had been there all along, but no one had noticed it. Only when it moved slightly was its presence made known. It wore a long, black, hooded robe which obscured its face, but there was something very unsettling about the fabric of the robe. It looked more like a robe-shaped hole in space, filled with swirling, churning dark smoke. The ragged bottom of the robe did not quite reach ground, and yet no feet came out of it. James shuddered at the sight of the awful figure, thinking of the tabloid clipping Lucy had sent him. It had referred to the 'creature of smoke and ash'. Could this be that entity? Could this be the Gatekeeper? The figure raised an arm, revealing one thin, white hand. The hand seemed to beckon. A moment later, the statue of the youthful Voldemort shuddered. The proud expression went out of its face and the arms dangled like a puppet with its strings cut. And then, distantly, a voice spoke. It came out of the Mirror very faintly, barely heard over the sound of the wind and the creaking trees.