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

Viktor spoke to the class in his irrepressible accent, telling them how he'd trained alongside Kendrick Debellows in his early years in the Harriers, and assuring everyone that he wouldn't be where he was today if not for the man's leadership and example. James was almost immediately bored. He liked Viktor quite a lot, but he disliked Debellows enough that the sight of the man absorbing his protégé's praise made James a bit ill. The upshot was that there were no troops through the Gauntlet that day, although Debellows challenged Krum to a 'manly contest' to see which one of them could make it through first. Viktor had turned down the challenge, and James liked to believe it was because the younger man simply hadn't wanted to shame his mentor.

As the class wore on, James saw that Ralph, who was only slightly more artistic than James, was doodling an idea for the new Defence Club sign-up sheet.

As they filed out of the gym and made their way to History of Magic, James said to Ralph, "You know, we really shouldn't be putting those up until we know we have a teacher."

"That's your job," Ralph shrugged. "I have to do my part. Besides, you'll talk Cedric into it. You're good at that."

"Yeah, well, I haven't talked him into it yet."

"You'd best get on it, then," Rose said, meeting them at an intersection. "The first meeting is tomorrow night."

James nearly dropped his book. "Tomorrow? Since when?"

"Since I started spreading the word around the Great Hall at breakfast," Rose replied simply. "I only meant to tell Henrietta Littleby and Fiona Fourcompass, but you know how Fiona is. The whole Ravenclaw table was talking about it by the time I left. There's a lot of excitement about it. Nobody likes the way Debellows is running D.A.D.A. even though it was sort of sweet to see Viktor in the halls this morning."

"But we don't even know where we're meeting!" James exclaimed. "I thought we talked about starting things up at the end of next week?"

"That was before we talked to the Headmaster and saw what we saw in his Mirror. Ralph's right. Things seem a bit more urgent now. Besides," Rose sniffed, stopping at the door to History of Magic, "we agreed I was in charge of scheduling."

"Yeah, I suppose, but… the entire Ravenclaw Table?"

Rose nodded. "And Louis is spreading the word with the Hufflepuffs."

"Louis!" James cried, raising his voice again. "You got Louis involved?"

"He overheard me, so I thought I'd put him to work. What's the matter? I thought you said that anyone who wanted could be involved?"

"Yeah, well…," James said, lowering his voice, "anybody we wanted to know about it."

"I don't think it works that way," Ralph replied. "Besides, word's all over the school by now."

James exhaled in frustration, but it was too late to do anything about it. He'd have to go and find Cedric tonight if he could. Thinking that, he turned and shouldered his way into the crowded classroom where Professor Binns was already burbling away, his back to the students as he made ghostly notes on the illegible chalkboard.

James finally had the opportunity he was waiting for that night after dinner. Ralph said goodnight at the stairs and Rose was in the library doing some homework. Once Ralph had descended into the cellars, James turned away from the stairway and walked along the main hall toward the portico. He felt rather strongly that he had to do this by himself. As he turned into the corridor that bore the trophy case, he slowed, looking around. There was no one about and the halls were quite silent as most of the students retired to their common rooms for the evening.

James walked lightly along the display cases, passing the photos of ancient House Quidditch teams and displays of old game balls, plaques, and trophies. He paused for a moment in front of a Quidditch tournament trophy engraved with a list of names. It was rather old and tarnished, but the name near the bottom was still perfectly legible. 'James Potter – Chaser', it read in flowing script. Here was the name of the grandfather James had never known. He felt suddenly very sad because it reminded him that he had no grandfathers at all anymore. The plaque was rather dusty, probably forgotten by most everyone that moved daily through these halls. James had a strong urge to reach into the case and touch the plaque, as if to make sure it was real. It was like an anchor that connected him to a person and a time he'd never known. James glanced around the corridor, assuring himself no one was looking, and then stepped toward the case. The glass door squeaked slightly as he opened it. He reached in and ran a finger across the name engraved near the bottom, drawing a faint line in the dust. He could barely feel the etching of the letters.

Suddenly, for no apparent reason, James thought of the words his father had said to him on the night of Granddad's funeral: Granddad is really the third father I've lost… I'm back to where I started. This name on the trophy was where everything started. This trophy is from those last few years before everything changed, James thought, before Grandma and Granddad were killed by Voldemort; before Dad's godfather, Sirius, was lost in the Hall of Mysteries; before old Dumbledore was struck down on one of the roofs of this very castle; this was back before any of that had happened, when everybody was happy and nobody had had to die yet. If only… if only…

"I remember seeing your dad standing there in front of that very plaque," a voice said quietly.

James wasn't surprised. He didn't turn around as he said, "I came down here to look for you. I had a feeling this is where you came when you didn't know where else to go."

"This is the first place I remember being after I died," the ghostly voice of Cedric Diggory said. "There was a long, long time of nothing, although it sometimes felt only like minutes. Finally, here I was, looking down at my own picture by the Triwizard Cup. I spent a lot of time doing that. It was… comforting, in a way. I can't see myself in mirrors, you know. It's just one of the peculiarities of being a ghost."

James closed the trophy case and turned to Cedric. "You saw my dad standing here, looking at Granddad's name on the plaque?"

Cedric smiled at the memory. "It wasn't just him. It was all three of them. Ron, Hermione, and Harry. It was their first year. I didn't know them then, but I knew who your father was. Everybody did."

James looked back at the plaque again. It helped to know that his dad had also looked at that name and felt some of the same things he was feeling. He sighed.

"The past is a steel trap," Cedric said. "Trust me on that one, James."

James glanced up, as if in surprise.

"What?" Cedric said. "It wasn't that profound, was it?"

James shook his head. "No. I mean, yeah, I guess, but that's not what I was thinking. I just had the strongest, weirdest feeling that this has happened before. And all of a sudden, I thought of Ralph's story."

Cedric looked puzzled. James went on, waving a hand. "It's this story that we learned about in Wizlit. Professor Revalvier says that all great magical stories were meant to be told by word of mouth because written words cage them and make them tame. Magical stories are meant to stay alive. They change with each retelling because they pick up the spirit of the teller. I don't know why; I just thought of the last line from the story Ralph told us in class. It's the only line I can ever get exactly right when I try to write it down."

"What is it?" Cedric asked.

James was thoughtful. "'Then I am the King of the Cats,'" he said, as if tasting the words.

Cedric's ghost was silent. After a moment, he asked, "So what does it mean?"

"That's just it," James said, shaking his head. "It doesn't seem to mean anything unless I'm not thinking about it. Then, all of a sudden, it'll pop into my head, just like it did now, and it'll seem really important. I just can't put my finger on it. It's like seeing something out of the corner of your eye, something that vanishes as soon as you look right at it."