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

He took the reins of the horse, which was easily twice his height. The horse continued to crop the grass of the courtyard, chewing methodically, but it followed amiably as James tugged the reins. The wheels of the wagon creaked as the horse pulled it. James didn't know where he was going, but he assumed if he walked around the castle he'd eventually come to the stables. He took the opportunity to look around.

Hogwarts castle was much smaller than he knew it in his time. It huddled around the rotunda entrance, which was festooned with a great iron portcullis, currently raised. The turrets gleamed in the sunset, their conical roofs looking sharp enough to prick James' finger. Much higher than the turrets was the Sylvven Tower, which James knew well. It looked exactly the way he remembered it, although in this time it dominated the silhouette of the entire castle. As James circled the castle, leading the horse through a rough stone gate, he noticed that the land around the castle was dotted with farms and cottages. James was a little surprised. In his time, Hogwarts castle stood alone in a large, forested wilderness, secluded and hidden. Here, however, the castle overlooked a bustling community. People moved busily all around, obviously consumed with the business of peasant life. As James led the horse and cart, trying to look like he knew where he was going, he passed people carrying baskets and pots, herding sheep and cows, or pushing wooden handcarts laden with vegetables. Several people shot James careful looks, and at least one woman laughed, but at least no one was accosting him or demanding to know what he was doing.

Finally, James caught the scent of fresh animal dung on the shifting breeze. He looked and saw a huge stone barn. He grinned, recognizing it; it was the same barn that Hagrid, in James' time, was currently holding Care of Magical Creatures in. The roof was different, and there was something like a blacksmith's shed attached to the side, but it was otherwise unchanged. As James approached, he heard the stamp and whicker of horses and the clang and hiss of the smith.

"What's all this, then?" a burly man with bare arms called, stepping out of the main barn door and eyeing James.

"Er, this packhorse needs stabled," James replied, holding up the reins. "The owner sent me here. I'm not really a stable boy."

"That I can tell," the man said gruffly, scowling, "seeing as you've brought me yonder horse without even releasing its cart. Perhaps you expect me to stable it as well?"

"No!" James replied. "It's supposed to be unloaded and taken to the owner's quarters. He said he'd… er, strop anyone who wasn't careful with his stuff."

"Don't tell me how to do porter work, boy," the man said, rolling his eyes wearily. "I'd strop you myself if I had the time. Thomas! Send for the page. We need this cart returned to the valet before Lord Maarten gets frisky."

The man looked down at James again, sighing. "You're either a thief or you're the youngest cleric I've ever seen. Your mistress will lash you good when she sees what you've done to that robe. What's your name?"

James' heart jumped, but he couldn't think of a lie fast enough. "Er, James, sir. James Potter."

"The Potter's boy, eh? Well, then, you had best run along back to the market. And tell your da that the pestle for which we traded him has got a crack on the rim. I'll send the wife down with it at the morrow."

The man seemed to dismiss James. He turned and walked back into the shadow of the barn, calling again for Thomas. James sighed in relief. Obviously, the man thought James was the son of the village pot maker. He turned and looked back the way he'd come. The landscape between the castle and the barn was completely different in this time. James could only see the flat top of the Sylvven Tower poking over a stand of birches. He began to make his way back, ducking through the carts and farm animals.

A sort of marketplace was erected around the back of the castle. Wooden stalls, benches, and carts were arranged haphazardly, each decked with all manner of goods. People thronged near the stalls, shouting and waving, bartering and arguing. Livestock mingled with the peasants, adding their own voice and smell to the scene. James darted through the fracas, trying to stay out of people's way and avoid stepping in animal dung. Bits of conversation drifted over him as he moved, and James began to sense that these were mostly Muggles, although they seemed aware of the magical nature of the castle and its inhabitants.

"This here's an authentic enchanted fork, it is," a man was saying to a skeptical-looking peasant woman. "Makes any meal taste like it is fit for a king. My Lars found it in the grass after some of the magical folk had a picnic. Only two chickens and it can be yours."

The woman scoffed and turned away. The man seemed unperturbed. He saw James looking. "What think yeh, lad? Fancy a bit o' real magic? Tell yer mam to stop on by, will yeh not?"

James shrugged and backed away.

As he entered the shadow of the castle, James spied a broad doorway. Clanks and hisses emanated from the space beyond, and James guessed by the smells that it was the kitchen. He remembered hearing the kitchen from the rotunda and decided this entrance was probably his best option for getting back to the statue and the mirror. He sauntered toward the door, trying to look inconspicuous. It occurred to him that he'd look more appropriate if he was carrying something. Near the door, a stack of copper pots sat next to a huge cauldron boiling over a fire. James glanced around, assuring that no one was looking, and then grabbed the pot on top. As he turned, cradling the pot in his arms, he heard a rattling crash. He glanced back. The rest of the pots had fallen over, the topmost one spilling water onto the fire, which hissed and sputtered.

"What's this?" a woman's voice cried, stridently. "Making off with the wares, are yeh? That's the coppersmith's lot! Thief!"

James dropped the pot and ran. He heard the ruckus behind him as the woman screamed and gave chase, but he didn't look back. He plunged into the darkness of the kitchen, weaving past a man in a leather vest and knocking over a woman carrying a platter. The kitchen was very dark but for the blaze of the brick oven. James aimed for it, and saw another doorway.

"Thief!" another voice called, joining the chorus from outside. "Stop him!"

A burly man with no shirt and a stained apron hanging from his middle stepped in front of James, grinning wickedly under his huge black mustache. He held a butcher knife in his hand, fingering it like it was a cutlass.

James tried to stop, but he was moving too fast and the stone floor was wet. He slipped, fell on his behind, and slid right between the man's spread legs. The man looked down as James passed beneath him.

"Stand fast!" the man cried, spinning. James struck the wall on the opposite side of the corridor and scrambled up. Keeping as low as he could, he bolted down the corridor. The man roared and raised the knife, but someone else grabbed his wrist from behind.

"Calm yourself, Larkin! He's just a lad. Dropped the pot outside, even," a voice admonished. "Planning to split his skull for makin' you look a fool? If that was a killin' offense, you'd have to execute the entire kitchen."

James sensed the pursuit had ended, but he couldn't make himself stop running. He came to an intersection in the corridor and was pounding straight through it when a hand snagged his wrist like a vice. James spun, momentum carrying him around, and tumbled to the floor, looking up at the figure that had stopped him.

"We do not approve of running in the halls," Salazar Slytherin said, staring down his nose at James. His fingers were still clamped on James' wrist. They were very cold. "What manner of revolt is this? A single boy?"