G. Lippert - James Potter and the Hall of the Elders' Crossing

"When I get old, I'm going to flirt like that," he said wistfully.

"He's not even flirting," James said, narrowing his eyes. "He's just smiling at them and acting all self-effacing, like he always does."

"That just shows what you know about flirting."

Ralph rolled his eyes. "I'm surprised you aren't taking notes."

"He should offer a class," Zane said seriously, watching Franklyn bow and kiss Petra Morganstern's hand goodbye. Petra grinned and glanced aside, her cheeks reddening a little. When Franklyn straightened, she leaned in and gave him a chaste little peck on the cheek.

"Ladies and gentlemen of Hogwarts," he said, turning to address the crowd, "it has been our distinct pleasure to serve you this year. It has been, as I knew it would be, a remarkably instructive year for us. We have strengthened our resolve to work with the European magical community to maintain fairness and equity worldwide, not only for the magical world, but for all humanity." He scanned the crowd, beaming, and then took off his glasses and sighed. "We are, I suspect, at the beginning of challenging times. The winds of change are blowing. On both sides of the ocean, we face forces that would shake our culture to its foundations. But we have made friends, you and us, and united we will stand, regardless of what may come. I have been around for a very long time, and I can say with some degree of confidence that change is always in the wind. The challenge of good men is not to thwart change, but to mold it as it comes, so that it may benefit rather than destroy. After this year, I am indeed confident that we may succeed in that endeavor."

There was a round of applause, although it felt to James a little perfunctory. Not everyone in the crowd agreed with Franklyn, and not all for the same reasons. Still, it had been a good speech, and James was glad Franklyn had made it. While the crowd was still cheering, Franklyn climbed into the Volkswagen Beetle. He waved once from the open door.

Someone tapped James on the shoulder. He turned, and then had to look up. Professor Jackson was standing behind him. Tall and dressed in black, Jackson looked more imposing than ever. He looked down his nose at James, his bushy brows low.

"I thought you might wish to have this," Jackson said. James noticed that the man was holding a small wooden box. Jackson looked at it in his hands, and then handed it to James. "It was found in Madame Delacroix's quarters. I believe it belongs to you more than it does to anyone. Dispose of it as you see fit."

James held the box, which was surprisingly light. It was a strange greenish color, covered in deep, carven scrollwork. It reminded him of the vines on the door of the Grotto Keep. He looked up to ask Professor Jackson what it was, but the man was already striding across the courtyard toward the Stutz Dragonfly. He stopped when he reached the vehicle, and then turned, raising one hand to the assembly, his face as stony as his nickname. The crowd cheered, a much longer and more sustained ovation than even Franklyn had received. Surprisingly, Jackson had become a favorite at Hogwarts, not so much in spite of his curmudgeon-like demeanor as because of it.

Once Jackson had climbed into the vehicle, the rest of the assembly boarded quickly. The greycloaked delegates from the American Department of Magical Administration had arrived from London the day before to join their fellows for the trip back to the States. They filed into the vehicles, nodding goodbyes to the assembly. Last were the porters, who packed the enormous pile of luggage into the apparently bottomless trunks of the vehicles, and then climbed into the front seats to drive.

The wings unfolded from the vehicles smoothly, delicately, and began to thrash the air. The Dodge Hornet took off first. With a squeak of springs and creak of metal, it rose into the air, turning slowly. The Stutz Dragonfly and the Volkswagen Beetle followed, the low drone of their wings beating the air and rippling the grass of the courtyard. Then, with sudden grace and speed, they raced off, rising, their noses tilted toward the ground. In less than a minute, the noise of their departure was lost in the late spring wind that blew over the hills.

Ralph, Zane, and James plopped onto a bench near the courtyard entrance.

"So what's in the box Jackson gave you?" Ralph asked, peering curiously at it.

"I wouldn't even open it, if I was you," Zane warned. "Remember what he said about making our lives 'interesting'? He's the kind of guy to wait right until the moment he leaves to get his revenge on you. That way, he's gone when the trouble starts." He tapped the side of his head wisely.

James frowned and shook his head slowly. He looked at the box on his lap. It had a brass latch on the front, holding the lid shut. Without a word, he flipped the catch and raised the lid. Zane and Ralph leaned in, craning to see. The inside of the box was lined with purple velvet. There was one object inside, lying atop a piece of folded parchment.

"I don't get it," Ralph said, sitting back again. "It's a doll."

James removed it and held it up. It was indeed a small figure, roughly made of burlap and twine, with mismatched buttons for eyes.

Zane peered at it, his face serious. "It's… it's you, James."

Sure enough, the figure did bear a striking resemblance. Black yarn on the head formed a good representation of James' unruly hair. Even the shape of the head, the line of the stitched mouth, and the placement of the button eyes made an eerie portrait.

James shuddered. "It's a voodoo doll," he said. He remembered the note inside the box. All three boys leaned in to read it as he unfolded it.

Mr. Potter,

You will surely recognize what this object is. There was no time in this year's Technomancy curriculum to discuss the ancient art of Representational Harmonics, but I suspect you grasp the implications. This was found inside Madame Delacroix's quarters. After some discussion with the Headmistress and the portraits of your Severus Snape and Albus Dumbledore--whom you should know have taken rather an interest in you--it was determined that you might benefit from knowing how Madame Delacroix used this object against you. The elegance of her manipulation was quite impressive, really. This figure was placed next to a much larger figure of your father, Harry Potter. On the other side of that was a candle. It seems apparent that she kept that candle lit at all times. The result, of course, Mr. Potter, was that your figure was always in the shadow of the representation of your father.

There is always a grain of truth in the manipulations of the voodoo art.

Delacroix knew that you would legitimately struggle with the expectations of your

legendary father. The lesson you must learn from this, Mr. Potter, is that emotions are not bad, but they must be examined. Know yourself. Feelings always seem valid, but they can confuse. And they can, as you have seen, be used against you. I repeat, as your teacher and as your elder, know your feelings. Master them or they will master you.

Theodore Hirshall Jackson

"Wow!" Ralph breathed. "We didn't call her 'the voodoo queen' for nothing!"

Zane asked, "What are you going to do with it, James? I mean, if you destroy it, will you be destroyed, somehow?"

James stared at the small, unattractive caricature of himself. "I don't think so," he replied thoughtfully. "I don't think Jackson would've given it to me in that case. I think he just means for me to remember what happened. And to try to make sure it never happens again."

"So?" Zane repeated. "What are you going to do with it?"

James stood, stuffing the doll into the pocket of his jeans. "I don't know. I think I'll keep it. For a while, at least."