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

"The lake woods are just an extension of the Forbidden Forest," Harry said. "If there is a place where things like the naiads and dryads can exist, it'd be there. Still, if it's true, they haven't been seen for hundreds of years. Of course we'd think of them as myth."

"What do you mean, 'if it's true'?" James asked, a little louder than he'd intended to. "We saw her. She spoke to us."

"Your father is being an Auror, James," McGonagall said placatingly. "All possibilities must be considered. You were all under a great deal of stress. It isn't that we don't believe you. We must simply determine the most likely explanation for what you saw."

"Seems like the most likely explanation to me is that she was what she said she was," James muttered under his breath.

James purposely hadn't told his dad or any of the other adults the last thing the sprite had said, the part about the successor, the blood of the enemy beating in another heart. Part of his reluctance was in his remembrance of his dad's stories of how the wizarding world had treated him, Harry Potter, when he'd returned from the Triwizard Tournament maze with the tale of Voldemort's return, how he had been doubted and discredited. Another part of it was that his dad wasn't even prepared to believe the part about the dryad. If he doubted that, how could he accept that the dryad had predicted a new kind of Voldemort's return, through an heir, a bloodline? But the thing that had finally determined James not to tell was his memory of the very last words the dryad had spoken: Your father's battle is over. Yours begins.

The conversation had droned on long after all the details had been described and discussed, long after James had grown bored with it. He wanted to get back so that he could sleep, but more than that, he wanted time to think about what the dryad had said. He wanted to work out what the island was for, what the poem on the gate meant. He worked to remember it, itching to write it down while it was still fresh in his mind. He was sure, somehow, that it all fit in with the story of Austramaddux and the secret plot of the Slytherins to bring back Merlin and start a final war with the Muggle world. He wasn't even asking himself anymore if it was true. It had to be true, and it was up to him to prevent it.

Finally, the adults finished talking. They had determined that the mysterious island, while obviously dangerous, was just one of the many mysterious and inexplicable dangers that made the Forbidden Forest forbidden. The primary concern was still discovering how the intruder had gotten in, and making sure no one else was able to do it again. With that resolution, the meeting broke up.

Headmistress McGonagall had accompanied James, Zane, and Ted back to the castle, instructing them to do their best to keep the discussions of the night a secret.

"Especially you, Mr. Lupin," she said sternly. "The last thing we need is you and your band of hooligans running off into the woods in the middle of the night attempting to duplicate Mr. Potter's and Mr. Walker's experiences."

Fortunately, Ted knew enough not to try to deny the possibility of such a thing. He merely nodded and said, "Yes, ma'am."

James only saw his dad once more during his visit, and that was after classes that evening, just as Harry, Titus, and the Ministry officials were preparing to leave. Neville had returned to Hogwarts that afternoon, and he chaperoned James to the Headmistress' office to say goodbye to Harry and the rest. The group planned to travel via the Floo Network, as they had arrived, and had decided upon the Headmistress' fireplace for their departure since it was the most secure. If it struck Neville odd that the office now belonged to his former teacher, who he'd known as Professor McGonagall, instead of to Albus Dumbledore, he didn't let on. But he did pause for a moment next to the portrait of the former headmaster.

"Off again, is he?" he asked Harry.

"I think he generally just sleeps here. Dumbledore's got portraits all over the place," Harry sighed. "Not to mention all his old Chocolate Frog cards. He still shows up in them sometimes just for fun. I keep mine in my wallet, just in case." He pulled his wallet out and slipped a dog-eared card out of it. The portrait space was empty. Harry grinned at Neville as he put it back.

Neville moved to the group congregated around the fireplace. Harry squatted down next to James.

"I wanted to thank you, James."

James hid the look of pride that surfaced on his face. "I was just doing what you asked us to do."

"I don't just mean coming along with us and helping us find out what happened," Harry said, putting a hand on James' shoulder. "I mean for spying the intruder on the field and pointing him out to me. And for being alert enough to see him the other times. You've got a sharp eye and an alert mind, my boy. I shouldn't be surprised, and I'm not."

James grinned. "Thanks, Dad."

"Don't forget what we talked about the other night, though. Remember?"

James remembered. "I won't be saving the world single-handedly." I'll have at least Zane's help, he thought, but didn't say, and maybe Ted's, too, now that Ralph's abandoned me.

Harry hugged his son, and James hugged him back. They grinned at each other, Harry with his hands on James' shoulders, and then he stood, leading James over to the fireplace.

"Tell Mum I'm doing good and eating my vegetables," James instructed his dad.

"And are you?" Harry asked, raising one eyebrow.

"Well, yes and no," James said, a bit uncomfortable as everyone looked at him.

"Make it true and I'll tell her," Harry said, removing his glasses and tucking them into his robe.

Moments later, the room was empty but for James, Headmistress McGonagall, and Neville.

"Professor Longbottom," the Headmistress said, "I suspect it'd be best for me to inform you of all that has happened these past twenty hours."

"You mean regarding the campus intruder, Madam?" Neville asked.

The Headmistress looked markedly taken aback. "I see. Perhaps I might simply be repeating myself, then. Do tell me what you've already heard, Professor."

"Merely that, Madam. Word amongst the students is that a man was seen or captured on the Quidditch pitch yesterday. The common theory is that he was a representative of the gambling community either reporting on or influencing the match. Pure rubbish, of course, but I assume it's better to let tongues wag and inflate the tale to something ridiculous than to deny anything."

"Mr. Potter would no doubt agree with you," the Headmistress said pointedly. "Although, since I will be requiring your services in increasing the security of the grounds, I should explain to you precisely what did occur. James, you are free to wait a moment, aren't you? I shall not detain the professor for long, and he will accompany you down to the corridor." Without waiting for a reply, she turned back to Neville, launching into a detailed account of the previous night.

James knew the whole story, of course, but still felt he was meant to wait near the door, as far from earshot as possible. It was uncomfortable and vaguely annoying. He felt rather proprietary about the intruder, having been the first to see him, and having been the one to point him out on the Quidditch pitch. It was just like adults to deny something a kid said, then, when it proved true, to completely take over and dismiss the kid. He realized that this was another part of why he hadn't yet told any adults about his suspicions concerning the Slytherin-Merlin plot. He felt even stronger now about keeping that his secret, at least until he could prove something substantial.