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

James Potter and the

Hall of Elders' Crossing

G. N orman L ippert

B ased upon the c haracters and w orlds of J. K. R owling

Then I have an ivory chair high to sit upon,

Almost like my father's chair, which is an ivory throne;

There I sit uplift and upright, there I sit alone.

- Christina Rossetti

CONTENTS

Prologue

1. Shadow of Legends

2. Arrival of the Alma Alerons

3. The Ghost and the Intruder

4. The Progressive Element

5. The Book of Austramaddux

6. Harry's Midnight Meeting

7. Broken Loyalties

8. The Grotto Keep

9. The Debate Betrayal

10. Holiday at Grimmauld Place

11. The Three Relics

12. Visum-Ineptio

13. Revelation of the Robe

14. The Hall of the Elders' Crossing

15. The Muggle Spy

16. Disaster of the Merlin Staff

17. Night of the Returning

18. The Tower Assembly

19. Secrets Unveiled

20. Tale of the Traitor

21. The Gift of the Green Box

Prologue

Mr. Grey peeked around the corner and surveyed the corridor. It stretched off into dim infinity, dotted with floating globes of silvery light. Mr. Grey had been told that the globes were swampfire, encased in a timeloop charm so they were inextinguishable. He'd never even heard of swampfire, much less a timeloop charm, but then again, Mr. Grey had never been in a place quite like the Hall of Mysteries. He shuddered.

"I don't see anybody," he whispered to the two figures behind him. "No gates or locks, neither. Do you think maybe they're using invisible barriers or something?"

"Nar," a gravely voice answered. "We was told exactly where the beacons were placed, wasn't we? This section's clean. Sentry's all we have to worry about. If you don' see him, then move in."

Mr. Grey shuffled his feet. "I know what we was told, but it don't feel right, Bistle. I has a sense about these things. Me mam always said so."

"Don't call me Bistle, yeh sodding half-wit," said the gravely voice, which belonged to a particularly grizzly goblin in black shirt and trousers. "I'm Mr. Saffron when we're on the job. And blast yehr sixth sense. Yeh're just a great coward whenever yeh get in an unfamiliar place. The sooner we get on, the sooner it'll be over and we'll be back to the shack to celebrate."

The third figure, a tall, old man with a pointed, white goatee, stepped past Mr. Saffron and walked casually down the corridor, scanning the doors.

"See how Mr. Pink does it?" Mr. Saffron said, following closely and glancing around. "Knows to trust his information, he does. No sentry, no problems. Right, Mr. Pink?"

Mr. Grey trailed behind Mr. Saffron, frowning massively and watching the mysterious doors. There were hundreds--maybe thousands--of them along the endless corridor. None had names or markings of any kind. In the lead, Mr. Pink could be heard counting softly under his breath.

"Why do I have to be Mr. Grey?" Mr. Grey said petulantly. "Nobody likes grey. It's hardly even a color at all."

The goblin ignored him. After several minutes, Mr. Pink stopped walking. Mr. Saffron and Mr. Grey halted behind him, looking around the corridor with furrowed brows.

"Can't be the place, Mr. Pink," the goblin said. "There's no doors in this section at all. Are yeh sure yeh counted aright?"

"I counted right," Mr. Pink said. He glanced down at the floor, and then scuffed at a section of the marble tile with his toe. There was a chip in the corner of one of the tiles. Mr. Pink grunted and knelt down. He probed the broken corner with a finger. He nodded to himself, then hooked his finger into the hole and gave a tug. A rectangular section of the tile floor popped upwards, pulled open by Mr. Pink's tugging finger. He heaved and the rectangular chunk of floor slid upwards like a long, vertical drawer, rising with a grating rumble until it touched the ceiling. It shuddered into place. It was as wide and tall as a door, but only a few inches thick. Mr. Grey peered around it and could see the endless corridor of the Hall of Mysteries stretching away behind it.

"How'd yeh know that was there?" Mr. Saffron demanded, slitting his eye up at Mr. Pink.

"She told me," Mr. Pink responded, shrugging.

"She did, did she? Anything else you might know that you hain't told us about, yet?"

"Just enough to get us there," Mr. Pink replied. "You're the lock breaker, Mr. Grey is the heavy hand, and I'm the mapper. We all know what we need to know, and nothing else."

"Yar, yar, I remember," the goblin grumbled. "Let me get on with it, then, won't yeh?"

Mr. Pink stood aside as Mr. Saffron moved closer to the slab of mysterious stone. He studied it carefully, squinting and muttering. He laid one of his huge ears against it and tapped here and there. Finally, he reached into a pocket of his black shirt and produced a complicated device made of dozens of brass loops. He unfolded one and peered through it at the stone slab.

"Hardly worth the effort, really," he muttered. "It's a homunculus lock. Only opens when a predefined set of factors is present. Could be it only opens when a redheaded lass sings the national anthem of Atlantis at three o'clock on a Thursday. Or when the light of the setting sun is reflected from a cracked mirror onto a goat's eye. Or when Mr. Grey hawks a bogey onto a purple newt. I've seen some good homunculus factors in my time, yar."

"Is this a good one, then?" Mr. Grey asked rather hopefully.

The goblin grinned, showing lots of tiny, pointed teeth. "S'like Mr. Pink says, isn't it? We all knows what we need to get the job done." He reached into another pocket and produced a tiny glass vial filled with red powder. Carefully, the goblin uncorked the vial and upended the contents onto the floor before the stone slab. The powder swirled and eddied as it fell, so that as it hit the ground, it formed an unnaturally regular pattern. Mr. Grey peered down and saw that it had formed the shape of a skeletal hand with one finger pointing toward the slab.

Mr. Saffron produced a tiny brass tool and muttered, "Acculumos." A narrow beam of greenish light glowed from the end of the tool. The goblin squatted and carefully laid the tool across the bony hand so that the light pointed at the exact angle of the pointing, skeletal finger.

Mr. Grey gasped and took a step backwards. Seen in the carefully arranged light of Mr. Saffron's tool, the rough stone surface of the slab was no longer random. The play of light and shadow revealed an ornate engraving of a grinning skeleton surrounded by dancing, impish shapes. The skeleton's right hand was outstretched, forming something like a door handle. The left hand was missing, and Mr. Pink shuddered again, realizing it was the shape formed in red powder on the floor.

"It's a danse macabre," Mr. Saffron said, studying the engraving. "A dance of death. Revealed with powdered dragon's blood and cavernlight. Yar, it's a good one, Grey."

"Is it unlocked, then?" Mr. Pink asked briskly.

"Never was locked," the goblin replied. "We just had to know where to grasp. Feel free to do the honors, Mr. Pink."

The tall, bearded man approached the slab, careful not to block the greenish light. He reached forward and wrapped his hand around the outstretched fist of the skeletal engraving. He turned it, producing a low, grinding click. The engraved shape of the door swung inwards, revealing a large, dark space and a sound of distant, dripping water. Cold air pushed out of the opening, filling the corridor and ruffling Mr. Saffron's black shirt. Mr. Grey shivered as the sweat on his forehead went cold.