James Potter and the Curse of the Gatekeeper

of random soaring, he dipped into a long, curving bank over all four of the house grandstands, picking up speed. James and Rose crouched as low as they could as Albus swept in over the Gryffindor gangway. He turned the broomstick easily and pulled it to a hovering stop near the flags that topped the grandstand. James held his breath, hoping that the shadow of the seats was enough to hide him and Rose. Albus took a deep breath, aimed the broom back down toward the pitch, and suddenly stopped. He seemed to be looking directly at James, but in the darkness, it was very hard to tell. He was probably looking past James, down to the Slytherins standing in the center of the pitch below. Finally, Albus leaned forward. The broomstick pitched into a steep dive, sweeping over the rows of seats. James crouched as low as he could, fearing Albus might actually graze him when he passed over the guardrail. As James ducked, a hand reached down and tousled his hair, fleetingly. The wind of Albus' passing subsided, and James heard his brother laughing as he swooped into the darkness of the pitch.

        'That little prat!' James rasped. Rose shushed him.

        Albus descended in a tightening circle, finally bringing the broom to a landing as gentle as a dandelion seed. The Slytherins applauded and collapsed around Albus, congratulating him.

        'A natural,' Tabitha's voice rang out on the breeze. 'Just like your father.'

        ''Natural' nothing!' James hissed under his breath. Rose tugged at his robes, pulling him down into the shadows again. Together, they watched the group of Slytherins walk back across the pitch, their voices lost in the rising wind. As James watched, he saw Albus glance up at him and grin.

        After a minute, James and Rose climbed down from the grandstand and retraced their steps back to the castle.

        'You saw the way he operated that broom,' James exclaimed, struggling to keep his voice low. 'Or to be perfectly accurate, the way it operated him!'

        Rose answered thoughtfully, 'I admit it looked a little suspicious. But you said yourself you could barely control a broom until you got your Thunderstreak. Maybe Albus just needed to get on the right sort of broom to show his stuff.'

        James shook his head, exasperated. 'You don't understand. I tried to ride that broom myself, once. It about murdered me!'

        'Well, you weren't supposed to be riding it, then, were you? Some new brooms are smart that way. Even yours has the 'Extra-Gestural Enhancement' option, doesn't it? Once it bonded with you, anybody else who tried to ride it would have serious trouble.'

        'Look,' James said, throwing up his hands, 'you just have to trust me on this, Rose. That broom's cursed, somehow. And Tabitha is probably the one that cursed it.'

        Rose looked sideways at him. 'Why would you say that?'

        James shook his head. 'It's a long story. But I'm telling you, there's something especially wicked about her. You probably wouldn't believe me even if I told you. Hardly anybody else does.'

        'Well,' Rose replied, keeping her voice as even as possible, 'maybe there's a good reason for that.'

        'Who's side are you on anyway?'

        'Excuse me,' Rose said, getting angry. 'You mean am I on James Potter's side or Albus Potter's side? Because I didn't know I needed to choose.'

        James sighed hugely. 'Just forget it. Sorry, Rose.'

        Rose looked at him for a long moment as they neared the courtyard gate. 'Flying runs in the Potter blood, James. You can't know that Albus isn't just that good by his nature. The whole reason first-years are allowed to try out for Quidditch is because of how good your dad was his first year. But if there is something strange about that broom, or Tabitha Corsica herself, I'll be the first one to help you tell Albus about it. All right?'

        James smiled wanly. 'You promise?'

        Rose nodded. Together, they entered the courtyard and climbed into the light of the main hall. Ralph was sitting on the bottom of the main staircase, waiting for them. James smiled.

'He flew it, I'm guessing,' Ralph said, getting up to join them.

'How'd you know?' Rose asked.

        'Albus and the rest just passed me on the way in to dinner,' Ralph said. 'Albus came over and told me to give you a message when you came in. He said he might just steal your place at the next family Quidditch match.'

        James rolled his eyes and glanced at Rose. 'Don't you laugh,' he said, pointing a finger at her.

        'I didn't say anything,' she replied, covering her mouth with her hand. 'Come on. Let's get inside for dinner before they close the doors on us.'

6. THE KING OF THE CATS

Thursday morning, James and Ralph's first class was Wizard Literature. The classroom was a semicircular gallery attached to the rear of the library. Windows lined the curving wall, filling the room with morning sunlight. The new Wizard Literature teacher, Juliet Revalvier, sat at her desk, leafing through a large book as the students found their seats. Compared to most of the Hogwarts teaching staff, Professor Revalvier was relatively young and petite. Her dark blonde hair was cut shoulder-length, framing an open, friendly face. With her reading glasses on, James thought she looked a bit like a brainy pixie.

        'Not you again,' Ralph whispered as Rose slipped into the seat next to him.

        'I specifically asked to test into this class if I could,' Rose explained, pulling her Wizlit textbook out of her book bag. 'I've got all of Revalvier's books on the classics of magical literature. You know, she even wrote a few novels herself, a couple of decades ago, although they were mostly marketed to Muggles under a made-up name. It was all a bit controversial.'

        'Yeah, I know about those,' James said, remembering Cameron Creevey and his mention of the novelizations of the adventures of Harry Potter. 'That was her, was it?'

        'Well, her and a few other people. It was a test project, spearheaded by one of the big wizard publishing companies. I think the problem was that it was, if anything, rather too much of a success. The Ministry ended up getting involved and there was quite a hoo-ha. Apparently, publishing true accounts of the wizarding world as fiction in the Muggle world is a violation of the Law of Secrecy, although the Wizengamot never convicted her of anything. She was stripped of most of her royalties, which explains why she ended up here, teaching.'

        As if on cue, Professor Revalvier closed her book and stood, tucking her reading glasses into her robe. She consulted the clock on the back wall of the room and cleared her throat.

        'Behold, what manner of worlds are these,' she said, smiling a little and letting her gaze roam from face to face across the room, 'that conjure from the souls of men so readily the primest keystones of the heart? How were wrought these realms that no hand can touch, yet spear to the foundation of all that is most genuine? Dare I declare the pedestal upon which these kingdoms arise and the bricks its walls comprise? Not stone nor wood nor precious jewels can stand the trials of time, further than the realms begotten of words and thoughts and rhyme.'

        The professor took a deep breath, then, in a different voice, said, 'That was a quote from one of the magical world's oldest and most revered ballads, The Heraldium. There is no record of the author of that work, nor any reliable date of when it was penned. We know nothing of the time in which it was written: not who was king, not in what city it originated, not even the language that framed it. And yet the ballad itself persists. If there was any proof of the theme of the ballad—that there is no kingdom more beautiful, effective, and everlasting than the kingdom made of words—then that proof is The Heraldium itself, which has long outlasted the civilization that birthed it.'