from the book, his eyes wide and his heart still hammering. He could tell by the change in the lighting of the room that the Mirror had focused. There was the sound of wind creaking in trees and rustling leaves. Slowly, James produced his glasses from the pocket of his pyjamas and put them on. He didn't want to miss anything this time. Finally, he turned around.
The scene was exactly as he'd remembered. There was the grave of Tom Riddle, choked with vines and topped with the smiling, handsome statue. Daylight filtered through the trees, grey and misty. Now that James knew what to look for, he could see the creature of smoke and ash standing in front of the grave. As before, the ragged bottom of the cloak blew in the wind with no feet coming out of it. Something about the figure defied the eye, forced it away, but James made himself look at it. Was this the Gatekeeper of whom Farrigan had spoken? James felt a sinking certainty that it was. As before, it looked less like a cloaked figure and more like a hole cut in space, showing some awful infinity of swirling blackness and swarming cinders.
James waited and watched, shivering in the cold of the Headmaster's office. Outside, the wind seemed to be increasing. It pushed restlessly through the window, flapping the curtains. Finally, as James watched, the Gatekeeper raised its arm, letting the sleeve fall back. The hand was thin and pale, as it had been the first time James had seen it, and James thought he could tell that it wasn't really a human hand at all, but simply a shape meant to look like one. This time, the hand didn't beckon. It remained upraised for a long moment. And then the figure turned its head. The cloak's hood was empty, but it was obviously looking at James through the Mirror. James gasped and stepped back.
Several things happened at once: a gust of wind roared in through the window, streaming the curtains and riffling the pages of the Focusing Book, the door to the Headmaster's office was thrown wide open, slamming against the inside wall, and light poured in from the hall, revealing a large, stalking silhouette. James plunged forward, trying to hide in the shadow of the Magic Mirror.
Before James' face, the mirror glass altered as the pages of the Focusing Book riffled. Scenes flickered past, rising and falling out of the silvery smoke. Elsewhere in the office, the portraits of the former headmasters were now awake, although none spoke. The silhouetted figure stalked through the room, searching it. James had been discovered. Whoever it was would see him at any moment. James huddled, pressing his hands to the glass, panting and terrified. He wished he could be anywhere else at that very moment.
And then, suddenly, he was.
There was a horrid, disorienting sense of flipping, as if James' entire body had been turned inside out. It was over almost before he knew what was happening. Suddenly, the scene in the Mirror wasn't the silvery smoke; it was the Headmaster's office, but backwards, somehow. James could clearly see the shadow of a large man moving over the floor on the other side of the Mirror, and then the man himself walked into view, very close. It was Merlin, his eyes wide and searching.
Without thinking James ducked below the surface of the Mirror. Desperately, he peered up, craning his neck to see if he'd been discovered. From this new angle, the scene in the Mirror looked different. In fact, the mirror itself was different. It was rather smaller, framed in silver, and hung on a stone wall rather than in a wooden frame. James frowned, confused and frightened. Now that he looked around, he could see he was in an entirely different place. Somehow, he'd come
James tried to take stock of his surroundings. He was still huddled below the new mirror, hunkered in a narrow space between the wall and a sort of huge stone block. There were voices nearby. Very carefully, James raised his head. The block was about three feet high with an enormous, complicated shape rising out of it. With a start, James realized it was a statue. It looked vaguely familiar, although it was hard to tell from this angle. James peered around a monstrous carved foot, trying very hard not to breathe. The voices were very close by, and as James peered, he finally saw the owners of the voices. There were four people, all dressed in robes and cloaks of various colors. They were facing away from James, forming a rough line. Suddenly, there was a blinding flash and a puff of acrid smoke.
'One for the ages, methinks,' a hearty voice cried. 'A pity it won't be in color.'
'Color will come soon enough, Godric,' a woman's voice trilled happily. 'And perhaps even movement, like little living paintings.'
'We already have moving paintings,' a second man's voice said with a hint of a sneer. 'I fail to see how this process is in any way superior.'
'Always the skeptic, Salazar,' a different woman's voice commented. 'Rowena's inventiveness should be lauded, not criticized. Leave that to the apprentices whose work it is to refine her technique.'
James' eyes nearly bulged out of his head. Now that the photo had been taken, the four individuals were gravitating toward the rotunda exit. Nearby, a small, grizzled goblin was extinguishing the flash mechanism while another goblin disassembled a gigantic, ancient camera. As the two women and two men walked out into the sunlit hall, James looked up at the high archway. There, carved carefully in the stone at the peak of the arch, each letter as sharp as the chisel that had cut it, were the words: 'SCHOLA HOGVARTENSIS ARTIUM MAGICARUM ET FASCINATIONUS'.
James slumped back against the wall as the voices faded. There was no doubt about it. Somehow, impossibly, he had been hurled back in time to the founding of Hogwarts. He was in the old rotunda, hiding under the intact statue of the founders, as the founders themselves walked into the light of a thousand year old sunset. But what struck James as the most absurd thing of all was that Ashley Doone had been right that day in History of Magic.
James was the ghost in the plinth.
James waited until the goblins finished disassembling the handmade camera equipment, loaded the pieces onto a rough cart, and wheeled it away, talking the entire time in a strange goblin language. When they were gone and the rotunda was empty, James jumped up. He peered into the silver-framed mirror, wondering why anyone would hang a mirror behind a statue. The mirror showed merely the shadowy backsides of the statues and James' own face, which was rather wild-eyed. His glasses were askew. He whipped them off and stuffed them into his pyjama pocket. For a moment, he was filled with a horrible panic. The Mirror-portal had closed! How would he ever get back? But then, as he placed his hands on the surface of the mirror glass, the reflection changed. Merlin's office leapt into view, as if summoned by James' touch. Candles had been lit and Merlin stood at his desk, his back to the Mirror. He was turning the pages in the Focusing Book. He seemed to sense James' gaze, for he suddenly turned his head, peering back at the Mirror, his eyes sharp. James leapt aside, throwing himself against the stone wall next to the mirror. The moment his fingers left its surface, however, the reflection changed back to normal; the Headmaster's office winked away, replaced by the reflection of the enormous statue and the rotunda.
James breathed a huge sigh of relief. All he needed to do was to wait until Merlin left his office again. Then, James could simply touch the mirror on this side and wish to go back to his own time. Hopefully, he'd be sent back through the Amsera Certh again. Once he got back, he'd still have to escape the Headmaster's office undetected, but he'd work that out when the time came. Quietly, James hunkered down behind the statue plinth and leaned against the wall.
Now that he had calmed down a bit, James began to notice the noises and smells of this ancient version of Hogwarts. The rotunda itself was empty, but the rest of the castle sounded like a hive of activity. Voices echoed, overlapping and busy. There was the sound of footsteps and even the clatter of hooves on stone. Clanks and hisses indicated a nearby kitchen. The smells were a mingled potpourri of stew and plowed earth, sawdust and animal dung. James found that he was curious. If he had to wait anyway, was there any reason he shouldn't explore the original Hogwarts a little? Rose would probably punch him if he didn't take advantage of the opportunity. James
