climbed up and peered between the enormous feet of the statue of Helga Hufflepuff. The rotunda remained completely still and empty. Cautiously, James crept out from behind the statue and crossed the room. It was just like the old rotunda in the Hogwarts he knew, except that it wasn't old; every block in the wall was straight and sharp-edged, perfectly fitted in its place. At the archway, James turned back and looked at the statue. He'd often wondered what it had looked like before it was broken. The stone figures of the founders were each twenty feet tall, all smiling except for the statue of Salazar Slytherin, which seemed to smirk slightly, the eyes narrowed. On the wall behind them, above the silver-framed mirror, was a gigantic Hogwarts crest fashioned from wood and painted brightly. The overall look was quite imposing.
'Boy!' someone cried nearby. James jumped, wheeling so fast that he nearly fell on the floor.
A man in a long fur cloak was standing in the doorway of the rotunda entrance. His bushy eyebrows were furrowed over bright, deep-set eyes. He held the reins of a regal white horse. 'Stable the packhorse and send word to your lord that his guests are arrived. We can find our own quarters if none can be bothered to greet us.'
James was completely flummoxed. Not knowing what else to do, he ran over to the man and tentatively reached for the reins. The man looked him up and down suspiciously, and James remembered that he was dressed in blue- and white-striped pyjamas.
'Not the steed, boy,' the man growled. 'No one handles this beast but myself.
'Er, sorry sir. No problem,' James stammered. 'I can handle your horse, uh, Sire. Master. Er, Your Highness.'
The man's face suddenly spread into a toothy grin, as if he thought James was mocking him and was pleased to plan his comeuppance. 'Amusing, boy. Your lord will surely enjoy the joke as much as I do. See to it that our baggage is brought to our quarters, and I'll personally strop the porter who proves careless. Spread the word.'
With that, the man flung the reins of his steed over the nearby hitching post and strode into the dimness of the castle, his furs swaying. He left a strange, spicy scent behind him. James turned back to the enormous packhorse and the wagon. He considered simply running away now that no one was watching, but then thought better of it. Surely, he could at least lead the horse to the stables. All he'd have to do was follow his nose. Besides, the task would allow him a view of the original castle without looking too conspicuous. First though, he needed something else to wear. He looked around quickly. Instead of the weedy hilltop of James' time, the rotunda entrance overlooked a carefully cropped courtyard surrounded by a low fieldstone wall. Running across the center of the courtyard was a babbling stream, fed through stone gates on either side. There, sitting on a large boulder near the stream, were three baskets of clothing. James ran over, hoping whoever was doing the washing would stay away a bit longer.
The contents of the baskets were very rough robes, much larger than James could comfortably wear. He struggled into one anyway, trying to roll up the enormous sleeves. The bottom of the robe pooled around his feet comically. The robe was better than his stripy pyjamas, but not by much. Perhaps he'd find something better later. He turned and ran back to the packhorse, holding up the robe to avoid stumbling over it.
He took the reins of the horse, which was easily twice his height. The horse continued to crop the grass of the courtyard, chewing methodically, but it followed amiably as James tugged the reins. The wheels of the wagon creaked as the horse pulled it. James didn't know where he was going, but he assumed if he walked around the castle he'd eventually come to the stables. He took the opportunity to look around.
Hogwarts castle was much smaller than he knew it in his time. It huddled around the rotunda entrance, which was festooned with a great iron portcullis, currently raised. The turrets gleamed in the sunset, their conical roofs looking sharp enough to prick James' finger. Much higher than the turrets was the Sylvven Tower, which James knew well. It looked exactly the way he remembered it, although in this time it dominated the silhouette of the entire castle. As James circled the castle, leading the horse through a rough stone gate, he noticed that the land around the castle was dotted with farms and cottages. James was a little surprised. In his time, Hogwarts castle stood alone in a large, forested wilderness, secluded and hidden. Here, however, the castle overlooked a bustling community. People moved busily all around, obviously consumed with the business of peasant life. As James led the horse and cart, trying to look like he knew where he was going, he passed people carrying baskets and pots, herding sheep and cows, or pushing wooden handcarts laden with vegetables. Several people shot James careful looks, and at least one woman laughed, but at least no one was accosting him or demanding to know what he was doing.
Finally, James caught the scent of fresh animal dung on the shifting breeze. He looked and saw a huge stone barn. He grinned, recognizing it; it was the same barn that Hagrid, in James' time, was currently holding Care of Magical Creatures in. The roof was different, and there was something like a blacksmith's shed attached to the side, but it was otherwise unchanged. As James approached, he heard the stamp and whicker of horses and the clang and hiss of the smith.
'What's all this, then?' a burly man with bare arms called, stepping out of the main barn door and eyeing James.
'Er, this packhorse needs stabled,' James replied, holding up the reins. 'The owner sent me here. I'm not really a stable boy.'
'That I can tell,' the man said gruffly, scowling, 'seeing as you've brought me yonder horse without even releasing its cart. Perhaps you expect me to stable it as well?'
'No!' James replied. 'It's supposed to be unloaded and taken to the owner's quarters. He said he'd… er, strop anyone who wasn't careful with his stuff.'
'Don't tell me how to do porter work, boy,' the man said, rolling his eyes wearily. 'I'd strop you myself if I had the time. Thomas! Send for the page. We need this cart returned to the valet before Lord Maarten gets frisky.'
The man looked down at James again, sighing. 'You're either a thief or you're the youngest cleric I've ever seen. Your mistress will lash you good when she sees what you've done to that robe. What's your name?'
James' heart jumped, but he couldn't think of a lie fast enough. 'Er, James, sir. James Potter.'
'The Potter's boy, eh? Well, then, you had best run along back to the market. And tell your da that the pestle for which we traded him has got a crack on the rim. I'll send the wife down with it at the morrow.'
The man seemed to dismiss James. He turned and walked back into the shadow of the barn, calling again for Thomas. James sighed in relief. Obviously, the man thought James was the son of the village pot maker. He turned and looked back the way he'd come. The landscape between the castle and the barn was completely different in this time. James could only see the flat top of the Sylvven Tower poking over a stand of birches. He began to make his way back, ducking through the carts and farm animals.
A sort of marketplace was erected around the back of the castle. Wooden stalls, benches, and carts were arranged haphazardly, each decked with all manner of goods. People thronged near the stalls, shouting and waving, bartering and arguing. Livestock mingled with the peasants, adding their own voice and smell to the scene. James darted through the fracas, trying to stay out of people's way and avoid stepping in animal dung. Bits of conversation drifted over him as he moved, and James began to sense that these were mostly Muggles, although they seemed aware of the magical nature of the castle and its inhabitants.
'This here's an authentic enchanted fork, it is,' a man was saying to a skeptical-looking peasant woman. 'Makes any meal taste like it is fit for a king. My Lars found it in the grass after some of the magical folk had a picnic. Only two chickens and it can be yours.'
The woman scoffed and turned away. The man seemed unperturbed. He saw James looking. 'What think yeh, lad? Fancy a bit o' real magic? Tell yer mam to stop on by, will yeh not?'
James shrugged and backed away.
As he entered the shadow of the castle, James spied a broad doorway. Clanks and hisses emanated from
