James Potter sat up in his bed, stifling a gasp. He listened very intently, peering around the darkened sleeping chamber. All around him were the small sounds of sleeping Gryffindors. Ted rolled over and snorted, muttering in his sleep. James held his breath. He'd awakened a few minutes earlier with the sound of his own name in his ears. It had been like a voice in a dream: distant and whispered, as if blown on smoke down a long, dark tunnel. He had just about convinced himself that it had, in fact, been the tail of a dream and drifted back to sleep when he'd heard it again. It seemed to come out of the walls themselves, a faraway sound, still somehow right next to him, like a chorus of whispers saying his full name.
Very quietly, James slipped out of bed and shrugged into his bathrobe. The stone floor was cool under his feet as he stood and listened, tilting his head. He turned slowly, and as he looked toward the door, the figure there moved. He hadn't seen it appear, it was simply there, floating, where a moment before there had been darkness. James startled and backed into his bed, almost falling backwards onto it. Then he recognized the ghostly shape. It was the same wispy, white figure he'd seen chase the interloper off the school grounds, the ghostly shape that had come to look like a young man as it came back to the castle. In the darkness of the doorway, the figure seemed much brighter than it had appeared in the morning sunlight. It was wispy and shifting, with only the barest suggestion of its human shape. It spoke again without moving.
Then it turned and flitted down the stairs.
James hesitated for only a second, then wrapped his bathrobe more tightly about him and followed the figure, his bare feet slapping lightly on the stone steps.
He reached the deserted common room just in time to see the ghostly shape glide through the portrait hole, passing through the back of the portrait of the Fat Lady. James hurried to follow.
James expected the Fat Lady to scold him as he snuck past her, but she was deeply asleep in her frame as he closed it gently. She was snoring a remarkably tiny, ladylike snore, and James wondered if it was an enchanted sleep cast by the ghostly figure.
The halls were silent and dark, it being the very pit of night. Silvery blue moonlight sifted through the few windows. It occurred to James that he should have brought his wand. He couldn't do much with it yet, but he did know a basic Illumination Spell. He glanced around the pattern of moonlight and shadows that was the hall, seeking the ghostly shape. It was nowhere in sight. He chose a direction at random and trotted along it.
Several turns later, James was about to give up. He wasn't even sure he'd know his way back to the Gryffindor common room. The corridor here was high and narrow, with no windows and only one torch guttering redly near the archway he'd entered by. Closed doors lined the corridor on both sides, each one made of thick wood and braced with iron bars. Behind one of them, a gust of night wind made something creak, low and long, like the moan of a sleeping giant. The overall effect was rather frightening, but James couldn't quite bring himself to turn back just yet. He walked slowly down the corridor, the torch making his shadow stretch before him, flickering into blackness.
'Hello?' he said quietly, his voice hoarse, just above a whisper. 'Are you still there? I can't see you.'
There was no response. The corridor was growing colder. James stopped, squinting hopelessly into the shadows, and then turned around. Something flickered across the corridor inches from his face and he jumped. The white shape streamed through one of the doors, and James saw that that door wasn't entirely closed. Blue moonlight filled the space he could see through the crack. Trembling, James pushed the door and it creaked open. Almost immediately, the door caught on something, making a grating scrape. There were broken chunks of iron on the floor next to something long and black with a hook on the end. It was a crowbar. James kicked these aside and pushed the door further open, stepping in.
The room was long and dusty, cluttered with broken desks and chairs, apparently once sent here for repair, but long forgotten. The ceiling sloped down toward the back wall, where four windows glowed with moonlight. The window on the far right was broken. Glass glittered on the floor and one of the swinging panes hung crookedly like a broken bat wing. The ghostly figure stood there, looking down at the broken glass, and then turned to look at James over its shoulder. It had resumed its human shape, and James gasped as he saw the young man's face. Then two things happened simultaneously. The ghostly shape evaporated in a wisp of silvery smoke, and there was a crash and clatter from the corridor outside.
James jumped and spun on the spot, peering out the door. He didn't see anything, but he could still hear an echoing clatter from the darkness. James leaned against the inside of the door, his heart thudding so hard that he could see dull green flashes in his peripheral vision. He glanced around the room, but it was completely dark and empty except for the cobwebby furniture and broken window. The ghostly man was gone. James took a deep breath, then turned and crept out into the corridor again.
There was another, smaller clatter. James could tell by the sound of it that it was further down the corridor, in the darkness. It echoed as if it were coming from another side room. Again, James berated himself for having forgotten his wand. He tiptoed into the darkness. After what felt like an age, there was another open door. He held onto the stonework of the doorframe and peered in.
James vaguely recognized the Potions storage room. There was a man in it. He was dressed in black jeans and a black shirt. James recognized him as the very same man he had seen the morning before at the edge of the Forbidden Forest, sneaking photographs. He stood on a stool, examining the shelves with a small penlight. On the floor by the stool were the shattered remains of a couple of small vials. As James watched, the man stuck the penlight in his teeth and groped for another jar on the top shelf, keeping a precarious hold on the opposite shelf with his free hand.
'
He was gone almost before James realized it. The curtain at the back of the storage room still swayed where the man had blown through it. To James' great surprise, he darted to follow the man.
The Potions storage room led into the Potions classroom itself. Long, high tables stood in the darkness, their stools tucked neatly beneath them. James stopped and cocked his head. Footsteps echoed from the corridor beyond. His own feet smacked the stone floor as James dodged around the tables and out into the corridor, following the man.
The man was hesitating at a point where two corridors crossed. He looked desperately back and forth, then glanced up and saw James coming. The man let out the same high, little shriek James had heard him make when he'd been chased by the ghost. He slipped on the stones, his feet seeming to run in three directions at once, then he mastered them and ran clumsily down the broader corridor. James knew where he was now. The man would come out onto the hall of the moving staircases. Even as James was thinking it, he heard another little shriek of surprise echoing back to him. He grinned as he ran.
James stuttered to a stop at a railing and leaned over, peering intently into the darkness of the floors below. At first, the subtle grinding of the stairs was the only noise, and then he heard the clatter of the man's
