this cloak? James had heard enough tales, from both his dad, Uncle Ron and Aunt Hermione, to know that this was an opportunity not to be missed. But where to go?
James thought for a moment, and then smiled a long, mischievous smile. He slipped the cloak over his head, just the way he used to on the rare occasions when Harry would let him play with it. James vanished. A moment later, the door of the Room of Requirement seemed to open all by itself, rocking slowly on its huge hinges. After a pause, it shut again, carefully and silently.
Tiptoeing, James headed for the quarters of the representatives of Alma Aleron.
James had only gotten halfway down the corridor when there was a flicker of motion. Mrs. Norris, Filch's awful cat, had darted across the passage that intersected the corridor twenty feet ahead. James stopped, his breath caught in his chest. 'Shouldn't you be dead by now, you ratty old carpet sample?' he whispered to himself, cursing his luck. Then, worse, Filch's voice came echoing down the passage.
'That's it, dearest,' he said in a singsong voice. 'Don't let the little buggers escape. Teach them a lesson that will have their little mousey kin shivering with fear.' Filch's shadow leaked across the floor of the intersection, weaving as he approached.
James knew he was invisible, but he couldn't help feeling that he should hunker up against the wall. He sidled into a narrow space between a doorway and a suit of armor, trying to keep his breathing shallow and silent. He peered around the elbow of the suit of armor.
Filch stepped into the intersection, his gait rather unsteady. 'Find a hidey-hole, did they, precious?' he asked the unseen Mrs. Norris. He reached into his coat and produced a silver flask. He took a swig, wiped his mouth with his sleeve, and then spun the cap back on. 'There they are, coming this way again, my dear. Come, come.'
Two mice scurried into the intersection, looping and dodging as they approached Filch's feet. Mrs. Norris pounced, batting at them, but the mice scampered away, darting along the wall toward where James was hiding. Mrs. Norris followed, growling. To James' great chagrin, the mice scampered behind the suit of armor and wriggled under the edge of the Invisibility Cloak. Their cold little feet scurried over James' bare toes, then they stopped between his feet, sniffing the air as if sensing a hiding place. James tried to push them out from under the cloak with his toes, but they refused to go.
Mrs. Norris padded down the corridor intently, her whiskers twitching. She hunkered along the front of the suit of armor's base, one paw outstretched, then pounced around it, stopping inches from the edge of the Invisibility Cloak. She looked around, her eyes flashing, sensing the mice were nearby, but not seeing them.
'Don't tell me those dumb animals have bested you, my dear,' Filch said, scuffling down the corridor toward them.
James watched Mrs. Norris. She had encountered the Invisibility Cloak before, years earlier. James knew the stories, having been told them by both Aunt Hermione and Uncle Ron. Maybe she remembered the smell of it. Or maybe she was sensing James himself, his heat or scent or the beat of his heart. She raised her eyes, narrowing them, as if she knew he was there and was trying very hard to see him.
'Don't be a sore loser, my dear Mrs. Norris,' Filch said, coming closer still. He was almost near enough that if he reached out, he might inadvertently touch James. 'If they got away, they'll just tell their rodent friends about you. It's a victory either way you slice it.'
Mrs. Norris inched closer. The mice between James' feet were getting nervous. They tried to hide under each other, scooting further back between James' feet. Mrs. Norris raised a paw. To James' horror, she brushed the edge of the Invisibility Cloak with it. She hissed.
The mice, hearing the hiss, panicked. They scampered out from under the cloak, darting right between Mrs. Norris' feet. She jumped at the sight of them, ducking to watch them scurry away into the corridor. Filch laughed raspily.
'They put the spook on you, precious! I'd never have expected it. There they go! After them, now!'
But Mrs. Norris half turned back toward James, her baleful orange eyes narrowed, her slit pupils flared wide. She raised her paw again.
'Go, Mrs. Norris, go!' Filch said, his mood swinging to annoyance. He shoved her with his foot, scooching her away from James and toward the mice, which had disappeared further along the corridor. Filch's foot caught the edge of the cloak, pulling it away from James' feet. He felt cool air on his toes.
Mrs. Norris looked back toward James and hissed again. Filch, however, was too sodden to take heed. 'They went that way, you blind old thing. I'd have never guessed a pair of dumb animals would get the jump on you. Let's go, let's go. There're always more near the kitchens.' He ambled on into the shadows of the corridor and eventually Mrs. Norris followed, throwing occasional rankled glances back towards James.
When they turned the corner, he exhaled shakily, composed himself, then continued down the corridor, running lightly and feeling extremely lucky.
When he reached the door to the Americans' quarters it was closed and bolted. In the darkness, James could hear the voices of his dad and Franklyn inside, but they were muffled and unintelligible. He was about to give up and head downstairs, thinking he might perhaps find Cedric's ghost again, or even the Muggle intruder, when the voices inside the door grew louder. The bolt socked back and James scrambled out of the way, forgetting for a moment that he was hidden under the cloak. He pressed himself against the wall on the opposite side of the corridor just as the door creaked open. Franklyn emerged first, talking quietly. Harry followed, closing the door with the practiced stealth of any good Auror. 'Practice being quiet when you don't need to,' Harry had told his son on many occasions, 'and you won't need to think about it when you do.'
'I find it's safer to move around during a private conversation,' Franklyn was saying. 'Even our own quarters are subject to eavesdropping by those whose philosophies differ from my own. At least this way no, unwanted ears can hear the entirety of our dialogue.'
'Funny thing,' Harry said. 'I spent so much time sneaking around these halls and corridors when I was a student that even as an adult, it's difficult to avoid the instinct to skulk and sneak, for fear that I might get caught and be given detention.'
The two men began to walk slowly, apparently meandering in no particular direction. James followed at a safe distance, taking care not to breathe too heavily or stumble against any of the statues or suits of armor that lined the walls. 'Things haven't changed much, you know,' Franklyn said. 'Now, however, we have worse things than detention to worry about.'
'I don't know,' Harry said, and James could hear the wry smile in his voice. 'I had some pretty horrible detentions.'
'Mm,' Franklyn murmured noncommittally. 'The history of both our schools has involved some unsavory characters and unnecessary ugliness. Your Miss Umbridge, our Professor Magnussen. Your Voldemort, our… well, honestly, we have no one in our history that compares to him. Indeed, he was a terrible threat to all of us while he lived. Our duty is to ensure that such things don't happen again.'
'Am I to assume that this meeting, then, is an opportunity to compare notes about such threats? Off the record, so to speak?' Harry asked seriously.
Franklyn sighed. 'One can never have too many friends or too many sources, Mr. Potter. I am not an Auror, and I do not have any official authority or policing jurisdiction even in my own country. I am just an old teacher. Old teachers, however, are often underestimated, as you certainly know. Old teachers see quite a lot.'
'You have your own version of the Progressive Element at Alma Aleron?'
'Oh, it's beyond that, unfortunately. For most of the students and even the staff, the facts of Voldemort and
