Across the room, Ralph said, 'I don't know what this Phyllis woman was supposed to have done, but she was Izzy's mum, at least. I mean, maybe there was a good reason, maybe there wasn't, but it's a pretty strong thing to say that death was what she deserved.'
'Well, Petra isn't in Azkaban, is she?' James replied angrily. 'Obviously whatever happened, nobody's blaming her for it.'
'Or nobody can prove that she did it,' Albus added, still studying James' face.
James threw off the covers and shoved Albus aside. He leapt nimbly to the floor and pulled the door open, letting in the light from the corridor.
'Hey,' Ralph called, 'where are you going?'
'Out,' James replied, not turning back. 'That's all. Don't follow me.'
He pulled the door closed and stalked along the narrow corridor, fuming and confused. When he reached the stairs to the main deck, he turned toward them and climbed to the door, which was propped open, letting in the night air.
The deck was wet beneath James' bare feet. He peered back toward the stern and saw deckhands moving about by lantern-light, using their wands to repair what remained of the stern mast. Sighing, James turned toward the bow stairs and climbed up, glad that this end of the ship, at least, seemed dark and relatively deserted.
The mate seated in the brass steering chair sang jauntily to himself, clutching a pipe between his teeth. Between stanzas, the mate puffed, and the orange glow of the pipe's flame was the only light to be seen. James kept behind the mate and moved toward the railing, which he leaned on. The ocean was nearly invisible in the darkness, but for the phantom-like shapes of the whitecaps. Waves thumped against the hull as Henrietta plowed relentlessly onward.
James' thoughts were a blur. The events of the night played over and over in his head, stranger and more mysterious with each remembrance. Petra's words had been frightening enough, but they had paled in comparison to the nightmare of the falling mast and the horrors that had followed. He recalled the sad certainty of her voice as she'd told him to let her go, to let her fall into the ocean, following after the enigmatic lost brooch, as if that was something he could ever, in a million years, allow to happen. The worst part of all, however, had been that moment—that one, crystalline instant of perfect understanding—when he knew that Petra, the girl he loved, was going to die.
And then, to no one's greater shock than his own, he, James, had conjured the mysterious silver thread, the one that had connected him to her, saving her from the reaching waves. Yesterday evening, Barstow had said that the storm that was coming was not like the one in
Footsteps sounded on the wet deck, nearby. James didn't look up. He hoped that whoever it was would simply pass him by. Instead, he heard the figure approach him, felt the warmth of the person as they leaned against the railing next to him, nearly invisible in the stormy darkness.
'Are you doing all right?' a voice asked quietly. It was his dad.
James sighed deeply. 'Yeah. I guess.'
Together, they watched the marching shapes of the whitecaps, moving like ghosts alongside the ship. After a minute, his dad spoke again. 'Do you want to tell me what happened?'
James thought about it. Finally, he said, 'Petra's sick, Dad. But not sick like Mum thinks. She's not well. In her thoughts. I think she… I think she came up on the deck tonight… because she wanted something to happen to her.'
Harry Potter nodded slowly. His glasses glinted softly as the moon finally peeked through the tattering clouds. 'I've spoken to Merlinus about it,' he said. 'The Headmaster has been… watching her.'
'What's the matter with her?' James asked, looking aside at his father. 'Does Merlin know? Is she going to be all right?'
Harry turned his head toward James and smiled slightly. 'I'll tell you the truth, son. I don't know. But she's been through an awful lot. It will take time for her to work through it all. Be patient. Be her friend.'
James sighed again, turning away. 'I don't even know how to do that much. Every time I talk to her, I get… I don't know…' He shrugged and shook his head.
Harry's smile widened a little and he bumped James with his shoulder. 'I know how you feel, son. Don't worry. The words will come when they need to. Just like they did tonight.'
'What do you mean?' James asked, glancing back at his father.
Harry shrugged. 'I heard you. We all did. We heard you calling down to Petra as she hung behind the ship, trapped. I heard you telling her what she had to do. You convinced her. You saved her life, James.'
'But how, Dad?' James asked, almost pleading. 'How did she do it? How did she break the ropes with just her mind? It was her yesterday morning too! She's the one that fixed the harness chain beneath the boat. She didn't use her wand! She doesn't…' James stopped himself, realizing he was close to breaking his promise to Petra. He'd vowed not to tell anyone her secret. 'She doesn't… use a wand. Anymore. I mean, not that I've seen.'
'So I have noticed,' Harry replied evenly. 'Merlin knows. He's told me a bit, but not very much. He is a man who keeps his own counsel.'
'Can you tell me anything?'
Harry shook his head. 'Not because you don't deserve to know, James, but because it wouldn't make any sense. Later, perhaps. When things are clearer.'
'That's why Merlin's on this trip, then, isn't it?' James said, peering up into his father's face. 'The real reason he came is to keep an eye on Petra. Isn't it?'
Harry met his son's gaze. He shook his head very faintly. 'You have the mind of an Auror, James,' he said seriously. 'Use it well. Use it to keep yourself out of trouble. I know how hard it is to hear this, but hear it anyway: for now, there is nothing more you can do for Petra than be her friend. Whatever happens, that will be the thing she needs most.'
'What's going to happen?' James asked, not breaking his father's gaze. 'What do you know?'
'I know that you have difficulty understanding that the weight of the world isn't yours to bear,' Harry said, with fond weariness. He smiled crookedly. 'But you come by it honestly, so I can't blame you for it.'
For a long moment, the two were silent again. James turned and looked back out at the ocean, listened to the monotonous thrash of the waves beneath the prow. After another minute, he spoke again.
'What happened back there, Dad?'
Harry seemed to know what his son was asking about. He thought about it for a moment, and then took off his glasses. 'Did I ever tell you what happened on the day my mother and father were killed?' he asked mildly.
James glanced at him seriously. 'Yeah,' he said slowly. 'I mean, everybody knows about that. There've been books. Movies even.'
