James Potter And The Morrigan Web (69 page)

With shaky legs and a shiver of nervousness, James turned around and began to clamber back down to the Newsstand’s second level.

Five minutes later, he dashed into the impenetrable shadows of the forest path, leaving the lights of Hogsmeade thankfully behind him. He wondered if he would meet anyone on the path. After all, if things had gone as planned, Scorpius and Rose had already told Professor McGonagall about the body of Worlick. Surely, someone would be coming to collect the body and launch an investigation. What would they do if they discovered James lurking through the forest alone, long after he was supposed to be back at Hogwarts?

Worse still, what if no one was coming yet? What if he had to pass by the body of Worlick alone in the dark? James shivered violently at the thought. Worlick had been a specialist in dark magic, he remembered. What if the warlock had invented a means to come back after his death? What if even now he was shuffling through the forest as an Inferius, a living corpse?

James stopped on the dark path, his eyes bulging against the darkness as he looked around. Nothing moved. In fact, the forest suddenly seemed eerily quiet. There was no breath of breeze, nor the slightest rustle of leaves. Cold fear closed over his heart like a fist.

“I’m winding myself up,” he whispered. “Have to get a grip. There’s nothing out here to be afraid of.”

Of course, as James well knew, this was not true under even the best of conditions.

He began to walk forward again, following the path as it snaked into the dark. He cast around, searching the trees for any sign of movement. Did the forest look different somehow? Had the trees always been this close, this clustered and crooked? Nothing looked familiar. The sense of fear-- and of being secretly watched-- intensified.

A narrow valley creased the path before him. He descended into it swiftly, his breath coming in short bursts, and glanced around. A small clearing opened at the base of the valley, marked with two monuments, each as tall as James and constructed of loose stones. Vines enclosed the monuments, clutching at them. The sight of the twin cairns chilled James deeply. He had never seen them before. This was not the path back to Hogwarts. It was narrower, far more overgrown, and crowded with leaning, spindly trees. He forged ahead, fighting panic, pushing through weeds and crowding brush.

A flicker of moonlight on water shone through the trees ahead. And yet, James felt an undeniable suspicion that this was not the comforting familiarity of the Black Lake he was approaching. The gentle lap of waves reached his ears now, small breakers sucking at a rocky shore.

James finally emerged from the wood, pushing between the tress as the path dissolved to obscurity. A small farm lake stretched before him, marked with a single band of silvery, reflected moonlight. Silhouetted against this, positioned at the end of a short, warped dock, was a gazebo. It stood atop its own reflection on the lake, black and foreboding and full of shadows.

James could not approach the lake. He stopped on the dewy grass overlooking it, his heart sinking at the sight. He recognized this place, even though he had never seen it with his own eyes. He had only ever read about it.

“Hi James,” a young woman’s voice said out of the darkness. James squinted and saw her standing in the gazebo’s entrance, the pale circle of her face, her drab dress blending into the shadows. “Come and join me. I’ve missed you. And we need to talk.”

“Petra,” James called faintly, beginning to walk toward her without even realizing it. “Is this where you…? I mean, your dream story… How is this even…?” His words fell away as he stepped onto the dock, moving to join her in the entrance of the gazebo. It was cold there. The air around Petra was as icy as a January tomb. James’ breath formed a wreath of mist as he shivered.

“We’ve always been here,” Petra shrugged. “Ever since that night on the back of the Gwyndemere, when you saved my life. This is where the connection between us lives. Right here, on this dock, in this gazebo. I wish it didn’t. I hate this place. But I can’t change it.”

James shook his head, glancing around at the quietly rippling lake, the dark shore. “But how are we here now, like this?”

“Because like I said,” Petra answered tiredly. “We need to talk. Come inside. Sit by me.”

Numbly, James followed Petra as she stepped through the gazebo’s entrance, moving onto its neat plank floor. Lattice railings formed an octagon around them, lined with shallow benches. Across from the dock entrance, another opening framed the lake. On a summer’s day, this opening would invite a dive into the happy coolness of the water. Now, it looked like a hungry, waiting throat. James turned away from it, joining Petra on one of the narrow wooden benches. She didn’t speak, merely stared past him, studying the waves as if gathering her thoughts.

James spoke first, unable to wait. “What’s happening to you, Petra?” He asked in a hushed voice. “What happened on that night? The Night of the Unveiling?”

Petra shook her head vaguely. “I did what had to be done. I satisfied my destiny.”

“You saved my dad.” James shivered again. He wanted to draw closer to Petra, but sensed that the coldness was coming from her, as if she was made of ice.

“Of course I did.
She
knew that I would… that
we
would. Izzy and me. It was never not going to happen.”

James nodded. He knew exactly who Petra was talking about. “Nobody believes me about her. The Lady of the Lake. They think I imagined her.”

“Of course they do,” Petra replied, smiling at him. “The greatest lie of the greatest evil is that it doesn’t exist.”

James met Petra’s eyes in the darkness. “She’s behind all of this somehow. Isn’t she?”

“I assume you mean the Morrigan Web,” Petra said, breaking eye contact with James and looking out over the waves again. “The Collector. Avior Dorchascathan. Headmaster Grudje. All of it. Yes. Of course she is. She torments you personally, as well. Just to keep you busy and distracted and because she thinks it’s fun. I watch, and intervene when I can. Like on first night.”

James’ eyes widened, remembering. “It was her that whispered my name,” he nodded. “But it was you that appeared on the Marauder’s Map.”

“I can trace her when she appears in places like Hogwarts. I watch whenever I can, and I chase her there, like I did on first night. But she never stays long, and neither do I. Neither of us can afford to get noticed. Not yet.”

“She’ll do it, won’t she?” James asked, trying not to shiver. “Her and the people she’s partnered with? They’ll set off the Morrigan Web, killing who knows how many people.”

Petra nodded. “Judith pulls the strings. But I pull the strings as well, even if I don’t mean to. And so does Izzy. We’re sister Fates, after all. How could it be otherwise?”

“But you’re not like her,” James said suddenly, sitting up on the bench. “You and Izzy. You’re good. She’s the evil one.”

“Sometimes I wonder, James,” Petra said, almost dreamily, “if there even is such a thing as good and evil. I tried to do good last time I was here, on this farm. But in the end both my grandfather and his wife ended up dead. I tried to do good last year, in New Amsterdam, and ended up breaking the vow of secrecy for the whole magical world. Does doing good matter if it always ends up playing into the hands of evil? Judith pulls her strings, and Izzy and I, we pull ours. But in the end, we are all Sister Fates, and destiny gets its way.”

The chill that came from Petra was like a silent wind. James’ teeth were chattering as he said, “It doesn’t have to be that way, does it? You don’t have to play into her plan. You can stop her. I can help you.”

“No, James,” Petra said, her voice going firm. “That’s why I brought you here tonight. You’re getting involved in things that you cannot control or understand. There is danger here like nothing you’ve ever known.”

“The Morrigan Web,” James exclaimed. “I know! But none of us even knows what it’s supposed to do or how it works. Can you tell us?”

“I’m a sorceress, James,” Petra said, her voice softening again. “But I don’t know everything. I don’t know what the Morrigan Web is any more than you do. I just know that she intends to use it-- she and her temporary helpers.”

“The Collector,” James nodded. “But why are they temporary?”

Petra sighed. “You know why. You saw it tonight. In the end, true evil breaks all its tools.”

There was silence between them for a long moment, punctuated only by the monotonous drone of the waves. Finally, James straightened. “I’m not afraid. I can help you, Petra. Me and Ralph, Zane, Rose, even Scorpius and Albus. We can help you stop her.”

Petra looked at James again, and the look in her eyes froze him in place. “James,” she said, shaking her head slowly. “I don’t intend to stop her.”

The cold seeped beneath James’ skin as he looked into her eyes, saw her unshakable resolve. An icicle seemed to push into his heart, chilling him so deeply that his shivers ceased.

“But Petra,” he whispered. “You
have
to stop her. All those people… you can’t just…”

“Every time I try to stop her,” Petra said, her eyes hardening, “she wins. The strings that Izzy and I pull only further her aims. We can’t help it. As long as we are three, we are one. Fate prevails. There is only one way to end it forever. You can’t understand it, James, and I don’t intend to explain it to you. Your part is to back away. As of tonight, you’re getting too close. Stop asking questions. Stop trying to work it all out. I’m not asking you. I’m
warning
you. People will die.” She stood up and drew a deep, regretful breath. “I don’t want you to be one of them.”

James sat speechless, staring up at Petra as if he had never seen her before.

“What about Izzy?” he said faintly. “Will you allow her to kill?”

Petra’s lips thinned. She refused to look at him. “She and I have killed before. Right here, in this Gazebo. We sent her mother to her doom.”

“That was different!” James insisted, standing as well. “There has to be something we can do! What about that other bloke? The one who’s been traveling with you? My dad and Mr. Malfoy were talking about him at Christmas. Parris something or other…”

Petra narrowed her eyes and glared at him. “Stop reading my dream diary, James,” she said quietly, emphatically. “Leave Marshall Parris out of it. Leave
yourself
out of it. What is meant to happen has to happen. I can’t stop it. I don’t
want
to stop it. It’s the only way to end this whole nightmare.”

James shook his head. “Petra…” he croaked, his breath puffing into mist. “I can’t just… none of us… can let this
happen
.”

The hard glare in Petra’s eyes slowly melted. A breath of warmth pushed in from over the waves, threading through Petra’s long hair and blowing away the icy chill, leaving only the girl that James had known ever since his first year, the one that liked to suck on the ends of her hair when she was thinking, who had a secret soft spot for romantic stories and treacle tarts. She shook her head again, even more slowly, and took a step toward him. She leaned close, meeting him in the centre of the gazebo. Fleetingly, James realized that he was taller than her now.

Her lips parted slightly in the darkness. He could smell her-- the mingled scent of soap and hyacinth and faint spice.

She’s going to kiss me,
his mind raced.

But she did not kiss him. She leaned close, placing her lips next to his ear. He could feel her breath on the nape of his neck.

“Remember your own dream,” she whispered. “The dream of the graveyard. Of me. And Albus. And the Dark Mark. Remember what you wrote when you woke up.”

James’ eyes widened. He remembered, although he hadn’t thought of it in a long, long time.

“If you don’t want that to happen,” she whispered, so quietly that he felt it as much as heard it. “Then don’t, James…
don’t
… try to stop me.”

On her last word, darkness fell over the lake and the forest beyond. It consumed the gazebo, absorbed the waves, and covered Petra in impenetrable shadow. Blackness pressed against James’ eyes, blinding him. He reached out for her, sensing that she was falling away from him, sucked away into that waiting dark.

“Petra!” he cried out.

His voice echoed in the confines of the Gryffindor dormitory. He was standing next to his trunk, in a pool of light cast by his own lit candle. No one else was there. Somehow, Petra had transported him straight back to Hogwarts, bypassing the prowling Tabitha Corsica and Filch.

James’ knees shook. He sat heavily on his trunk. Something crinkled beneath him. Wearily he reached for it, leaning aside and pulling out a sheet of wrinkled parchment.

It was Petra’s dream story. The pages were entirely blank now, but for a single line written neatly across the centre in Petra’s distinctive, careful handwriting:

As long as we are three, we are one. Fate prevails...

James stared at it, reading it over and over by the light of the single candle. Drifting up through the curving stone stairs, raucous voices echoed from the common room, implying warmth, frivolity and evening cheer. Despite this, even now, the chill of Petra’s gazebo hung around James like a cocoon.

It was under his skin, wracking him with shivers, chilling him all the way to the bone.