The Curse of the GateKeeper (James Potter #2) (34 page)

"Me?" James said, his voice squeaking guiltily. "Nothing. Really. I just… Same reason. Come on, let's go then."

As they entered the Muggle Studies classroom, James' face was beet red. He walked quickly to the front of the classroom, hoping Ralph and Rose wouldn't follow him. He angled into the second row, and was annoyed to see that both of them were filing in after him.

"What's with you, James?" Rose asked, sitting down and frowning at him curiously.

"Did you find a place for the Defence Club to meet?" James replied, changing the subject.

"Yeeaahh," Rose said slowly, still studying James' face. "The gymnasium isn't being used in the evenings, so I've gotten us permission to meet there. It's all taken care of."

"The gym?" Ralph moaned. "I hate that place. That's where Debellows has his class. Is that all you could find?"

"It's the perfect meeting place," Rose replied stiffly. "There're no tables or chairs to get in the way and there are already plenty of targets for spell practice. And eventually, if we begin conducting practice duels, the padded floors will be very helpful."

"Are you sure duels are a good idea?" Ralph asked. "I mean, James did tell the Headmaster we wouldn't be practicing on each other."

"Duels are essential to proper defensive technique, Ralph," Rose said, rolling her eyes. "You can't get any good shooting spells at non-moving targets. Besides, I'd rather the Headmaster not know the extent of our training. He might try to shut us down."

James scowled. "Rose, that's ridiculous. Merlin would probably be happy that we're learning real magical battle techniques."

"Oh? Then why'd he hire Debellows in the first place?" Rose asked, raising her eyebrows.

"Merlin's not in charge of those kind of decisions," James replied, but uncertainly.

"My mum and your dad both work at the Ministry, James. We both know that the Headmaster has final verdict about faculty. Besides, Merlin isn't the kind of man to let other people make decisions for him. Debellows is here because Merlin wants him here."

Ralph said, "That doesn't mean he's trying to keep us from learning anything useful."

"No," Rose agreed easily. "But if he was, Debellows is a great way to make sure we didn't. And after what we saw in the Mirror, I'd rather not take any chances."

James opened his mouth to argue with Rose, but at that moment, Professor Curry stood and cleared her throat.

"Thank you all so much for coming," she trilled. "These auditions aren't mandatory class-times, so I take it as a sign of healthy interest in our production that so many of you have come to observe. Of course, this is not exactly how auditions are conducted in the Muggle theatre, but in the interests of education, we've chosen a rather more public casting format. Today, we'll be completing auditions for the role of Astra, Treus, King Julian, and the Marsh Hag. Final decisions will be made by myself and the elected representatives from the major theatre departments. Let's show some appreciation for the head of the props department, Mr. Jason Smith, the director of the costume shop, Miss Gennifer Tellus, the head of the stage crew, Mr. Hugo Paulson, and finally, my official production assistant and associate director, Miss Tabitha Corsica."

The four representatives were seated at a long table arranged in a front corner, positioned at an angle so that it faced both the classroom and the area designated as the audition stage. The four students accepted the round of halfhearted applause, nodding and smiling. Hugo stood and threw his arms wide, as if accepting an award. He bowed deeply and Gennifer Tellus yanked him back into his seat, rolling her eyes. At the end of the table, Tabitha smiled inscrutably. Briefly, she made eye contact with James and winked. James frowned at her.

"First up," Professor Curry said, consulting a sheaf of parchment in her hand, "we will be viewing the final two candidates for the role of Astra. Miss Josephina Bartlett, seventh-year, Ravenclaw, will read first. Please, as always, silence from the gallery is appreciated. That means no applause, thank you. Miss Bartlett, whenever you are ready."

Josephina Bartlett virtually pranced to the front of the room, her robes bouncing around her and her long blonde hair catching the sunlight from the windows.

"Thank you, all of you, and particularly the parts committee," Josephina said, smiling winningly. "Whomever you choose, this has been a wonderful opportunity for me and all of the other candidates."

"Just read, Josephina," Gennifer said, arching an eyebrow.

Josephina cranked her grin a notch higher, glaring at Gennifer, then suddenly dropped her arms and head as if she'd been switched off. She took a deep breath, apparently staring at the floor between her feet. Then, slowly, she raised her head. Her eyes were glistening. She stared out over the assembled students, a look of beatific anguish etched onto her face.

"Behold!" she exclaimed, raising her arm so fast that her sleeve flopped. She pointed straight ahead. Sitting at the committee table, Hugo actually looked to see what Josephina was pointing at. Gennifer nudged him in the ribs with her elbow. Josephina drew a huge, shuddering breath. "Be that the waning sun to light my love's returning sail, or are my eyes deceived by heart's desire? If't be that now he lies at th' ocean's deepest grave, then ne'er permit my soul to wake, nor fervid dreams to pass: t'is better laid in slumber's crypt than t'walk in living death, the world, my hell, without dear Treus! Hark, my heart, from plight to break, it must! O Treus, is't thee? State thy coming now, or let me join thy bed and sleep in dreary death! But daren't restrain my soul to waiting anguish! Treus, make thy answer known, or bid my soul depart— depart!—to flee to everlasting sleep—to death!"

Josephina fell silent, and a single tear traced a path down her cheek. Her lip quivered minutely. Then, suddenly, her face cleared. She wiped the tear away with her sleeve and smiled at the gallery. There was a collective exhale. Even James had been holding his breath. Rose glanced over at him, annoyed. James shrugged and Rose rolled her eyes.

"Nicely done, Miss Bartlett," Curry said from her seat at the table. "Perhaps a bit, er, melodramatic but certainly quite evocative. Any comments from the table?"

Hugo's face was screwed up with concentration. "What's 'fervid' mean?"

Gennifer sighed, and then turned to Josephina. "You've obviously practiced, Jo, and it shows. Nice preparation."

"Tell me," Tabitha said, lowering her eyes to the tabletop and furrowing her brow, "were you attempting to present Astra as sad and forlorn, or are we to believe that she has just experienced a complete frontal lobotomy?"

Josephina's smile went brittle. "Take it however you want, Tabitha. I don't think anyone else shares your, ah, professional interpretation."

"I'm not sure that matters exactly," Tabitha said sweetly, meeting Josephina's eyes.

"If you wanted the part," Josephina said, dropping her smile, "then you should've auditioned for it. Otherwise, let those few who know how to act do their job."

"Point noted, Miss Bartlett," Curry said quickly. "Please feel free to return to your seat. Now, also reading for the part of Astra, we have Petra Morganstern, seventh-year, Gryffindor. Miss Morganstern, are you prepared for your reading?"

Petra rose from her seat at the back of the room. James turned to watch her approach the stage area. She had the script with her, and as she turned to face the gallery, she consulted it. Her lips moved as she read the first lines.

"I tried to practice with her," Rose whispered to James, "but she said she wanted to do it fresh, with no rehearsing. I swear, she's hardly even read the whole script yet."

Petra lowered the script again and coughed into her fist. Finally, she looked out over the crowd of students, her face almost blank but for a very slight furrowing of her brow. There was almost ten seconds of silence, and James was worried that Petra had already forgotten her lines. Finally, almost in a whisper, Petra said the first word of the reading: "Hark."

The entire room seemed to lean forward as Petra recited the lines, quietly, thoughtfully, as if to herself. Her voice rose only to normal speaking volume as she reached the end.

"O Treus, is't thee?" she said, and her voice was full of doubt, as if she knew Astra's hope was as frail as tissue. "State thy coming now, or let me join thy bed and sleep in dreary death…" She paused, and her voice dropped again, to just above a whisper. "Treus, make thy answer known, or bid my soul depart… to flee to everlasting sleep… to death."

Petra stopped, her face still wearing the same expression she'd begun with. She seemed to be looking through the back wall at something very far-off, like a mirage. Then, without a glance at the committee table, she tucked the script under her arm and walked back down the center aisle. James watched her until she returned to her seat.

"Very nice, Miss Morganstern," Professor Curry said. "A bit soft for the stage, but we can work on the histrionics when the time comes."

"She missed the second 'depart'," Josephina muttered from her seat.

There didn't seem to be any comments from the table. Curry stood, producing her sheaf of parchments again and adjusting her spectacles. "Next, we have final readings for the part of Treus. We've narrowed the candidates to some of the younger years since Treus is meant to be the younger of Astra's two suitors."

James' face burned. He'd never told Ralph or Rose that he'd signed up for the part of Treus. His first reading had gone fairly well, although it had only been Professor Curry and a few first-years at that initial audition. He didn't even know who else was in line for the part. He glanced over at Rose and Ralph.

"I need to tell you something," he whispered urgently.

"Shh!" Rose hissed.

"Only two candidates remain for the role of Treus," Curry was saying. "One is from Slytherin and the other is from Gryffindor, but ironically, both are from the same family. First up, in order of first name since they both have the same last name," Curry smiled indulgently and took off her spectacles, "first-year, Slytherin, Albus Potter."

Simultaneously, James, Ralph, and Rose's mouths dropped open. Rose and Ralph turned toward James, but James spun in his seat, looking for his brother. Albus jumped to his feet and jogged to the front of the room, throwing a smile and a shrug in James' direction. James couldn't believe it. Albus, in a play? Of course, it wasn't any more surprising than James himself trying out for a play, but still. So this had been the meaning of Tabitha's sly wink from the committee table. She'd probably put Albus up to it, just to cause a rift between the two brothers. And Albus was letting her succeed in the attempt. James fumed angrily in his seat.

"You little twonk!" Rose rasped, elbowing James. "Why didn't you tell us?"

"I tried!" James replied, still watching his brother hop onto the stage area. "Er, ten seconds ago."

Albus had apparently memorized his reading. He cleared his throat, and then glanced aside at the committee table. "Am I supposed to say anything?" he asked brightly. "This is only my second time trying out for a play. Am I supposed to thank the academy or something first?"

"That comes rather later, Mr. Potter," Curry said, smiling indulgently. "Just read the lines, please. At your leisure."

Albus nodded. To James' eye, his brother didn't look the slightest bit nervous. He bobbed on the balls of his feet a little, and then flung out his hands, as if encompassing the room. "Foul Donovan!" he cried, his face darkening. "Thou trait'rous malcontent! Had been there room amongst my thoughts for more than Eros' spell and vanity, I might have seen thy wicked plot afoot. My sinister and foolish pride did make me bade thy oily tongue, and dreams of fame to take this quest of doom; and now I lie so far removed an obstacle to vile and vicious victory. O Astra, wife of mine at heart, reverse my sails and send a wind to turn us north; we still may beat that villain's storm! To arms, we'll take, O men, to bear the force of righteous truth: the spear to pierce his lying heart! But spy, his clouds hath blocked the sun, and time hath turned to foe! Wizards and men, forth draw ye wands and wits to fight the violent seas this night, that by the morn we'll hold our win, or lie in beds of ocean sand: our beaten glory's shrine!"

Albus finished his rousing speech with a triumphant cry, shaking an invisible wand at the sky. There was a scattering of laughter and a few whoops of hearty encouragement. This speech was, after all, a classic rallying cry in the wizarding world. A few brave observers had even recited the last line alongside Albus, grinning and shaking their own invisible wands.

"Thank you, Mr. Potter," Curry called loudly, stifling the outbursts. "Very spirited but not exactly as grave as one might expect. The soldiers are not embarking on a Quidditch match; they are facing the likelihood of their own doom. One might expect their leader to be a bit less glib. Still though, very enthusiastically performed. Please return to your seat."

Curry didn't need to consult her parchments. As Albus retreated to his seat, grinning and accepting high-fives from some of his friends, Curry looked directly at James. "And now, also reading for the role of Treus, the elder Potter, James. Second-year, Gryffindor. Whenever you are ready, Mr. Potter, the stage is all yours."

James felt stuck to his seat. He forced himself to stand, and then sidled past Rose and Ralph. By the time he got to the stage, his mind was a complete blank. He'd memorized the audition lines, but now, distracted by Albus' surprise performance, he couldn't even think of the first word. He glanced over at the committee table and grinned sheepishly. Professor Curry nodded encouragement. Tabitha was smiling smugly, obviously enjoying James' discomfort. A spark of anger flared in James as he looked at that grin, and with that anger, he remembered the first two words of his lines.

"Foul Donovan," James said, turning to look out at the gallery. His eyes met Albus', and his anger increased. It smoldered in his words as he delivered them through partially gritted teeth. "Thou trait'rous malcontent! Had been there room amongst my thoughts for more than Eros' spell and vanity, I might have seen thy wicked plot afoot…" As the words came, James allowed his own resentment to fuel them. His voice rose, and he even allowed himself to look askance at Tabitha. He was grimly pleased to see she was no longer smiling. "Wizards and men, forth draw ye wands and wits," James said, as if relishing the idea of a fight. "To fight the violent seas this night, that by the morn we'll hold our win, or lie in beds of ocean sand: our beaten glory's shrine!"