The Curse of the GateKeeper (James Potter #2) (49 page)

Rose's face had also gone pale. "It's really very simple. It hates us because we aren't it. It has always believed it was the only living thing. Now that it has discovered the world of humans, it refuses to share existence with us. Also, even more awful, it feeds on despair and agony like the world's hungriest and most powerful Dementor. But where Dementors only call up your own memories of the worst things that have ever happened to you, the Gatekeeper creates all new feelings. It can manipulate a person's mind at the most basic level, creating raw, sourceless panic and terror. That's what we read about in the tabloid article Lucy sent us. It was trying to figure those humans out, trying to work out the best way to produce what it hungers for. For now, it can only affect a few humans at once. But once it connects with its human host and becomes a part of the community of mankind, it'll be able to affect thousands and millions at once. It'll just suck the terror out of everyone until there's nothing left of them, then leave them like husks and move on. It'll move over the earth doing that until there's no one left at all."

"No one but the host," Ralph squeaked.

"Not even the host," Rose whispered. "In the end, it'll turn on them too. It wishes to be entirely alone. In the end, it'll break its own tool. The scariest thing is that the host may even know it. The host may be so full of pain and sadness and hate that they won't care. They may even wish for it."

Something had pricked James' memory. Rose saw it on his face. "What, James? You look like you just swallowed a hippogriff egg."

"My dream," James replied, touching his forehead. "What you're saying sounds a lot like the words of the voice in my dream. There's this black robed figure standing in the corner, talking all the time, telling the person in my dream that justice will be served, and the day of balance is coming, and it always says that the person in my dream is to be the hand that brings it about if they are willing, if they are up to the task that will prove their worth. And the person in my dream does seem to be willing. They seem to be very sad and very angry, all at the same time. It's as if they've felt a loss so great that it makes the whole world meaningless. Worse, that the whole world shouldn't even exist anymore, because it's the world their tragedy happened in. It's a very vengeful, hateful, hopeless feeling, but mostly, it's just sad, so sad that it's like a black wall that goes on forever with no gate or corners or top to climb over."

"Maybe the person in your dream is meant to be the host of the Gatekeeper," Ralph said, his eyes wide. "It almost sounds like Merlin, doesn't it? I mean, he ended up killing the woman he loved most in all the world. You said he left his own time because he couldn't bear to live in it anymore, knowing what he'd done, right? Maybe coming to this time isn't any better for him! Maybe he'd be happy to let the Gatekeeper destroy everything and everyone, even himself!"

Rose nodded slowly. "It does certainly sound like what he might be feeling. The Gatekeeper's host doesn't have to be its Ambassador, but there's nothing that says it couldn't."

James was thinking hard, trying to remember his dreams. He shook his head. "It's not Merlin, though, in my dream. I've never seen the person's face, but I'm sure it isn't him. It just feels all wrong. It's someone younger. And different. Definitely not Merlin."

Rose gasped and covered her mouth with both hands, her eyes going wide. Ralph jumped at her sudden movement. "What?" he exclaimed.

"The Bloodline!" Rose said in a very high voice. "They even mentioned it in that scene in the Mirror, at Tom Riddle's grave, don't you remember? The Gatekeeper went looking for the best host it could find, and sensed Voldemort's body. It knows almost nothing about humans, so it didn't realize Voldemort was dead until it got there. Then it made the statue talk, somehow tapping into the ghost of Voldemort. The statue told the Gatekeeper that there was another host for it, one with Voldemort's blood in its veins. Remember? It's obvious! The Gatekeeper's host is to be the Bloodline of Voldemort!"

"But who is it?" Ralph asked. "We don't know that, so we're right back where we started."

"We don't know it yet," Rose said, smiling a little nervously. "But we have a way of finding out." She looked at James.

James pressed his lips together and sighed. "My phantom scar. But we don't even know where it's coming from or if we can trust it."

Rose shrugged. "It's all we have. All we can do is hope it's not a trick of some kind. Pay attention to your dreams, James. They're probably our only clue. Maybe you'll finally get a good look at whoever it is and we'll learn who the Bloodline is."

"And who the mysterious speaking voice is too," Ralph added meaningfully.

"Yes, that too," Rose agreed. "Good point, Ralph. Maybe it's Merlin himself, don't you think?"

Ralph heaved a great sigh. "I don't know. I hope not. But the alternative could be worse, couldn't it? I mean, a known enemy is better than an unknown one, right?"

After lunch, James hurried across the castle to the amphitheater where Muggle Studies would be meeting for the rest of the term. When he got to the archway leading outside to the terraced seating, he was quite surprised to feel warm air despite the snowflakes which fell like a curtain over the distant hills.

Damien Damascus met James near the base of the stage. "Fortunately," he said, smiling, "Curry isn't such a slave to doing things like the Muggles that she isn't willing to magic a little atmosphere for us to work in. Nice, eh? Now I just have to get the hang of this thing." He held up a hammer and studied it at arm's length. "It's a bit brutish, don't you think?"

The atmosphere around the stage was indeed strangely pleasant. James took off his cloak and flung it over a seat in the front row. He looked up, smiling in wonderment. The sky was thick with grey clouds and drifting, skirling snowflakes, but the snow seemed to vanish as it fell into the air over the amphitheater. The light near the stage even seemed brighter, as if an errant sunbeam had simply bypassed the cloud cover and jumped directly into the bowl of the amphitheater. James remembered his Technomancy classes from last year, and knew that somewhere, strangely, a small, dark pocket of snow was falling on a warm, sunny hillside.

"Ah, James," Curry cried, walking briskly across the stage. "My little Treus, you're here after all. I trust you have your script. Do join us. We're simply blocking out scenes for now, but it helps to have you read through the lines for timing purposes."

As James read aloud through his lines and walked through act one with the rest of the actors, he found he was truly enjoying himself despite his earlier worries about Merlin and the Gatekeeper. It felt a little strange acting out the parts amidst the clatter and shouts of Jason Smith's hardworking stage crew. As James read through a scripted conversation with Noah Metzker as Donovan, Damien and three other crew members were raising a gigantic wooden mock-up of a castle wall, complete with a rampart, a turret, and a balcony. Their shouts and grunts of effort nearly drowned out James and Noah's words.

As they moved over the stage, Curry followed them with a roll of thick yellow tape. Occasionally, she'd move James by the shoulders, positioning him on the stage.

"Hit this mark when you read that line," she'd instruct him, bending down to tape an 'X' on the stage floor. "We'll arrange a spotlight for this position. Mr. Metzker, do go ahead, and make sure you don't turn your back on the audience."

"But James is over there," Noah said, gesturing. "I'm supposed to be talking to him, aren't I?"

"You are an actor, Mr. Metzker," Curry trilled. "You are speaking to the audience first and foremost."

Noah frowned and looked out over the mostly empty seats. "But they aren't the ones threatening to run off with Astra, are they?"

Curry sighed. "Just read the lines, Mr. Metzker. We'll work out who's running off with whom later."

As they prepared to read through act two, James realized he'd been feeling a dull throb in his forehead. He reminded himself not to rub it, but it was definitely getting worse. He glanced out over the amphitheater seating, squinting through the glare of the spotlights. There, sitting near the back, almost lost in the shadows, was Merlin. James couldn't make out his face, but he could easily see the large man's shape. Merlin seemed to realize James was looking at him. He raised a hand and tapped his forehead slowly, as if he were making a sign. James' eyes widened, and then, suddenly, his forehead burned. It was as if a hot poker had been pressed to it. James squeezed his eyes shut, turning away.

He bumped into someone, nearly knocking them over.

"James? What is it?" Curry called out. "You nearly knocked your leading lady off the stage."

James looked up, the pain in his forehead receding again. Petra was looking at him with a concerned expression. "Are you all right, James?"

"It's just the lights," James lied. "They're pretty hot. I'm fine now." He tried to grin and shrug.

Curry turned and began calling for the rest of the performers for the second act. Petra moved close to James and lowered her voice. "I know what you mean about the lights," she said, smiling. "These Muggle electric spotlights are like death rays, aren't they? Too bad we didn't have one to use with the Wocket last year."

James grinned and flushed. "Yeah," he said, and then didn't know what else to say. "Er, do you know all your lines yet?"

"Not at all," Petra admitted. "Frankly, I feel a little bad about getting the role. Poor Josephina's been forced to work in the costume shop. She can't sew at all either. They just have her ripping seams when the others make mistakes. I hear the Vertigo Hex is still so strong that she can't even climb stairs. She's moved into the hospital wing until they can figure out a way to get her up to her dorm."

Petra's voice sounded concerned, but James saw that she was smiling a little. James realized it was a little funny. Josephina had been rather insufferable about getting the part of Astra, and James felt very strongly that Petra would play the part better anyway. He decided to say so to Petra.

"It is a shame about Josephina, I suppose," he said, "but I'm really glad you got the part. I'd much rather play Treus for you than for her."

"Places, everyone!" Curry called. "Mr. Potter, Miss Morganstern, this way please."

Petra glanced away at the sound of Curry's voice. "Come, James," she said, striding away, "our public awaits."

James felt himself blush. He watched Petra walk across the stage and then ran to catch up.

"Are you sure you don't want to come to Dad's flat with me for the holiday?" Ralph asked James and Rose as the three lurked around the halls late Saturday morning. "I came to your Christmas last year, so it'd be a fair trade. Dad's going to cook a goose and everything. Of course, there won't be any singing elf heads or Winkles and Augers or anything,"

"That's all right, Ralph," James answered. "I rather prefer a Christmas
without
singing elf heads, actually. But really, I think it'd be best for us to stay here."

"It's all right not to have magic for Christmas. There's no shame in your father being a Squib," Rose said, putting her hand on Ralph's shoulder, which was rather a reach for her. "He's quite an important man in the wizarding world these days. Head of Security and Precautionary Interference for Hogwarts, Diagon Alley, even Gringotts Bank, isn't he? Nobody else but him could do that since nobody else understands both Muggle electronics and magic like he does."

"Yeah, I know," Ralph said, grinning sheepishly. "And he's really good at it. He's helping the Ministry develop a new kind of Disillusionment Charm that only works on Muggle global positioning devices. I mean, the greatest flaw in the regular Disillusionment Charm is that a GPS device doesn't have a brain to fool. He's calling the new spell an 'Artificial Stupidity Hex'. He used to work on artificial intelligence software, so he says this is the next logical step. Once the hex is in place, it makes any Muggle positioning device see detours, roadblocks, heavy traffic, even cyclones and floods around any magical place. That way, both the Muggles and their technology will find those magical places invisible."

"That's brilliant," Rose said. "I mean, older generations of wizards never could have predicted the development of things like satellites and GPS devices and GameDecks with online chat capability. The wizarding world really needs a man like your dad to develop magical protections against things like that. He really was a godsend."

"Still," Ralph said, his face falling a little, "Dad has taken his old name again. Dolohov. He says he isn't going to let the selfishness of his father rob him of his magical heritage, but I know a little bit about that heritage, and it isn't all that great."

"You father's right," Rose said firmly. "You aren't responsible for anything your distant relatives did. I think it's very cool that your dad is changing the way people see the name Dolohov."

Ralph shrugged. "He's not changing it for
everyone.
Lots of people still hate the Dolohov name. Some of them are right here in school. Everybody knows what happened here. I mean, my uncle killed Ted Lupin's dad right downstairs. The Dolohov name is the name of murderers and traitors."