“He’s no grown-up,” Ralph muttered, his eyes still narrowed.
“He’s barely older than us, no matter what his actual age. And he’s as dodgy as the day is long.”
Rose glanced from Ralph to James as they paced into the evening dark of the corridors. “I don’t know which one of you is right,” she admitted. “Maybe both, maybe neither. But I do know this: Professor Odin-Vann is our best hope for helping Petra. We may not have to trust him. But we can trust her.” She paused to consider this for a moment, and then gave an agitated shrug. “Hopefully.”
With that hanging in the air between them, none of them spoke during the rest of the trek back to their dormitories.
No matter how prepared James believed he was to assist Petra on her final mission, he hadn’t been prepared to hear from Professor Odin-Vann about it quite so quickly. He was at lunch that Friday when a stiff index finger poked him hard on the shoulder, startling him. He turned, half expecting to see the obnoxious twit Edgar Edgecombe and his first-year cronies grinning maliciously at him. Instead, he was met with the thin chest and faintly mouldy smell of Argus Filch, who was standing immediately behind him. James looked to see the man glaring down at him, his stubbly chin bristling.
“Detention, Mr. Potter,” he said from between gritted teeth.
“Compliments of Professor Odin-Vann.” He stabbed out something in his left hand. James flinched back from it, and then saw that it was a rolled parchment, sealed with a blot of shiny red wax. Tentatively, he reached for it and plucked it from the caretaker’s horny fingers.
Filch leaned close and growled, “The professor invokes Ordinance Thirteen, Mr. Potter. You are familiar with that ordinance, I trust?”
James shook his head.
Filch clucked his tongue. “It means your punishment is not to be discussed with any other students. It’s a stipulation meant to avoid rumours during strict, unresolved disciplinary sentences. My, my, my, Mr. Potter,” he shook his head with mock concern. “What have you done this time?”
A moment later, the caretaker creaked away, leaving a pall of cold silence in his wake. James hunkered low and tucked the rolled parchment into his robes, anxious to read its contents but knowing he dare not in such a public place.
“What did you do?” Graham asked softly, morbidly impressed.
“Now, now,” Scorpius chided. “Ordinance Thirteen, you know.
We wouldn’t want our curiosity to suck us into whatever fate is about to befall the young hooligan, would we?”
As James watched furtively, he saw Filch approach Rose where she sat further down the table. The caretaker didn’t need to tap her on the shoulder. She saw him coming, and her eyes were bright with glassy trepidation. James didn’t have to guess that Filch’s next stop would be at the Slytherin table.
But, in fact, that did not happen. After serving Rose her own small scroll, which she tucked quickly into her knapsack, Filch ambled toward the rear of the Hall and his customary place next to the doors.
He turned and gave a nasty wink and nod toward the dais, content with the completion of his favorite duties.
James turned on his seat. Donofio Odin-Vann was watching from the head table. His gaze did not dart away this time as James looked at him, but neither did he show any sign of secret communication. Whatever James needed to know, it would apparently be on the sealed scroll currently in his pocket.
He ate as quickly as he could and stood to leave well before anyone else. Eyes watched him from all around, some impressed, like Graham, and others merely grimly curious. James ignored the stares and whispers as well as he could as he hoiked his knapsack onto his back, and was just shouldering through the double doors into the entrance hall when a girl’s voice called out to him, surprising him in his tracks.
He turned around in the deserted entryway, expecting to see Rose. Instead, Millie Vandergriff followed him through the double doors, allowing them to creak shut behind her.
“What sort of trouble are you in?” she asked, her voice a mixture of warm concern and delicious conspiracy. “Does it have to do with that stupid interview? We did everything we could to keep you from jamming both feet into your mouth, but puppets can only do so much…”
James shook his head and rolled his eyes. “No. I can’t really talk about it. Ordinance thirteen, apparently. It could get you into trouble, too.”
Millie gave a wry smile. “How very noble of you to be so concerned with my welfare. Can you at least tell me about it when it’s all over?”
“I suppose so,” James shrugged distractedly, edging backwards across the entrance hall, anxious for a moment alone to read Odin-Vann’s note. “If you really want to know. But, it might not be what you expect.”
“I do want to know,” Millie said with a firm nod. “And I imagine it’s exactly the last thing any of us would expect. That’s why I’m curious.”
“What do you mean?” James paused, allowing Millie to join him in the centre of the floor.
“You’re James Potter, aren’t you?” She smiled again and cocked her head. Her eyes were very blue, sparkling with something like mischief in the dimness of the entrance hall. “You went into the Chamber of Secrets after Petra Morganstern when she kidnapped your sister. You were in the Hogwarts Express engine with Headmaster Merlin when the train nearly went over a cliff, and you both saved it, along with the rest of us. You were right there in the middle of it on the Night of the Unveiling.” She arched one eyebrow sardonically. “You do seem to get into loads of trouble, James, but it’s not usually of the detention variety. Frankly, I’m a little jealous.”
“Of me?” James frowned in surprise. “Believe me, you wouldn’t want to be in the sorts of trouble I’ve been in.” He sighed briskly and ran a hand through his messy hair, adding, “And still am in, actually.”
Millie took another small step closer, drawing James into her gaze. “I’m not jealous of you, silly. Believe it or not, you aren’t just the son of Harry Potter anymore. When people talk about you in the dormitories and common rooms, they’re not telling stories about what happened a few decades ago to your dad. They’re talking about the things you’ve done yourself. You don’t know that, do you? You’re a bit of a legendary figure yourself these days. You, and Ralph Deedle, and Zane Walker, and Rose Weasley.” Her eyes ticked to the side and she reached up, combed a stray lock of blonde hair behind her ear. “It’s her I’m a little jealous of.”
“Why?” James asked incredulously, frowning. “Her biggest job seems to be constantly reminding us of how we’re going to ruin the whole universe by tinkering with super dangerous stuff and how she’d be so much smarter and quicker doing the dangerous tinkering instead.”