Filch glanced quickly back at the students. "Well. No sir. Not as such. I didn't think… that is, I thought it might be better if… surprise being the preferred…"
"Relax, my friend," Grudje said, raising a calm hand. "There is no wrong answer. No technicalities upon which your quarry will slip through your grasp. And yet, with the capture of these unfortunate miscreants, I believe the time for secrecy has passed. Students," Grudje turned and looked back at Zane, Nastasia, Lily, Scorpius and James. "You are now aware that your dear caretaker, bereft these many years of the powers required to fully occupy his post, has now been equipped and deputized by myself to do everything necessary to maintain order and discipline within these walls."
"But," Lily said in a tiny voice. "Magic doesn't work that way, does it? You can't just give a wand to someone without magic and expect it to work."
"Very astute, Ms. Potter," Grudje replied encouragingly. "As such, you surely know that the spells employed by Mr. Filch are not his own. The magic of your caretaker's cane is my magic. I would urge you not to test its limits. But onto business. Mr. Caretaker, if I am not mistaken, two of these individuals are not, in fact, Hogwarts students."
"No, sir," Filch grumbled reluctantly, eyeing Zane and Nastasia. "They've abused their privileges, sneaking onto Hogwarts property by means of those damned cabinets. You'll recall that it was my recommendation that their doors be guarded at all times."
"In any case," the headmaster nodded indulgently, "these two are not our jurisdiction. Please see that they are escorted back to their proper school once we are through. I will speak directly to their chancellor and assure that their misdeeds are addressed in an appropriate manner."
"Headmaster," James said nervously, stepping forward. "We really need to explain what we saw tonight. We'll accept whatever punishment you give us, but this is really important."
Grudje met James' eyes for a long moment, his gaze utterly inscrutable. Finally, he spread his hands and bowed his head slightly. "Go ahead, Mr. Potter," he said with silky magnanimity. "You have the floor."
James drew a deep breath, glancing quickly back at the others. Scorpius glared at him severely and shook his head. Lily's eyes were still wide with terror. Nastasia looked away, her face as pale as a gravestone.
"We were out after hours," James admitted, turning back to Grudje. "And we were using the Invisibility Cloak. Filch is right. He caught us, fair enough. But there was something else. All of us saw it…"
Clumsily but thoroughly, James described the watery woman; her appearance out of the mysterious puddle, her attempted abduction of Lily, and her furious battle with the snake. Lily nodded her corroboration, shuddering at the memory. Zane and Scorpius offered their own details, explaining how the battle had ended, the liquefaction of the water woman, her escape down the grate, and the fleeing of the giant snake.
Nastasia merely stared into the dark fireplace, as if wishing it were lit and she had a handful of Floo powder, desperate to transport herself somewhere else-anywhere else.
James did not tell what he knew about her and the snake.
Grudje listened, his grey face showing merely polite patience. When the tale was finished, he nodded to himself and drew a deep breath. "Mr. Caretaker," he said, returning to his desk. "Please escort the Alma Aleron students to their cabinet. The other three will then accompany you to your office. I trust you to implement their discipline as you see fit."
Filch's face creased into a tight smile. "Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."
"But wait a minute," Scorpius interjected, his brow lowering. "Aren't you going to do anything about what we saw? Someone broke into the school and nearly got away with a student!"
"Mr. Malfoy," Grudje replied smoothly, seating himself creakily behind his desk. "I assure you, we are all quite safe. I would encourage you to be rather more concerned about your discipline."
"We all saw her!" James insisted, approaching Grudje's desk. "You can't just ignore that!"
The headmaster turned toward Filch, "Tell me, Mr. Caretaker, did you see this mysterious figure?"
Filch's smile cinched a notch tighter. "No, Headmaster. I certainly did not."
Grudje nodded approvingly. "Very well. And did you, perchance, encounter any evidence of a break-in?"
"None apart from the unlocked Great Hall doors, sir," Filch replied, raising his chin. "No doubt the work of these two invaders."
"There you have it," Grudje gestured toward Filch. "It seems that there was indeed a break-in. Fortunately, the perpetrators have been quite handily captured by our tireless caretaker. I see no more cause for concern."
Lily stepped forward, joining her brother before the desk. "But she tried to take me! She was made of water! If it hadn't been for that giant snake…!"
For the first time, Grudje's face displayed emotion; James saw anger rise into the headmaster's eyes, whitening his already pale cheeks. "Ms. Potter," he said coolly, quietly, "I am disappointed to see that you have adopted your brother's penchant for seeking attention via elaborate stories. Or perhaps you are merely a willing accomplice and this is all his idea? Frankly, I find either option distasteful in the extreme."
James stared at the headmaster in shock. "But… we didn't make any of it up!" he exclaimed. "We all saw it! Why would we invent something so horrible?"
"Why indeed?" Grudje concurred. "I suspect it is a family trait, passed on from father to son. And now, unfortunately, to daughter as well. This, you may as well know, is what the caretaker will be implementing punishment for. Not the mere sneaking out after hours. Under previous headmasters, your outlandish stories have been allowed to take root, to foment fear and panic, all so that you may assume some sense of importance. You wish for fame, Mr. Potter, like your father before you. He had his basilisk; you have your mysterious giant snake. He had his Lord Voldemort. You have your Lady of the Lake." He arched his eyebrows as James' face paled. "Yes, Mr. Potter, I know of the stories you have told in the wake of last summer's events. Profiting from the unfortunate accidental death of your own cousin. Others may tolerate your wild tales, calling them delusion or shock, but I know a plain liar when I meet one, Mr. Potter. You, I fear, are beyond hope. Your young sister, however… may not be so far gone."
Grudje turned to Filch again. "A change of plan, Mr. Caretaker," he announced. "Do not punish Mr. Potter after all. There is no point, as you can see. He is unteachable. Rather, add his punishment to his sister's, and see to it that he watches. Perhaps she may yet learn not to emulate his mistakes, and he may understand the consequences of involving her in them."
Lily's hand suddenly gripped James', squeezing so hard he could feel it tremble.
"You can't do that!" James exclaimed, at exactly the same moment that Zane proclaimed the same thing.
"I assure you that I can," Grudje said, a note of smugness creeping into his voice as he dismissed them.
Filch began to herd the students toward the door, a tight, merciless smile still etched on his face. James shook his head, refusing to go. He approached the headmaster's desk directly and leaned on it with both hands.
"I'll tell my dad," he said furiously.
Grudje looked up at him, his eyebrows rising inquisitively. "Will you?" he replied thoughtfully. "Yes, perhaps you should. The elder Potter would indeed be quite unhappy about these events. And yet you may be interested to know that, as a parent of students at this school, both your mother and father have legally granted me the freedom to maintain order as I see fit. This includes disciplinary actions. In short, I am not only acting on behalf of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, but on behalf of your parents. They may indeed decide they cannot support my methods, but that would place them in breach of our agreement, and that, I fear, would necessarily require your removal from this school. Perhaps you would prefer that?"
James' face burned red with anger and confusion. Was the headmaster telling the truth? Had his parents made an agreement with Hogwarts to support whatever disciplines the headmaster
doled out? Could he, James, truly afford to be removed from Hogwarts while there were so many dodgy and dangerous things going on?
Grudje seemed to sense what James was thinking. He allowed a very small smile. "Come, Mr. Potter," he beckoned softly. "I can light the fire in my grate. We can contact your father immediately. Surely he is awake by now, preparing for his oh-so-important work as head Auror? Why, with any luck you may be comfortably returned to your home in Marble Arch this very evening. Shall we, Mr. Potter? Let us not keep the others waiting."
James was frozen with indecision. Next to him, Lily trembled. She leaned close to him and whispered, "Please, don't James. We can't leave Hogwarts! I… I can handle this."
James looked aside at her in surprise. He could see that she meant it. He sighed with deep reluctance.
"No," he answered finally.
"I'm sorry?" Grudje raised his voice. "Forgive me. My hearing is not quite what it used to be."
"I said no," James repeated miserably, standing away from the headmaster's desk.
Grudje nodded gravely. "I see. Well then. Mr. Caretaker, the day is begun. If you hurry, you may mete out your disciplines before classes begin. No point putting off the inevitable."
Scorpius shook his head. "But we've been up all night," he said hopelessly. "And it's breakfast. Aren't detentions usually scheduled for a later time?"
Grudje clucked his tongue lightly. "I fear you should have thought of that before making the unwise choice to engage in lies and debauchery. But fear not, Mr. Malfoy," the headmaster smiled benignly. "You are building character! Like young Ms. Potter, there may yet be hope for you as well. Choose your friends better, young man, and let us hope that our next meeting will be under happier circumstances."
Hopelessly, James turned to leave, reaching to collect the Invisibility Cloak from the corner of Grudje's desk. The headmaster moved with lithe suddenness, pinning the Cloak to the desk with his wand.
"I think I shall keep this for a while," Grudje chided softly. "After all, it does present a rather irresistible temptation to someone of your personality. Doesn't it, Mr. Potter?"
James could hear the smile in the headmaster's voice. He refused to look at him. After a long, wretched pause, he released the Cloak, leaving it on the corner of the desk.
"Come along, my pets," Filch urged cheerfully. "The headmaster is right. The day is already begun, and we have much to do. Oh yes," he nodded eagerly, his beady eyes sparkling. "Much to do indeed."
As Filch pushed them toward the door, James glanced aside at the collection of portraits of former headmasters. Merlin's hung closest to the door, still dead as wood, its eyes staring like coins. Next to this, Severus Snape watched coolly, his black eyes imperious and smug.
Next to him, however, the portrait of Albus Dumbledore hung blank, dark, and conspicuously empty.
Filch muttered to himself as he led James, Lily and Scorpius down, staircase after staircase, to his office in the labyrinthine depths of the dungeons. Mrs. Norris ran ahead, her bushy tail held high, meowing eagerly.
Nastasia and Zane were gone, sent back to Alma Aleron via the cupboards in the Great Hall. Filch had not paused even to allow the remaining three to nip a piece of toast from the platters lining the house tables. Few other students were up this early, but the ones who were watched with pale faces and wide eyes as Filch herded the three back toward the doors, smiling thinly, his cane rapping loudly on the stone floor.
"Here we are, then," he said with mock cordiality, shaking out an enormous key ring. It jingled like sleigh bells as he socked the long key into its hole and twisted. The door creaked open and Filch gave it an impatient shove, banging it against a line of antique wooden filing cabinets. He showed his teeth to James and raised an arm welcomingly. "After you, my pet."
James took a deep, shaky breath and led Lily into the room, Scorpius following close behind. Filch's office was quite small, almost unbearably stuffy, and obviously unaccustomed to visitors. In the centre of the room a tall desk stood, every inch of its surface buried under layers and layers of parchments, newspapers, cheap magazines, disused mugs and goblets, bottles, ratty quills, dry ink pots, and assorted, indecipherable odds and ends. More stacks leaned against the wall behind the desk, reaching nearly to the ceiling and looking precarious enough to fall over at the slightest breath. There was just enough of a pathway for Filch to round his desk and reach a rickety rolling chair, which he pushed aside. Its wheels screeched like angry rats.
"Well?" he demanded, eyeing the three severely. "Sit!" He gestured with one callused hand toward the row of filing cabinets which squatted behind the door. Shoved against them, half-buried in years of clutter, was a small classroom desk. Two child-sized chairs were crammed beneath it.
"Not you," Filch growled as James approached the desk tentatively. "You'll stand. Just there. And shut the door fast before you let all the heat out. Where are your manners?"
Reluctantly, James pushed the door shut until the lock clicked. Behind him, the tiny chairs scraped and rattled as Scorpius and Lily sat.
"I've got just the thing for you two," Filch said on the tail of a sigh, as if he had been waiting years for this moment. With surprising delicacy, he reached down and unrolled a drawer from the middle of his desk. "A great man is Headmaster Grudje. A great man indeed. But he is not the first headmaster of this school to truly understand the importance of discipline. There was once a headmistress… a woman of surprising talents and admirable convictions…"
As Filch spoke, he withdrew a pair of quills from the drawer and examined them critically. Their feathers were black, matted and greasy looking. The quill tips were yellowed with age, stained an unsettling maroon at their points. Without looking up from the quills, Filch rounded the desk, approaching the students.
"In the good old days," he said quietly, almost to himself, "we had thumbscrews and racks. I thought I understood punishment. But that headmistress showed me the subtle art of discipline. Sometimes, it is the softest voice that speaks the loudest. Sometimes, the lightest lines cut the deepest…"
Filch sighed disconsolately, lost in memory. Finally, he looked down at the students again. "I had a picture of that headmistress for quite a long time, hung right next to my desk there. Had to take it down. Some people thought it a bit… impolitic. She was imprisoned by that time, after all, however unjustly. She died there, in Azkaban."
Filch stared at the blank spot on the wall for a long moment. James had the unsettling suspicion that there were tears glimmering in the old man's eyes. He made no effort to wipe them away.
Finally, he sniffed hugely, turned, and held up the quills. "But in some ways she lives on. These once were hers, left behind upon her rather abrupt departure. I claimed them, of course, knowing there would be a day when they would prove useful once again. Here you go, my young miss…" With a stiff bow and a moist-eyed smile, he handed one of the quills delicately to Lily. She took it with great trepidation, pinching its feather between her thumb and forefinger.
Filch nodded approvingly, and then proffered the second quill to Scorpius. James felt a deepening sensation of coldness in his stomach, despite the warmth of the room.
"Lines, my pets," Filch announced, turning away. He collected his cane where it leant in the corner, then pointed it at back at Scorpius and Lily, who flinched. "Exorier!" he spat fervently. With a pop, large sheets of blank parchment appeared before the seated students.
Filch lowered his cane proudly and scratched his chin. "Let us see. How about 'I… will… not… associate… with… troublemakers'. Yes," he nodded, narrowing his eyes at James. "I think that will do nicely. One hundred repetitions, if you please. That means two hundred for you, my pet, since you are assuming your brother's portion. Morning classes are barely an hour away. If you cannot finish the task before then, you will return this evening for one hundred more."
Scorpius rolled his eyes irritably. "Fine," he sighed. "Ink, please?"
"Oh," Filch smiled broadly. "Ink won't
be necessary." Suddenly, a thought seemed to strike him. He leaned close to Lily. A moment later, she hissed in pain and withdrew her hand. She looked down at it in alarm. A tiny scratch had appeared on the smooth skin of the back of her hand, already welling blood.
"It won't heal," Filch said, still smiling encouragingly, "until you finish the entire line."
"Look," James spoke up, stepping forward to get between Filch and Lily. "I'm the one who did wrong. Not her. I should be the one doing lines. She's just a first year!"
"Step… back!" Filch commanded, raising his voice to a hoarse roar. He placed his hand against James' chest and shoved him firmly backwards. "You'll stand there and watch or I will double her lines this moment. Understood?"
James felt a nearly undeniable urge to shove the old man's hand away. He wanted to brandish his wand and curse Filch right in the face. His hands balled into hard fists at the very thought. Behind Filch, Lily watched, her face draining of colour, cradling her wounded hand.
Filch leaned closer to James, his brow lowering. "You had your chance to run back to your daddy, Potter," he breathed. "Now, your only choice is to submit. Or perhaps you are thinking of a duel?" He raised his stubbly chin, a mean smile curling the corners of his mouth. "In the past, poor old Squib Filch would have been no match. But now… things have changed a bit, haven't they?"
He rapped his cane menacingly on the floor. Without taking his eyes from James' face, he stepped backwards, watching.
"Write!" he commanded.
Lily jumped. She leaned over her parchment, lowered the quill once again in her trembling, bleeding hand, and began to write once more. James listened, his fists still trembling at his sides, as her quill scratched over the parchment. Blood-red words began to glisten in her neat, slanting handwriting. Blood-red scratches dug magically into the pale skin of her hand.