Next to James, his father stirred. "Like I said, it is old magic. So basic, so simple, that there is no word for it. It just is. The trade, the saving of one life by the sacrifice of another. It makes a bond, one that is unbreakable, one that forms a contract forever, just like the one that existed between me and Voldemort, the one that eventually killed him. Do you understand, James?"
James nodded. "Yeah. I mean… I guess so. But what's this have to do with—"
"James," Harry interrupted him, "tonight, something like that happened here, on this very ship. But different. I didn't know for sure, not when it happened. I couldn't see it because Merlin clouded the windows. But I sensed it. Some part of me… some buried, essential part of me… remembered the feeling of it. James, can you tell me… when Petra fell… did you see something? Something unusual?"
James felt cold to his toes. He looked at his father, his eyes wide, stunned. He didn't need to respond. Harry saw it in his son's eyes.
"Something happened between you and Petra. But it wasn't a trade. I don't know how, but you saved her, just like my mother saved me… but you did it without having to die yourself. You were willing to, though. Weren't you?"
James still stared up at his father, unseeing now as he thought back to the events of the night. He nodded.
Harry nodded as well. "I know. You were willing to die in her stead. And somehow that triggered the magic, caused that bond to happen, even though… you didn't have to die."
When James spoke, it was in a near whisper. "But… how is that possible? Your mum was a grown witch, and by all accounts, she was excellent. How could I perform a spell as serious and powerful as what she did?"
Harry shook his head. "It isn't that kind of magic, James. That's why Voldemort failed in the face of it. It isn't magic you learn. It isn't like transfiguration or flying a broom. For those who know love, it's just there, deep down, like an underground river, hidden and powerful. Very few witches and wizards ever have the need, or the depth of character, to call on it. You did, James. Just like my mother. You did."
"But… why did I live, then? If it's a trade…?"
Harry laid a hand on his son's shoulder. "I don't know. It's almost as if you tapped into some completely different form of magic, something beyond what we know or understand. All I know is that it happened, and… I'm proud of you, James. I can't tell you how proud I am, not just because of what you did, but because of how calm and sure you were when you did it." He sighed deeply, and then went on in a lower voice. "Neither can I tell you how relieved I was to see you and Petra come down those stairs together, wet and shaken as you were. Because for one horrid moment, I thought you were no more. I don't ever want to feel that way again. I don't think I could bear it."
James nodded. He understood very well what his father was talking about.
There didn't seem to be anything further to say. Harry put his arm around his son's shoulders and together they began to make their way to the stairs, heading back below-decks.
"Dad," James said as they moved through the darkness, "why did Merlin cover the windows? Why didn't he just use his powers to save Petra?"
Harry was silent for a long moment. James had begun to think his father wasn't going to answer at all, when he finally drew a deep breath.
"Merlinus is a mysterious and powerful wizard, James," he said carefully. "He comes from a dramatically different time. I don't understand why he does a lot of what he does. But he is very like my old Headmaster, Dumbledore, in one important way: he is wise. Wisdom does not come easily or cheaply, and it is to be respected wherever it can be found. I don't always understand Merlinus. But I respect him. He has his reasons, but they are his alone."
James was insistent. He stopped at the top of the deck stairs and turned to face his father. "Guess, Dad. Come on. You're smart. Take a guess."
Harry shook his head slowly, not in negation, but in deep thought. He looked out over the waves. "Merlin either knew that you were going to rescue Petra… or that Petra was going to be saved somehow, one way or another…," he said slowly, and then paused. Finally, he shrugged, still not meeting James' gaze. "Or, for whatever reason—and despite the fact that I hate to consider it— perhaps Merlin was willing… to allow Petra to die."
James felt a chill again. It coursed down his back, prickling his hair.
Harry saw the look on his son's face but didn't try to deny his words, nor did he add anything else to his statement. Finally, after a long thoughtful moment, the two of them descended into the warmth and light of the corridor. They said goodnight at James' door, and he climbed quietly into his bunk.
In the rocking darkness, James lifted his right hand and looked at it. The glowing silver thread was no longer visible, but he had a strong feeling that it was still there, just as real and strong as it had been earlier that night, when it had been the only thing between Petra and the rushing waves. James had been willing to die for Petra. He hadn't known it at the time, had not consciously thought about it, but there was no doubt about it. He had been willing to trade his life for hers.
Merlin, on the other hand, might well have been willing to allow Petra to die. Incredible as it seemed, he might not have raised a single magical finger to save her. James shook his head slowly on his pillow, letting his hand thump to the bed next to him. He trusted Merlin. His experiences last year had cemented his belief in the old man's wisdom and good intent, just as James' dad had said, but what could possibly explain the fact that Merlin might have chosen not to save Petra? Suddenly, James' heart dropped and his eyes widened. What if Merlin himself had conjured the storm? Nature was his medium, after all, and the source of his powers. What if the storm really had been of magical origin, and Petra's death had been its intent?
It was completely ridiculous, of course. Merlin could be trusted. James knew that now, fully and deeply. Merlin was a good guy.
But what about Petra, James asked himself, unable to silence the voice of his deepest, most honest heart. After all, Petra believes that she has killed. If she did, maybe Phyllis deserved it, but then again, maybe she didn't. Maybe Albus is right. Maybe the only reason Petra isn't in Azkaban is because nobody can prove what she did. Maybe Merlin was willing to let Petra die tonight because… Petra isn't good. Maybe she's bad. Worse, maybe she's bad… and powerful.
James stopped his thoughts before they could go any further. Petra wasn't bad. She might be confused, and she was certainly sick in some way, but deep down she was good. He knew it. If Merlin thought otherwise—and James couldn't really know if he did, despite how things might have appeared earlier that night—then he was simply wrong.
Thinking that, James finally drifted into a fitful, restless sleep.
The next day, after breakfast, Barstow reined Henrietta in, halting the Gwyndemere on the rocking waves. With Dodongo's help, the crew heaved swordfish carcasses overboard, and James, Ralph, and Lucy watched as Henrietta caught them in her jaws, crunching them up whole.
"Was it like the glowing rope you saw last year?" Ralph asked quietly. "In the cave, when we went to get Merlin's cache?"
James shook his head. "No. That started out as a sunbeam, and then turned into a plain old rope, made out of some kind of gold stuff. This was like… like a thread spun out of moonlight."
Ralph frowned. "What do you think, Lu?"
"I think Uncle Harry was right about what he told James. It's old magic. Not everybody can tap into it. And when they do, it's not like something you can control. It'd be like trying to bottle a lightning bolt."
"What about Petra, though?" James said, glancing between the two of them. "She does magic without a wand! Is that… normal?"
"It isn't normal, of course," Lucy replied. "But it isn't completely unheard of. Lots of people practice wandless magic, as a sort of hobby. It's just very hard to manage. The wand focuses magic, like a magnifying glass can focus a sunbeam and turn it into a torch. Maybe Petra's just especially talented."
Ralph looked around to make s
ure no one was nearby, and then said in a low voice, "I'm more worried about the bit where she told you someone or something was following her around. I mean, is she just being paranoid? Or is there really somebody after her? And maybe the rest of us too?"
"If it really was someone evil," Lucy mused, "then Merlin would have felt it. He's dead powerful that way. Still, there was that scary moment when the pirate ships nearly captured us all. Maybe that's what she was thinking of."
Both Ralph and Lucy looked at James, but he merely shrugged and shook his head.
Shortly, Barstow ordered the hatches closed again in preparation for the last leg of the ocean journey. "That's my girl, Henrietta," he called down affectionately. "Just a wee bit further, then Dodongo will put in his little bit and give you a well-deserved break."
Henrietta frolicked in the water, swimming in massive circles and figures of eight, her humps slicing through the waves. She thrashed her tail and flung seawater from her great, scaly head. Finally, Barstow climbed into the brass chair, whistling.
"Want to man the reins one more time, James?" he called down, grinning. "Last chance before landfall!"
James shook his head, but couldn't help smiling. "No thanks."
"Suit yourself," Barstow said, shrugging. He called a short incantation and the magical fishing line pulsed once. Henrietta lunged forward and the boat lurched behind her, rising onto the waves.
As the journey neared its end, James found that the thrill of it had finally worn off. He was eager to reach land again and found himself lurking around the bow as the day progressed, watching the horizon for any sign of their destination. Ralph accompanied him sometimes, as did Albus and Lucy. After lunch, Petra joined him, leading Izzy at her side. The three sat cross-legged on the deck, leaning against the railing, talking idly about what the United States might be like. Interestingly, Petra seemed to be feeling rather better, to the point where she almost seemed like her old self. She laughed as they spoke, and James was glad to hear it. He wanted to ask her about the magic, about how she did it without her wand, but he didn't. Later, he would, but not now. The timing just wasn't right.
Finally, as the sun began its descent back toward the horizon, James heard a babble of voices and looked up. Persephone Remora and her gaggle of fellow travelers were climbing onto the bow, squinting in the sunlight, their faces pale as gravestones.
"Yes, my friends, I believe you are correct," Remora announced, lifting her face to the breeze. "I can smell it as well. The dark purple scent of lifeblood is thick on the wind. We are very nearly home."
James sighed and rolled his eyes. He stood and threaded through the black-clothed figures, heading below-decks. He sensed the teenagers looking at him as he passed, their faces sly and sarcastic.
Later, James, along with his fellow travelers, climbed a circular stairway to the top of the deckhouse, eager to catch their first glimpse of the United States. James elbowed in between Albus and Lucy at the railing, watching as an irregular dark shape grew on the horizon. Below, the bow looked very small and narrow. James could clearly see Henrietta carving the waves up ahead, her long lithe body rippling just under the rushing surface.
"Are you excited?" Lucy asked, leaning eagerly over the railing, her dark eyes sparkling. "I sure am. I can't wait to get there."
"Why are you so hopped up about it, Lu?" Albus asked. "You've traveled all over the world."
"Sure," Lucy answered, shrugging, "but that was the world. This is the United States. For better or worse, there's no other place quite like it."
Albus scoffed darkly. "The same thing can be said about James' clothes hamper."
"Look," Molly cried suddenly, pointing. "Over there, just to the left of the bow. See? Buildings! That's the skyline! We're nearly there!"
James looked. He wasn't sure he was seeing the same thing Molly was seeing, but it was exciting nonetheless. The great landmass grew and spread, slowly expanding to fill the entire western horizon. As the fog of distance dissipated, James began to recognize the shapes of a great city. Buildings towered up toward the sky, clumped together like stacks of gigantic toy blocks. Finally, as they got close enough for James to make out the faces of individual skyscrapers and to recognize the shapes of other ships clustered around the sprawling ports, Barstow halted the Gwyndemere. Deftly, he used his own wand to release Henrietta from her harness chain. A few quick commands and words of praise sent the great sea serpent curling down under the boat, where she would apparently hide for the landward side of the journey. Much more slowly, then, the Gwyndemere began to creep forward, propelled by Dodongo's dutiful pedaling below-decks. James turned and saw the smokestack behind him issuing a stream of black smoke: the giant ape's last huge cigar, of course. He grinned, and then turned back to the approaching land.
"The Statue of Liberty," Harry announced from behind James. James saw it, standing tall and straight before the massive city, faint in the misty distance. The statue seemed to regard them mildly, her torch raised high overhead, glinting gold as the sun shone on it. Behind James, his father sighed and said, rather more quietly. "The United States. What would Severus Snape say, I wonder."
"He'd say to keep one hand on your wand and the other on your wallet," Albus said, grinning crookedly.
"We're nearly to port," Percy announced briskly, clapping his hands together. "I suggest we all head below and make ourselves ready. The journey isn't over yet! We've still a way to go before nightfall, and our escorts will be meeting us at customs."
James turned aside, peering around Ralph toward his cousin Lucy. "Is your dad always this chipper when he's traveling?"
Lucy nodded somberly. "He thrives on it. The good part is that we can always leave him to manage all the business of it and just enjoy the sights ourselves. Should be interesting."
"Famous last words," Albus said, narrowing his eyes.
Slowly, James and his family and friends began to thread back down the spiral stairway. By the time they had lugged their trunks back onto the main deck, they were very nearly at port. The shadows of the skyscrapers fell over the Gwyndemere as she angled into a narrow inlet, surrounded by massive cargo ships and rusty tugboats. Gulls soared and lofted on the air currents, calling derisively over the waves. The air was thick with the mingled smells of dead fish, seaweed, and, unfortunately, garbage. James turned to watch as a huge barge of rubbish lumbered past them, piled high and surrounded by its own cloud of screeching gulls.
"I hope this isn't a sign of things to come," Ralph said, staring up at the stinking piles of trash.
"Buck up, Ralph," Petra said, coming up behind them and smiling. "A city that can afford to throw that much rubbish away must be a city worth seeing, right?"
Ralph shook his head uncertainly. "If you say so."
"I do," Petra said, and something in her voice made James turn around. To his eyes, Petra certainly didn't appear sick anymore, and the sight made his heart rejoice. She drew in a great, contented breath and let it out slowly, looking up at the towering, glittering buildings. "New York," she said on the exhale, narrowing her eyes slightly. "You know what they call it, don't you?"
James shook his head, smiling at her with bemusement.
"They call it The City that Never Sleeps," she answered herself, nodding with approval. "I like that. I like it very much."
James couldn't stop looking at her. To him, she was very nearly radiant. Beyond her, the buildings loomed and glimmered, casting their shadows over her, sparkling in the setting sun.
Somewhere nearby, a tugboat sounded its horn. James barely heard it.
The next half hour went past in a blur of bustling crowds, echoing announcements, long queues, and flashing signs. James drifted through it all in a sort of dazed wonder, glad that his dad and Uncle Percy seemed to be managing the various questions, connections, and directions. The American wizarding customs agent didn't even look up as James moved in front of the high counter, following Lucy and Izzy.
"Name," the man said, holding ou
t his hand, palm up. James had been watching, so he knew what to do. He dropped his wand into the man's hand.
"James Sirius Potter," he called through the noise of the crowd.
"Reason for visiting the United States?" the agent asked in a bored monotone.
"I'm here with my dad, Harry Potter," James answered. He was satisfied to see the agent blink and look up at him over his glasses. It was a brief look, but James knew what it meant. Even here, Harry Potter was a well-known figure.
"Are you transporting any fruit, vegetables, potions, beasts, insects, cursed objects, or forbidden artifacts into the United States?"
"No," James said, and then added, "er, I have an owl. Nobby. Does he count?"
"Service animals are permitted, so long as they can pass a routine health inspection," the agent said, holding James' wand under a large magnifying glass. Smoky shapes on the glass resolved into letters, and James craned to read them. He was interested to see that the letters spelled out the last several spells he had performed—mostly levitations, but also the hiding spells he had used on Petra's letter—as well as the construction and core details of his wand. The agent quickly jotted James' name on a much-used chalkboard and the letters appeared a moment later on the magnifying glass, beneath the information about his wand. The agent turned and handed the wand back to James over the counter.
"Are you a registered or undocumented werewolf, Animagus, Metamorphmagus, vampire, shape-shifter, or beast-whisperer?" he said, rattling off the words as if he had asked the same question a million times before, which he probably had.
James tried to replay the question in his head. "Er, I don't think so," he answered.
"Welcome to the United States," the agent said, unsmiling. "And good luck, Mr. Potter."
"Er, thanks." James replied. As he moved forward in line, making room for Ralph to hand over his own unusually large wand, James turned and saw his father at an adjacent queue, behind Merlin and in front of his mum. They were all talking, their heads close together.