Nine Days Earlier

“That bloody cow!”

James was incensed. He was sitting at the Leaky Cauldron with Scorpius Malfoy, his brother’s best friend, in order to inform him in person of Albus’s recently contracted illness. However, that morning’s Daily Prophet had him ready to strangle a reporter with his bare hands.

“How dare she say such things about Albus!” James fumed. “She acts like he got Midas Disease on purpose. Only a complete nutter could believe that.” He slammed his hand on the table, hard, causing their drinks to slosh here and there.

Scorpius sat patiently, waiting for James to become more reasonable. Once satisfied that he could speak without sparking James’s pique, he asked, “So, aside from slanderous beat writers, you have quite a story to tell, my friend. First of all, what in the name of Merlin is ‘Midas Disease?’”

His mind diverted from the newspaper article, James explained, “Midas Disease is an extremely rare disorder in which the infected person’s bones slowly succumb to alchemization, or turn to solid gold. There hasn’t been a documented case of it for well over five hundred years.”

Brow furrowed in concern, Scorpius asked, “So, is there a cure? And, if not, what happens to someone who has it?”

This caused James to frown even more. “Well, the disease itself doesn’t kill, because we have potions that can substitute the bone’s marrow functions. It’s the heavy metal poisoning from the gold that does it, so if his bones aren’t recalcified, Al doesn’t have a chance in hell of living through this.”

“Damn,” Scorpius swore. “Now I see what you mean. A cure?”

James shook his head. “The only known cure is the stomach bile of a Griffin.”

“Guardians of treasure; I guess it makes sense. But aren’t they extinct?” Scorpius was extremely concerned; Albus, who had been his friend for well over twenty years, could and probably would die, and they all seemed helpless.

Sighing, James replied. “’Fraid so. We’re researching alternative treatments at St. Mungo’s right now, but I don’t think there is anything. The last Griffin was destroyed early last century when some wizard used his powers to dig up an Egyptian pharaoh’s tomb�”Tutankhamun, I believe.”

“Damn,” Scorpius repeated. “So, what can we do? We can’t just sit here and let him die!” His normally placid demeanor became one of anger and frustration.

His own disgruntlement apparent, James snapped, “Don’t you think I know that? He’s my brother, Scorpius. What about his wife? His daughter!” Running his fingers through his hair, James flung himself from his chair, knocking it to the floor. He paced the room, ignoring the stares of slightly alarmed onlookers. “I don’t know what to do.”

Scorpius, who was immensely more composed than James, asked, “So, are any Griffins unaccounted for?”

Flinging his arms wildly, almost clobbering another patron, James said loudly, “No, there aren’t any. I�”“ He ended his sentence abruptly and sunk deep into thought. After what seemed like an eternity to Scorpius, James finally asked, “Do you know anything about the treasure of Godric Gryffindor?”

Rolling his eyes, Scorpius joked, “Wrong house, mate. I’ve no idea what that is.” He crossed his arms. “Where are you going with this?”

James’s eyes lit animatedly. “Gryffindor was filthy rich when he died, yet no one ever saw so much as a Galleon of his wealth. It was rumored that he hid it somewhere to keep it from deterring him from his teaching duties.”

“So, you’re saying that there’s a king’s ransom out there, and if I’m understanding you correctly, you believe there will be a Griffin guarding it.” Scorpius’s tone was incredulous.

“Exactly! I can’t believe I didn’t think about it before. Send an owl to Luna Scamander and tell her where I’m going. I have ten days before Al is too far gone. I�”“ Snatching his cloak, he plunked down a Galleon to cover his drinks. “I have to go!”

As James flew out the door, pinching the bridge of his nose, Scorpius mumbled to himself, “Did he actually say where he was going?”

When he reached his home, James ran through the door and into the attic, where his old school books were stored. He dug through them furiously until he found the one he sought, A History of Magic. In the index, he identified every entrance for Godric Gryffindor. After flipping through the pages, James found the object of his search.

He descended the stairs at a furious pace and went to pack a few necessary items. The commotion was so great that it brought his wife, Augusta, into the room, who clearly thought he was an intruder. When she saw it was James, she lowered her wand and glowered.

“James, what on earth are you doing?” She put her hands on her hips the way she did when their son was doing something naughty, but James hardly diverted his attention from packing.

Not even bothering to look at her, James answered, “I have to go, love. I think I have a lead on a cure for Albus.”

This changed Augusta’s tone immediately. “You’re not doing something dangerous, are you?”

Exhaling resignedly, James looked at his wife. “Guss, I have to do this. He’d do the same for me, and I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t do everything I could to help him.”

Augusta took this as confirmation that his mission would indeed be dangerous, but also that she could not stop him. “Please be careful,” she said quietly.

James kissed her hard, surprising her. “I really do love you more than life itself. You know that, right?”

“I do.” She bit her bottom lip, trying to keep herself from tearing up. It seemed as if he was saying it in case he did not return, which scared the hell out of her. “I love you, James. Remember that before you do anything stupid.”

She knows me too well, he thought. “I will.” Giving her one last peck on the cheek, James collected his bag and sprinted out the door to the nearest place that was safe for Apparition.

As Augusta watched her husband leave without so much as a backward glance, she felt her heart tear into shreds. Their family would not recover if something were to happen to him.

James Apparated to the site of Godric Gryffindor’s tomb in Godric’s Hollow, which, according to A History of Magic, was renamed thus after the legendary wizard’s death.

No small amount of breaking and entering would be required to gain access to the sarcophagus. The task would be a tricky one, but years of nocturnal mischief at Hogwarts had geared him to evade nearly any security.

According to the bloke at the inn down the street, only two entrances led into the ancient mausoleum, the front one being the most heavily guarded. Thankfully, the man did not find it untoward that a stranger was inquiring about the security status of one of the wizarding world’s most treasured monuments.

The back door was the easiest way to enter undetected, something which struck James as ridiculously predictable. He scanned the area; it appeared that the door was secured with a relatively simple Locking Charm. It would be no obstacle for one as schooled in gaining access to places he should not be. He felt his lips curl in glee at the simplicity of it.

Once the sun set, it was time to strike. The last employee, the custodian, left for the night, using the same charm the security wizard used earlier. When the man was out of sight, James skulked from his hiding place on the hill next to the tomb. After whispering the correct charm to unlock the door, he entered the mausoleum of Godric Gryffindor himself, breaking the first of what he figured would be many laws.

The building itself was unremarkable. Dusty tapestries adorned much of it, but there was nothing odd about the sarcophagus in the slightest. Not a single marking marred the smooth surface of the white marble.

It must be inside, James thought to himself. Breaking into the building was one thing, but to disturb the corpse was entirely different. Over and over in his head, he kept telling himself to think of Albus as he Levitated the lid open.

The body was not decayed, exactly, but it appeared waxen, almost suspended in time. It was eerie to behold, and James felt shivers ascend his spine. Once the lid was on the floor, he circled the sarcophagus, only to find…nothing.

His head spun with the sting of failure. Finding this bloody treasure was Al’s last chance at survival, and he, the oldest brother and future head of the family, had failed. Shame welled in his chest as tears sprung in his eyes; he did not bother to wipe them from his cheeks.

Ashes replaced the spot where the first tear fell onto the corpse. The second droplet caused even more rapid decay, and, before James could understand what happened, the entire body turned to dust before his eyes. “Oh, Merlin, what did I just do?”

Panicked, James looked around, trying to see if this was some sort of spell or practical joke played on any who dared disturb the remains, but there was nothing but the walls, the sarcophagus, and the now-powdered remains of Godric Gryffindor.

Suddenly, a breeze came through, blowing the ashes out of sight and into what seemed to be nothingness. James could only watch in horror as it all happened in front of his eyes; nothing could stop it.

James hung his head in despair, which was when he noticed something extremely odd. There were runes on the bottom of the sarcophagus, engraved into the stone. He felt his heart sing with elation that he had not just defiled the grave of one of the greatest wizards of all time for nothing.

Quickly, James withdrew a roll of thin parchment and a black crayon from his bag and made a rubbing of the runes. Once that was finished, he replaced the marble lid and left as fast as he could, undetected. His next obstacle was translating the runes, but he knew that this particular sequence was beyond his abilities, which left him only one other option.

Lifting her head from the crude rubbing of the Runes, Lily gave her brother a suspicious look. “Where did you get this?”

James shifted uncomfortably under her glare. “Is there any way I could get out of answering that?”

Lily sighed. “I thought as much. So, why are you trying to get into the Chamber of Secrets?”

“What!” James exclaimed. “I had no idea what this thing said, only that I need to know where to go next.” He wanted to kick himself for revealing that to Lily.

“Go where next, James?” Rising from her desk, Lily stood as nose to nose with her brother as she could despite the near-twenty-centimeter difference in their respective heights. “If you don’t tell me what you’re doing, I swear to Merlin that I won’t look at one more rune.”

Though she did not raise her voice, he knew better than to argue. He related his plan to recover Gryffindor’s treasure, or, more accurately, to find the Griffin that might be guarding it, to save their brother. Once he finished recounting his plot, she flopped back into her chair, clearly overwhelmed.

“James, this is complete madness! You know what they’ll do to you when they find out you broke into a national monument? They’ll throw you into Azkaban!” She buried her face in her hands in frustration, but no amount of pleading would dissuade him from his purpose.

His resolve unhampered, James said calmly, “Lil, if I don’t do this, Al is going to die. End of story; there is no happy ending. I can’t let that happen.”

Through her hands, she replied, “Don’t you think I know that?” Lily lifted her eyes to meet James’s gaze, her eyes teary. “I just don’t want to know what would happen if you got caught and Albus died anyway.”

Truthfully, James had not even considered that possibility. If Lily’s fears came to pass, their parents would lose two sons, not just one. It was sobering, but James knew he had to try. “Is there anything else I should know before I go?”

Wordlessly, she handed him the parchment containing her translation, which he accepted while walking out the door.

Once in a secure location, he studied the translation. It contained the entry point of the Chamber. Not the one that required use of Parseltongue in the girls’ lavatory, but the one that he doubted anyone even knew existed. It led from the Headmistress’s office into the subterranean cavern in which Salazar Slytherin had built his infamous sanctuary. The hitch was gaining access to Hogwarts.

The perfect entry point hit James. There was a secret passage running from Honeydukes in Hogsmeade into the school. Instead of breaking into the best-protected building in Britain outside of the Ministry of Magic, all he had to do was steal into a simple sweet shop. It was almost too good to be true.

After Apparating to the village, James donned a Disillusionment Charm to render himself invisible. Dawn was fast approaching, and the shop would be opening in an hour. He awaited the shopkeeper’s entrance, and when the old man came into sight, James slunk to the entrance of the building and waited for the security spells to be dropped.

The shopkeeper opened the door, but did not leave enough room to squeeze through. Desperate, James stuck his foot in the path of the rapidly closing door, causing it to fling back open.

James hobbled into the shop, biting his lip hard in pain. The shopkeeper looked at the door, not sure why it had not closed, but he shrugged and shut it again successfully. Once the man went to his office, James gingerly crept to the stairs, but a traitorous floorboard squeaked under his weight.

Poking his head out of his office, the shopkeeper looked around, trying to identify the source of the noise. “Hello?” he called. “Is someone there?”

Not even daring to breathe, James stood still as a statue, hoping the man would simply think he was hearing things. Much to his relief, the shopkeeper shrugged and went back into his office. The coast was finally clear to go to the cellar.

Once he reached the bottom of the stairs, James looked for the trap door that would lead him straight into the school. Finally finding it, he lowered himself into the black, mildewed tunnel. He had never taken this route before, but he knew its existence from the Marauders’ Map, which Harry had bequeathed to him in his first year at Hogwarts. Judging by the relative distance, James knew he had about twenty minutes of trudging through this tunnel. Not trusting the air to support him that long, he cast a Bubble-Head Charm to provide clean air until the journey ended.

James reached the one-eyed witch statue without incident. After he drew his wand and whispered, “Dissendium,” the stone in front of him began to slide to the side. He silently berated himself for not being more careful about being noticed. It was around the time that students would be going to breakfast, and the Ravenclaws could pass that location at any time.

Fortunately for James, no one saw the passage open or close, so now all that remained was to somehow gain entry into the Headmistress’s office, both without being seen or detected while he found the corridor leading into the Chamber of Secrets.

The perfect solution presented itself in the form of a memory. Had the students hiding in the Room of Requirement during the war not created a passage out of the school to obtain food? He wondered if the room might yield a similar passage into the Headmistress’s office.

He made his way to the seventh floor to the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy, where he knew the Room of Requirement sat, waiting for its next task. As he knew to do, James paced in front of the wall where the door to the room would be revealed, thinking to himself, I need a passage to the Headmistress’s office. Over and over, the request repeated in his mind until the elusive entry presented itself.

James entered quickly to avoid the doorway being seen by any students, though it appeared there were none in that particular location. Inside, there was nothing but a painting of an old man in voluminous robes. He approached the portrait, which was labeled, much to his chagrin, as Godric Gryffindor himself. He nearly jumped out of his skin when the portrait addressed him, despite his state of invisibility.

“You’re the one who desecrated my tomb, are you not?” Horrorstruck, James could do nothing but open and close his mouth in a feeble attempt to answer for his actions. When no sound came out, the portrait laughed at him. “Fear not, my boy. I can’t do anything to you, I’m just a picture. I just want to know what would cause you to disturb a man’s resting place.”

Finally finding his voice, James stammered, “I, um, well, you see�”“ Taking a deep breath, he settled on telling it how it was. “My brother, Albus, is very ill. He has the only case of Midas Disease in five hundred years, but all the Griffins are extinct as far as we know, so the cure can’t be made. I was hoping that your hidden treasure is guarded by one.”

Gryffindor regarded James carefully. “So, it’s my gold you’re after, or the Griffin?”

“Sir, if I find that Griffin, I would dive every Galleon of my own to you if it meant saving my brother.” James hoped that Gryffindor believed him, because he meant every word he said.

Raising a brow, Gryffindor asked, “And what after that? Will you reveal it to the world, or would it be our little secret?”

Without missing a beat. “I’ll do whatever you want. Just don’t let my brother die.”

“Young man, I would never do such a thing.” Flipping his hand dismissively, Gryffindor continued. “I was just testing your intentions. Do what you wish with whatever you find there. I’m dead; why do I need gold?”

James could not believe his luck. “Oh, thank you, sir!” Rather sheepishly, he added, “I don’t suppose you’ll tell me where it is.”

Laughing as if James had told an extremely funny joke, Gryffindor said between guffaws, “Oh, Merlin, no! I want to see if you can find it yourself. But I will grant you access to the Headmistress’s office so you can continue on your way. Professor Vector is not in at the moment.”

“I, um, thank you.” Never in his wildest dreams had he imagined he would be conversing with Godric Gryffindor, joking about turning his corpse into ash.

Chuckling merrily, Gryffindor replied, “Just say you won’t turn anyone else’s bones to dust.”

Smiling at the portrait as it swung open, James clambered into the new passageway, a few steps closer to his final destination. The end of the tunnel was blocked by another painting, on which James pushed delicately until it opened.

Once inside, he quickly confirmed that the Headmistress was, indeed, absent�”she was�”before going straight for the corner of the room where a great cabinet stood. As the runes instructed, James mumbled, “Homenum passus.”

The cabinet shifted to the side, revealing yet another passage; this one was blessed with stone instead of dirt. As soon the entry sealed behind him, torches lit on their own, illuminating the entire passage the whole way down.

As he neared the Chamber, James’s nerves began to hum. He was well aware that a basilisk had resided down there for centuries, but no one had stayed there long enough to find out what else lurked in the cavern’s murky depths.

After descending for over five minutes and an interminable amount of stairs, the passage finally ended. Lily’s translation of the runes had instructed him to go to the statue of Slytherin. James wondered why Gryffindor would hide anything in this place, but, remembering the great beast that once lived there, he thought it had probably been the safest place at the time. The statue of Slytherin had runes on its base, of which James made a rubbing. The stones lining the entrance of the cavern in which the giant serpent had probably lived also had runes, but these were much too large to copy.

James only recognized a few, and what he did translate basically said that only fools would proceed past that point, but he entered anyway. The path was filled ankle deep in stinking water; after trudging for nearly ten minutes through the putrid conditions, James reached a dead end.

He lit his wand only to reveal another panel of runes. Once he copied these as well, James turned back and strode out of the snake hole, desperate to be far away from it. The end of the tunnel could not have come soon enough; as soon as he reached the main portion of the Chamber, he practically ran back up the stairs toward the Headmistress’s office only to hear voices on the other side of the cabinet.

Straining to hear through the thick wood, James could barely make out the voice of Professor Vector and a very familiar one that made him grin.

“Mister Potter, do you have anything to say for yourself?” the professor barked.

His voice clearly amused, Eric, James’s son, responded, “I hold that he had it coming. Montague called my mum a cow, so I had no choice.”

The angry voice of Vector answered back, “You most certainly did have a choice. Detention!”

Sounding bored, Eric replied, “Yes, Professor. May I go now?”

Cheeky little thing, James thought to himself, smiling. Soon, the room emptied of all inhabitants. After a few seconds of silence to make sure, James uttered the spell to open the cabinet, and he reentered the office.

The portrait that led from the Room of Requirement was also of Gryffindor, and he approached the painting and addressed it. “Sir, may I pass back to the Room of Requirement so that I can be off to my next destination?”

Gryffindor had been sleeping; his eyes fluttered open and he grinned at James. “Ah, back already? It’s a shame that Salazar’s monster is gone. It really was a thing to behold.”

“You knew about the basilisk?” James could not believe that someone like Gryffindor would allow such a creature to reside in a school with children.

“Of course I did. It was my idea to guard my treasure! Salazar only claimed the Chamber for darker purposes once we had our falling out. He instructed the serpent to attack Muggleborns instead of doing its rightful duty.”

James was completely taken aback. “All this time, everyone believed that it was Slytherin’s monster, when it was yours the whole time.”

Sighing, Gryffindor responded, “Well, posterity will believe what it may. I just had Salazar talk to it for me.”

“Of course. So, may I go now?” James’s patience had finally run out. The portrait swung open wordlessly, and he passed through the tunnel as quickly as he could.

Exiting the school and Honeydukes undetected proved much easier than gaining entry, and sooner than he had thought, James was walking nonchalantly down the streets of Hogsmeade, no longer in need of his invisibility. He entered the Hog’s Head and asked about a room for the night, though he had no intentions of staying in it that long.

The arrangements were made quickly, and James practically slammed the door behind the barkeep and withdrew the rubbings, quill and parchment, and a rune translation book he had purchased before he entered the bar.

Every time James opened the book of runes, though, the tiny symbols seemed to mock him. They were not nearly as complicated as the ones Lily had translated to lead him there, but he could not risk involving her again. She had her son to think about. He had already broken numerous laws to get as far as he did, so deciphering a few runes should not be nearly as challenging as it was. He did have an O.W.L. in Ancient Runes, but, as it had been several years, he struggled even with the most basic form of syntax.

Finally, after hours of slaving, James finally figured out where he was going and what he had to do when he got there. He was heading to Egypt.

The desert sun scalded James’s extremely British skin. Within hours, he dispensed of his robes in favor of local attire, which properly shielded one’s flesh from the orb that was intent on frying it.

According to the runes, the next site lay beneath ‘the King whose faithful cat stands guard for eternity’, which led James to the Great Pyramid in Giza guarded by the ancient Sphinx. Where under the pyramid he was supposed to go, James had no idea, but the runes gave the correct counter-jinxes to dispel the protective wards around the chamber containing his next clue.

He supposed it was plausible that the treasure was hidden there in Egypt, because Gryffindor had lived in Africa there for quite a number of years before returning to England to help found Hogwarts. That had been when the lion had been chosen as the symbol of Gryffindor House.

It seemed prudent to wait for nightfall before breaking yet another law�”stealing into the Great Pyramid. Once the Muggle museum portion of it was closed, most everyone left the location with naught but simple surveillance equipment. Magic allowed him to circumvent this minor obstacle easily, but he was more worried about any security set up against wizards by the curse breakers of Gringotts.

In preparation, James bought a simple tourist’s map of the structure. It showed, in surprising detail, what was in each chamber from top to bottom. The most promising site on the map was a chamber, its purpose unlisted, far below the others. It was the most likely starting point.

That night, after all was quiet, James cast a Disillusionment Charm, solving his Muggle camera problem. The motion detectors were easily bypassed by Apparating past them, which went off without a hitch. After removing his invisibility charm, he sighed in relief. He was in.

James had memorized every turn on the map the best he could. After following the meandering tunnels leading into the bowels of the ancient pyramid, he felt the air become increasingly stale. When he was finally at the intended destination, James lit his wand to search for any signs of runes. There were no fresh tracks in the dust on the floor, a sign that interruptions would be extremely unlikely. As he paced back and forth, searching for signs of magic, a glint caught his eye.

The sparkle of a gem drew James’s attention from the hieroglyphics on the walls. There was a brilliant ruby embedded in the wall. It was remarkable that such a prize had evaded the greedy hands of both Muggles and goblins. Surely enough, underneath the gleaming stone were the runes he sought. The inscription was short and simple: ‘He who removes this stone shall die.’ The language of threatening warnings was universal, but even for such a prize, James could not understand how the gem was still there after centuries of grave robbing.

Suddenly, an idea hit him. He drew his Muggle flashlight and turned it on. Once he extinguished his wand, the ruby and the Runes disappeared from sight. That explained why it was still there; wizards, for the most part, knew better than to brave the effects of ancient curses, especially ones from Godric Gryffindor himself.

As he lit his wand once more, James dug for the paper detailing the counter-spells that would both allow him entry and quell the curses threatening to kill and immediately began uttering the incantations.

A doorway appeared, its stone crusted with rubies similar to the one marking its location. After James cast the final spell, the huge stone slab slid to the side, revealing a tunnel that led even further into the depths of the earth.

Realizing that he had no choice, James descended into the darkness, against which the feeble light of his wand could scarcely compete. He took step after cautious step, wishing for the stairs to end and take the eerie blackness along with it. Once he reached the bottom of the steps, he stepped through the threshold.

“Lumos maxima,” James said. The spell flooded the room with torchlight, and the dull luster of gold glinted in the glow. It was not the treasure trove of legend, but it was definitely the lair of a wizard. There were gold cauldrons off in one corner, and books no less than a thousand years old lined shelves.

It was the books that drew James’s interest. He painstakingly identified the title of each, trying to find either the treasure or the next clue. Unfortunately, the search was fruitless, at least until he saw one last tome in the far corner, nearly hidden from sight.

There it sat, on a podium and still open. James crossed the room, staring reverently at it. The cover was solid gold, the borders of the pages crusted with a gold leaf pattern that resembled the coat of arms for Gryffindor House at Hogwarts.

James wanted to touch it, to examine it, but its ancient beauty almost spoke to him and told him not to do so. The book seemed to have a life of its own; he could feel it. However, time was running short. If he did not find the last Griffin thought to exist, his brother would die. That sparked James to ignore the voice in his head and touch the golden volume against his instincts. Immediately, the torches all extinguished, and the portal became an immutable stone wall.

He was trapped.

The light of his wand scarcely shone a meter in front of him, but, despite that, James decided to browse the golden book anyway. Unlike his previous encounters of his quest, this book favored Latin to runes, much to his relief, for it was much more familiar than the small symbols that seemed to laugh at him. After reading for several minutes, he identified it as an ancient spellbook, nothing that could lead him toward Gryffindor’s hidden legacy. The book was impressive and probably contained spells hitherto unknown to the wizarding world, but this was not the time for archeology.

He replaced the book, and the lights subsequently reilluminated. That was when James noticed markings on the podium. That’s just bloody great, he lamented. More runes. The tiny depictions would not leave him alone, and it frustrated him as he withdrew the hated translation book.

The next location on the journey, he deduced, was in a temple that lay outside the Ethiopian capital of Addis Ababa. The mountains, according to the runes, held a strong connection to magic, and early wizards had considered it a sacred place.

James was not fazed by the new destination so much as the fact that he was trapped by a doorway that did not seem inclined to release him. In frustration, he shouted, “Why won’t you let me leave?”

Shock was not an adequate term for what James felt when a ghostly figure emerged from the book, causing him to fall back into the dirt. Once again, he found himself addressing Godric Gryffindor. He was neither a ghost nor a poltergeist; the figure appeared as in real life, simply slightly transparent. The specter approached James, a knowing smile on his face.

“Ah, young man, I see you’re doing well. This particular pyramid is normally crawling with Muggles.” Gryffindor extended a hand to James, who reluctantly accepted it. He knew that any escape would have to be with this apparition’s assistance. Surprisingly enough, Gryffindor was able to help James to his feet.

“How in the name of Merlin did you do that?” Curiosity overrode James’s composure.

Gryffindor smiled. “It is by old magic that I am able to exist outside of the bounds of a book or a painting, which I’m sorry to say has been lost on the generations.”

James simply stared. “You mean to tell me you’re not dead?”

Shaking his head, Gryffindor replied, “Oh, I am very much dead, but that book is a Horcrux.”

“That’s Dark Magic! Everyone knows you never touched the Dark Arts.” James crossed his arms, daring the ghost to contradict him.

The specter simply chuckled. “The Horcrux never started out that way. It was simply a way for one’s spirit to live on after death in a partial corporeal form, and it did not require the death of another to be utilized. All you need is a magical object, such as that�”“ he gestured toward the golden book, “�”and the right spell. I believe you’re familiar with the bastardization that Salazar concocted after leaving Hogwarts.”

A glower answered the question. Nodding in acknowledgement, Gryffindor continued. “To activate the spirit form, all one needs to do is touch the magical object in which it lay.”

“So that’s why everything went wonky when I touched your book?” Understanding finally started to seep into James’s brain.

“Precisely. Now, I understand you’d like to leave?” Gryffindor waved his arm, and the stone blocking the exit slid back from whence it came. “Take this book with you. It would be nice to return to Hogwarts and walk its halls once more.”

James grinned at Gryffindor. “I know what you mean. I envy my son; he just started his First Year.”

“Ah, Eric finds himself in the Headmistress’s office quite often. He’s setting up to surpass even yourself.”

With a proud smirk, James took the golden book and stowed it in his pack. The apparition of Gryffindor vanished, but he had expected as much. James left the pyramid the same way he came, unseen by anyone, wizard and Muggle alike. He Apparated back to his hotel to research his next target.

Addis Ababa had deep roots in magic; Godric Gryffindor himself had spent time there in his youth, learning the trade of magic from some of the best wizards of the age. It was then that Gryffindor had decided to found Hogwarts with his best friend, Salazar Slytherin, who had also trained with the Ethiopian master warlocks.

Once adequately briefed on the new location, James used a Portkey to arrive far outside of Addis Ababa to avoid the locals, who would undoubtedly be looking for the source of the unlicensed magical transportation. To James’s chagrin, the temple lay near the top of the tallest mountain in the area, Ras Dejen. It would require several hours of intense climbing, and Gryffindor had told him that Apparition, of course, would not be possible, insisting that the journey was important, not the end of it; James heartily disagreed, of course.

So he began the arduous trek up the steep grade, the temperature steadily dropping. The mountain was over six kilometers in height, and James knew that the temple was close to the top. The journey proved even more taxing than he anticipated, his legs burning in pain.

Finally, out of energy and nearly out of will, James sank to the cold earth, half frozen, exhausted and disheartened. His breath came in ragged gasps, desperate to pull in more oxygen than the thin air would allow. Out loud, he said to himself, “I don’t know if I can do this.”

Guilty for the thought, he pulled out the photograph of Albus and his daughter, Melissa, from his bag. He felt like he had failed them. However, when he saw the little girl waving at the camera and Albus grinning and kissing her cheek, a new resolve washed over him, even more potent than the paralytic chill in the air. He would keep going, he had to keep going. It was not just about Albus anymore; it was about the whole family, and he would not let them down.

Though the frigid air seared his lungs, James trudged determinedly up the craggy slope, focused on his destination. Every time his resolved flagged, he thought about his brother, which steeled his nerves when his body came up short.

After a seemingly interminable amount of time, James saw the stairs of which Gryffindor had spoken, flanked by twin lion statues, standing guard. However, when James reached the beginning of the ancient stone steps, the lions came to life, their tails lashing angrily to blocking his path. Their roar was bone-chillingly similar to that of the real animal. They did not stir from their perches, but James knew they would, should he try to pass again. Instead, he asked them, “How may I pass?”

The left lion answered, “You must prove yourself worthy to enter the sacred temple of our forefathers.” A table appeared in front of him, bearing three identical goblets, filled with some sort of wine. “Of these three cups of mead, one is safe to drink. The others are laced with a potent poison. You are to determine which is safe and drink from that one.”

Logic was not a weakness of his, but he was exhausted, hungry and lacking oxygen; his mind was in no condition to solve riddles. So, in lieu of flogging his mind with a likely unsolvable puzzle, James said what Gryffindor told him to say. “It doesn’t matter which one I drink. Either all of them are poisoned or none of them are, because there is no answer.”

This time, the right stone lion snorted. “That was not one of the choices. Now, choose your goblet.”

Crossing his arms in defiance, James snapped, “I won’t.” Evidently, no one had ever deigned to speak to these fearsome cats in such a manner, because they seemed truly taken aback. James smiled lopsidedly. “Gryffindor said you’d be like this.” They had fallen for the trap his ghostly traveling companion had helped him lay.

Upon hearing the name of one of the temple’s ancient occupants, the first lion asked, “You spoke to Gryffindor?” When James nodded, he continued. “Why did you not say Gryffindor sent you? We would have let you by right away.”

As the tails swished to the side to allow him to pass, James chuckled. “What, and miss those looks on your faces?” Once he had crossed the barrier, the lions returned to their previous petrified state, sentinels of the stairs. He had to hand it to Gryffindor - the ruse to befuddle the guardians had gone exactly as he had predicted. James patted his bag where the golden book resided, appreciative of the impromptu guide that lay in its pages.

After the encounter with the lions, James felt a second wind come to him, despite the pain that radiated through every fiber of his body. At last, the stairs seemed to come to an end.

When James reached the top of the obnoxiously long steps, he prayed his eyes were deceiving him. The temple was there, but all that remained was a pile of rubble. Either age had taken its toll or someone had destroyed it, because all there was to see was a heap of mossy stones.

No longer able to stand, his body throbbing and his mind reeling, James felt blackness consume him as he fell to the ground.

James awoke to a jabbing at his side and to the smell of something cooking. Since he had last eaten in Egypt, the aroma was enticing; he was not even inclined to ask what it was. He rolled over and swatted his arm at the disturbance and mumbled, “Guss, knock it off. I want to sleep in.”

A chuckle that certainly did not belong to his wife sank into James’s brain, and his eyes flew open. It was Gryffindor, standing over him with a stick and a smirk. Damn, he thought. I’m still stuck on this mountain. Grudgingly, James stirred from his uncomfortable posture to find he had been moved near a fire tended by a wizened old priest in plain brown robes. When the priest’s eyes met James’s, his chocolate brown face split into a toothy grin.

Edging closer to the fire, James realized that he was chilled to the bone. Though he knew it was a dumb question, he turned to Gryffindor, currently sitting beside him, and asked, “Can I use magic here?”

Gryffindor shrugged. “You can, but you don’t have your wand on you, so it may be rather difficult.”

Alarmed, James’s hands flew to his jacket pocket, where he had left his wand, and sure enough, it was gone. “I could have sworn�”“ Gryffindor cut him off, smiling knowingly.

“Wands aren’t allowed past the sentries. It vanished when you walked past them, and it will reappear once you leave.” At James’s sigh of relief, Gryffindor playfully punched him in the arm. “If I told you that would happen, would you still have crossed?”

Without hesitation, James replied, “Yes. A wand costs twelve Galleons, but I only have one brother.”

Turning back to the fire, Gryffindor rebutted, “I meant that you would have left it back in Addis Ababa.” When James merely grumbled, Gryffindor laughed at him openly. “You’re not a morning person, are you, Potter?”

“No,” James said sulkily. It was not so much the morning as the sinking feeling he got every time his vision strayed over to the rubble heap that was the temple. “What am I supposed to do? The temple is gone.”

This time, the old priest answered him, handing over a plate of some of the unnamed cooked animal. “It’s still there. It’s my job to determine whether your quest is a pure one. Godric has enlightened me to your purpose, and if it is the truth, you will be allowed entry.”

James sighed in relief. So, his endeavors thus far were not in vain. If his body did not hurt everywhere, he could have jumped for joy. The news even erased the slight gamy taste of what he thought was rabbit.

Gryffindor continued to enlighten James. “Once you’re fed, we’ll go to the temple. Just make sure you bring your Rune book.” Once he caught sight of James’s dirty look, a smile loomed. “Chin up. It’s good to exercise your mind a bit.”

“So you say,” James scoffed as he rubbed his arms briskly, attempting to force his blood to flow faster.

Noticing James’s discomfort, Gryffindor asked, “Is something the matter with your wandless magic, boy?”

James raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“Well, it’s just that you have the capability to Transfigure yourself a jacket, and yet you sit here in misery. Why?”

“I haven’t got that kind of ability. That’s my father’s talent, not mine.” James knew his wandless magic was decent, certainly better than average, but Transfiguration was the most difficult area of magic with a wand, let alone without one.

Gryffindor rolled his eyes. “And you’ll not even try?” He gave James a condescending look as he turned back toward the fire. “And to think you were sorted into my house.”

That raised James’s hackles. “I’m not trying it because I’m half frozen, and I’m stuck on a bloody mountain with a snarky old ghost! How the hell would you feel?” It irritated James that he was so easily riled, and his annoyance only doubled when he realized that he was bellowing insults at a dead man. Feeling slightly ashamed, he sunk back to the ground.

Not perturbed in the least, Gryffindor cheerily slapped James on the shoulder. “Now, that’s the ticket! Get that blood moving and look like you mean it, boy. Now, take something you can Transfigure, and just do it!”

James could not believe what he was hearing. He had just insulted this man, but instead of taking affront, he was getting a pep talk. However insane James found Gryffindor to be, he found himself doing as he was told.

Fishing a spare pair of trousers from his pack, James laid them down neatly on the earth, positioned his palms above them, and clearly picturing a downy parka, said aloud, “Inanimatus conjurus.” There was a transformation, but not quite what he had expected; one leg of the trousers turned into a jacket sleeve, but the rest remained in its original state.

Frowning, James cleared his mind of all thought except the spell and his goal. Calmly, he repeated the spell; this time, a remarkably warm-looking jacket lay before him. He hastily donned the coat and noticed that Gryffindor was grinning. “Now that’s the ticket, lad! You never know until you try.”

“Can we just get on with this? I’ve only got seven days left before my brother is dead.” As much as he appreciated Transfiguration lessons from Godric Gryffindor himself, James could not afford to waste time.

Gryffindor rose, as well as the priest. James followed suit as they walked over to the ruined temple. The priest mumbled some incantation, the words spoken so fast James could not understand them. Incredibly, the rubble vanished, and in its place stood a perfectly intact stone temple with a wooden door and glass windows. It was as if a veil had been lifted to reveal the true face of the edifice.

The transformation took James’s breath away in a manner even the thin air could not. The priest led them into the temple, and James could not help but look about in curiosity. There were runes everywhere, covering almost every square centimeter of the walls. “Damn.” That epithet, however, was one of frustration, not admiration or wonder.

“Don’t worry, lad, you don’t have to read them all. Just those,” Gryffindor said, pointing at a small patch of wall which favored inked symbols rather than carved ones.

James approached them, but he now recognized several of the symbols already. He used quill and parchment to jot down his interpretation. Once it was finished, he read it aloud. “The key lies within duplicate sentries, millennia strong, with white nobility.” Pinching the bridge of his nose, feeling an oncoming headache, James groaned. “Now, if I just knew what the hell that means.”

Gryffindor poked his semi-transparent forefinger onto the center of James’s forehead forcefully. “Think, Potter, think. What has many sentries, white in color, that’s been around for thousands of years?”

“I don’t know, some sort of building with columns, I guess. Marble, perhaps.” Turning toward the maddening ghost, James felt a tirade coming from him that he could not stop. “Now, I know you want me to figure this out on my own and all, but no one could possibly figure�”“ He stopped his rant midstream as an idea hit him. “Greek architecture is mainly comprised of columns, is it not?”

Shrugging, Gryffindor made a noncommittal noise. “I don’t know, you tell me.”

James knew that he had found the answer. “Ah, I know it is! I don’t suppose you’d tell me which one it is, would you?”

“I’d finish translating first, and perhaps then you would not ask foolish questions.”

Gryffindor’s words made James feel like an idiot, but not for long. He was in much too good a mood, because not only had he climbed an impossibly high mountain, he had also riddled out the aggravating runes in record time without help. He finished the rest of the translation, then recited it to himself. “Kings shall bow before it.”

Vocally, James tried to tie it together. “An ancient Greek building with columns, and kings bow before it. What would make a king bow? One of their gods, perhaps?” Think, Potter, think! He tried to remember all he knew about the Greek polytheistic religion, which was not much. A king would only bow to a god, that much he knew, but they had a bloody god for everything!

“What if it didn’t mean a human king, but the king of the gods?” That certainly made sense to James; everyone would bow to the king of the gods, which was…

“The king of the gods was Zeus,” Gryffindor added.

James tilted his head to the side. “I thought you said you wouldn’t help me.”

Mouth twitching with a smile, Gryffindor answered, “I did, but I’d really like to get going. This is marvelous!”

“Glad I could oblige,” James snapped. So, he was looking for a building, probably a temple, dedicated to Zeus. Problem was, there were probably dozens. “Which one?” he whispered to himself.

Gryffindor dragged James toward the door. “We’ll figure that out on the way. Let’s go!” He hauled a pensive and slightly-bewildered James in his wake as he yelled parting words over his shoulder at the priest, who waved congenially.

Having had enough of being led around like a child, James wrenched his arm from Gryffindor’s grasp, glaring. “I can walk well enough on my own, thank you.”

“Never said you couldn’t. Now, I take it you can’t Apparate all the way to Greece, though?” He stopped short, nearly causing James to walk into him.

Shaking his head, James said, “No. I was thinking a Floo would be less traceable.”

Nodding in agreement, Gryffindor replied, “Methinks you are right. Do you know the nearest Floo to where we’re going?”

James chortled, “I don’t even know where we’re going. Athens, I suppose.” He scoured his mind for someone who would know Athens. Of course, he admonished himself. Scorpius would know. Knowing such a long distance Patronus message would be nearly impossible wandlessly, James rapidly descended the stairs to pass the lion guardians as soon as possible to get his wand back.

He heard Gryffindor running to keep up with the brisk pace. Once past the stone cats, James immediately withdrew his wand, newly returned to his inner pocket, and called, “Expecto Patronum!” A radiant stag burst from its tip, and it bounded into the distance, alight with silvery glory.

Gryffindor, who had finally closed the gap, said in admiration, “That’s a fine Patronus, lad.”

Smiling, James replied, “It’s the same as my father and his father before him.” James continued his declination of the mountain. By the time he was near the bottom, a shining snow leopard stopped in front of him, and in the voice of Scorpius, it said, “It’s a place called To Kazani.” Just as James realized he had no idea what that meant, the Patronus finished one last sentence before vanishing. “It’s called ‘The Cauldron.’”

“Hmm, so, a place in Athens called ‘The Cauldron?’ I guess there’s one in every nation’s capital.” Addressing Gryffindor, James asked, “So, where’s the nearest Floo?”

The specter merely shook his head. “The Floo was before my time, lad. I have no idea.”

James heard a voice over his shoulder, which he recognized as the old priest. “There is one in town at ‘The Cauldron.’”

Quirking a brow, James asked tentatively, “Just ‘The Cauldron?’ No unpronounceable local name?”

The priest laughed. “English is spoken in Addis Ababa almost everywhere. Not everybody speaks Amharic.”

“Thank Merlin for that,” James breathed. It would greatly expedite things without a language barrier. As he departed, he patted his bag and said to Gryffindor, “You should probably go back to the book. The last thing Muggles need to see is someone walking around with a ghost.”

“Agreed.” Gryffindor disappeared at once, leaving James alone as he put the remainder of Ras Dejen behind him. Once in the heart of the city, James asked the friendliest looking local in sight, a woman with several children in tow, where he might find ‘The Cauldron.’ She did not appear to understand him, obviously not amongst the English-speaking population.

After several failed attempts, a young man, dressed very differently than the rest of the city’s residents, finally approached James. He whispered, “You’re a wizard, aren’t you?” James’s disbelieving expression answered the question. “Go to an alley, hold your wand in your hand, and say, ‘Point me, The Cauldron.’ It will give you the direction, and, eventually, you’ll find it.”

“Thank you,” James said simply. He felt fortunate that he no longer needed to beg information from people who obviously did not know what he was saying, let alone to what he was referring. In a secluded alley, he did as instructed, and to his delight, his wand pointed to his right.

James followed his wand’s directions, periodically checking to assure he was going the right way, and eventually, he reached a sign that was identical in almost every way to the one in Diagon Alley at The Leaky Cauldron, minus the crack. He knew he had reached the right place. Inside, he sat at the bar, which was filled with witches and wizards from dozens of nationalities. The bartender approached him. “So, what’ll it be?”

The man spoke English, but not in a dialect with which James was familiar. “American?”

“Canadian, but pretty close. I take it you’re a Brit.” When James nodded, the barman repeated, “So what’ll you have, buddy?”

“I’ll take tea, the most normal food you’ve got, and a shot of Firewhiskey, please. Do you take Galleons?”

Grinning, the barman answered, “Who doesn’t? I’ll be right back.” He left James at the counter, who took a seat at the most stable-looking stool in the vicinity.

About three minutes later, the bartender returned with the drinks and an unfamiliar dish. He recognized the chips, but not its accompanying entrée. “What is this, anyway?” James could not even venture a guess.

“They’re chicken nuggets.” He looked at James as if he were completely barking. “Everyone eats them across the pond.”

James was just relieved that the main ingredient was identifiable and ate voraciously. When he finished, he paid for his meal plus a room. The barman led him to his rental, left him with a key, and Apparated back downstairs. He entered the room and extracted his A History of Magic texts once again.

After hours of poring over every mention of Greece in the whole book, James determined that the Temple of Zeus in Athens was the most probable destination. Since he was done for the day, he settled down for sleep that was much more restful than his stint of unconsciousness on the side of the mountain.

When James awoke, he felt refreshed and ready to continue. Once downstairs, he found same barman and called, “Oi, bartender! How much is a Floo?”

“Six Sickles,” he answered. “Where ya headed, English?”

James replied, “Athens.”

The bartender looked at him curiously. “What takes you to Athens?”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you, mate.”

Completely serious, he responded, “Try me.”

“I’m treasure hunting,” James said conspiratorially. He knew the barman would never believe him, so there was no harm in telling him. The worst that could happen is the man would think him a complete nutter.

Snorting, the barman replied, “You’re right, I don’t believe you. Just some sightseeing then?”

James nodded, not bothering to elaborate. “Yeah, just to see something different.” He wanted to leave, so once he paid for the portion of Floo powder, James walked to the fireplace, threw in the silvery dust and called, “To Kazani, Athens, Greece.” Hoping he had pronounced it right, James stepped into the emerald flames uneasily.

As he emerged into a foreign fireplace, James was relieved to see another bar, much like The Leaky Cauldron in London. It had to be the right place, because he heard what sounded like Greek spoken by two men at a nearby table. He walked to the bar and asked the nearest employee, “Is this The Cauldron?”

The waitress rolled her eyes and said in a heavy accent, “Of course it is. Are you going to order or not?” James sat at the bar obediently and ordered a butterbeer and the only Greek dish he knew, which was stuffed grape leaves.

After he finished and paid, James asked how to find the Temple of Zeus. The unfriendly woman gave him much the same advice as the boy in Addis Ababa, which was to ask his wand for directions. He mentally noted that method to avoid shrewish servers in the future.

Once he got a bead on his destination, James approached the monumental ruins, now towering above him. Its majestic pillars rose in a manner that he supposed the ancients had intended to be toward the heavens. It was impressive, to say the least, considering how long ago it was built as well as the lack of technology in that age.

Fortunately, James looked like just another tourist, albeit an oddly-dressed one. His sleeveless sweater over a white shirt was far warmer than the balmy atmosphere necessitated, but, after freezing his gobstones off in the highest mountain range in Africa, James would not underdress again.

James spent the day ranging the place, looking for any access he could grant himself come nightfall when it was free of the general public. He found a small security building, which he would be sure to circumvent, and an underground access tunnel that could be reached via the sewers. As distasteful as it was, James kept telling himself that he would do it for Albus.

Night fell around eight, and James was ready. His plan to Confund the security guards and sneak underground worked flawlessly. There were times he could swear he was being followed, but he attributed it to nerves and continued his journey though the dank waterways.

The subterranean part of the temple was as impressive as the exterior. It was grandiose, or, at least, it had been in its heyday, and James was impressed that Muggles had built this incredible structure over two thousand years earlier. Zeus, had he existed, would have definitely been satisfied.

It took almost an hour, but James finally found the runes he was looking for hidden deep in a corner that one would not see unless one searched for it specifically. He made a rubbing and exited the temple before he could get caught. Breaking and entering was almost second nature for him now, considering the amount of practice he had over the past few days.

Once he returned to To Kazani, James rented a room to study the runes in quiet. He summoned Godric to keep him on task when he became tired, frustrated, or confused. After hours of labor, James had the information he needed, so he took a brief nap and packed his belongings in preparation to disembark. Just as he was about to leave, the door flew open and his room was assailed with the Greek Magical Law Enforcement as they arrested him.