Cursed With Curious Minds | Hp Next Generation

37 - A Bad Memory

The moment James was alone in his dormitory that night, he pulled the quill that he stole earlier out of his pocket. It was long, black and thin, and the nib appeared to be extremely sharp. James was tempted to touch it, but had a feeling it would prick him if he did so.

'It doesn't feel very dark to me,' he thought to himself. Absent-mindedly, he began scribbling with it on the table. It took him a few seconds to notice that ink was actually flowing out of the pen.

"Wait... what?" he whispered to himself. The ink was dark red, but James just couldn't comprehend where it was coming from. It didn't take him very long to figure out, however, as a moment later the exact shape of the mark James had just scribbled on the table began carving itself into his hands.

James immediately dropped the quill and jumped out of his chair in a mix of shock and horror. He was in far too much pain to even be annoyed that Astrid had been right. 'Don't touch anything...' her voice echoed in his head. Merlin, how he wished he'd listened. James thought for a moment that he should tell Delilah about it, and the two of them could try and use it to find clues as to the identity of the person who made the room in the first place. Unfortunately, it didn't take him long to realise that if he told Delilah, Delilah would tell Astrid – and James was not up to admitting to Astrid he had stolen something from the room. And that she had been right.

Who could he tell? James wracked his brain for someone he could talk about this with, who had a good knowledge of the dark arts, but wouldn't ask too many questions. Then it hit him. The perfect person.

James checked his watch: 9:00pm – it wasn't past curfew yet (not that that bothered James in the slightest). He stuffed the quill into his pocket and ran out of the dormitory in the direction of the defence against the dark arts classroom.

***

Harry Potter was sitting quietly in his classroom, marking his third years' essays. He sighed to himself at the amount of students spelling 'Riddikulus' as 'ridiculous'. Harry loved teaching, but he did not enjoy the marking, and he was definitely ready to go home to sleep. Checking his watch, he saw that it was 9:00pm. He decided that was late enough for him to stay, so he picked up his stack of essays and put them in a draw in his desk. In doing so, he noticed a spare piece of parchment inside the draw, and for a moment there was a tiny spark of hope that by some miracle, the Map had returned to him. Unfortunately, it had not.

Harry was just packing his bag, ready to leave when the doors to his classroom burst open.

"Hi, dad." James said, coolly – as if he hadn't just sprinted half the length of the castle.

"James!" Harry replied, shocked. What was James doing out of the dorm before curfew? "You just caught me, I was about to leave."

"Perfect timing, then. I have a question for you."

"A question?" Harry asked, sceptically.

James nodded, and dug his arm deep into his pocket, pulling out the quill.

Harry stepped back in shock, subconsciously grabbing the back of his left hand. "James... where did you get that?"

James froze. He was really hoping that question wouldn't come up. "Uh... um..." he stammered.

Harry looked stern.

"I was just hoping you would tell me what it was." James finally said.

"It's a very dangerous magical object." Harry said, bluntly.

"Well, yes I figured that, but-"

"James, don't tell me you used it." Harry said, trying to sound stern, but coming off more worried.