It was some time later that James edged himself out of the closet and away from Lily's room. He shut the door with a quiet groan, as he had spotted complication #3: Albus was lounging in the corridor, his emerald eyes fixed in Quiddich Through the Ages. James now was severely irritated. This was not at all working as well as he'd hoped. Albus looked up at the sound of the door, and curiosity mixed with mischievousness crossed his thin features. James knew it would be easy to bully his younger brother, but it also could be possibly tricky. James sauntered over, becoming haughty once more. But it was Albus who spoke first.
"What are you doing in Lily's room?"
"Never you mind," said James roughly, enjoying the savage sport of harassment, "You reading again, Potter? Trying to increase the amount of knowledge in your pea-sized brain before school, then, eh?"
"Shut up, James," Albus replied, with murder in his eyes.
"Oh, yes," James bent closer to Albus, whispering in his ear, "Yeah, Potter, nasty temper we have, don't we? They're gonna put you in Slytherin, where all the loony ones go. They're gonna have you in a straightjacket, and lock you up in the dungeons with only the rats for company. They're gonna torture you down there, and no one but the rats will be able to hear you scream."
"SHUT UP!" Albus was shouting now, terror in his eyes. James mocked his frightened face.
"What's the matter, Potter? Gonna cry?"
"James, I'm warning you-"
"Now, now," James' grin was gone; Albus was aiming to punch him, "Violence isn't necess-"
But whether it was necessary or not, James never found out. He found himself hurtling backwards down the corridor, in front of the door he had been so desperately trying to get through not an hour earlier. Albus threw the book down and ran off, no doubt going to get his mum. James gingerly stood; his brother's temper had produced magic that had caused James quite a lot of pain. He winced: His entire body felt as though it had been both electrocuted and stung. But his brain was clear, and he had only one goal in mind: get though the dark door. Now.
James studied it quickly-the door was locked and the charms still on it.
"Come on, come on, come on…" He muttered desperately. His wand-but where was it? He knew a spell that could possibly work, having heard his father mutter it to open doors on numerous occasions. He'd only received it a week ago, on his school trip to Diagon Alley. The Ministry couldn't track him-there were adult wizards in the house, doing spells all the time. James forced himself to think. His bedroom. Under the bed. His school trunk. Yes.
He dashed down the hall, took a right into another corridor and right again. Ignoring the proud colours of red and gold that decorated the walls, he flung himself under the bed and heaved out the trunk; it seemed to open on its own accord and he rummaged through it, through robes and quills and bottles of ink, spellbooks and parchment until at last the box with the name Ollivanders was visible. He tore it open, admiring for only a second the beauty of the shiny hawthorn wood, then, as quickly and quietly as he could, he raced down the corridor, left, left, down, down, down the hallway and, thanking his luck that no one was near, he pointed his wand at the door and said, quite clearly, "Alohomora."
The shimmering of the door seemed to stop for a second, before his father's voice rang out. James jumped-for a moment, he was sure he was caught.
"Password?"
James stared at the forbidden door, then he felt himself relax. Password. All this time, it was just a stupid password. Well, this shouldn't be difficult.
"Er-Gryffindor."
The door remained stationary.
"Okay, Hogwarts."
Nothing.
"Godric? Um, Lily? James? Severus? Albus? Er, let's see…Quiddich. Sirius. Honeydukes. Diagon Alley. Seeker. Dumbledore."
The door shuddered. James gaped. It creaked open slightly. There was more to it. Dumbledore what?
James tried to remember everything he possibly could about Dumbledore. Dumbledore and Grindelwald. Twelve uses of dragon's blood. 1945. Voldemort. Nicholas Flamel. Elder Wand. Hallows. Deathly Hallows.
James tried all the combinations of the words he could think of, but nothing happened. He refrained from kicking the door-the Sticking and Intruder Charms would flare up again-but his wand showed his frustration by emitting several red and gold sparks. He knew his time was running out-Mum was going to come in soon, with Albus at her heels-but he needed to try this. One last phrase forced its way into is brain, and he said it without a second thought.
"Dumbledore's Army!" He shouted, and, miraculously, the door opened. James sprinted inside, the door shut behind him, and he whiled around, gasping at what he saw.
The room was oval, huge and towering, the walls covered in leather-bound books of all shapes, colours, and sizes. The Gryffindor colours of gold and scarlet were everywhere he looked, and a dark mahogany desk was in the center of the room. James cautiously made his way over-if this room was locked by magic, then surely there was something that his dad didn't want him to see in here. His body tingled with excitement.
The desk looked ordinary from a distance, but close up, it looked to be releasing a faint, gold glow. Several charts of unknown locations were on the top, some of what looked to be building plans, others spells and enchantments in symbols or strange languages. It was no wonder that his father was Head of the Auroral Office at the Ministry of Magic-he had abilities that even the Minister himself thought impressive. James was quite proud of his father.
There were five compartments in the desk, and James pointed his wand at the one directly below the desktop. He poked the drawer with his wand tip, tentatively, and it slid open, revealing what it held inside. James held his breath.
The drawer contained a Sneakoscope, an old-looking square bit of parchment, several quills, a half-full box of Every Flavour Beans, and a moving photograph of James' grandparents, Lily's and his namesakes. James picked it up and moved his thumb over the old photograph-it was suddenly very hard to swallow. He looked at his grandmother's young and smiling face. It was because of her sacrifice that his dad-even James himself-was alive today. He replaced it in the drawer-he couldn't have looked at it a moment longer anyway. He instead moved his attention to the square, old-looking parchment.
It looked ordinary-but surely, if it weren't important, why would it be here? He jabbed the parchment with his wand, but nothing happened. He heard his mum calling his name in the corridor, and decided that he'd pushed his luck enough today. James tucked the parchment into his jeans back pocket, closed the drawer with another prod from his wand and sprinted to the door. James didn't touch the wood-too many enchantments-but the room seemed to know that he wanted to leave. The door creakily swung open to expose a thankfully empty hallway.
James Potter's trainers made no noise as he raced effortlessly to his room. Locking the door behind him, he sat on his gold-and-scarlet-clad sheets. His wand hand shaking, he set on the task of revealing the secrets that the Marauder's Map had to offer.