The wings unfolded from the vehicles smoothly, delicately, and began to thrash the air. The Dodge Hornet took off first. With a squeak of springs and creak of metal, it rose into the air, turning slowly. The Stutz Dragonfly and the Volkswagen Beetle followed, the low drone of their wings beating the air and rippling the grass of the courtyard. Then, with sudden grace and speed, they raced off, rising, their noses tilted toward the ground. In less than a minute, the noise of their departure was lost in the late spring wind that blew over the hills.

        Ralph, Zane, and James plopped onto a bench near the courtyard entrance.

        "So what's in the box Jackson gave you?" Ralph asked, peering curiously at it.

        "I wouldn't even open it, if I was you," Zane warned. "Remember what he said about making our lives 'interesting'? He's the kind of guy to wait right until the moment he leaves to get his revenge on you. That way, he's gone when the trouble starts." He tapped the side of his head wisely.

        James frowned and shook his head slowly. He looked at the box on his lap. It had a brass latch on the front, holding the lid shut. Without a word, he flipped the catch and raised the lid. Zane and Ralph leaned in, craning to see. The inside of the box was lined with purple velvet. There was one object inside, lying atop a piece of folded parchment.

        "I don't get it," Ralph said, sitting back again. "It's a doll."

        James removed it and held it up. It was indeed a small figure, roughly made of burlap and twine, with mismatched buttons for eyes.

        Zane peered at it, his face serious. "It's… it's you, James."

        Sure enough, the figure did bear a striking resemblance. Black yarn on the head formed a good representation of James' unruly hair. Even the shape of the head, the line of the stitched mouth, and the placement of the button eyes made an eerie portrait.

        James shuddered. "It's a voodoo doll," he said. He remembered the note inside the box. All three boys leaned in to read it as he unfolded it.

Mr. Potter,

         You will surely recognize what this object is. There was no time in this year's Technomancy curriculum to discuss the ancient art of Representational Harmonics, but I suspect you grasp the implications. This was found inside Madame Delacroix's quarters. After some discussion with the Headmistress and the portraits of your Severus Snape and Albus Dumbledore--whom you should know have taken rather an interest in you--it was determined that you might benefit from knowing how Madame Delacroix used this object against you. The elegance of her manipulation was quite impressive, really. This figure was placed next to a much larger figure of your father, Harry Potter. On the other side of that was a candle. It seems apparent that she kept that candle lit at all times. The result, of course, Mr. Potter, was that your figure was always in the shadow of the representation of your father.

There is always a grain of truth in the manipulations of the voodoo art.

Delacroix knew that you would legitimately struggle with the expectations of your

legendary father. The lesson you must learn from this, Mr. Potter, is that emotions are not bad, but they must be examined. Know yourself. Feelings always seem valid, but they can confuse. And they can, as you have seen, be used against you. I repeat, as your teacher and as your elder, know your feelings. Master them or they will master you.

Theodore Hirshall Jackson

        "Wow!" Ralph breathed. "We didn't call her 'the voodoo queen' for nothing!"

Zane asked, "What are you going to do with it, James? I mean, if you destroy it, will you be destroyed, somehow?"

        James stared at the small, unattractive caricature of himself. "I don't think so," he replied thoughtfully. "I don't think Jackson would've given it to me in that case. I think he just means for me to remember what happened. And to try to make sure it never happens again."

        "So?" Zane repeated. "What are you going to do with it?"

        James stood, stuffing the doll into the pocket of his jeans. "I don't know. I think I'll keep it. For a while, at least."

        With that, the three boys meandered into the school, intent on doing as little as possible with their last day of the school year.

        Late that night, unable to sleep from the excitement of the next day's departure, James got out of bed. He crept down the stairs into the common room, hoping someone else might still be up for a game of wizard chess or even Winkles and Augers. By the glow of the banked fire, the room appeared to be empty. As he was turning away, something caught James' eye and he looked again. The ghost of Cedric Diggory sat near the fire. His silvery form was still transparent, but was noticeably more solid than the last time James had seen him.

        "I was trying to think of a name for myself," Cedric said, smiling as James threw himself onto the couch nearby.

        "You've got a name already, haven't you?" James answered.

        "Well, not a proper ghostly name. Not like 'Nearly Headless Nick' or 'the Bloody Baron'. I need something with some panache."

James considered it. "How about 'the Chaser of Annoying Muggles'?"

        "It's a little long."

        "Well, can you do any better?"

        "I was thinking--you'd better not laugh," the ghost said, giving James a stern look. "I was thinking of something like 'the Specter of Silence'."

        "Hmm," James replied carefully. "But you aren't silent. In fact, you sound a lot better now. Your voice doesn't sound like its being blown in from the Great Beyond anymore."

        "Yeah," Cedric agreed, "I've become quite a bit more… here, sort of. I'm as ghostly as the rest of the school ghosts, now. I was silent for a long time, though, wasn't I?"

"I guess so. But still, with a name like 'the Specter of Silence'," James said doubtfully, "it's going to be hard to make that stick if you go around chatting people up all the time."

        "Maybe I could be all broody and quiet a lot of the time," Cedric mused. "Just do a lot of floating around and looking dour and everything. And then, when I pass by, people would whisper to each other, 'Hey, there he goes! The Specter of Silence!'"