"Doesn't make any difference, really," Ralph said after a minute's thought. "It's just some old poem. Part of the legend."

        "You didn't see the island," Zane said with feeling, then, turning to James, "You think that whole Grotto Keep grew up there on the island in response to the throne being there?"

        "Could be," James nodded. "Whether the legend's true or not, that thing's got to have some serious magic in it. Probably, Madame Delacroix has added her own protective hexes and charms as well."

        "Either way," Ralph insisted, "we need to get the robe from Jackson's briefcase. Any ideas?"

        All three boys merely looked at one another. Finally, James said, "I'll work on a plan. We're going to need something to replace the robe with, though."

"It was just a hunk of black fabric, you say?" Ralph said. "We can use my dress cloak. My dad got me the entire wizard wardrobe when we were in Diagon Alley before school started, and unless I have to go to somebody's wedding or funeral, I can't imagine I'll need that thing. It's bigger than my bedspread."

        James considered it. "Sure, I guess it'll work as well as anything. Although," he added, looking seriously at Ralph, "if they trace it back to you…"

        Ralph was silent for a moment, and then shrugged. "Ah, well. I've got no shortage of enemies already. One or two more can't hurt much."

        Considering the caliber of enemy Ralph might make with such a plot, James thought it might hurt indeed, but he decided not to say so. He was proud of Ralph for volunteering, and he felt that it showed that Ralph had a great deal of confidence in James. James hoped he was worthy of it.

        For the rest of the week, James had very little time to think about Jackson's briefcase and the relic robe. As if he knew what they were up to, Professor Jackson had piled on more homework than usual, assigning nearly five chapters and a five hundred-word essay on Hechtor's Law of Displaced Inertia. At the same time, Professor Franklyn had planned a practical examination for late Friday afternoon, leaving only one day for James, Zane, and Ralph to practice Disarming and Blocking Spells. Ralph was forced to practice on a fencing dummy. After two hours, he finally succeeded in casting an Expelliarmus spell without burning a crater in the clothbound mannequin. Fortunately, Franklyn himself deigned to act as Ralph's dueling partner during the practical. Ralph, slightly more confident that Franklyn could deflect any errant spells than any of his classmates, was able to concentrate a bit more on his wandwork. To no one's greater surprise than his own, his Expelliarmus spell actually succeeded in blasting Franklyn's wand from his hand. It vibrated in the ceiling like an arrow.

        "Well done, Mr. Deedle," Franklyn said, a bit faintly, gazing up at his wand. "Mr. Potter, would you be so kind as to retrieve my wand for me? There's a ladder by the supply closet. That's a lad."

        As James and Ralph were leaving the Defense Against the Dark Arts practical, James noticed that he was once again being watched closely by the mustachioed man in the painting of wizards gathered around the large globe. For the past week, he had begun noticing similar looks from paintings throughout the halls. Not all the paintings, by any means, but enough to nag at his attention. The fat wizard in the corner of the table at the painting of the poisoning of Peracles had seemed to listen intently as he, Ralph, and Zane had discussed Jackson's briefcase in the library. A cavalry rider in the painting of the Battle of Bourgenoigne had cantered his horse to the corner of the painting to watch James out of sight as he'd walked to Muggle Studies. Perhaps strangest of all, a portrait of a portrait in the painting of the crowning of King Cyciphus had studied James unabashedly from the wall of the Great Hall as he and Zane were eating breakfast.

        James stopped on his way to the common room and approached the painting of the wizards gathered around the globe. The wizard with the dark mustache and spectacles peered at him with a hard, unreadable expression.

        "What?" James demanded. "Do I have mustard on my tie or something?"

The painted wizard's expression didn't change, and once again, James found that there was something teasingly familiar about him.

        "I know you, somehow," he said. "Who are you?"

        "You're talking to a painting," Ralph pointed out.

        "I talk to a painting every day to get into the common room," James said without turning around.

        "Yeah," Ralph nodded. "Still, it just seems a little weird to go around starting arguments with random paintings in the halls."

        "Where do I know you from?" James asked the painting, annoyed.

        "Young man," another wizard in the painting spoke up, "that's hardly the tone we are accustomed to being addressed in. Respect and deference, if you please. We are your elders."

        James ignored him, still studying the wizard with the mustache and spectacles, who merely stared back at him silently. It occurred to James that the wizard only seemed familiar because, somehow, he looked like the rest of the paintings that had been watching him. But that was obviously ridiculous, wasn't it? There was the fat man with the bald head, and the thin wizard in the portrait of the portrait who'd had a great bushy blonde beard. All of the paintings he'd caught watching him were utterly different. A few had even been rather ugly women. Still, there was something about the eyes and the shape of the face. James shook his head. He felt so close to figuring it out, yet it remained beyond his grasp.

        "Come on," Ralph finally said, grabbing James' arm. "Argue with the paintings later. It's steak and kidney night."

        That weekend, James gave his new Thunderstreak a test ride on the Quidditch pitch. It was indeed an entirely different experience than riding any of the house brooms. The Thunderstreak was noticeably faster, but more importantly, it responded to James' direction with an accuracy and ease that bordered on precognition. James would merely think that perhaps he'd like to dip or turn, and suddenly, he'd find that it was happening. Ted explained, rather breathlessly, that the Thunderstreak was equipped with an option called 'Extra-Gestural Enhancement'.

        "Basically," he said in an awed voice, "the broom can read its owner's mind, just enough that it only needs the slightest touch to go where you want it to go. It already knows what you want, so the moment you steer, you're already there."

        James offered to let Ted ride the broom, but Ted shook his head sadly. "It's bonded with you. You're the owner. If anybody else tried to fly it, it'd go all wonky. It's a drawback of the E.G.E. option. Or a plus, if you're worried about people trying to steal it."