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!'"
James shrugged. "It's worth a shot. I guess you have the summer to practice the whole brooding silence bit."
"I guess so."
James suddenly sat up. "So do you think you'll be the new Gryffindor ghost?" he asked. "I mean, with Nearly Headless Nick gone on to wherever ghosts go, we don't have a House ghost anymore."
Cedric thought for a moment. "I don't think so, really. Sorry. I was a Hufflepuff, remember?"
James slumped back. "Yeah. I forgot."
A few minutes went by, and then Cedric spoke again. "That was a pretty great thing you did, going out and calling Merlin back to help us out when it seemed like he'd left for good."
James lifted his head and looked at the ghost. He frowned a little. "That? Well, it was just a shot in the dark, really. It was all my fault Merlin was brought to this time at all. I thought I was doing the world this big favor, standing in the way of Delacroix's and Jackson's evil plan. Turns out she was using me all along and Jackson was actually a good guy."
"Well?" Cedric countered. "You learned something, then, didn't you?"
"I don't know," James said automatically. He thought for a moment and then added, "Yeah, I guess I did."
"There is one way that you and your dad are one and the same, James," Cedric said.
James laughed a little humorlessly. "I can't see what it is. All I learned is that my way of doing things isn't Dad's. If I try to do it his way, I screw everything up. If I try to do it my way, I might help things scrape by on sheer luck. Dad's way was the way of the hero. My way is the way of the manager. My best talent is asking for help."
"No, James," Cedric said, leaning forward to look James directly in the eye, "your best talent is inspiring people to want to help. You think that's no big deal? The world needs people like you, because most of the people out there don't have the courage or the passion or the direction to be heroes. They want to be, but they need someone to tell them why, and to show them how. You have that gift, James. Your dad was a hero because he was the Boy Who Lived. He had a destiny. It wasn't an easy road for him, but it was an obvious road. There was Harry and there was Voldemort. He knew where he stood and what he had to do, even if it killed him. You, though… you are a hero because you choose to be one, every day. And you have the talent to encourage others to choose that, too."
James stared into the banked coals of the fire. "I'm no hero."
Cedric smiled and sat back again. "You only think that because you think heroes always win. Trust me on this one, James. A hero isn't defined by winning. Loads of heroes die in the effort. Most of them never get any recognition. No, a hero is just somebody who does the right thing when it would be far, far easier to do nothing."
James turned to look at the ghost, smiling crookedly. "Maybe we should call you 'the Specter of Cheesiness.'"
"Ha, ha," the ghost replied.
James stood up again. "Thanks, Cedric. That… helps."
Cedric nodded. James headed back for the stairs, but stopped with his foot on the bottom step. "One thing still bothers me, though, Cedric. Maybe you know something about it, being a ghost and all."
"Maybe. Ask me."
"The dryad in the forest said that there was an heir of Voldemort. She said that this person was alive and nearby, right here on the school grounds."
Cedric nodded slowly. "I was there when you told Snape about it."
"Well, whoever that is, I think that's who took Ralph's GameDeck and used the name Austramaddux. If that hadn't happened, none of this would've come about. Whoever it is had to have been working with Miss Sacarhina from the very beginning."
Cedric looked away, out a nearby window. "You think you know who it is?"
"Tabitha Corsica," James said flatly. "I thought it might be her after I talked to Snape and I still think it could be her. So her broom wasn't the Merlin staff. There's still something scary about it. And about her in general."
Cedric stood and walked through the chair, apparently without noticing he was doing so. "I've felt something, James. I'll admit that to you. There is a sense of He Who Must Not Be Named here still. It lingers within the halls. It's like a smell, like something rancid and oozing and… purple, somehow. Maybe I am more sensitive to it than the other ghosts. After all, he was responsible for my death."
"Yeah," James said quietly. "I hadn't forgotten."