JAMES POTTER AND THE VAULT OF DESTINIES jp-1

by G. Norman Lippert

  In the darkness overlooking the lake, the great old tree stands in Grandfather Warren’s field, its leaves whispering like a thousand voices.

  Sometimes, I can still hear those voices. Even when I am awake.

  James dropped the last page onto the small sheaf of parchments. He was shaking and his forehead was beaded with sweat in the dark confines of the upper bunk. His mind raced as he considered the remarkable, inexplicable implications of the story.

  If any of it was true at all, then how had Petra performed the magic? In the story, she admitted that she had broken her own wand, for reasons James couldn’t begin to guess. So how had she performed a feat as amazing as levitating a long-sunken gazebo out of a lake? Obviously, that part simply couldn’t have actually happened. But then, James remembered the events of that very morning, remembered how Petra had simply closed her eyes, as if in deep thought, and then, a moment later, how Henrietta’s harness chain had magically reattached to the ship, allowing them to escape the pirates’ trap.

  James tried to remember if Petra had had her wand in her hand at the time and realized he couldn’t. Frankly, he couldn’t remember seeing Petra’s wand even once since her arrival at the Potter home, months earlier. But that was simply crazy, wasn’t it? No witch or wizard could do magic without their wand, at least not anything specific or meaningful. There had to be a reasonable explanation for it, and James had a strong feeling that it all revolved around the question of which parts of Petra’s dream story were true and which parts were just that: a dream.

  I think she asks me to come because she needs me here to prove that the dreams aren’t true, Izzy had said the night before, while Petra had still been writing. She needs me here to prove that I’m still alive.

  In James’ memory, Izzy’s words mingled with those of Professor Trelawney, the horrible prophecy she had made on the morning that he had left Hogwarts: The fates have aligned… night will fall, and from it, there will be no dawn, no dawn, save the dawn of forever fire…

  Strangely, powerfully, James felt a deep sense of fear and doom. It hovered over him like a shroud, almost like the pall of a Dementor. He shook himself, and then, almost desperately, tapped the parchments again with his wand, closing them once again into the seamless, featureless packet, hiding Petra’s words, shutting off the voice of Professor Trelawney in his memory.

  He jammed the packet of parchment under his pillow and leapt down to the floor, hungry for light, for the sane babble of the voices of his friends and family. He very nearly slammed the door to his stateroom as he entered the narrow corridor, heading for the galley. Ralph and Lucy would be there, as would Albus and Lily, his parents, Neville Longbottom, and the rest. What James wanted most was to tell someone what he had read, but of course he couldn’t. He had promised Petra that he would keep her secret.

  Perhaps she would be in the galley, though, as well. Maybe he could tell her, and ask her about what was in the dream story, find out how much of it was real, and how much (hopefully most of it!) was just a dream. Suddenly, he wanted that more than anything.

  But Petra wasn’t in the galley. A cursory look around the decks and the narrow corridors revealed no sign of either her or Izzy. Apparently they were in bed already.

  Later, however, James would wonder otherwise.

  The next morning dawned hazy and bright, still as a tomb. The ocean was nearly flat, with barely a breath of breeze to disturb it, so that the wake of the Gwyndemere lay like a highway behind her, spreading into the shimmering distance. Henrietta plowed on, her great scaly head occasionally breaking the surface and flinging fans of water all around.

  “The doldrums,” Barstow explained to James, Ralph, and Lucy after breakfast. The four stood on the bow, watching another mate operate the steering pole on its brass chair. “Technically, it’s where a bunch of huge Atlantic currents all meet and cancel each other out, making a sort of dead space in the middle of the ocean. But it’s more’n that if you ask an old sailor like me. It’s a cursed place. If Davey Jones really does have a locker, it’s right below our feet, fathoms down, in the still darkness of the deepest deeps.”

  “Cheerful stuff, that,” Ralph commented, shaking his head.

  “It is pretty queer, when you think about it,” Lucy said, leaning on the railing and looking down toward the shadow of the ship on the rushing, leaden water. “It’s almost like we’re floating on a cloud, high up over some alien, hidden landscape. Who knows what wild creatures live down there, not even knowing there is a surface, much less magical ships that can scoot along the top of it, sitting on the mysterious boundary between the air above and the secret world below. Puts things into perspective, in a way, don’t you think?”

  Merlin had approached along with Harry, Neville Longbottom, and Percy Weasley. The Headmaster smiled faintly at Lucy but didn’t say anything.

  “So,” James asked, looking between the three men, “where were you lot yesterday morning when we were getting squeezed between three pirate ships like a walnut in a giant nutcracker?”

  “We were below-decks, as per instructions,” Merlin said mildly, still smiling that strange, small smile. “You must understand: we are at sea. Here, the word of the captain is law. As adults, we are in the habit of abiding by the law.”

  James shook his head. “Fat lot of help you’d have been if we hadn’t gotten Henrietta’s harness fixed at the last second. We’d have been caught by pirates, and then who knows what would have happened?”

  “Worse fates have befallen people on the high seas, James,” Neville replied, patting the boy on the shoulder. “I suspect everything would have turned out all right, no matter what. After all, we’re hardly carrying a shipment of Galleons for the World Wizarding Bank in New Amsterdam, are we?” He blinked and turned aside to Harry. “Are we?”

  Percy shook his head. “I assure you, James, and the rest of you, everything was entirely under control at all times.”

  James leaned against the railing next to Lucy. “Sure didn’t seem like it when we were flying over that last pirate ship, smashing its masts like tenpins,” he muttered. “But whatever you say.”

  “So what do you think those pirates were after us for?” Lucy asked quietly as the adults meandered away, talking in low voices.

  “Well, it wasn’t to ask us all to come over for crumpets and tea, that’s for sure,” James said darkly. “Barstow himself seemed pretty surprised by it. Seemed to say that it was pretty unusual for so many pirates to work together at once. I bet you a Galleon that my dad, Merlin, Professor Longbottom, and the rest of the grownups know a lot more about this than they’re letting on.”

  “Well, that’s their job, I guess,” Ralph sighed. “And they’re welcome to it.” In a different voice, he added, “I hear we’ll be landing in America by teatime tomorrow! I can hardly wait, can’t you?”

  Lucy nodded. “I’m ready to get land under my feet again even if it isn’t home.”

  “You’ll love the States,” Ralph said confidently. “It’s totally cool there. Way different, especially in the cities. You can get food from all over the world on nearly every corner. And there’s Bigfeet, and old Native American magic, and loads of amazing wizarding places. There’s even a crystal mountain that you can’t even see until you just about bump into it. Even the Muggles told stories about that one, up until the American Magical Administration made it unplottable, a hundred years ago or so.”

  “Bah,” Albus said grumpily, stumping up and plopping down onto a bench built into the railing. “None of it will be as cool as Diagon Alley or Hogsmeade. Who needs a stupid old crystal mountain? Or Bigfeet for that matter?”

  “I think they prefer the term ‘Sasquatches’,” Lucy said carefully. “Or Bigfoots, even though it sounds a little odd, grammatically.”

  “Stupid apes can’t even talk,” Albus groused. “They can start telling me what to call them when they can say it in plain English.”

  “That’s rather speciesist,” Lucy commented, but withou
t much conviction. “What’s got you in such a foul mood?”

  Albus rolled his eyes. “Mum just yelled at me for making a racket in the hallway. Me and Lily and Molly. We were just playing Winkles and Augers. I don’t see what the big deal is.”

  “You were playing Winkles and Augers with Lily and Molly?” Ralph said, frowning. “But they aren’t even in school yet. Do they even have wands?”

  James smiled ruefully. “Albus’ attitude toward the rules is pretty loose. He got both girls some cheap toy wands from Gorleone’s Novelties last time we were in Diagon Alley and he taught them some basic levitation, just so he has somebody to play Winkles with that he can actually beat.”

  “I beat you last time we played,” Albus countered, raising his eyebrows challengingly. “Don’t pretend I didn’t.”

  “That’s because you kept on playing after Mum called us for lunch and I went downstairs!” James cried, tossing his hands into the air.

  “S’not against the rules, is it?” Albus replied evenly. “I mean, I could have just claimed you’d forfeited. I gave you the benefit of the doubt.” To Ralph, he grinned and added, “I won, two hundred and seventy-eight to five.”

  “You can’t play Winkles properly in a hallway as narrow as the corridors below-decks anyway,” Lucy said, leaning back on the railing. “But besides that, why would your mum care? It’s not like anyone’s asleep or anything.”

  Albus shrugged, bored with the topic by now. “Apparently Petra doesn’t feel well. She’s got seasickness or something. She and Izzy are in their cabin resting. We were at least two doors down from them anyway.”

  “Petra’s sick?” James clarified, glancing at his brother. “Really?”

  Ralph said, “You seem surprised. Lots of people get sick on boats. I’m surprised I’m not sick.”

  “You still have one more day,” Lucy commented reasonably. Ralph nodded.

  “I’m a little surprised, yeah,” James said, furrowing his brow. “Petra just doesn’t seem like the seasick type.”

  “So maybe it isn’t seasickness then,” Albus exclaimed, annoyed. “Maybe she has rickets. Or scurvy. Who cares? She’ll be fine by tomorrow night, won’t she?”

  Ralph nodded thoughtfully. “Barstow says sailors used to be called ‘limeys’ because eating limes and oranges and stuff was a great way to keep from catching rickets out on the high seas, for some reason. Has Petra been eating any limes?”

  “She doesn’t have rickets, you prat,” Lucy said, shaking her head.

  “I bet there’s some limes in the galley,” Albus said, brightening. “We could take her some. You want to?”

  “Just leave her alone, like Mum said, why don’t you?” James said, raising his voice a little. “Lucy’s right. Whatever she has, limes aren’t going to fix it. Just leave her be.”

  “Oh, that’s right,” Albus said, rolling his eyes again. “Treus has to look out for his dear Astra. How could I forget? By the way, has she professed her ‘deep and abiding love’ for you yet? No? Ah well.”

  James sighed and shook his head. He was used to his brother’s ribbing by now. He looked toward the mid-ship stairs, wondering if he should go down and check on Petra. Reluctantly, he decided not to. His mum was probably right. If Petra didn’t feel well, it would probably be best if they just left her alone. Petra would ask for help if she needed it.

  Later that afternoon, however, as the sky lowered and turned ashy grey, James was surprised to see Petra and Izzy walking the decks. He saw the two of them from across the ship, he on the bow, and them on the high, angled floor of the stern, strolling slowly, hand in hand. He angled toward the mid-ship stairs, trying to move as casually as he could, hoping they wouldn’t come up the other side of the ship while he was aiming to meet them on the stern. He didn’t want it to appear that he was following them although that was exactly what he was doing.

  By the time he got to the stern, however, neither of the girls was in sight. He looked around carefully, and then turned back to peer over the length of the ship. Apparently, Petra and Izzy had gone back below-decks again. He frowned and shook his head. Far ahead of the ship, the sky was turning a deep, bruised colour, darkening and condensing. It was a storm, just as Barstow had predicted, and the ship seemed to be heading right for it. As James thought this, a high wind twitched over the ship, threading through his hair and singing a high, momentary whine in the ship’s rigging. James shuddered.

  After a moment’s consideration, he headed back down the stern and toward the stairs. There was no point in being on deck for a storm if he didn’t have to be.

  Even if it would probably be rather exciting.

  “Make sure all of your things are well-secured,” Barstow said, stopping momentarily in the doorway. “Including yourselves. Find something solid to hold onto, and do so. Also, keep a bucket handy. Believe it or not, you’re much more prone to seasickness below-decks, where you can’t see the waves. There’ll be enough of a mess to clean up topside afterwards without having to worry about any messes down here, if you take my meaning.”

  James sat next to Molly and Lucy on a small bench in the captain’s quarters, near the bank of curving stern windows. “Well, at least we can watch it from here,” he said somberly. “If we want to.”

  Ralph shook his head. “I’ve never seen the sky look that colour. That can’t be natural.”

  “So much for calm seas,” Lucy agreed, leaning into the purplish-grey window light. “Those look less like waves and more like the Scottish Highlands.”

  James peered out the window next to her and saw that it was true. Unbroken by any shoreline, the waves swelled to nearly geological heights. At one moment, the view beyond the window seemed to look down from a high peak, overlooking a valley of sloshing, white-capped foothills. At the next moment, the ship would fall into the shadow of that very valley, buried in a trough of steely water and surrounded by marching oceanic mountains. James’ stomach rolled with the motion of the waves and he looked away again, back to the comforting confines of the captain’s quarters. Lanterns swung from the ceiling and tools rolled back and forth on the desk, striking the low railings that surrounded its surface.

  “James,” his mum said from across the room. Lily sat on her lap, leaning comfortably back against her mother’s shoulder. Ginny glanced sharply at her son. “Did you close my trunk and batten it down when you were done getting the sweaters out?”

  James sighed wearily. “I don’t know, Mum. Yeah, sure, I guess so.”

  “‘Guess so’ isn’t good enough, James,” Ginny said sternly. She was nervous, James knew, and nervousness made her strident. “I have a whole collection of shampoo and perfume and hand cream vials in there, not to mention your father’s travel potions bag. If that gets knocked over, it’ll cause no end of mess, and if those potions of your father’s break…”

  “It’ll be fine, Mum, quit worrying,” James replied.

  “Go on, James,” his father said from where he stood next to Merlinus by the captain’s desk. “Run along before the waves get any worse. And bring me back that apple on the bedside table, if you would.”

  “Ugh,” Audrey commented, clinging to Percy where they sat at a dark corner table. “How can you eat at a time like this?”

  “I’m hungry,” Harry shrugged as James passed him. “And James…”

  James stopped in the doorway, holding onto the frame to keep his balance on the swaying floor. “Yeah, Dad?”

  “Leave my Invisibiliy Cloak in the trunk when you close it, eh?” Harry said, nodding and smiling a little crookedly.

  James shook his head wearily but Albus crowed laughter from across the room.

  The narrow corridor seemed to lean from side to side as James maneuvered through it. The stairs at the end of the passage were lit with swaying light from the window in the door above. James stumbled into his parents’ stateroom and saw that he had, in fact, left the trunk open and unsecured on the low table at the end of the bed. He clunked the lid closed and pul
led the leather straps over it, looping them through a pair of brass hooks attached to the table, which was itself bolted to the floor. He glanced around and saw the apple his dad had asked for. It rolled back and forth in a bowl on the bedside table. Grabbing it, James turned and lurched back toward the stateroom door. He felt like he was walking uphill. A moment later, he stumbled through the door and caught himself against the corridor wall as the hill inverted, rolling beneath him. He looked at the apple in his hand and groaned, seeing that he had bruised it quite severely against the paneled wall.

  A gust of air whistled through the corridor, bringing sea mist and the roar of the waves with it. James glanced to the side, up the corridor stairs, and saw that the door above had been pushed open, showing low, heaving storm clouds. A figure was silhouetted against the light, and James saw, with some surprise, that it was Petra. As he watched, she stepped out, letting the door blow shut behind her with a slam. Quickly, and without thinking, he followed her.

  Wind pulled the door open the moment he thumbed the latch, nearly wrenching it from his hand. Sailors’ voices called thinly beneath the roar of the waves, the whoosh of the wind, and the creaking groans of the ship. Mist blew over the deck-like sand, scouring it and making James squint as he looked around, scanning the narrow mid-ship walkway for Petra. He finally saw her, moving serenely up onto the stern, her dress whipping about her legs and a cloak flapping from her shoulders.

  James stepped around the door and the wind changed, sucking it shut behind him so hard that he thought the glass window embedded in it might break. It didn’t, fortunately. James hunched his shoulders and moved as quickly as he could along the walkway toward the stern stairway, following Petra.

  Amazingly, he found her leaning on the high, stern railing, her forearms crossed in front of her, as if she was deep in thought. He approached her, calling out her name.

  She looked at him over her shoulder, and smiled wanly. Her dark hair whipped and flailed about her face. “Hi James,” she called back, raising her voice against the wind. She turned back to the ocean beyond.