JAMES POTTER AND THE VAULT OF DESTINIES jp-1

by G. Norman Lippert

  “I’m sorry,” Cloverhoof said, recovering himself and assuming a serious expression. “Do continue, Mr. Warrington. You are on quite a roll.”

  “I’m done,” Warrington said, moving back around the desk and plopping into his chair, which squeaked in protest. “With both of them.”

  “I’m afraid that Mr. Warrington is quite right, my friends,” Cloverhoof said breezily, climbing to his hooved feet. He straightened his vest and picked a fleck of dust from his lapel. “Zombie House does have its standards, ill-defined and amorphous as they are. I quite suspect that you will be rather happier elsewhere.”

  “But…,” James exclaimed, stammering. “But, but…!”

  “I had a rather lengthy discussion about the affair with the Chancellor this morning after he… er… extracted the both of you from your various predicaments. I agree with his assessment entirely. There is really only one house for students with your particular… ahem… aptitudes.”

  “Oh no,” Ralph moaned. “Not Igor House.”

  Cloverhoof blinked at Ralph and smiled a little crookedly. “Igor House?” he said inquiringly. “No, not quite. Come along boys. The morning is well begun and surely you have classes to attend to. Tonight, you will begin life in your new society. Surely you will fit in very nicely.”

  “Which house?” James asked unhappily, standing up and moving toward the door as the faun professor swung it open.

  “Why, I’d have thought it was obvious,” Cloverhoof replied brightly. “Frankly, I’m surprised you didn’t rush there in the first place. The Chancellor has determined that you should be assigned to Bigfoot House. I’m quite certain that you will find it very… er… reassuring.”

  James and Ralph slumped where they stood.

  From the desk behind them, Warrington grinned wickedly. “See you on the Clutch course, boys!” he announced, and chuckled humorlessly.

  “I don’t see what the big deal is about Bigfoot House,” Lucy said, rolling her eyes. The sun was setting over the campus, painting long purple shadows over the lawns and footpaths as the students made their way back from dinner in the cafeteria.

  “That’s because you got into the house you rushed for,” Ralph grumped. “You’ve got the blood red tie to prove it.”

  “Looks excellent too,” Zane added.

  Lucy smiled demurely. “Thank you. But the point is, you were probably never meant to be in Zombie House anyway, and if you’d ended up there, you probably would’ve been totally miserable.”

  “Hush your mouth!” Zane exclaimed, covering his ears with his hands. “That’s the Zombies you’re talking about!”

  “And a fine bunch they are, I’m sure,” Lucy soothed. “Just not for James and Ralph. Obviously it fits you like a suit of armor. Albeit, yellow armor, with a clown’s wig on the top.”

  “Now you’re talking,” Zane nodded, mollified.

  “But Bigfoot House,” James moaned. “They’re the nobody dorm.”

  “In that case, it fits you two perfectly,” Albus said, coming up from behind.

  James glanced back at his brother darkly. “When did you get here, you big turncoat?”

  “At least my turncoat comes with a burgundy tie,” Albus replied, brushing off his blazer and peering critically down at himself. “Pretty dashing, isn’t it?”

  Ralph narrowed his eyes. “You ever hear the phrase ‘blood is thicker than water’?”

  “I haven’t gotten that far in Potions yet,” Albus answered breezily.

  In a careful voice, Lucy said, “That was a rather awful thing to do, Albus, leaving your brother up there like that.”

  “Oh, he was fine,” Albus waved a hand. “It was either him or me. Before I was a Werewolf, I was a Slytherin, remember, and we Slytherins take every break we can get. It’s the Gryffindors that are all self-sacrificing and noble. If you look at it that way, I was just helping James to be true to his heritage.”

  James flung out an arm and backhanded his brother on the shoulder, shoving him backwards. “I’ll show you a thing or two about nobility, you sodding git!”

  “Ah, ah, ah…,” Albus warned, wagging a finger at his brother. “Werewolves look out for each other. Now that I wear the grey and burgundy, anything you do to me is likely to be repaid by the Brotherhood of the Wolf. I’m just giving you fair warning. I don’t want to see you get hurt, big brother.”

  “‘Brotherhood of the Wolf’,” Zane scoffed. “There isn’t a real werewolf in the bunch. If any of your brotherhood was confronted by a real wolf, they’d scurry like mice.”

  Albus rounded on Zane. “But Zombie House is full of the walking undead, right? At least in terms of brainpower, from what I hear.”

  “Them’s fightin’ words!” Zane proclaimed stridently.

  “Will you both shut it,” Lucy interrupted, getting between the two of them and placing a hand on each one’s chest, pushing them apart. “This is a silly thing to argue about. Everyone knows that both the Werewolves and Zombies cower before the dark mystery of Vampire House.”

  Zane spluttered while Albus pushed Lucy’s hand away. She smiled haughtily, raised her chin, and walked on.

  “She sure picked that up fast,” Ralph said, impressed.

  “Come on,” Zane urged irritably, yanking Ralph’s elbow. “The Bigfoots’ mansion is over here. Let’s get you inside and introduced to your new pals. I’ve never even seen the inside of the dorm since I’ve never been friends with any Bigfeets.”

  James sighed as they walked toward the staid brick structure. Apollo Mansion, home of Bigfoot House, was by far the least interesting of the houses. It stood square and straight in the orange sunset, looking like a sentinel guarding something nobody really wanted. There was virtually no landscaping around the mansion except for a few squat shrubberies that ranged around the foundation in a businesslike manner. A short stone stairway led to the front door, which was adorned with a large pewter knocker in the shape of a foot with splayed toes.

  “So, are there any actual Bigfoots in Bigfoot House?” Ralph asked as they climbed the steps.

  “Maybe,” Zane shrugged. “That would put them on a level higher than either the Werewolves or the Vampires. They haven’t had any real werewolves or vampires in their houses for centuries.”

  James asked, “What about the Pixies, Igors, and Zombies?”

  “I don’t know about the Pixies or Igors,” Zane said, reaching for the huge knocker, “but the old President of Zombie House was this crotchety professor named Straidthwait, and he taught class for nearly a week before anyone knew he’d died of brain failure or something. Apparently, he’d spent too much time in deepest Africa during a summer vacation and drank a few too many native potions. Once he found out he was dead, he insisted on being buried in the campus cemetery, ambulatory or not.” Zane grinned at James and Ralph and clacked the door knocker three times, shaking the big wooden door.

  “You’re making that up,” Ralph insisted. “They didn’t bury him alive!”

  Zane shook his head. “He wasn’t alive. He was dead as a doorknob. Said so himself. I hear he performed his own eulogy and told everyone that he was looking forward to being buried. Said it was going to be like the ultimate retirement. It’s engraved on his tomb, in fact. I’ll show you sometime.”

  “No thanks,” Ralph replied as the door opened. A small boy with pasty skin and huge glasses looked up at Zane.

  “I know you,” he said meekly. “You gave me donkey’s ears last year.”

  “Did I?” Zane blinked, thinking. “Could be. I gave a lot of people donkey’s ears last year. It was all the rage. Hurt, did it?”

  The boy stared up at Zane. “No. But it made me want to eat lots of carrots. And it made it easier to hear the lectures in Mageography. I didn’t mind, really.”

  “Good man,” Zane said heartily, clapping the boy on the shoulder. The boy tottered.

  “I’m James,” James said, stepping forward. “And this here’s Ralph. We’re… er… Bigfoots.”

&
nbsp; “You sure are,” the boy said, looking up and down at Ralph.

  “I remember you,” Zane said, squinting. “Pastington, right?”

  “Paddington,” the boy corrected. “Wentworth Paddington.”

  “Can we come in?” Ralph asked hopefully. “Only, we’d like to get settled into our new rooms. If we have to sleep in the common dorm with that crazy clockwork monkey for one more night…”

  “Oh, sure,” the boy said blandly, stepping backwards. “Everything’s pretty much wherever you find it. The dormitories are all up on the third floor. Game room’s in the basement. Everything in between is what it is.”

  James stepped into the foyer of the house. It was neat and high with a small unlit chandelier dangling overhead. A dusty banner drooped from the chandelier, faded with age. Dark blue letters on an orange background spelled the words ‘BIGFOOT PRUDE’.

  “Oh, that,” Wentworth said, following James’ gaze. “That was made by Kowalski’s mom when he was a freshman. English isn’t exactly her first language, but Kowalski was so proud of it that we couldn’t bring ourselves to take it down.”

  Zane nodded up at the banner. “Makes perfect sense to me, Went. So where’s the party at anyway?”

  Wentworth blinked behind his huge glasses. “Party?”

  “Where’s the rest of your Bigfoot pals?” Zane clarified. “And your president? James and Ralph here should probably meet them all, shouldn’t they?”

  “Oh,” Wentworth said uncertainly. “Sure. I guess so. Come on.” He turned and padded away, heading toward a huge stairway that dominated the main hall. After a sidelong glance at Ralph and Zane, James followed.

  As the four descended into the mansion’s basement, they heard a babble of voices and the clack and clatter of billiard balls. Turning a landing at the base of the stairs, James found himself in a low, cluttered room, filled with mismatched sofas and chairs, end tables, and a small galaxy of lamps with battered shades. Students lounged in groups throughout the space or drifted around a collection of very antique game tables in the dimmer recesses of the basement room. A huge white refrigerator sat like a deflated blimp in the corner, flanked by a stuffed deer’s head on one side and a moose head on the other. The moose head wore a tasseled nightcap and seemed to be sleeping. None of the occupants of the room looked up as James, Ralph, and Zane entered.

  “He’s over there,” Wentworth pointed. “In the middle, with his feet on the disarmadillo.”

  James followed Wentworth’s gesture and saw the President of Bigfoot House lounging on a low orange sofa, his feet propped on a small animal that appeared to be half aardvark and half tank. James recognized the man as the one who had sat next to his father at Professor Longbottom’s assembly. With a start, he realized that his father was sitting next to the man even now, laughing happily and holding a bottle of some American beer. Harry saw his son from across the room, grinned and waved him over.

  “I heard you’d been assigned to Bigfoot House,” he called as James, Ralph, and Zane threaded through the various chairs and tables. “You couldn’t have found a better home. Er, no matter what path got you here,” he added, smiling crookedly.

  “Hey, Mr. Potter,” Zane grinned, plopping onto a nearby chair.

  James settled onto a low, bowed sofa and sighed. “So you heard, eh?”

  “I suspect most of magical Philadelphia knows by now,” Harry replied. “You’re a Potter, after all. Your picture will probably be on the front page of the Daily Prophet by tomorrow morning, along with a pithy caption written by Rita Skeeter herself.”

  James slumped on the sofa. “Bloody hell. You really think so?”

  “Who cares? You won’t be there to see it, at least.”

  Zane stroked his chin. “Knowing Rose, she’ll cut it out and send it to you, though.” He glanced at Ralph, who nodded.

  “However you got here,” the man on the sofa next to Harry smiled, “Bigfoot House is proud to have you.” The man was relatively young and quite thin with a neat dark haircut and mild features. James could tell by his lack of American accent that he was not originally from the United States.

  “Yeah, well, we’re glad to finally have a home, I guess,” Ralph commented. “Even being a leftover is better than being stuck in the common dorm.”

  “Oh, we don’t have leftovers in Bigfoot House,” the House President said, straightening and producing his wand from a back pocket. “All Bigfoots are essential members of the clan. One for all and all for one. Go orange and blue!” With that, the man pointed his wand at James. There was a flash and James startled. He glanced down at himself and saw that his black tie had been transformed to a bright autumn orange, and his blazer was now dark blue. Another flash lit the room and Ralph’s uniform was transformed as well.

  “Not so handsome as Zombie yellow,” Zane said critically, “but better than plain black at any rate. You were starting to look like those stiffs from the Magical Integration Bureau.”

  “Everyone listen up,” the president of the house announced loudly, taking his feet off the disarmadillo and sitting up straight. “This is James Potter and Ralph Deedle, the newest members of Bigfoot House. Let’s show them a nice welcome, eh?”

  Halfhearted cheers and applause filled the room, lingering rather pathetically as the president beamed at James and Ralph. The disarmadillo wandered slowly away, sniffing at the skirts of the sofas and munching the occasional piece of stale popcorn. When the noise of the cheers finally petered out, James flopped back into the depths of the sofa again.

  “So how do you two know each other anyway?” he asked, looking back and forth between his dad and the Bigfoot President.

  “Oh, your father and I go way back,” the president smiled. “I helped make him the man he is today, in fact. Gave him his first shot, back when he was just a little squitter who barely knew how to hold a wand.”

  “I think it was Professor McGonagall who actually got me on the team,” Harry corrected, shaking his head and smiling. “You just taught me what I needed to know to not get killed on the pitch.”

  “And a good job I did, too!”

  “Anyway,” Harry laughed, “as it turns out, James, yours and Ralph’s new house is headed up by one of the best professors on campus. He came to the States years ago and, for reasons I can’t even begin to guess, decided not to leave. James, Ralph, this is my old friend and fellow Gryffindor, your new president, Oliver Wood.”

  “Wood!” Zane proclaimed, smacking his forehead. “That’s your name, not Birch. I was close, though, wasn’t I?” He grinned aside at James and Ralph.

  “Hey,” Wentworth said, tapping James on the shoulder. “There’s this big owl on the stairs out front, hooting like crazy and trying to get in the front door. I’m guessing he’s yours. You want me to show him to the tower? Or will he be, um… staying with you?”

  “Nobby’s here!” Zane said climbing to his feet. “Home sweet home all over the place. Come on. I’ll help you Bigfoots carry your stuff over from the common dorm. No house-elves in the States, so you gotta do all the footwork yourself. Get it?” he grinned, nudging James. “Footwork?”

  “I got it,” James said, smiling helplessly. He rolled his eyes, and the three boys clambered back up the steps, heading outside.

  One hour later, James stood in the middle of the upstairs bedroom of the common dorm and stared down at his right hand, his eyes wide. On the floor at his feet lay his duffle bag, unzipped and gaping open, where he had just dropped it. He was surprised that he could still hear Zane and Ralph in the hallway outside, struggling to fit Ralph’s things into the rickety dumbwaiter. In the center of James’ right palm, a soft silver glow was still fading away, like a ball of stormlight.

  He shuddered, not knowing what had just happened, but knowing that whatever it was, it was very important. It simply didn’t make any sense.

  “Merlin,” he whispered to himself, his eyes wide. Merlin would understand. He would know. James had just come from seeing him, as per the He
admaster’s request, but it wasn’t too late to go back again. He hunkered down carefully and reached to zip his duffle bag again, careful not to brush his fingers against the small parchment packet just inside.

  After visiting his new house and meeting Oliver Wood, the Bigfoot House President and inexplicable friend of his father (Wood’s name had rung a faint bell in James’ memory, but if his father had talked about him, it had been a long time ago), things had gotten decidedly weirder as the night progressed.

  On the way to the common dorm, James had remembered to stop in at the guest house in the hopes of catching Merlinus before his departure. Seeing his father in the basement of Apollo Mansion had reminded James of his appointment with the Headmaster, and he was very curious about whatever it was the old man meant to give him. Merlin had indeed been there, engaged in what appeared to be a serious discussion in the parlor with Chancellor Franklyn and Neville Longbottom. The room had quieted almost immediately as James, Ralph, and Zane had entered, and James had the distinct sense that it was an uncomfortable pause, brittle as glass. Merlin had welcomed the boys and excused himself from the gathering, claiming that he’d only be absent for a moment.

  In the upstairs rooms of the guest house, Merlin had shown the boys to his trunk. Ralph and James had seen it before since it was the very same trunk that they had helped the great wizard retrieve from an ocean cave early last year. It was unusually small—deceptively so, since its nested doors and drawers could open onto still more nested doors and drawers in a rather eye-bending display of conserved magical space. For now, however, Merlin had slipped only one drawer open. The drawer was long and shallow, containing a flat, square object wrapped in cloth. Merlin retrieved it and held it out to James with both hands.

  “Last year,” he said, “I told you about the effects of very magical objects upon the earth. I told you how they tend to leave very large footprints on the landscape of reality, and that the age of very magical objects was drawing to a close. Upon further reflection, I have determined that this is far truer than even I had known. Contrary to what I originally believed, the balance of the wizarding world is very precarious in this time. The weight of the extremely magical is enough to affect that balance. I realized that, in the name of that balance, I must do something that I very much did not wish to do. This is the result.”