JAMES POTTER AND THE VAULT OF DESTINIES jp-1

by G. Norman Lippert

  “Cresco Gravitatis!” he called, aiming for a point between and below the two Vampire Bullies.

  There was a very satisfying noise, rather like a reverse popping sound, and the two Bullies were sucked downwards, out of the course. They collided with each other at the point of the gravity well and James was pleased to notice as he swooped past that the air seemed very slightly darker around the center of the spell. The well collapsed upon itself quickly, but there was no chance that the two Vampire Bullies would catch James now. He banked hard around the last loop, speeding up and crouching low over his skrim, and lobbed the Clutch easily through the goal, keeping it well out of the range of the Vampire Keeper’s Cudgel.

  The crowd responded with a concussive roar of applause, as surprised as they were impressed. James had harbored hopes that Wood might not have noticed his use of game magic, but this hope was neatly dashed by the echoing voice of the match announcer, a Zombie House girl named Cheshire Chatterly.

  “And the Bigfoot magic game takes a rather shocking leap into the twenty-first century with the skillful hexwork of number twenty-two, James Sirius Potter!” she cried, her voice amplified over the roar of the crowd. “Could it be that this hearkens a new era of competitiveness for Bigfoot House? Only time will tell. In the meantime, three cheers for Professor Oliver Wood and his very effective coaching!”

  James slowed as he glanced up at the announcer’s box, frowning. He was unsurprised to see Zane seated in the box alongside Cheshire Chatterly. The blonde boy grinned and waved down at James, winking, the gesture about as subtle as a giant in a tutu. James tried to avoid Wood’s gaze but couldn’t help glancing aside as he circled the platform. Wood was smiling rather tightly as the crowd cheered him.

  “Nice one, James!” Norrick called, passing James on his own skrim. “Keep an eye out, though. Team Vampire will probably ambush you now since they think you’re the only one with any magic game.”

  James sighed as he crouched over his skrim, accelerating into the intersection. Sure enough, several Vampire players were eyeing him darkly as they swooped ahead.

  “Why don’t you try some magic then, Norrick?” James suggested, raising his voice into the rushing wind. “It’s not illegal, you know!”

  “I don’t even know those spells!” Norrick responded. “That was a gravity well! Those are really tough!”

  James was about to tell Norrick that they really weren’t all that tough, but by then the two of them were zooming into the intersection and he lost sight of the other boy as they flashed and banked through the oncoming stream.

  James didn’t attempt any more magic during that match, which they lost by a score of fiftyseven to fifty. When it was over, he waited in the locker cellar below the gantry to see if Wood meant to chastise him. The rest of Team Bigfoot congratulated him heartily as they changed out of their pads and gear, but when Wood came down the stairs, they quieted immediately, watching, along with James, to see what he would say. Wood eyed the unnaturally quiet locker cellar for a long moment, letting his gaze sweep over the assembled players.

  Finally, he cleared his throat and said, “Good match today, everyone. Well-played. We haven’t seen such a close score in a long time. Carry on.”

  James watched as the professor made his way toward the exit. When the wooden door clapped shut, he let out a deep exhale of relief. For whatever reason, Wood had obviously chosen not to coach the team to perform any serious game magic, but he was apparently willing to allow it if James, at least, took the initiative upon himself. James felt a great weight of worry lift from his shoulders.

  “Hey James,” Wentworth said, plopping down next to him on the bench, “think you could teach me some of that stuff you did today?”

  “Yeah,” Gobbins agreed, keeping his voice low. “Me too. I don’t know about the rest of these mokes, but I liked what you did out there today. Hell with tradition. I want to hex some heads.”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” James said, raising his hands. “I just learned that stuff myself from books. Wood may let me get away with it on my own, but if he finds out I’m teaching the rest of the team to do it…”

  “It’s not the rest of the team,” Wentworth said, wiping his glasses on his jersey. “It’s just me and Gobbins.”

  “And me,” Jazmine Jade added, sitting down on James’ other side.

  “Wurfh,” another voice grunted. James glanced up to see Mukthatch nodding down at him, his black eyes twinkling.

  James ran both hands through his hair in frustration. “Look, I’m not a teacher. I barely know those spells myself! I just read up on them, watched what everybody else did, and practiced in my room until I was ready to try it!”

  “And you did all this without telling us?” Wentworth said reproachfully.

  “No, no, it’s better that way,” Gobbins said enthusiastically. “Saves us all the trouble! Now he can just teach us what he knows!”

  “I can’t teach anybody anything!” James rasped, trying to keep his voice low.

  “Why not?” Jazmine asked reasonably.

  James shook his head and pursed his lips, at a loss for how to respond.

  “Rharrf whubfle,” Mukthatch said, giving James an encouraging shove on the shoulder, nearly bouncing his head off the wall.

  “Muk’s right,” Wentworth said. “We’re your teammates and your friends. It won’t be like you’re taking over Wood’s job or anything. Think of it as… helping us out with our homework.”

  “Yeah,” Gobbins grinned. “Our Clutch homework.”

  Jazmine nodded seriously. “We’d help you with your homework, James.”

  “You didn’t the other night!” James spluttered, turning on Jazmine. “When I asked you to help me with my Precognitive Engineering essay!”

  “You didn’t want help with it,” Jazmine replied, rolling her eyes. “You wanted to buy mine from last year. That’s hardly the same thing.”

  Gobbins shook his head. “I told you she wouldn’t part with it for less than twenty Jacks.”

  Wentworth stuck stubbornly to the issue. “So, will you help us learn some Clutch magic, James? Just us four?”

  James looked from face to face and finally let out a long sigh of resignation.

  “Woohoo!” Gobbins announced, throwing his fists into the air. “When do we start?”

  “No time like the present,” Jazmine suggested. “It’s still early. We can meet in the attic common room. Nobody uses that room since Bump the Poltergeist moved into it. He won’t bother us, though, as long as nobody minds having a few books thrown at them. Might even help. It’ll give us something to aim at.”

  James leaned forward and stripped off his Clutch boots, letting the conversation roll on without him. Secretly, he wasn’t all that upset about the prospect of teaching what he’d learned to a few other players, so long as it wasn’t the entire team. He might still earn the ire of Professor Wood, but for the moment, James’ aversion to getting into trouble was slightly outweighed by his desire to win at least one Clutch match this season. By the time he and his teammates left the cellar and struck off into the twilight of Pepperpock Down, he was already planning what he’d teach them first.

  “Sorry guys,” James said to Ralph and Zane as they caught up to him. “No Butterbeers in the Kite and Key tonight. I’ve been commandeered.”

  “We figured,” Zane nodded, sighing. “You gonna teach your team the old magical twentythree skidoo?”

  “Shh!” James hissed, looking around. “Not the whole team. Just a couple of my mates. Keep it a secret, all right?”

  “All right,” Zane agreed, throwing up his hands as Mukthatch loomed menacingly over him. “Cool your jets, Chewbacca. Your secret’s safe with me. But keep in mind, next week, you lot are up against Zombie House. Magic is their middle name.”

  “Yeah?” Wentworth countered, pushing himself up to his full height. “Well, Team Bigfoot’s middle name is… er…”

  “Big?” Jazmine suggested hopefully.

 
; “Big magic,” Gobbins nodded. “Thanks to James here. Our new magic coach.”

  The rest of the Bigfoots agreed heartily, cheering and clapping James on the back.

  Zane shook his head and rolled his eyes, smiling ruefully. “My hero,” he said, nudging James with his elbow.

  James grinned sheepishly.

  13. THE OCTOSPHERE AND THE ARBITER

  The semester unrolled like a carpet.

  James spent a few nights each week teaching Clutch magic to his new friends under the canted ceiling of the attic common room. Bump, the house poltergeist, was quite different than what James had expected. Unlike Peeves, whose gleeful mischief and imp-like appearance were Hogwarts legend, Bump was barely a wisp of human-shaped smoke and a vague scent of mold. His primary method of communication was a variety of sneezes, wheezes, annoyed moans, and the occasional hacking cough.

  “Sounds like the ghost of someone who died of the sniffles,” Ralph had commented, a little put off by the roaming, cranky specter.

  “It’s a good theory,” Wentworth agreed. “We thought the same thing, so we had him tested. Some teensy old lady from the Medical College came over and took an ecto-sample. According to her, Bump’s a poltergeist, through and through.”

  “She sure was teensy, wasn’t she?” Jazmine concurred. “Her glasses were bigger than her head. I think she had some dwarf somewhere in her family tree.”

  Gobbins poked his wand toward Bump, who moaned irritably and snaked off toward the bookshelf. “She said that there wasn’t much point in checking, really,” he added. “She said that there hasn’t been a real, bonafide ghost at the Aleron for decades.”

  “Really?” James asked, curious. “Hogwarts is full of them. One of them used to be our History teacher. Why aren’t there any here?”

  Wentworth shrugged where he sat by the door in an old high-backed easy chair. “Nobody knows. Maybe because of the Timelock. Maybe ghosts just can’t keep up with the way the campus roams all over the centuries every day.”

  “But there used to be ghosts,” Gobbins countered. “A long time ago. I’ve heard stories about them. Percival Pepperpock was one of ‘em even. And that old janitor, Freddie something or other. He was always trying to scare people, but he insisted on wearing this old stripey sweater and fedora hat, which is pretty hard to pull off even if you aren’t trying to be all spooky.”

  “So what happened to all the ghosts then?” Ralph asked.

  Jazmine shook her head. “Like Went said, nobody knows for sure. Maybe they just don’t make ghosts like they used to, eh?”

  Mukthatch grunted and barked, anxious to get on with the lesson.

  Things went well enough and James’ initial concerns began to wear off. The third time the group met, however, Norrick appeared in the attic common room, having heard about the Clutch magic practices that were secretly taking place there. Grudgingly, James allowed him to stay, so long as he kept the lessons a secret. By the next week, however, two more members of the team had appeared on the long couch beneath the room’s single window, grinning eagerly, their wands in hands.

  “I didn’t tell anyone!” Norrick said defensively as James glared at him. “It’s all over the house now. You can’t keep secrets very long around here. I even heard Heckle and Jeckle arguing about it downstairs. Heckle thinks we should be learning some tandem spells, by the way, just to mix it up a little.”

  James sighed. The truth was that he didn’t really mind. Team Bigfoot’s Clutch magic was coming along slowly but surely, even if it was fairly standard stuff. James sensed that Professor Wood was still somewhat uncomfortable with it, but he had not yet said anything about it. Perhaps this was because the team had not yet won a match, even though the final scores were growing increasingly close. The last match, in fact, had ended in a tie. James had been disappointed to learn that, according to the rules of Clutchcudgel, a tie game translated to a win for whatever team had had the best record coming into the match, thus giving Team Pixie a technical victory. It had been a moral win for the Bigfoots, nonetheless, and there had been raucous celebration in the locker cellar following the match.

  As the team carried their good cheer with them back to Apollo Mansion, James recalled his dad’s stories about Quidditch at Hogwarts and felt, for the first time, a deep sense of pride that he was living up to his father’s image. In fact, according to the old stories, Oliver Wood himself had been quite the formidable player and had been madly passionate about winning. Perhaps Wood’s reluctance to use offensive and defensive magic—whether or not it was rooted in his insecurities about his deceased parents and their disapproval of his participation in the Battle of Hogwarts—was held in check by his much older love of sporting victory. James hoped so. He still had more things he wanted to try.

  “All right, you lot,” he said, now speaking to slightly more than half of the entire Bigfoot Clutch team, crammed uncomfortably into the attic common room. “That’s everything I know. Time for us to get a little creative. Your homework over the weekend is to research something new, something that the other teams will never expect us to know, and come back Monday ready to teach it to the rest of us. Got it?”

  There was a rumble of eager excitement throughout the cramped space. Bump lurked by the bookcase with a large encyclopedia in his wispy hand, as if he couldn’t choose who to throw it at.

  Across the campus, the leaves had all finally drifted from the trees, carpeting the lawns with orange and yellow. The trees scratched their bare branches at the sky as winter settled slowly over the campus, bringing gusty winds and an increasing chill. James broke out his heavy cloak and began wearing it to classes, buttoned dutifully beneath his chin, its stiff collar sticking up around his ears.

  “Very dashing,” Lucy had said on one grey day, smiling crookedly at her cousin as they made their way toward Administration Hall for lunch. “You’d fit right in at Vampire House. Cloaks are all the rage this year.”

  “Along with plastic fangs and black hair dye,” Albus grumped next to her, walking with his hands stuffed into his blazer pockets.

  Lucy clucked her tongue. “You’re just mad because you lost the Quidditch tournament to us.”

  “The tourney’s not over yet,” Albus countered stridently. “And I’m rooting for Zane and his Zombies to beat you all in the final!”

  Lucy shrugged as if she didn’t care. “May the best team win, of course.”

  Albus bristled but didn’t pursue it any further. James knew that his brother’s experiences in Werewolf House were mixed and this was contributing to his natural moodiness. Sometimes, Albus spoke very highly and proudly of life in Ares Mansion. Other times, he seemed sullen and dejected, slinking over to sit with James, Zane, and Ralph in the corner booth at the Kite and Key, rather than joining the long table near the fireplace where the rest of the Werewolves often gathered. Once or twice, James tried to question Albus about his new mates, but Albus always replied defensively, claiming that nothing was wrong, he loved his house, and couldn’t a bloke come and sit by his brother every now and then without being grilled about his personal life? Eventually, James gave up asking about it.

  Petra still appeared regularly in Professor Baruti’s PotionMaking class and James was glad to see that she generally seemed to be in good spirits. Apparently, Izzy was settling in well at the small campus grade school, which was mostly attended by children of other teachers and administrators. The two of them lived in a small apartment on the top floor of one of the houses on Faculty Row. James saw them occasionally at dinner in the cafeteria and sat with them whenever he did.

  Strangely, those were the times when he felt the most homesick for Hogwarts, even more so than when he talked to Rose, Scorpius, and the rest via the Shard. Sitting with Petra and Izzy, Ralph, and Zane, laughing and talking, reminded him almost painfully of his days in the Great Hall and the Gryffindor common room. Sometimes, on these occasions, he felt the strangest feeling of loss and worry, as if he might never again return to those halls, m
ight never again see all those familiar people and places. It was silly, of course. He’d be returning soon enough. Still, the feeling lingered, and sometimes, especially late at night, he’d find himself thinking of his last conversation with Professor Trelawney. He’d recall her distant, haunted eyes, and her frightening words: The fates have aligned. Night will fall, and from it, there will be no dawn…

  Occasionally, James saw his mum and dad and sister Lily. They came to some of his Clutchcudgel matches, although not as many as they wanted to, according to his father. Harry Potter’s work was becoming more and more hectic, he said, and James could see it in both of his parents’ faces. There was a quiet tension there, and an unspoken worry. No outside newspapers made their way onto the campus of Alma Aleron, but James sensed that things were not at all well in the outside world.

  “Don’t you worry about it,” Harry told him when James asked about it. He smiled at his son, but James could tell that it was a thin smile, put on mostly for his benefit. “You just keep at your schoolwork and your Clutchcudgel. Keep an eye on your brother too. Your mother and I are a little worried about him and those new friends of his in Werewolf House.”

  James shrugged and nodded. His dad was masking his larger worries with concerns about how Al might be fitting in with his fellow Werewolves. It was rather unsettling, but James determined not to make it his problem. He had done that enough over the last two years.

  “I’ve heard of this Professor Magnussen bloke,” James told Ralph and Zane the following weekend, walking along the cold flagstone footpath and kicking piles of dead leaves. “Back during our first year. Remember when I told you about sneaking out with the Invisibility Cloak and following my dad and Chancellor Franklyn around during their midnight meeting? Franklyn said something about Magnussen, made it sound like he was a real trouble maker. Compared him to that Umbridge witch that Dad told us about from back in his own day.”

  “That’s pretty bad,” Ralph considered, frowning slightly. “I remember those stories.”