“But Magnussen’s the key to the whole thing!” Zane insisted. “He’s the one that found the key to the Nexus Curtain. We could look him up in the Archive, maybe figure out how he did it! If we did that, then maybe we could follow him through into the place between the worlds and find whoever it was that attacked the Vault of Destinies!” Zane’s eyes boggled with excitement, but James sighed.
“You’re a complete nutter,” he said dourly. “We’re done with that kind of thing, all right? Ralph and me, we got it all out of our system last year, chasing down that horrible Gatekeeper thing. Rose too. If she was here, she’d probably cuff you on the ear even for bringing it up.”
“Hah,” Zane replied, unperturbed. “I’ve spoken to Rose about it already through the Shard. She thinks it’s worth checking out at least. So there.”
Ralph spoke up uncertainly. “She says we should just tell James’ dad about it and let him look into it. It’s his job, after all.”
“Mr. Potter’s got his hands plenty full already,” Zane answered breezily. “I’ve heard he’s getting loads of flack from the local authorities, especially the Magical Integration Bureau. They’re making things pretty tough for him, keeping him out of the loop.”
“What?” James exclaimed angrily. “Where’d you hear that?”
“I eavesdropped on your dad and Chancellor Franklyn in the Kite and Key after Al’s last Quidditch match. Some of us don’t need any Invisibiliy Cloaks to pull that off.”
James was rankled. “But why would the local authorities shut him out? He was sent here to help them, wasn’t he?”
“Apparently they’re suspicious of him,” Zane replied. “Remember, here in the States, the Progressive Element is all over the place. Not everyone believes all that drivel about how Voldy was just a revolutionary thinker and a champion of the people, put down by the magical ruling powers of the day, but enough idiots do believe it that it makes trouble for people like your dad. They think he himself might even be behind some of that W.U.L.F. stuff. Apparently, they questioned him about the disappearance of that Muggle politician and the Chrysler Building. They even think he might have been in on the attack on the Vault of Destinies, especially since the missing thread managed to vanish without a trace and they’ve had no luck tracking it down, even though it’d leave a magical trail a mile wide. They think that your dad hasn’t found the thread yet because maybe he doesn’t really intend to. Like maybe he’s covering for his own cronies or something.”
“That’s idiotic!” James fumed. “He’s here to rout out the gang that did that stuff and stick them all in Azkaban!”
Ralph was thoughtful. “Well,” he said slowly, “I’m not saying they’re right, of course, but if he was involved with a group like the W.U.L.F., it would probably be the perfect cover for him to be on the team that was supposedly meant to investigate them. If you think about it from the Progressive Element point of view, that is.”
Zane was impressed. “All that time you spent on Corsica’s debate team really sunk in, didn’t it, Ralphinator? You can think just like them when you need to.”
“That’s idiotic,” James said again, kicking at a particularly large pile of leaves.
“The Progressive Element is idiotic,” Zane replied. “Once you believe in that kind of stuff, other stupid stuff becomes a lot easier to swallow.”
“But why would they think my dad would ever join such a bunch of awful people?”
“Ah,” Zane said, smiling ruefully. “That’s an easy one. A lot of Americans think that the W.U.L.F. is just a puppet organization, run by the Ministry of Magic and, specifically, the Auror Department itself. They think that it’s just a big scare tactic, meant to keep people afraid and willing to keep living with the old laws of Muggle-magical separation and all that.”
Ralph shook his head. “They must think people like James’ dad are a bunch of really twisted sneaks then.”
Zane nodded.
The three boys stopped as they neared the Octosphere. The big black orb floated in its watery bed, which was now pasted with dead leaves. A dull, nearly inaudible rumble came from the slowly revolving stone.
“According to legend, Professor Magnussen invented this thing,” Zane commented, resting his foot on the low stone wall that surrounded the pool. “Did you know that?”
“How do you invent a big black ball?” Ralph asked quizzically.
“It’s not just a big black ball, you knucklehead,” Zane replied. “It’s an answer machine. You ask it any question you want and it’ll tell you the answer.”
“That’s some pretty serious magic,” James admitted grudgingly. “Are the answers always right?”
“Always,” Zane nodded. “But they’re never helpful. That’s probably why it’s right out here in the open, for anyone to use. If the answers were useful, this thing would probably be the most valuable tool in the whole magical world. You can bet that that’s what old Professor Magnussen meant for it to be, if the legends about him are true.”
“Why aren’t the answers useful?” Ralph asked, peering closely at the slowly revolving stone sphere.
Zane shrugged. “It’s all quantum. Magnussen was President of Igor House, a century or so ago, and he was apparently a super genius about technomancy. He was a big believer in this thing called the Wizard’s Grand Unification something or other.”
“Yeah,” James said, warming to the subject. “Franklyn talked about that when he took us on the tour of the Archive. It’s called the Wizard’s Grand Unification Theory. He says that people used to believe that if you could measure everything everywhere, then you’d be able to predict the future. And if you could predict the future, then basically…”
“You could control it,” Zane finished. “Yeah, that’s how I heard it too. Apparently, Magnussen was crazy about it. He spent his whole life refining the theory, trying to make it work. The legend is that he used some really horrible methods, although nobody seems to know what they were, exactly. At any rate, this is one of the things he invented along the way. It uses the Grand Unification whatsit to tell you the answer to your question. There was some big flaw in the design, though, so that while the answer you get is technically right, it’s almost always completely useless. Watch.”
Zane turned to the slowly revolving stone orb. In a loud, carefully enunciated voice, he said, “Oh great mystical Octosphere, will Zombie House win this year’s Quidditch tournament?”
James and Ralph leaned forward over the low wall that surrounded the pool, watching the sphere. After a few seconds, the sphere settled to a stop, and something seemed to move within it. Blurry white shapes swam up from the inky depths of the orb, solidifying until they reached the surface and became words. The three boys stared at them thoughtfully. They read:
‘AS THE MOONS OF KTHULL ALIGN WITH THE GREAT HORN OF IPSUS’
After a moment, Ralph asked, “So is that a yes… or a no?”
“Nobody knows,” Zane said brightly. “That’s the point. My guess is that Kthull is a planet in some unknown galaxy. Ipsus is probably a constellation or something. Or maybe it’s even a real beast with a real-life horn. Either way, it’s impossible for us to know whether or not some crazy planet’s moons line up with it, so even though the answer is correct, it’s still completely useless to us.”
Ralph asked, “So how do you know it’s correct then?” James thought it was a very reasonable question.
Zane nodded. “Watch this.” He turned again to the Octosphere. “Hey you, who won last week’s Clutch match between Zombie House and the Igors?”
James and Ralph watched as the letters faded from the Octosphere’s surface and it began to turn again, rumbling faintly.
“You don’t really have to say the ‘oh great mystical Octosphere’ part,” Zane admitted as they waited. “I just thought it would sound more, you know, impressive that way.”
In the center of the pool, the black orb stopped turning again. Two words faded up from its depths.
ZOMB
IE HOUSE
“See?” Zane said, gesturing toward the floating orb. “If it’s an answer you already know, then it just gives it to you straight up. And it’s always right.”
“I see what you mean,” Ralph frowned. “That’s not very helpful at all.”
Zane nodded. “I hear it drove Professor Magnussen crazy trying to figure out what the problem was with it. They say that’s what drove him to seek out and open the Nexus Curtain, although no one knows why. Maybe if we can retrace his steps, we can find the answer to that mystery too!”
“No way,” James said resolutely, sighing. “Mum was right. We’ve got enough on our hands, what with school, Clutch, and everything else. Whoever this Magnussen was, if there’s anything there to find out, I bet my dad’s already working on it. He’ll find this Nexus Curtain and chase down whoever attacked the Vault of Destinies. You watch.”
Zane seemed reluctant to let the issue go, but he didn’t say anything more about it that afternoon or even the rest of the weekend.
On Monday morning, Professor Bunyan took the class up to the museum at the top of the Tower of Art, where he showed them portraits of many of the historical figures they’d been studying. Crouching under the museum’s archways, the giant professor indicated paintings of famed American battles, showing how the secret magical contingent of the United States army, led by an American wizard named Quenton Harrow, had assisted in the fight. As James passed a portrait of General George Washington, he commented to Ralph that it was a shame the portrait couldn’t talk.
“Who says I can’t talk?” the portrait asked, affronted.
James, Zane, and Ralph spun around, surprised. Zane answered first. “But… you were a Muggle, right?”
“What, pray tell, is a Muggle, young man?” Washington asked sternly.
“Er,” James said, stammering. “Someone who’s not magical? How can you not…?” he gestured toward the portrait’s gilt frame. “You’re a talking painting!”
“And what of it?” Washington responded, raising his chin.
Ralph shook his head. “I’m confused.”
Just then, Professor Bunyan placed one of his huge hands around the boys’ shoulders, leading them away from the portrait.
“We try not to talk to the portraits of the Muggle historical figures,” he said quietly. “Someone thought it’d be a good idea to magically preserve them for posterity, but being only vaguely aware of the magical world, many of them find the experience a bit… hinky.”
James nodded, glancing back at the portrait of Washington. The president watched him stoically. James knew the figure was only paint on canvas, but he felt a little sorry for him nonetheless. He determined to come back later and keep the painting company despite Professor Bunyan’s words.
That evening, James, Zane, and Ralph entered the cafeteria to find that it had been decorated for Halloween. Floating over the long tables were dozens of jack-o’-lanterns, grinning, leering, and occasionally swooping down to chomp a slice of pizza from an unsuspecting diner’s hand. The skeleton from Mother Newt’s Wiz Home Ec classroom had been commandeered, hexed a rather ghastly green, and installed near the main entrance, where it distributed trays to the students as they lined up for dinner. Professor Cloverhoof, the faun President of Zombie House, stood in the back of the room, directing a pair of girls who were busily hanging orange bunting from the low ceiling.
“Hi Professor!” Zane called as the three boys sat down beneath the floating pumpkins. “How’s everything coming along for the costume ball?”
“Swimmingly,” Cloverhoof answered distractedly. “A bit higher, Miss Worrel. There’s nothing quite so depressing as crooked bunting. There we go.”
“The Jersey Devil is taking his duties very seriously this year,” Zane said in a stage whisper, turning back to James and Ralph. “He’s chair of the committee for this year’s Halloween Ball. Last year, Mother Newt did it, and we all about drowned in doilies and lace.”
Ralph glanced up at a floating jack-o’-lantern that seemed to be eyeing his plate. “They have the costume ball in the cafeteria?”
Zane shook his head. “No, no, this is just where they have all the drinks and refreshments. It’s always quite a spread. The actual dance takes place upstairs in the main ballroom. It’s huge, with chandeliers the size of the Wocket and a big stage at one end. Don’t tell anybody else,” he added, leaning forward secretively, “but we got Rig Mortis and the Stifftones to play the show! Should be killer!”
“I’ve never heard of them,” James said, rolling a slice of pizza and biting off the end.
“Yeah,” Ralph added, “are they anything like The Boggart Brothers? I like them a lot.”
“No,” Zane answered curtly, clearly annoyed. “The Stifftones are only like the most popular band on American wizarding wireless. You two make me want to cry, I swear.”
“I’ve heard of them,” a girl’s voice said. James glanced aside and saw Izzy plopping down next to Zane, clunking her tray onto the table in front of her. “I like them. ‘Hex on My Heart’ is my favorite song right now.”
“Finally, somebody with some class,” Zane sighed.
“How are you doing, Iz?” James asked the younger girl.
“We’re good,” Izzy answered, nodding toward Petra, who was approaching with her own tray. “My teacher says I’m already reading at a fourth-grade level, whatever that means. It’s very good, apparently, considering I’d never gone to school before.”
Zane nearly choked on a piece of crust. “You never went to school? Are you serious? Why not?”
“My mother,” Izzy answered stoically. “She didn’t think I was smart enough for it. She said it would be a waste of time for me and everyone else.”
Petra settled in next to James. “Tell them what Mrs. Quandary told you today, Iz,” she prodded.
Izzy smiled crookedly. “I get to play the Snow Princess in this year’s Christmas show.”
“Cool!” Zane grinned enthusiastically. “You got your wings and halo all picked out yet?”
“We have plenty of time for that,” Petra said, beaming down at her sister. “She’s just getting used to her wand, for now.”
“Her wand?” James blinked. “But… Izzy’s not… er.”
“How are things in Bigfoot House?” Petra asked, glancing aside at James and smiling.
“James is teaching magic to the Bigfoot Clutch team,” Ralph interjected proudly. “Looks like the Bigfoots might win a match for the first time in… I don’t know. Ever, maybe.”
James meant to downplay this detail, but then he noticed the way Petra looked at him, obviously impressed.
“That’s excellent, James,” she said, nudging him. “I’ve noticed how Team Bigfoot’s been playing lately. Much more confident than when the season first started. Are you really responsible for that?”
James shrugged and looked away, his face reddening. “Well… you know. I… yeah. It’s nothing, really.”
“‘Nothing,’ he says,” Zane grinned. “James took that team from zero to hero in no time flat.”
“We haven’t even won a match yet,” James said, trying to suppress a smile of pride. “But we did have one tie game.”
“You watch,” Zane insisted, ignoring James’ protests. “My boy’s going places. Maybe even pro! There was a guy last year, a Werewolf named Stubb, who got drafted by the Hoboken Hobgoblins. I bet James is even better than he was!”
“Stop!” James exclaimed, his cheeks burning. “Look, it’s nothing, all right? I just taught them a few basic spells, that’s all. For some reason, Wood wasn’t coaching anything by way of a magic game. We’re just catching up to everyone else now.”
“He’s so humble, isn’t he?” Zane said mistily, nodding toward Petra. “Why, it breaks my heart. It really does.”
James rolled his eyes.
Fifteen minutes later, the five of them made their way toward the cafeteria doors, talking excitedly about the upcoming Halloween Ball, and James was gearing
himself up for something. He felt wound so tight that he thought everyone else must see it, as if he was physically vibrating. There was a knot of people near the door, milling around some unseen curiosity, and James touched Petra’s elbow as they stopped to watch.
“Petra,” he said, trying not to blush, “I was wondering…”
She turned back to him and brushed her hair out of her face with her hand. “Yes?”
“Er,” he began, furious at himself for how awkward he sounded. He took a deep breath. “You know the costume ball that’s coming up?”
She smiled at him wryly. “The one we were talking about just now? Sure. What about it?”
James ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah. Well, I know you’re not really a student, like, but we’ve known each other for some time now, and… I thought maybe we could—”
The crowd near the doorway parted at that moment and somebody backed into Petra, bumping her.
“Make room, everyone,” a voice announced. It was Professor Cloverhoof, his hands raised in the air.
James took another step toward Petra, trying to catch her attention again. “Anyway, I was just thinking, maybe you and me could—”
“Stand aside, Mr. Potter,” Cloverhoof said, touching James on the shoulder. James glanced up, annoyed, and then sidled up next to Petra once more.
“Go on, James,” Petra said, smiling slightly, her eyes twinkling. “I’m listening.”
James smiled back at her, feeling harried but encouraged. He opened his mouth to speak, but another voice cut him off, piercing the air like fingernails on a chalkboard.
“You!” the voice cried, so high and shocked that it silenced the entire room at once. James startled and spun toward the owner of the screeching voice. A thin old man with very white skin and balding black hair stood in the center of the cafeteria doorway, supported between two witches in pale green robes. James recognized him vaguely, but couldn’t remember where he might have seen him before.
“Yooouu!” the man screeched again, drawing the word out like a howl, his voice ebbing away as his breath ran out. James felt a thrill of panic as the man raised a trembling hand, the index finger extended. He was pointing at Petra.
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