JAMES POTTER AND THE VAULT OF DESTINIES jp-1

by G. Norman Lippert

  Before Lucy could reply, he ducked into the boys’ bathroom, tugging at the cupid that still clung to his neck.

  “I told you you couldn’t just rip it off,” Zane whispered some hours later as the three boys stole through the darkness toward the Warping Willow.

  “Don’t remind me!” James rasped. “Let’s just forget the whole thing ever happened, all right?”

  “It’s a good thing for you that Mother Newt saw you in the hall and knew how to summon a paper heart for herself,” Zane said, shaking his head. “Otherwise, you’d probably be spear bald by now. So, was she a good kisser, then?”

  James fumed silently.

  “I hear she was quite a looker back in the day,” Ralph mused.

  Zane considered this. “Waaay back in the day, maybe.”

  “Would you both shut up about it?” James exclaimed in a loud hiss. “We’re nearly there. You got the note?”

  “Right here,” Zane acknowledged, producing a folded scrap of parchment from his pocket. “Here’s hoping it works.”

  Silently, the boys crept underneath the low-hanging limbs of the Warping Willow. All around, the campus was dark and quiet, overhung by a huge moon and a sprinkle of glittering stars.

  “I think you’re supposed to read it first,” Ralph said, nudging Zane. “And then you drop it in the knothole in the trunk.”

  “I know, I know,” Zane mumbled. “All right, here goes.”

  The blonde boy unfolded the note and peered at it by the dim light of the moon. He took a deep breath and read aloud: “Warping Willow, take we three… to a date that’s nifty-fine… in the nineteenth century… eighth October, fiftynine.”

  Rolling his eyes, Zane crumpled the note and dropped it into the hole in the Willow’s trunk.

  “‘Nifty-fine?’” Ralph repeated quizzically.

  “Hey, you try to find a rhyme for fiftynine,” Zane replied tersely. “See what you come up with.”

  “Do you think it’ll work?” James asked, looking around.

  As if in answer, the Tree’s limbs began to sway and whisper all around. Very slowly, the stars beyond the Tree’s canopy began to move like painted dots on a monstrous black dome.

  “We’re going somewhere, at least,” Zane said. “Let’s hope we got everything right and don’t end up in the Stone Age or something.”

  “You’re joking, right?” Ralph asked nervously. Neither Zane nor James replied.

  Accompanied by the shushing movement of the Willow’s limbs, time began to unravel all around. Night crept backwards into day only to be followed swiftly by night once again. The sun and moon chased each other faster and faster through the sky, becoming streaks as the days grew into a flickering blur. Winter came and went again and then the leaves sprang up onto the trees all around, changing from autumn orange to vibrant summer green. Seasons melted together as years sped into decades, spiraling steadily backwards. Finally, the whip-like branches of the Warping Willow began to relax. The whicker of the leaves settled to a whisper as the sun resolved into an individual orb again, dropping past the horizon, descending into a single chilly night. The moon crept up into the sky, a thin sickle shape now, and stopped.

  “Well,” Zane said, his voice unconsciously hushed, “we’re here. I hope.”

  “How do we know what year it is?” James asked as they skulked out from beneath the Tree into the weedy walled yard that formed the entrance to Muggle Philadelphia. “Do we just wait and hope for the best?”

  Ralph nodded. “I don’t think we have much of a choice. Are you sure about the incantation that takes us back to the school?”

  “That one’s easy,” Zane whispered. “I’ve heard it about a thousand times and it never really changes, so long as you know the timeframe that the Aleron is occupying on any given day. Warrington worked it out with me, so that’s no problem.”

  “Shh!” James rasped suddenly, pushing Ralph and Zane backwards behind him. He nodded toward the gate and whispered, “Look!”

  Both boys looked and saw the hunkered shape of Flintlock. He was in his resting form, looking like nothing more than a pile of great mossy boulders near the closed gate. As they watched, a clatter of hooves on cobbles could be heard beyond the gate. A shadow passed by on the street outside followed by a rattle of wheels.

  “Well,” Ralph whispered, “horses and carriages. That’s a good sign, I guess.”

  James nodded. Together, the three boys hunkered down into the weeds near the yard’s furthest corner.

  As they waited, the sounds of the Muggle city filled the small yard, echoing off the stone walls. James heard indistinct voices and laughter as well as the more distant bellows of working men, probably down by the river. Clangs and whistles marked the passage of ships on the dark waterway. The crisp breeze carried the scent of smoke, horse manure, and rotting fish. After a few minutes, a bell began to toll the hour, ringing clearly in the darkness. Eight chimes pealed out, diminishing slowly into the silence.

  “Any moment now,” Zane whispered, watching the Warping Willow carefully.

  “I hope he comes quick-like,” Ralph replied quietly. “My bum’s going to sleep.”

  Several more minutes crept by, each one seeming as long as an hour. James began to worry that they had missed their target date somehow. He opened his mouth to say so when the Tree began to rustle faintly in front of them.

  “This is it,” Zane rasped, his eyes bulging with anticipation. “Keep low so he doesn’t see us!”

  James hunkered down in the weeds, hoping the darkness and the overgrowth would be enough to hide them. Shortly, the motion of the Tree increased, hiding the space beneath it. James held his breath, watching. With a shudder and a sort of sigh, the limbs relaxed, and a figure stepped purposely out from beneath the Willow.

  There was no question of who the figure was. Even in the darkness, the fringe of short grey hair and the chiseled features of Ignatius Magnussen were clearly visible. Further dispelling any doubt, the man thumped the ground with his cane and James saw moonlight glinting off the hooked iron face of its handle.

  “Awake, my friend,” Magnussen announced in his unmistakable British accent, speaking to Flintlock. “I have one final duty to perform this evening and then you will know me no more.”

  Slowly, Flintlock stirred, his movements like a miniature landslide in reverse. “Professor,” the troll said, spying the man before him, “I’m afraid I cannot allow you to pass. I have orders directly from Chancellor Franklyn himself.”

  Magnussen lowered his head and stepped forward in a friendly fashion. “I am quite certain that you do, my friend,” he said. “But look here…”

  With that, Magnussen raised his cane, holding the iron head aloft, nearly at the troll’s eyelevel. A green flash lit the troll’s face, sparkling in his diamond chip eyes, and Flintlock stopped moving.

  “Open the gate,” Magnussen ordered, and all the friendliness had dropped out of his voice. “Or I will unmake you and return you to the guts of the earth, a million pebbles without memory of the shape they once comprised.”

  Jerkily, almost as if he were being operated by a careless puppet-master, Flintlock reached for the gate. He wrenched it open in one swift motion, ripping the vines that had grown up through the bars.

  “Thank you, my friend,” Magnussen said easily, lowering his cane. With a sweep of his cloak, he strode through the entrance and disappeared into the dark street beyond.

  “That was an Imperius Curse,” Zane breathed worriedly. “He Imperioed Flintlock!”

  “Come on!” James whispered, scrambling to his feet.

  “But what about Flintlock?” Ralph asked. “What if he tries to stop us?”

  Zane approached the great stony troll carefully and then patted him on the knee. “I don’t think he’s going to notice anything for awhile,” he said with a shudder.

  James looked up at the troll as he passed. Flintlock’s eyes stared straight ahead, glinting dully in the moonlight. More than anything, he looked
like a machine that had been temporarily switched off.

  “Come on,” Zane nodded soberly. “Mags went to the right. We have to hurry up or we’ll lose sight of him.”

  With a renewed sense of urgency, the three boys darted through the open doorway out into the streets of nineteenth century Muggle Philadelphia.

  To James’ eye, Muggle Philadelphia didn’t look immediately very different despite the change of nearly two centuries.

  The streets were narrower and cobbled rather than paved and the footpaths were made of uneven slabs of stone, leaning somewhat drunkenly toward the brick-lined gutters. What streetlamps there were flickered with gas flames instead of the bright incandescence of the modern lights. The houses that lined the streets, however, seemed nearly unchanged, apart from the lack of any televisions flashing behind the windows. Occasionally, a black carriage or hansom cab would trundle past in the tow of large horses, their eyes hidden behind black blinders, their harnesses creaking and jingling.

  “This would be a lot easier if there were more people on the street,” Ralph whispered as they trailed Magnussen. “If he turns around, he’ll see us straight away.”

  “Just walk casual,” Zane muttered, “and try to keep in the shadows.”

  Magnussen strode briskly, his cape billowing behind him like bat wings in the chilly breeze. The three boys had to occasionally trot to keep him in sight as he zigzagged through the narrow residential streets. Obviously, Magnussen knew exactly where he was going and was sparing no time in getting there. Shortly, the boys trailed the big man into a neighborhood of much larger houses, most surrounded by low stone walls and wroughtiron gates. The gas lampposts were more prominent here and the windows of the houses glowed brightly, making it harder for the three boys to stay hidden in shadows. Magnussen never once looked back, however, even as he turned sharply and descended into a narrow alley.

  “We’re heading down toward the river,” Zane whispered as they ducked into the alley. “Wrong-side-of-the-tracks-city.”

  “What’s that mean?” Ralph asked. “I didn’t see any tracks.”

  “It means keep a sharp eye out, Ralphinator,” Zane said grimly. “This area is seedy enough in our own day. I don’t expect it’s any better in this timeframe. Watch your back.”

  Fortunately, it was much easier for the boys to follow Magnussen here since the streets were very narrow and crowded with carts, uneven stacks of crates and barrels, and parked carriages. Figures moved in the dim recesses of doorways or skulked along the cobbled road, their feet splashing in the puddles that trickled downhill toward the river beyond. James realized that they had gotten close enough to Magnussen to hear his boot heels knocking hollowly on the cobbles.

  “How far’s he going to go?” Zane whispered, darting behind a row of empty carts. “We’re nearly to the waterfront. Those’re the wharves up ahead. After that, there’s nothing but river.”

  Suddenly, Magnussen stopped and turned around. James ducked behind the nearest cart, his heart leaping up into his throat. Both Ralph and Zane hunkered down next to him. After a long, tense moment, the three dared to peek out from beneath the cart, their chins virtually touching the wet street.

  Magnussen was fingering his cane as he peered around the cramped intersection, his eyes narrowed. Finally, apparently satisfied, he turned and stalked into an even narrower alley.

  “That looks like a dead end,” James whispered. “Doesn’t it?”

  Zane nodded. “Come on, we can get closer if we hide behind that pile of broken crates.”

  As quietly as possible, the three boys crept along the edge of the street into the shadow of the jagged pile. Bits of broken wood crunched underfoot as the three gathered against the corner of a brick warehouse.

  “It is a dead end,” Ralph whispered, peering cautiously around the corner. “There’s a little stairway at the end, though, and a door. Looks like a cheap little flat or something.”

  Zane craned his head around the corner as well, squinting in the darkness. “Any sign of old Mags?”

  “No,” Ralph shook his head. “He must have gone inside. You think maybe it’s his flat? Like, he rented it special just to have a place outside of school?”

  James nodded. “He needed a place to hide the horseshoe, where nobody magical would sense its power. While it was up in the museum, it was probably lost in the background noise of all the other magical relics up there. Once he took it out, though, he’d need to keep it hidden. This is probably the perfect place.”

  “So,” Ralph whispered, turning back around and leaning against the grimy bricks, “how are we going to get the horseshoe from him?”

  Zane rubbed his hands together against the cold. “Right. What’s the plan, James?”

  “Me?” James rasped. “I thought you were in charge of that detail?”

  “I got the verse to get us through the Warping Willow!” Zane frowned defensively.

  Ralph glanced worriedly from Zane to James. “And, er, I’m the one what found old zombie Professor Straidthwait! Without him, we wouldn’t have gotten anywhere at all!”

  “Hold on,” James said, poking a finger into the air. “We got this far and none of us has any plan for how to actually get the unicorn’s horseshoe from Magnussen?”

  “Well,” Zane shrugged, “we could just send Ralph out there with his Godzilla wand. I’d put your wand up against that evil cane of his any day, Ralphinator.”

  “No way I’m dueling a bloke like that,” Ralph replied, shaking his head vigorously. “Not after the way all those portraits talked about him. Let’s not forget that the man’s a bloody murderer!”

  James nodded soberly. “That’s true. We have to be dead careful.”

  “Or just plain dead,” Zane gulped.

  “Don’t get spooked yet,” James said reasonably. “We still need to follow him to the Nexus Curtain. We can figure something out along the way.”

  “Yeah,” Zane nodded. “Figuring stuff out along the way, that’s always worked out great for us in the past.”

  “Shh!” Ralph hissed, peering back around the corner. “Here he comes!”

  A door thunked shut in the darkness and was followed by the tromp of boots on squeaky stairs. James peeked around the corner, followed by Zane. Together, the three boys watched the shadowy form of Professor Magnussen as he stalked along the alley, his feet splashing in the puddles and his cane glinting in the darkness.

  “Hey,” a man’s voice called out suddenly. James startled, as did Zane and Ralph. Magnussen stopped in his tracks, wary as a jackal. After a few tense seconds, the voice spoke again, timidly, but with stubborn resolution.

  “She knew you’d come back,” it said, and there was a hint of a disbelieving laugh in it. “I told her she was crazy. You’d never come back here, not after what happened. But here you are, bold as brass, big as life.”

  Magnussen hadn’t moved. His voice came out of the darkness silkily. “You have me at a disadvantage, friend,” he said. “Come into the light so I can see you.”

  “What, so you can do to me what you did to her?” the voice scoffed nervously. In spite of its words, however, a figure moved into the mouth of the alley. He was a young man, barely twenty years old, very thin and wearing a bowler’s hat. Braces were slung over his shoulders, holding up a pair of ill-fitting flannel pants. He was less than fifteen feet away from James, Zane, and Ralph where they hid in the shadow of the broken crates.

  “Have we met, good sir?” Magnussen asked calmly, taking a step forward.

  “Oh yes, we’ve met,” the man spat. “Although I doubt you’d remember it. Fredericka even talked to you about me. She was worried that you might get the wrong ideas about her, a big fancy man like you from up in the Heights coming down here to engage the services of a common seamstress. I heard all about how you stared at her when she delivered your mended coats and capes, how you looked like you were measuring her up with your eyes, like she was just a piece of meat and you were a butcher. She told you she ha
d a fiancé just so you knew where you stood with her. To me, she said not to worry, that she could handle herself and she needed the money you were payin’ her. But turns out she was right about you, wasn’t she? Poor little Fredericka who never would’ve hurt a fly. You were a butcher after all. You killed her, mangled her, and left her in the street for us to find. And now here you are, come right back to the very scene, just as bold as you please.”

  “This is a misunderstanding, my good man,” Magnussen said soothingly, still stepping forward. To James, he looked like a cat slowly creeping up on its prey. Silently, James drew his wand from his pocket. Next to him, he sensed Ralph and Zane doing the same.

  “Helen said you’d come back,” the man said, and then he laughed a little hysterically. At his side, he held a length of iron, a crowbar. “Helen is Fredericka’s little sister, you know. She has a sense about these things. I didn’t believe her, at least not completely. But you know what? I believed her enough to keep a watch on this here alley. When I saw you come here tonight, saw you stand right here on this spot, looking around like you owned the place, I barely believed my own eyes. But Helen was right. You came back.”

  The man began to stride forward then, raising the crowbar. He looked like he barely knew what he meant to do with it.

  Magnussen didn’t move. “Now look here, my good man,” he said with a smile in his voice.

  Suddenly, the thin man flew up from the pavement, flailing wildly in the air and dropping the crowbar. It clattered loudly to the cobbles, spinning away into a puddle. A moment later, the man himself crashed into a stack of barrels at the rear of the alley. The barrels toppled and tumbled over each other, burying the man.

  “So much ugliness,” Magnussen sighed to himself, turning toward the rear of the alley. “When will these people ever learn…”

  A barrel clattered sideways as the skinny man scrambled to his feet again, his face pale but determined in the dimness. “I don’t know who or what you are, you demon,” he breathed, “but you aren’t leaving this alley. For Fredericka…”