“On no!” Jazmine cried helplessly, dismay and rage evident in her voice. “Not Muk! What’d they do!”
“They buzzed him,” Troy Covington called from the opposite end of the course. “On purpose!”
James flew over to the platform and jumped off his skrim, landing next to Professor Wood, whose face was set in a hard frown.
“They shot Muk!” James declared angrily, pointing. “And that was no accident! What spell was it?”
“Inertia Charm,” Wood answered tersely. “Great for thrown Clutches, terrible for human bones. Or Sasquatch bones for that matter.”
Professor Sanuye was towing Mukthatch toward the platform using a Lanyard Charm. His whistle poked from between his teeth. On his skrim, Mukthatch groaned, still clutching his right knee.
“Medical College, immediately,” Sanuye announced as Wood helped Mukthatch off his skrim.
“They did that deliberately,” Wood said to the match official. “You know that, right?”
“Miss Brazil says it was an accident,” Sanuye replied evenly.
“Linton Brazil is a cheat and a liar!” James exclaimed, but Wood raised a hand, silencing him.
“Your word against hers,” Sanuye said, shaking his head slowly. “Either way, you’re down by two players, Professor. You don’t intend to finish the match, do you?”
“Absolutely!” Gobbins cried, landing on the other side of the platform. Jazmine and the rest of the diminished team were close behind. As they landed, two medical students in green tunics appeared on the platform to examine Mukthatch’s knee. They shook their heads gravely and began to splint the knee in preparation for the trip back to the Medical College.
“I’d strongly advise you to forfeit,” Sanuye said, still speaking to Wood. “You may choose to contest the results at a later time. Frankly, I’d testify to the board that you deserve a tie. Team Werewolf would still receive a technical victory, but you’d save your team the embarrassment of losing rather miserably. A squad two players short is a lost cause, I’m afraid.”
Wood considered this stoically. He looked out over the remainder of the team.
“No way,” James declared, shaking his head. “We can’t give up! They’re trying to force us out, one by one, because they know they can’t beat us in a clean match!”
“Right you may be, James,” Wood nodded, “but Professor Sanuye is right. We’re two players down. I don’t see that we have much of a choice.”
“But we can’t give up!” James insisted, looking around at the team. “That’s what they want us to do!”
“Maybe we should, though,” Jazmine suggested sadly. “I mean, if we can at least get a technical tie game like Professor Sanuye says…”
Troy Covington nodded. “It’s better than getting completely destroyed in the rings at least. I sure don’t want to risk any more ‘accidents’ at the hands of those maniacs.” He shot a dark look at the platform across the way.
“Face it,” Wentworth added, stripping off his gauntlets and throwing them down onto the platform floor. “Playing a clean game is just no match for ‘all’s fair in love and war’.”
The rest of the team muttered agreement.
“Shall we take a vote?” Wood asked, raising his voice.
“What’s the point?” Gobbins declared angrily, glancing around at his teammates. “Let’s just get out of here.”
He made his way toward the stairs that descended through the center of the platform and the rest of the team followed, discouraged into silence.
Gobbins stopped on the second step, however, as the sound of clumping footsteps rang up from below. James watched as Gobbins backed up off the stairs again, making way for the newcomer. A head with very short dark hair appeared from below followed by a stocky body with arms like tree trunks. The figure was carrying Mukthatch’s skrim and wearing an ill-fitting Bigfoot jersey.
“You need a reserve player?” the figure asked seriously, glancing around at the wideeyed members of Team Bigfoot.
“You’re Viktor Krum!” Wentworth exclaimed suddenly, pointing a finger at the big man. “I’ve got your Chocolate Frog card back in my room!”
Krum smiled gravely.
“Viktor,” Wood said, stepping forward and shaking the man’s hand. “Good to see you. Especially under these circumstances.”
“Is it legal?” James asked impatiently, glancing around at Professor Sanuye. “Can he actually play for us?”
Sanuye nodded consideringly. “Every house has their own rules for who can play on their team,” he said. “The official Alma Aleron rulebook only states that a simple majority of any team must be students from that team’s house of origin. Mr. Krum may indeed play if he wishes and if you’ll have him.”
“But can he play?” Covington asked. “I mean, no offense, Mr. Krum, but do you even know how to fly a skrim?”
“Are you skrewt poop?” Wentworth exclaimed, nearly beside himself. “He’s Viktor zarking Krum! He can do anything!”
Without a word, Viktor tossed Mukthatch’s skrim into the air. As it came down next to him, the big man hopped easily onto it. It bobbed with him on it and he directed it in a quick corkscrew swoop, ending in a ready crouch, his hands held out flat on either side.
“I once played for Bulgarian Clutchcudgel Minor League,” he admitted with a grin. “It’s not Quidditch, but sport is sport, yes?”
“Sport is definitely sport,” Wood agreed, matching the big man’s grin. “Professor Sanuye? It would appear that the Bigfoots are not quite prepared to give up just yet.” All around him, Team Bigfoot cheered fervently.
Sanuye nodded. A moment later, he turned his broom away from the platform and swept out over the center ring. He blew his whistle and the babbling crowd fell quiet.
“Penalty, Team Werewolf. Careless use of magic. Five minutes in the dock.”
The crowd roared approval as the members of Team Werewolf cried out angrily, denouncing the call. James grinned as he jumped back onto his skrim. Careless use of magic carried a much harsher penalty than mere accidental buzzing, which enforced only two minutes in the dock. Linton Brazil would be out of the match for the rest of the third quarter, making the teams even once again, at least for the moment.
“And in a shocking turn of events,” Cheshire Chatterly called from the announcer’s booth, “Team Bigfoot gains a surprise reserve player in the form of Mr. Viktor Krum, world-renowned Harrier, athlete and participant in the famed Triwizard Tournament! Team Werewolf faces a stiff but fair penalty at the hands of match official Sanuye, and the match resumes with the Wolves leading by a score of seventy-six to sixty-five!”
James heard the whistle as the match plowed once again into motion. He watched as Viktor Krum immediately snagged one of the loose Clutches and tucked it under his huge arm.
This match isn’t over yet, he thought, and plunged eagerly into the fracas.
Lucy and Izzy clambered down into the dark stairwell. Voices rang out behind them, but they echoed so that Lucy couldn’t tell how close their pursuers were.
“We can’t just keep running, Iz!” Lucy panted, but Izzy paid no attention. The two girls darted around a corner and pushed through a heavy door. There were no windows here and a sign overhead was lit with red light: ‘Experimental Medicine and Elixirs—No Admittance!’
Izzy ran on, her blonde curls flying. Lucy followed, glancing back the way they had come.
“Petra,” Izzy moaned again, looking around wildly. “She’s here! I feel her. She’s dreaming!”
“Izzy, Petra’s in an enchanted sleep!” Lucy insisted. “They gave her the poison apple! Nothing will wake her up until they want her to wake!”
Izzy didn’t seem to hear Lucy. She turned and pushed through a set of swinging double doors.
“There!” a voice echoed behind Lucy. She glanced back and saw two of the court agents bursting through the stairwell doors. Their faces glowed crimson in the light of the overhead sign. One of the men pointed his wand and shouted. A
Stunning Spell burst against the pale green brick wall next to Lucy, showering her with red sparks.
“Lubricus!” Lucy cried, flinging her own wand out.
Both men suddenly flailed wildly, as if the marble floor beneath them was coated with ice. They slid into the walls, one on each side, overcorrected, and then bounced off of each other, collapsing messily to the corridor floor.
Lucy spun and ran again, following Izzy through the swinging double doors.
The walls here were black tile, shiny in the overhead lights. The room itself was low and wide, packed with aisles of shelves. Lucy had been to the Ministry of Magic many times and was reminded of the Department of Mysteries. Here, however, the shelves were crammed with stoppered jars of coloured liquid, each labeled in glowing green ink. Izzy was looking around at the shelves, helplessly.
“She’s nearby,” she moaned. She looked up at Lucy, her eyes pleading. “I can feel her. She’s close. She’s dreaming. She’s dreaming of us!”
“Stop, Izzy, please,” Lucy plead. “It’s useless. You can’t wake her even if you do find her. Do you understand? Maybe we can talk to the people, try once more to convince them not to take away your memory. My father can hel—”
A burst of red shattered one of the vials on a nearby shelf, startling both girls. They ducked and clambered away as more spells lit the air. Izzy spun at the end of one of the aisles and grabbed a large jar. Her face was etched with fear and rage as she flung it. The jar arced over Lucy’s head and shattered loudly on the marble floor, directly in front of the approaching court agents. Fire leapt up from the jar’s liquid contents and engulfed the men. They shrieked in unison as they scrambled forward, beating at their clothes to extinguish the red flames. Lucy had only a moment to realize that the flames weren’t fire, however; they were leaves. Red vines and bright red flowers grew with lightning speed from the released liquid, entwining the men’s arms and legs, attaching to their grey tunics.
“Stop!” one of the men shouted, tugging at the vines. “Stop in the name of the wizarding law of the United States!”
“Sod off!” Lucy shouted back. A moment later, she and Izzy doubled back to the main doors, banging through them even as the court agents fired Repelling Spells at the red vines, releasing themselves.
“If you see her,” Lucy asked as they ran on, “if you see Petra, Iz, will you stop running?”
“Yes!” Izzy cried out eagerly.
Lucy nodded. “I know where she is,” she said. “Follow me.”
Izzy had been right, after all. Petra had been very close. She had been exactly one floor below them, in the lowest basement of the Medical College.
Glancing back only once, the two girls found the rear stairwell and began to clamber down into the darkness below.
“What were you planning to do?” Dayton Englewood demanded, pushing his face so close to Albus’ that he completely blocked the view of the tiny Ares Mansion dungeon.
“I told you,” Albus replied in irritation, “I was giving old Wolfy a little haircut. That’s all. Shaggy fur is so last year.”
“Laugh all you want, Cornelius,” Englewood growled, narrowing his eyes. “You won’t be laughing when Professor Jackson gets here. He’ll nail you to the wall. I’ve seen it happen, you know. He doesn’t take kindly to saboteurs.”
“I’m sure he doesn’t,” Albus agreed. “What’d you do with my wand?”
Englewood smiled thinly. “I confiscated it. You’ll probably never see it again. They don’t allow wands where you’re going.”
“Really?” Albus said, shifting on the hard bench in the corner of the dungeon. “So you Americans are in the habit of sending blokes to Fort Bedlam just for pointing wands at statues? Sounds pretty touchy if you ask me. Maybe you should consider growing a bit thicker hide.”
“Shut up, Cornelius,” Englewood suggested, lowering his own wand a little, but not completely. “It’s just a good thing I was coming back late from my last exam. Who knows what you might have done?”
“That’s pretty late for an exam, isn’t it?” Albus replied, unable to stop himself. “The pointy end of the quill goes down, you know. The fluffy end points up. Tough one to remember, that.”
“Shut up, I said!” Englewood commanded, raising his wand again. “You think I want to be here guarding your sorry English butt? I’m missing the tournament match!”
Albus rolled his eyes and slumped on the wooden bench. “Ah, you’re not missing anything,” he muttered. “Same old song and dance.”
At that point, a dull thump and a series of heavy footsteps sounded overhead. Englewood glanced up and then showed Albus a toothy grin.
“That’s Professor Jackson,” he said smugly. “I sent for him by pigeon, interrupted him right in the middle of the match. Boy, will he be mad at you.”
“Yeah,” Albus nodded. “Dangerous prisoner like me definitely couldn’t have waited until after the tournament was over. I bet he’ll give you a medal even.”
Englewood’s grin faltered for a moment. Footsteps knocked loudly on the stone stairs of the dungeon as Professor Jackson descended, his black waistcoat buttoned all the way to his chin. Englewood spun around to face him. He saluted with fierce efficiency.
“I’ve captured a spy, General!” he shouted, snapping to attention. “He was engaged in the act of sabotage when I discovered him and apprehended him. I have been guarding him ever since, awaiting instructions.”
Jackson glanced at Englewood and then shifted his gaze to Albus, his expression unchanging. Slowly, he looked back at Englewood again.
“This is Albus Potter, Englewood,” Jackson said, apparently struggling to keep his voice even. “He is a member of this house.”
“Sir! He is a spy, sir!” Englewood barked, saluting again. “I caught him attempting to sabotage the werewolf statue out front!”
Jackson closed his eyes and pressed his lips together. When he opened them again, he was looking at Albus.
“Is this true, Mr. Potter?” he asked tiredly.
“Yes sir,” Albus answered honestly. There didn’t seem to be any point in lying about it. “I was planning to blast it a hard one right between the eyes. It was on the edge of attacking me.”
“Attacking you,” Jackson repeated. “The statue, you say, was attacking you.”
“Sir, yes sir.” Albus nodded easily.
Jackson drew a long, deep breath. When he let it out, he returned his attention to Englewood. “Could this not, perhaps, have waited for the end of the match, Private?”
“The spy presented a clear and present danger, sir!” Englewood declared, his face going red. He glanced back over his shoulder at Albus. “He, er, was engaged in covert activities!”
“He was pulling a prank, Private,” Jackson sighed. “At best. I cannot imagine why he was doing it, but I admit that I have never quite understood the thought processes of the Potter family. Frustrating as they may be, they are relatively harmless, I assure you.”
Englewood snapped his heels together and stood so straight that he looked like he meant to rocket up through the low dungeon ceiling. “Sir! What are your orders, sir?”
Jackson closed his eyes again and rubbed them with the thumb and forefinger of his left hand. “I order you both,” he said patiently, “to accompany me back to Pepperpock Down for the remainder of the tournament match. It was, you may be interested to know, just getting good.”
“Sir, yes sir!” Englewood barked again, snapping off yet another salute.
“At ease, Private,” Jackson growled. A moment later, he beckoned for Albus to follow him. In single file, Albus in the middle, the three made their way back up the dungeon stairs and through the mansion’s main hall.
“I hesitate to ask this, Mr. Potter,” Jackson said as the front door slammed behind them, “but why, pray tell, were you pointing your wand at the werewolf statue?”
“Like I said,” Albus answered, still seeing no need to lie, “I planned to destroy it. At least a little.”
>
Jackson shook his head slowly. “I doubt you’d have succeeded in any case,” he said wryly. “But why, young man?”
Albus paused and stopped. Englewood nearly ran into him from behind. His wand was still out, pointing at his prisoner, and Albus felt it poke him harmlessly in the back. Englewood dropped it and cursed urgently to himself, scrambling to pick it up again.
Three paces away, Jackson stopped as well. He turned and looked back, his eyes impatient but curious.
Albus tilted his head toward the bronze statue. It stood unmoving next to him, its muzzle frozen in its characteristic snarl.
“Do you really,” he said, turning back to the professor, “want to know?”
By the end of the third quarter of the tournament match, Team Werewolf had succeeded in taking out yet one more Bigfoot player. This time, Troy Covington had received a blindside hit with a skrim, right in the middle of the back. Covington had fallen from his skrim, completely unconscious, while the Werewolf Bully, Pentz, had collected the dropped Clutch and flown on without a backward glance.
Sanuye had succeeded in levitating Covington just as he had Norrick. The penalty had been called—ten more minutes in the dock for dangerous maneuvering—and Pentz had landed on the Werewolves’ platform, no longer grinning but grimacing smugly.
“Professor Jackson’s not even in the stands,” Gobbins panted, swooping in next to James and pointing. “The Wolves always play dirty, but even he wouldn’t have allowed a brazen hit like that. They’re taking advantage of the fact that he’s not here!”
James swore loudly and glanced back at his own platform. What he saw there gladdened his heart even if the match seemed increasingly hopeless. Several members of the other House Clutch teams stood on the platform, surrounding Professor Wood. Every one of them wore a Bigfoot jersey and held their skrims at their sides. Warrington was first in line. As Covington was lowered gently onto a waiting stretcher, Warrington hopped onto his skrim and swooped out into the rings.
“It’s his grand poobahness!” James announced gamely.
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