“Welcome to the jungle, Warrington,” Jazmine Jade called. “Thanks for coming!”
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Warrington said. “Zane says howdy by the way. And if you ever remind me that I once wore a Bigfoot jersey, I’ll paint your house with Plimpy puke. See if I don’t.”
James nodded. “Point taken.”
“Is it break time?” Viktor Krum called as he swept past. “Or is a match going on?”
Warrington frowned. “Into the breach!” he called, and leaned over his skrim, following Krum. A moment later, James and Gobbins followed. The Bigfoots were still behind—no matter how many goals they scored, the Werewolves always, infuriatingly, managed to keep a slim but stubborn lead. James refused to think about it. As he had thought several minutes earlier, the match wasn’t over yet. The Foots still had a chance, no matter how slim.
James flashed through the center ring and snatched a floating Clutch. He pointed his wand, called out one of the Pixies’ proprietary speed charms, and rocketed forward in a blur.
Lucy and Izzy made it to the bottom of the narrow stairwell and pushed through the heavy door. It was very dark in the corridor and a pair of guards stood at the end, flanking the last doorway. They looked up as the two girls approached.
“This is a restricted area, sweetheart,” one of the guards called to Lucy. He was young with a Southern accent.
“Don’t call me sweetheart,” Lucy instructed, raising her wand. Her Stunning Spell struck the young guard in the shoulder and he collapsed like a bag of cauldrons. The other guard watched this in disbelief, not even thinking to reach for his own wand.
“Oh no you didn’t,” he said, looking up at Lucy and frowning. He was finally reaching for his wand, but it was too late.
“Oh yes I did,” Lucy replied. “Sorry.”
She winced as her Stunning Spell struck the second guard. He crumpled on top of his mate, dropping his wand. Sometimes, Lucy thought, it helped to be a young girl.
“They’re coming,” Izzy said urgently. “I sense them. Petra’s dreaming of them.”
“She’s just beyond that door,” Lucy shrugged, pointing. “Go ahead, Iz. Go see her. Do what you have to do.”
Izzy trotted forward, clambering easily over the fallen guards. Lucy thought the heavy metal door would be locked, but when Izzy turned the handle it opened easily, swinging silently on its hinges. Izzy disappeared quickly inside.
Lucy stepped gingerly over the guards and stood just outside the open door. It was dark inside the cell. The walls were blank stone with no windows. A narrow metal bed stood in the exact center of the room beneath a dim lamp. Petra lay on the bed, uncovered, clothed in the same drab dress she had been wearing on the day that they had arrested her. Izzy stood beside the bed and clasped one of Petra’s hands.
“Petra!” she said fervently. “Wake up! They’re coming to get me! They’re going to make me forget you and everybody else! They’re going to send us away from each other! You have to wake up and help me!”
Lucy watched, frustrated anger and fear settling over her like a wet blanket. Petra lay on the bed still as stone, her eyes closed peacefully. Lucy could make out the shape of Petra’s eyes beneath her lids. They didn’t so much as flinch.
“Petra!” Izzy insisted in an urgent whisper. “Wake up! Please! Don’t let them take me! They’re coming! You’re dreaming of them! I can see it in your thoughts even now!”
“Izzy,” Lucy whispered, shaking her head. “She can’t. She would if she could, but she can’t. Do you understand? It isn’t Petra’s fault.”
“No!” Izzy wailed, raising her voice, not taking her eyes from the sleeping shape of her sister. “She will wake up! She has to!”
A door banged open at the end of the dark corridor. Lucy looked back the way they had come and saw figures emerging into the dim light. Keynes was in the lead, his face hard. Lucy’s father was close behind him.
“Lucy!” he called, his voice echoing in the low corridor. “Put your wand down, love! Please stop!” Then, to the others, he said, “If any of you raise a wand to my daughter, I will have your badges before the International Wizarding Court, I swear it.”
“Come out, Izabella,” Keynes demanded. All the sweetness had gone out of his voice. “You are only making this hard on yourself.”
Lucy turned back to the small room. Izzy had not looked up from her sister. Petra, of course, had not moved in the slightest.
“Petra,” Izzy cried, still clinging to the young woman’s hand with both of her own, “don’t leave me alone with them! Don’t let them make me forget you!”
“Stand back, young lady,” Keynes demanded, pushing Lucy aside. Her father stopped next to her and put his hand on her shoulder. He shook his head down at her, both sadly and warningly.
“Izabella Morganstern,” Keynes said, striding into the room, “come this moment. I don’t wish to Stun you.”
He grabbed her, one hand on each shoulder. Izzy screamed and wriggled beneath his grip, but Keynes was no longer wasting any effort. His grip on her was like a vice. He turned her around even as Izzy still clung to her sister’s hand.
“Petra!” Izzy gasped, tears running down her face again. “Don’t let them! Petra, please!”
Lucy watched helplessly as Keynes pushed her toward the door. He stopped only to grasp Izzy’s small fingers and pry them away from Petra’s hand. The hand fell away limply and hung next to the narrow bed, the fingers curled loosely in sleep.
Izzy screamed, loudly this time, making no words. Keynes’ face was hard as stone as he maneuvered Izzy through the door, which she clung to uselessly. Lucy reached to comfort the girl, but Keynes pushed her hand away, giving her a black look. A moment later, he dragged Izzy down the corridor toward the basement stairwell. The court agents followed along, cutting off Lucy’s view of the blond girl. One of them remained by the door, his wand in his hand, standing over the Stunned guards.
“I’m so sorry, Lu,” her father said, his hand still on her shoulder. “There’s nothing I can do.”
“PETRA!” Izzy screamed once more through her tears. The sound of it rang in the hall like a gong and Lucy realized that she herself was crying. She turned to look back through the open doorway of Petra’s cell. The girl lay on the bed like a corpse, her eyes closed peacefully, her hand hanging limply to the side, pale in the lamplight.
“PETRA!” Izzy’s voice shrieked, cracking, and then, frantically, echoing as the girl was pushed into the stairwell: “MORGAN! Help me! HELP ME!”
And on the bed, Petra’s eyes flickered. They fluttered, opened, and then turned aside as Petra rolled her head toward the door, meeting Lucy’s astonished gaze.
Coldness rushed out of the room like a gust of wind, streaming through Lucy’s hair and clothes. Lucy gasped at the frigid blast and raised an arm to shield her eyes from its force.
When she looked again, the narrow bed in the dark room was empty.
“Are you quite certain of this?” Professor Jackson asked flatly, studying Albus’ face.
“Teach-cheat don’t lie,” Albus said, nodding toward the pink paper in Professor Jackson’s hands. Albus had realized that he’d been carrying the tiny paper in his blazer pocket ever since the day he’d used it to test the statue. It looked very small in Jackson’s big knuckly fingers.
“Indeed it does not,” Jackson stated gravely.
“He could’ve gotten that from anywhere!” Englewood cried. “There’s no way of knowing if that stuff came from the statue! It’s a trick! Got to be!”
Jackson narrowed his eyes at Albus. Slowly, he lowered the teach-cheat and pushed it into the pocket of his waistcoat. When the professor’s hand reappeared, it was holding his wand.
“You may be right, Mr. Englewood,” Jackson replied in a low, smooth voice. “This is, after all, an extremely serious allegation.”
“Damn straight,” Englewood agreed, giving Albus a beady-eyed glare.
Jackson raised his wand. Albus felt a m
oment of raw panic as the wand seemed to level at him. He glanced around, remembering that his own wand had been confiscated by Englewood. He was defenseless. And then, with a monumental sense of relief, he saw what the professor was really pointing at.
“There’s only one way to find out,” Jackson said, obviously reluctant to do what he was about to do. He stared down the length of his wand and trained it on the werewolf ‘s bronze head, just past Albus’ shoulder.
The wolf growled, loudly this time.
Albus spun around, his eyes going wide, and ducked aside. If the statue meant to tackle its opponent, Albus did not wish to be between them.
Professor Jackson called his spell at exactly the same moment that the bronze werewolf pounced.
“Expulso!” Jackson thundered, raising his arm instinctively to match the metal beast’s motion. The spell struck the statue in midair, producing a blinding purple flash which was, strangely, perfectly silent.
Albus dropped to the ground and covered his head with his hands. Bits of statue rained down like hail, peppering him, none larger than his pinky finger. When the rain of bronze bits was over, Albus raised his head, his eyes wild.
The rear half of the statue was mostly intact. It lay sideways on the grass, six feet from its base. The rest of the statue was spread around the lawn like a corona, thousands of tiny bits glinting in the yellow moonlight.
“Well then,” Jackson said, his own eyes wide as he pocketed his wand, “let us proceed to the tournament match, then. We shall see what effect, if any, this turn of events has on the outcome.”
“Er, what about him?” Albus asked, climbing to his feet and glancing back toward Englewood.
Jackson peered over his shoulder at the boy. He lay on his back in the grass, his arms and legs splayed in a dead faint.
“Leave him,” Jackson sighed. “If he’d have saluted once more, I’d have Stunned him myself.”
James sensed the change immediately. He couldn’t put his finger on what it was, but it was evident nonetheless.
For one thing, Pentz dropped the Clutch. James had been chasing him, trying to aim a Lanyard Charm, when the leather ball had simply popped out from beneath the boy’s arm. James could scarcely believe it and almost forgot to grab for the Clutch as he sped past. An instant later, he hugged it against his chest and leaned over his skrim, hardly believing his luck. He rocketed past Pentz, who was glancing around confusedly, comically.
“What happened?” Warrington demanded, swooping in next to James to escort him through his laps.
“He fumbled!” James called, swooping through the center ring and ducking beneath a Werewolf Bully. “Straight up dropped it! It nearly hit me in the face!”
“Well, don’t waste it!” Warrington advised, aiming a Bonefuse Hex at a Werewolf Clipper. “We’re only down by four! We can still take this match!”
James nodded as he completed his second lap. He expected to be fallen upon by Werewolf Bullies, but as he glanced around, he was amazed to see that his course was almost completely clear. In fact, most of the Werewolves seemed to have fallen into a sort of confused fugue. They had slowed in their path through the rings. One of them, Olivia Jones, had completely missed one of the far rings and had been forced to relinquish her Clutch. She stared dumbly down at her own hands and then back at the ring she had flown past. There were no Bigfoot Bullies around her at all. She had simply missed the ring.
“What’s happened to them?” Warrington called wonderingly, glancing around. “They act like somebody pulled the plug on ‘em!”
“It won’t last, whatever it is,” James replied, raising his voice into the rushing wind of the course. “Stay on top of it! If they take out one more Bigfoot, we’ll have to forfeit the match!”
Warrington nodded grimly as James spun around on his skrim, lobbing the Clutch toward the goal ring. Dunckel, the Werewolf Keeper, wasn’t even watching. The Clutch sailed through the goal and James glanced toward the scoreboard as he flew on, watching the numbers change.
“With only ninety seconds left in tonight’s incredible match-up,” Cheshire Chatterly cried exuberantly, “Team Bigfoot closes within three points of the reigning champions! What a match, folks!”
James sped on. He sensed the Werewolves recovering from the mysterious confusion that had overtaken them. Altaire swooped in next to him as they passed through the center ring. They both grabbed for the single remaining Clutch, but Altaire body-checked James, knocking him violently out of the course. The Werewolf captain glanced back angrily as he sped on, holding the Clutch under his arm. Even as he looked back, however, Jazmine Jade fell in next to him. James hurled himself forward, attempting to catch up.
“Hey Altaire,” Jazmine called out, giving her voice a very uncharacteristic lilt. James was shocked to see the big girl place one hand behind her head and the other on her waist. She cocked her hip toward the Werewolf captain and smiled at him, all while rocketing along next to him, skrim for skrim. “You’re such a big bad wolf,” she trilled, fluttering her eyes at Altaire. “How’d you like to huff and puff and blow my house down?”
Altaire did a complete double take at Jazmine, apparently forgetting for the moment where he was. A split second later, he spanged headlong into one of the passing rings, dropping the Clutch as his skrim squirted away into the night. Jazmine caught the Clutch easily, tucked it beneath her arm, and hunkered over her skrim.
“Wow!” James called to her, his eyes wide with disbelief. “That Veela thing is pretty amazing when you turn it on!” He glanced back and saw Altaire dangling gamely from the ring he’d crashed into.
“If you’ve got it,” Jazmine called, grinning sheepishly, “flaunt it.”
As Jazmine scored, James saw that the Werewolves were only ahead by two points. Ten seconds later, Viktor Krum socked home another goal, hurling the Clutch so hard that it knocked the Cudgel clean out of Dunckel’s hand. The crowd exploded into deafening cheers, stomping their feet and waving banners wildly against the night.
“Two more and we win!” Gobbins shouted, grinning with disbelief. “We’re gonna do it!”
James nodded. The Werewolves had been merciless in their attack on Team Bigfoot and had apparently been infuriated by the line of players from other houses gathering to play reserve for the underdog team. Only minutes earlier, Wentworth had gotten forced into a collision with a Werewolf Bully, jamming most of the fingers on his right hand. He had sworn loudly and even bared his teeth at the Werewolf Bully before being pulled away by Jazmine and Gobbins. By the time Pixie captain Ophelia Wright subbed in for Wentworth, nearly half of the team had become comprised of players from other houses. If only one more native player got removed from the match, Team Bigfoot would have to forfeit.
James tried not to worry about it. The last thing the team could afford right now was to be careful.
Thinking this, James rammed through the center ring, collecting the Clutch that Krum had just scored with. He tossed it aside to Gobbins and fell in behind him, meaning to escort him through his laps. Two Werewolf Bullies dropped instantly alongside, moving to flank Gobbins.
Now’s as good a time as ever, James thought, pressing his lips together tightly. He leaned severely into the wind, driving his skrim wildly forward, and reached toward the button the Igors had installed on the end of his skrim. He pounded it with the flat of his hand.
Beneath his skrim, a small box popped open. James knew what was in the box: a tiny photograph of a babelthrush spore and a curled length of Bamboozle vine that James had asked Professor Longbottom to send to him. As the box opened, the Bamboozle transformed into a cloud of fat pink babelthrush spores. The Werewolf Bullies flew through the spores, which peppered their goggles and chests. Immediately, the Bullies corkscrewed off course, swiping at their goggles and dissolving into fits of sneezes.
That’s the last of our tricks, James thought as Gobbins lobbed the Clutch through the goal ring, tying the match. From here on out, it’s just us!
The crow
d roared constantly now as the final seconds of the match ticked away. James heard Cheshire Chatterly’s voice echoing wildly from the announcer’s booth, but he couldn’t make out any of her actual words. He leaned completely sideways on his skrim as he powered through the figure eight course, passing Werewolves and Bigfoots on both sides. As he ripped through the center ring, he managed to grab two Clutches, one in each hand. Amazingly, there were no Werewolves challenging him for them. He tucked one under each arm, leaned over his skrim, and grimaced into the oncoming wind. He completed the first lap easily, almost effortlessly, and was halfway through his second when a voice cried out.
“James!” Krum called distantly. James barely stopped to look. When he did, he saw Krum waving wildly at him, pointing. “Behind you!”
James peered back over his shoulder. The entirety of Team Werewolf was stacked up behind him, gaining on him, their faces set into grim lines of resolve. Most of them had their wands out, aiming at him.
They’re going to take me out! James thought, and panic ripped through him. They don’t care if their whole team gets penalized! If they knock me out of the match, there won’t be enough native Bigfoots left on the team and we’ll have to forfeit! Team Werewolf will get a technical victory!
Even as this realization formed in James’ mind, a blast of red sparks sizzled over his shoulder, barely missing him. It hadn’t been a Lanyard Charm or a gravity well. The Werewolves were using dueling spells.
“James, look out!” Jazmine cried from somewhere far behind, but it was no use. James ducked and swooped back and forth, struggling to stay inside the rings while simultaneously avoiding being struck. More magical bolts lit the air all around. Sanuye was blowing his whistle repeatedly, but the Wolves weren’t stopping. They were desperate, and in their desperation, they were willing to do anything. James felt a sudden wriggle of real fright. It spread through him like ice, freezing him. He scrambled for his wand, fumbling one of the Clutches. He stripped the thin wooden shaft out of his gauntlet and then dropped it as well. It spun away into the darkness and he stared after it, petrified.
JAMES POTTER AND THE VAULT OF DESTINIES jp-1 Page 67