"That's horrible," Rose said, hugging herself. Then, in a different voice, she asked, "Do you still plan to go through with your plans regarding the World Between the Worlds?"
James nodded. "Yes," he said stubbornly. "If we can win the tournament next Monday. And if we really can open the Nexus Curtain, once Apollo Mansion moves to Victory Hill and the cornerstones come together."
Rose shook her head slowly, watching her cousin's face through the glass of the Shard. "Are you really sure that's such a good idea? What if you do find your way into this place—this World Between the Worlds—only to find out that Petra really did do it?"
James' face hardened slightly. "If it really was Petra, then she was being tricked or used somehow. We'll prove it."
Rose was persistent. "But how can you know that?" she asked earnestly, almost whispering.
"Because of the silver thread," he answered, meeting her eyes. After a moment, he glanced around at Zane and Ralph. "You remember what I told you lot about that? From when Petra went over the back of the Gwyndemere and nearly fell into the ocean?"
Ralph nodded, remembering. "Yeah, you said that this magical silver thread appeared and connected the two of you. It's what saved her."
"Yeah," James concurred gravely. "Well, my dad talked to me about it afterwards. I don't remember everything he said, but I do remember this: he said that what happened between me and Petra was sort of like what happened between him and his mum, when she was willing to die for him. It created some really deep kind of magic, protecting him, but also connecting him to Voldemort. When Petra fell off the ship…" He paused, searching for the words. After a moment, he drew a deep breath. "I was… willing to do whatever I had to do to save her. I was even willing to go over in her place although I was barely thinking about it at the time. It all happened too fast to think. Dad says that because I was willing to trade fates with Petra, it made that deep magic happen, just like it did between his mum and him. Only… different."
"Because you didn't die," Rose said, nodding slightly. "And yet, you saved her anyway. Somehow."
"That changes the deal, though, doesn't it?" Ralph suggested. "I mean, it's a little like cheating, er, isn't it?"
James looked at his friend. "Maybe it is. I don't know. The magic was so strong, so… unreal. But the thing is, where the deep magic connected my dad to Voldemort, back when he was a baby and his mum died for him, for me and Petra, it happened differently. It connected us, somehow. That silver thread, the one that appeared and saved her, connecting us so that I could pull her up… it's still there. When I'm close to her… and sometimes even when I'm not… I can sense her on the other end of it. I can, sort of, feel echoes of her thoughts and dreams. It isn't like I can read her mind or anything. But I can feel the shape of her thoughts. And probably vice versa too. One thing I know for sure is that regardless of what Keynes and the rest all say, Petra believes she is innocent. She is really and truly convinced that she didn't break into the Hall of Archives or curse Mr. Henredon. In her mind, she's totally innocent." He paused, and frowned thoughtfully. "At least, she believes she's innocent of that."
Rose looked very serious on the other side of the Shard. Her brow was low, knitted on her forehead. "James," she said softly. "I'm afraid to say this, but… that's a little crazy."
James blinked at her. "Well," he countered defensively, "maybe. But it's true!"
"Silver thread or not," Zane announced, climbing to his feet. "I just want to see how this whole dealio works out. We've put too much into this to stop now."
"That's hardly a good reason," Rose said, but Zane approached the Shard and patted it, as if he meant to pat her on the head.
"Rose, love, you're a girl. You wouldn't understand. There's a sort of inertia to these things. We got the magic horseshoe. We figured out the riddle of where the Nexus Curtain is. There's no way we can stop now. The weight of our own curiosity would crush us. Is that what you want? For us to be crushed by our own curiosity?"
"This is dangerous," Rose insisted, her eyes hardening. "At least tell your father, James."
James shook his head. "Dad's completely swamped," he replied. "Ever since Petra's arrest, he's been buried in some major secret plan. Titus Hardcastle came over for it, and even Viktor Krum and the Harriers. Dad doesn't trust the locals much, and they don't trust him, so he thought it'd be best to bring his own blokes along for this last raid, whatever it is. There's no way I'm going to throw this on him as well."
"Is it the W.U.L.F.?" Rose asked, interested in spite of herself. "Has Uncle Harry found them? And that missing Muggle politician?"
James shook his head and shrugged. "All I know for sure is that it's all going to go down in the next few days. Dad can't even come to my Clutchcudgel tournament. He and Titus Hardcastle are going to be in New Amsterdam, 'doing some last minute reconnaissance' is what he told me. There's going to be a big Muggle parade that night—it's some American holiday or other."
"Memorial Day," Zane piped up, nodding.
"Yeah, that," James agreed. "Dad says it'll be the perfect time to make last-minute arrangements since everybody will be distracted with the parade and all the festivities. Last time he tried to raid them, the bad guys caught wind of it somehow, and got away only hours before. Dad doesn't want that to happen this time."
Rose sighed. "Well," she admitted, "I do feel a bit better knowing that this could all be over soon. You'll be coming home after this is all said and done? Assuming Uncle Harry's raid goes well?"
"Oh, it'll be a smash," Zane nodded confidently. "I mean, he's Harry Potter, right? The Boy Who Lived! And he's got his A-team with him! Hardcastle, Krum, everybody! Those W.U.L.F. loons and their crazy new lady leader will be breaking rocks in Fort Bedlam by this time next week. You wait and see."
Rose accepted this stolidly. "Well, then. Sorry your dad won't be there to see you play in your tournament, James," she said a little stiffly. "And I do wish you well, no matter what."
James shrugged, as if he didn't really mind that his dad wouldn't be there, which he did. "It's all right," he said. "Mum says that Viktor Krum might come along with her since Dad doesn't really need him for his little lookie-loo around New Amsterdam that day. Besides, Lily will be there too along with Izzy, Uncle Percy and everybody else. That'll be pretty cool. I mean, how many players get to have a former professional Quidditch player and Triwizard Tournament contestant supporting them from the stands?"
"Not many, I'd guess," Rose admitted. "Strange that your dad doesn't want Viktor to come along for his reconnaissance mission since he came all that way to help out. But anyway, no matter how it all turns out, promise me, all three of you, that you'll be careful."
"We'll be careful," Zane said soothingly. "We'll watch out for each other, Rosy. I won't let anything happen to your cousin."
Rose sighed harshly and shook her head. "I'm less worried about the three of you," she said grimly, "than I am the universe in general."
When the day of the Clutchcudgel tournament match finally came around, the school was universally abuzz with excitement and anticipation. The irony of the decade's worst team facing off against the long-time champions was not in the least lost on the student body at large. Banners had appeared on the balconies of several of the mansions and rowhouses, proclaiming support for Team Bigfoot in the face of their daunting adversary. "STOMP THE WOLVES!" the poster on Hermes Mansion declared in bright green letters, accompanied by a messily painted (and animated) drawing of a gigantic foot mashing a werewolf's whimpering head. All over the campus, the members of Team Bigfoot were greeted with encouraging cheers and backslaps, reducing the players to sheepish, happy grins.
James made his way through the day's last exam—Clockwork Mechanics, with Professor Cloverhoof—in a state of nervous euphoria. On one hand, he harbored a secret confidence that Team Bigfoot might actually succeed in winning the tournament, with the help of the other four houses, whose grudges against Team Werewolf had made them exceedingly eager to assist i
n whatever way they could. On the other hand, James was painfully aware that if they lost, there was much more at stake than mere house pride and a place on Victory Hill.
"Good luck tonight, Mr. Potter," Professor Cloverhoof commented as he examined James' Clockwork test assignment, a magic-powered owl feeder. "Thoroughly prepared, are you?"
James nodded. "As prepared as we'll ever be, I think."
"I am given to understand that my own students have taught your team a few of our better tactics," Cloverhoof said, tipping a handful of birdseed into the tiny clockwork hopper. The machine's brass gears began to turn and click industriously. "I trust that you will keep such things to yourselves, hmm?"
James nodded again, more quickly. "Absolutely, sir!"
"Excellent," the professor grinned. "But for tonight, young man…," here, Cloverhoof leaned over the desk slightly, his grin turning predatory, "use them well, and send those wolves to the doghouse. With our blessing."
"Will do, sir!" James agreed, taking a step back from the professor's mirthless grin. Tiny chugs and ratchetings sounded from the Clockwork owl feeder. After a moment, it deposited a small supply of seed into a copper dish and let out a happy little ding.
"Excellent work, Mr. Potter," Cloverhoof said breezily, leaning back at his desk. "On all counts."
As James made his way out into the heat of the campus, heading for a late lunch at Apollo Mansion, he thought on what Cloverhoof had said. The truth of it was that he was just a bit nervous about some of what the other houses had offered by way of assistance. Much of it, like the Zombies' Clutch spells, struck James as rather experimental and risky—the sort of things that the teams might have considered throughout the season, but never quite had the guts (or the audacity) to try themselves. The Igors, for instance, had installed tiny clockwork gizmos on the backs of some of Team Bigfoot's skrims. James knew what they did—they had even partly been his idea, although he hadn't been entirely serious about it—and yet he was worried that they weren't technically legal. Perhaps even worse, Team Vampire had offered the Foots the use of some rather dastardly curses and airborne potions.
"Entirely sporting," the Vampire magic coach, a boy named Ellis Alekzander had insisted seriously. His narrowed eyes and tight smile had seemed to say just the opposite, however. "I've packaged them in convenient little pouches. Your team can wear one each around their neck. When the right time comes, simply pull the ripcord attached to the top here. The wind will do the rest."
Norrick had been especially pleased by the Vampires' 'game cursology' tactics.
"Lesson twelve in the Werewolves' own handbook," he declared, holding up the tiny pouch. "'All's fair in love and war'. Right back at'cha, fellas!"
Still, despite James' worries about the dubious nature of some of the other teams' suggested tactics, his overall plan seemed to have worked even better than he could have hoped. The members of Team Bigfoot, from Jazmine Jade to Mukthatch, seemed thoroughly convinced that they could win the tournament and unseat the reigning Werewolf champions. They'd even begun talking about what life would be like on Victory Hill.
"I hear that Apollo Mansion hasn't been on the Hill for over a hundred years!" a senior Bigfoot boy named Troy Covington said when James met the team in the kitchen for lunch. "Yeats told me. He was here back then, making grilled cheese sandwiches with pickles, just like today."
"We'll have to move all the game room stuff ourselves, after the mansions swap places," Wentworth commented through a mouthful of sandwich. "The cellars don't move, of course, and we sure don't want to let those Werewolf goons have our ping pong table."
"Or the disarmadillo," Jazmine added. "OR, Heckle and Jeckle."
"Wraagh Arbphle!" Mukthatch concurred, nodding.
Norrick frowned. "That's right. That fridge is dead heavy. We'll have to levitate it."
"Let's not get ahead of ourselves," James interrupted, raising his hands. "Let's just concentrate on winning tonight, eh? The rest will take care of itself."
As James finished his lunch and prepared to head off to his last class, he met Professor Wood in the hallway.
"James," Wood said, and James could tell by his tone of voice that the professor had been looking for him. "Come with me down to my office for a moment, would you? I want to talk to you about something."
James gulped. "Er, sure, Professor," he replied, and followed Wood toward the stairs.
Wood didn't speak until he was seated at his desk in the corner of the mid-day-empty gameroom. James settled into one of the old reclining easy chairs across from the professor's crooked desk. He sank deep into its sprung seat, but didn't lean back. Heckle and Jeckle hung on either side of the nearby refrigerator, apparently asleep. The disarmadillo had managed to climb onto the corner of Wood's desk, where it lay curled in a sort of armored ball, its narrow nose on its forepaws. James waited for Wood to begin. After a thoughtful pause, the professor drew a breath and peered up at the low ceiling.
"The Bigfoot Clutchcudgel team has done remarkably well this season, hasn't it?" he asked with forced casualness.
James nodded. "Yes sir."
"Unusually well, many would say," Wood went on, still looking up at the ceiling, his hands folded on his chest. He shook his head slowly, musingly, and then lowered his gaze to the boy across from him. With a small smile, he said, "You know, James, I've been President of Apollo Mansion for several years. I took it over from the previous Bigfoot President, Maxwell Greenfield, when I became a full professor and he decided to retire. I remember it like it was yesterday. Chancellor Franklyn called me to his office, and Greenfield was there when I arrived. Together, they told me about the history of Bigfoot House, about how, despite what many believed, it was the real backbone of the entire school. Bigfoot House, they said, is Alma Aleron's true melting pot. Back then, you see, Apollo Mansion was home to two Arctic Sasquatches, a she-werewolf, a half-goblin, two American Indian shamans from Shackamaxon, and an Atlantean merman who had to sleep in a giant tub and wear a water helmet to classes. As you now know, Bigfoot House enjoys the same diversity today as it did then, not as a slogan or a gimmick, but as a basic fact of life. Just as Franklyn told me on that day, years ago, we, the Bigfoots, represent the true American ideal."
James nodded again, not quite sure what any of this had to do with the Bigfoot Clutch team. "Sure, Professor. I mean, we've got Jazmine, who's part-Veela, although she hardly ever acts like it. And Mukthatch, and Went, whose a… er…"
"It's all right," Wood said, smiling a bit more easily. "I know about Mr. Paddington. Wentworth's parents made arrangements with the school administration to keep his, er, heritage a secret. They themselves are part of the Crimson Teetotalers League. That means they've trained themselves not to require blood at all. Extremely dedicated to their new lives they are, which is why they felt it was important for Wentworth to receive a normal magical education. One would think that he would have ended up in Vampire House, of course, but as you might imagine, Apollo Mansion is a much better fit for him."
James nodded meaningfully. "Yeah, we spent some time in Vampire House. They think real vampires have to be like the ones in Remora's stupid books—all unbelievably good-looking and tragically romantic and rubbish like that."
"In all fairness," Wood said, as if he felt it was his duty. "Some vampires are like that." Here, he paused and bobbed his head thoughtfully. "Although not very many, admittedly. You understand then, why so many real vampires, werewolves, and even the occasional pixie, actually come to live with the Foots. Don't you?"
"Because here, they can be who they are, and not just what they are." James stopped and frowned. "Er, right?"
Wood nodded heartily. "Well said, James. That's exactly it. But there is one more thing that the former Bigfoot President and Chancellor Franklyn impressed upon me when I took this post." He leaned forward and crossed his arms on his desk, cupping his elbows. He studied James seriously. "They told me that Bigfoot House really is the moral core of all the campus societies. An
d as such, it is held to a rather higher standard of conduct. Fairness, honesty, respect, courage, these are the things that are exemplified by the Bigfoot banner, and these must be applied to all areas of life. Most specifically, at least as far as you and I are concerned, these qualities are meant to be demonstrated on the sporting field. Chancellor Franklyn was very clear about this when he asked me to take the post of House President. He knew I had played professional Quidditch, you see, and worried that I might allow my love of victory to cloud my judgment in this regard. Winning, he told me, must always be secondary to self respect and the courage of one's convictions. I vowed to them that I completely concurred with that philosophy. In the years since, I have tried very hard, James, to maintain that record—not a record of wins and losses, you see, but a record of honorable matches, well-played and strenuous, with an eye, ultimately, to fairness and respect."
Wood stopped, and James realized that the professor's eyes had grown rather unfocused. He wasn't quite looking at James, but rather into the darkness of the game room. James waited, fearing the worst—that Wood was going to forbid Team Bigfoot from using their recently acquired game magic in the night's tournament match.
"We've lost every year," Wood finally said, blinking and returning his gaze to James. "Not just the tournament, but nearly every single match. We've always had a good team, a solid team, but we've never won. We were building character, though. At least, that's what I told myself. And building character is important, no question."
Wood paused again, as if struggling with himself.
"Character is important," James began, but Wood waved him into silence.
"I've allowed you to teach Team Bigfoot game magic, James," he said seriously. "It was against my better judgment, but I allowed it. Because I saw that while you were teaching the team to play in a way that was decidedly unlike previous Bigfoot teams, going back over a century, you were still managing to play each match with respect, honor, and fairness. Er, Mostly. And then, you introduced the concepts of the magical martial arts—Artis Decerto. You built that clockwork contraption in the back garden, with the help of Professor Cloverhoof and some of the Zombie House students. This, again, was contrary to my better judgment. And yet I allowed it. Perhaps it was a mistake. And yet, I saw that there might be some good in it. Artis Decerto is a respected discipline, after all, if used wisely and with self-control."