James Potter and the Vault of Destinies

  Wood was nodding slightly, thoughtfully. James was afraid to speak now, afraid of the boom he felt certain was about to fall. He held his breath. Wood met his gaze once more, gravely this time.

  "I received a visit from the Chancellor this morning, James," he said carefully. "He is… concerned. He has been watching the progress of Team Bigfoot very closely, and while he is not claiming that we have done anything wrong, precisely, he did acknowledge some growing trepidation about our very non-traditional methods. It has reached his attention that you have been making the rounds to the other houses—all but Werewolf House, of course—seeking assistance in defeating Team Werewolf in tonight's match. James, is this correct?"

  James felt pinned to the chair. He pressed his lips together so tightly that they became a thin white line on his face. He nodded, once.

  Wood sighed and leaned back in his chair again. "Chancellor Franklyn made his wishes quite clear, James. He is no longer only worried about the integrity of Bigfoot House, but of the entire school in general. He feels that you have broken the unspoken code of Apollo Mansion, and reversed the moral standard that we are meant to uphold for the sake of the rest of the campus."

  "But—!" James began, only to be waved into silence again by Professor Wood.

  "He did not tell me what to do, James," the professor went on. "He left the decision to me, and I've been thinking about it all day."

  Wood stopped once more. He seemed to be studying James, his face very stern and solemn. Nearly thirty seconds went by. The disarmadillo snorted, stirred and got up. It waddled over to Wood, who petted it on its plated head, not taking his eyes from James.

  "I've made my decision," the professor finally said quietly, emphatically. "You see, I am aware of the things people say about me around the campus. I am aware that they believe I don't have the heart to win anymore; that I left my passion for victory on the Quidditch pitch back in England. Maybe they are even partly right. After the Battle, it was hard to think about using magic that way again, even in a sporting match. And yet, I believe in the deeper mission of Bigfoot House. I am committed to it, no matter what. And thus, James, after my conversation with Chancellor Franklyn this morning, I have made my decision. I have decided to do… nothing."

  James blinked. He shook his head slightly, as if to clear it, and then craned his head toward the man behind the big crooked desk. "Excuse me, sir?"

  "I'm not going to do anything," Wood said simply, raising his eyebrows and turning his hands palm up over the desk. "I've been watching you lot myself, James. I've seen the exact same things that the Chancellor has, and yet I have interpreted them entirely differently. You have learned to play the game very well, all of you, and to strive for excellence, all without sacrificing your integrity or the dignity of your opponents. You have trained yourselves to become superior based solely on your skills and discipline. You have sought to be creative and intelligent on the Clutch course while still playing with honor. Now, you have succeeded in rallying nearly the whole school to your side—going so far even as to earn their entirely fair and legal assistance. Where Chancellor Franklyn sees potential debauchery, I happen to see a team that has played so well, and yet so fairly, that even those whom they have defeated wish to assist them on to further victory. If this in itself does not perfectly exemplify the sort of moral standard that Bigfoot House has always strove to maintain, then I daresay nothing does."

  As Wood spoke, a grin of dawning realization grew onto James' face. Wood wasn't going to forbid them from using the new game magic. Wood almost seemed, in fact, to be encouraging them to go on exactly as planned.

  "Really, Professor?" James asked, barely able to contain himself. He gripped the fat arms of his reclining chair, pulling himself upright.

  "Really, James," Wood agreed, meeting James' smile. "Under one condition."

  "What's that, sir?" James asked, somewhat warily.

  "Chancellor Franklyn did not tell me what to do," Wood said seriously. "He merely shared his concerns, assuming I would comply. I am not. However, I am sharing those same concerns with you, and granting you the same responsibility. Whatever the other houses have offered Team Bigfoot by way of help, James, use it well. Use it with honor and integrity or do not use it at all. I could enforce this rule myself, as you know, but if I have learned anything myself over the course of this year, it is that a lesson learned on one's own is far more deeply rooted than a lesson forced by rules. Will you be wise with what you know? You and the team in general?"

  James nodded. "I will, Professor," he said. "But Jazmine's the team captain. Shouldn't you be having this conversation with her as well?"

  Wood smiled crookedly. "I already have," he agreed. "And she said the same thing that you did. I am content. Thank you, James. I'm sure you have preparations to make for tonight's big event. You are dismissed."

  James grinned and nodded. Jumping up, he ran back toward the stairs, threading his way through the assembled couches, tables and mismatched floor lamps. Just as he began to tromp up the stairs, Wood called his name one more time.

  "Yes sir?" James replied, stopping and peering back across the game room.

  Wood was still smiling, but it was unlike any other smile James had ever seen on the man's face. It was wide, tight, and very slightly frightening.

  "I haven't forgotten what it means to win, James," he said, his voice calm but emphatic in the empty room. "But I had forgotten how really excellent it feels. If Team Bigfoot is going to win the tournament tonight, then we have to give it absolutely everything we've got, and do it with as much heart, guts and pride as we can."

  "Yes sir," James agreed, grinning eagerly. For the first time, he thought he was seeing Oliver Wood the way his father had seen him, back when he'd been the student captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, driven to excellence and hungry for victory.

  Wood nodded and narrowed his eyes. "Go on, then," he said with restrained fervor. "And let's put those wolves in their place."

  James ran the rest of the way up the stairs, his heart nearly bursting with excitement and delight.

  It wasn't until later that afternoon, as he was gathering his Clutch gear from under the bed in his dormitory room, that it occurred to him that Chancellor Franklyn might have had ulterior reasons for talking to Wood about Team Bigfoot's playing style. Perhaps—just perhaps—Franklyn had learned the secret of Magnussen's riddle about the eyes of Roberts. Franklyn was, after all, incredibly smart. Perhaps he knew that if Apollo Mansion ever again sat upon Victory Hill, it would complete the cornerstone, potentially activating the Nexus Curtain. If so, he had probably done everything he could to assure that that would never happen, even going so far as to invent a ruse that would discourage any Bigfoot House President from leading his Clutch team to victory.

  If that had been Franklyn's goal, then James had to give the man credit: it had very nearly worked.

  If the President of Bigfoot House had been anyone other than Oliver Wood, it still might have.

  Thinking this, James grabbed his wrist gauntlets, jersey and shoulder pads. A minute later, he met the rest of Team Bigfoot along with Ralph and Zane on the steps outside Apollo Mansion. Noisily, excitedly, accompanied by encouraging cheers from many along the way, the troop began to make their way across the campus, heading toward Pepperpock Down, and into Clutchcudgel history.

  22. Woven Destinies

  As the gathering neared Pepperpock Down, it accumulated a following of students from other houses, forming something like an escort. By the time they passed by Administration Hall, there were over a hundred people walking along with the Bigfoot Clutch team, shouting happily, cheering, waving banners, and tossing old Clutches overhead. James was nearly bursting with mingled excitement and apprehension. The encouragement of the other houses (all but Werewolf House, of course) was both exhilarating and a bit frightening since James knew that it would probably taper off quickly if Team Bigfoot did not immediately hold their own against the Werewolf juggernaut.

/>   As they passed by the Medical College, James was surprised to see Uncle Percy standing near the doors, his face tense and distracted. Lucy stood by his side as well as a small knot of nurses, doctors, and (James noticed with some dismay) Wizarding Court officials. He recognized the latter by their slate grey tunics and severe expressions.

  "What's going on over there?" he asked, nudging Ralph and pointing.

  Ralph looked and shook his head. "I don't know. Maybe they're here for the match?"

  "Uncle Percy, perhaps," James said doubtfully, raising his voice over the accompanying crowd, "but not those blokes from the American Wizarding Court."

  Zane peered over the crowd toward the doors of the Medical College. "I don't see Keynes, at least."

  James nodded, frowning. "No. But still…" He paused, craning to look as the crowd pushed him onward, past the medical complex. A blonde-haired girl moved next to Lucy in the center of the gaggle of court agents. It was Izzy, her face pale and worried, looking up at the severe expressions of those all around her. James felt a sudden sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach.

  "Izzy's with them," Ralph said, noticing the same thing. "You don't think…"

  "They wouldn't," Zane said, not very convincingly. "Not while the match is going on. Keynes and his goons may have plans to Obliviate Iz and send her off to be adopted into the Muggle world, but they wouldn't do it already. Er… I think."

  James wasn't so sure. As the crowd forced the team onward toward Pepperpock Down, he lost sight of the gathering on the Medical College steps. Just because Keynes wasn't visible, that didn't mean he wasn't there. He could very well be inside, making arrangements. The arbiter didn't strike James as the sort of man who would allow a sporting event to interrupt his plans. Still, there was nothing James could do about it at the moment. He felt a deep sense of misgiving, nonetheless. At least Uncle Percy was there, and Lucy. They wouldn't let anything bad happen to Izzy.

  If they could help it, at least.

  James shook his head, clearing his thoughts. He had other difficulties at the moment.

  Pepperpock Down hove into view as the team angled around Administration Hall. It was already nearly full, thrumming with the roar of the crowd, alive with waving flags and popping bursts of Firework Spells. James' heart skipped a beat and then galloped to catch up. He grinned as the crowd escorted the team into the shadow of the rampart grandstands. A cheer went up in support of the approaching Bigfoots. It throbbed in the air, blotting out every other noise, and James couldn't help turning to look back at his fellow players, exultant with nervous excitement.

  "Go Foots!" Jazmine Jade suddenly cried, raising her voice, barely, over the roar of the cheers.

  "Go Foots!" the rest of the team echoed back, pumping their fists in the air. Mukthatch let out a surprisingly loud roar,and then grinned a little sheepishly as everyone boggled at him.

  A moment later, the team crossed the field and disappeared into the cellar locker room, where their skrims and Professor Wood awaited them.

  "This is it, team!" he called out, clapping his hands together eagerly. "Get geared up and let's meet on the platform for practice laps in ten minutes!"

  Wood met James' eye as he turned to climb the steps. He winked and smiled crookedly, almost mischievously. James grinned at the professor and then began to strap on his new wrist gauntlets.

  By the time the last of the team clumped up onto the platform, the sun had lowered to a huge bronze ball on the horizon, casting its last beams onto the waving flags and banners of the grandstands. The crowd was in extremely high spirits, producing a nearly constant roar of happy exhilaration. James blinked in the late afternoon glare and fingered his skrim.

  Only minutes earlier, while the team had still been congregated in the locker cellar, James had called them together in a quick huddle. There, he had announced one change to the evening's Clutch magic game.

  "No curses," he'd said firmly, producing a chorus of objections from the gathered team members.

  "Why not?" Norrick had asked stridently. "We'll need to use everything we've got against those Wolves!"

  "Not curses," James had repeated. "Leave the potion pouches down here in your lockers. They may be legal and they may not be, but that's not really the point, is it? The Foots play a clean game. Nothing dirty, right? We'll win this match, but we'll do it with our heads held high just like always! Understood?"

  "James is right," Jazmine had added resolutely, removing the potion pouch from around her neck. "We'll win this match straight up! We don't need to resort to Vampire curses. That sort of thing is for teams that don't play as well as the Bigfoots! Am I right?"

  To James' surprise and delight, the team had responded with a hearty cheer. All around, the Bigfoots players had removed the potion pouches from around their necks and piled them on the shelf next to their skrims.

  Now, standing in the sunset light and looking across the rings toward the Werewolves' platform, James felt a pang of doubt. The powdered curses might have been sneaky and a bit devilish, but all of a sudden James agreed with Norrick: they were going to need everything in their arsenal to beat the Wolves.

  With their backs to the sunset, Team Werewolf appeared to be fringed with molten gold. Clayton Altaire stood in the front, grinning malevolently, his skrim standing next to him, decorated with a snarling wolf 's visage. Flanking him were Olivia Jones and Jeremiah Dunckel. All of them stared across the lofty open space of the field, smirking with seamless confidence.

  "Don't let them spook you," Wood called, summoning the team into a huddle. "Team Werewolf is a good team, an excellent team, but you lot are every bit as skilled as they are and then some. Their overconfidence will be their downfall! They expect to win this match easily with hardly any effort. They think that Victory Hill is their birthright. Are they right?"

  "No!" Team Bigfoot cried out in rowdy unison.

  "Will you lie down and let them win just because they're the Werewolves?"

  "No!" the team barked again, louder.

  Wood shouted over the crowd, "Will you take the match to them and show them that their arrogance is their greatest weakness!?"

  This time, the team exploded in a shout so loud that the crowd all around could hear them. "YES!"

  "Who are we?" Wood demanded.

  "The Bigfoots!"

  Wood asked again, "WHO are we?"

  "THE BIGFOOTS!" This time, the shout dissolved into a deafening cheer as the gathered crowd took up the cry, turning it into a chant: "BIG-FOOTS! BIG-FOOTS! BIG-FOOTS!" Fireworks popped from the grandstands all around and banners waved frantically against the purple sky.

  "Line up!" Wood shouted, smiling grimly. "Practice laps! Team captain?"

  "Viper formation," Jazmine barked, dropping her skrim and jumping onto it. "Go Foots!"

  The rest of the team returned the cry and followed Jazmine out into the rings, slipping easily into formation. James was among the last to take off. For one instant, he felt a pang of mortal worry. This isn't going to work, he thought, panic washing over him like a tidal wave. We can't do this! They'll slaughter us! For a split second, he was convinced that he had forgotten everything—all the game magic they had practiced, all the formations and maneuvers, everything the other House teams had taught them, even how to fly a skrim. He stared down at the odd broom as it floated next to him, one of his feet planted on its middle, holding it steady. He felt frozen in place.

  A hand clapped him gently on the shoulder. When James looked up, it was Professor Wood.

  "Don't worry about it, James," Wood suggested, nodding encouragingly. "Just have fun, eh? This is what you were made for."

  James looked at the professor, hoping he was right. He nodded, gulped, and then swung his other foot onto the beam of his skrim. A moment later, the platform was gone, replaced by open space.

  James remembered everything.

  Less than a minute later, Professor Sanuye blew his official's whistle. From that point on, there was no looking b
ack.

  The match was a blur of wild motion, punctuated only by the whoosh of the rings, the buffet of passing players, and the occasional thump and cry as Bullies collided with Clippers. Spells sizzled through the air all around and James thought he had never experienced such intense, instantaneous ferocity. It was as if the Wolves were pulling out all the stops from the very moment the whistle blew, meaning to crush Team Bigfoot's spirit even before it had a chance to take root. As James passed through the center ring in pursuit of a Werewolf Clipper, he was walloped from overhead by what felt like a passing freight train. He spun off his skrim, grabbed onto it as he fell away, and then swung back up on the other side—a maneuver he had practiced so many times in the Gauntlet that it was nearly second nature. As he re-oriented himself, he glanced aside. Pentz, the boy who had tried to knock him off his skrim the very first time he, James, had attempted to fly one, was rocketing away, grinning back over his shoulder.

  James shook his head, fuming, and darted back into the rings, rejoining the flow of the match.

  It was difficult to keep track of the match as it was underway. James tried to be aware of what the rest of his team was doing, but the viciousness and speed of the Werewolves' tactics made it a challenge simply to stay on his skrim. James was sure that he had never flown so fast for so long, and yet he was barely keeping up. At one point during the first quarter, he saw Jazmine and Gobbins performing one of the two-man offensive spells that the Pixies had taught them with some apparent success. Later, he followed Wentworth in Clipper formation and saw the smaller boy activate one of the Igors' ingenious gizmos from the rear of his skrim. A small box popped open and a Boggart deployed from it, immediately taking the shape of a ghastly flying clown. Clayton Altaire, who had been gaining on Wentworth in Bully position, nearly fell off his skrim as the clown loomed over him. James flashed past and used the Riddikulus spell his father had taught him to turn the clown into a cloud of ping pong balls, which fell away into the darkness below.