JAMES POTTER AND THE VAULT OF DESTINIES jp-1

by G. Norman Lippert

  He hated wearing the black-framed spectacles most of the time, but tonight, being able to see at distance while navigating the figure eight course was going to be essential. One thing he’d learned during practices was that at skrim speed, things that were far away got close very quickly. This was especially true at the intersection, where two directions of players passed at lightning speeds.

  Apollo Mansion was completely deserted and as James left the building and heard the front door slam behind him, he felt a moment of panic. Was he late? Had the match already begun? He glanced up at the clock tower over Administration Hall and breathed a shallow sigh of relief. He had thirty minutes. Simultaneously nervous and excited, James ran across the campus, heading toward the glow of the stadium parapets and the increasing roar of the crowd.

  It had stopped raining, fortunately, but as evening descended, the sky was very low and dark, churning slowly and spawning a capricious, gusty wind. Leaves scarpered across the dark footpaths like startled ghosts, highlighting the eerily empty campus. When James turned the corner at Faculty Row and came in sight of Pepperpock Down, however, he stopped in surprise.

  The stadium’s high parapets glowed colourfully against the low purple sky, filled nearly to overflowing with a sea of gathering students, waving banners, and high, streaming flags. James gulped. What had he gotten himself into? If he had played on the Gryffindor Quidditch team, he might have been prepared for this. Now, the sight of all of those eager faces, those flapping, handmade banners, signs, and shaking pom-poms filled him with a sort of leaden terror. They were all waiting to see him fly a skrim, to watch him score goals, or—always a possibility—to fail miserably and perhaps even fall to his doom. It was like his first time trying out for the Gryffindor Quidditch team, but this time with the entire school watching. If he failed this time, as he had on that day back during his first year at Hogwarts, then he’d never live it down, not in a million years.

  He swallowed past a hard lump in his throat, listened to the roar and chant of the crowd, and considered abandoning the whole thing. He could run back to Apollo Mansion and pretend to be sick. It would be easy. The truth was he felt rather sick just staring up at those brightly lit parapets and milling, excited faces.

  What finally got him going was the thought of his mum and dad. No matter what happened tonight, they would be proud of him. Especially his dad, who had been the youngest Seeker in Hogwarts history. Even if James only managed to stay on his skrim throughout the match, Harry Potter, his father, would be proud of him. Thinking of this, James drew a deep shaking breath and, feeling as if he was walking to his own doom, struck off toward the glow of the stadium. Less than a minute later, he was swallowed up in the roar and momentum of the event and there was no looking back. After that, everything was nearly a blur.

  “I thought maybe you’d given the whole thing up,” Zane announced, meeting James at the door in the base of Bigfoot team’s designated wooden gantry. “I was prepared to find you hiding under your bed back in your dorm room. Me and Ralph were ready to come and drag you here.”

  “I told you today that I wasn’t nervous,” James protested weakly, ducking through the doorway into the sunken locker cellar. The rest of Bigfoot team moved about inside, strapping on their leather wrist gauntlets and shoulder pads, spitting into their goggles and shining them up with the tails of their jerseys.

  “That was then,” Ralph replied loudly, following James into the light and noise of the room. “When you left the caf, though, you were looking pretty tetchy.”

  Zane nodded seriously. “It’s normal. Clutch is a brutal sport. Last year, Pixies’ best Clipper was knocked off his skrim in the first twelve seconds of the first match! He got hit so hard that his boots landed in the announcer’s box, seventy feet away! No one can blame you for being worried.”

  “You’re not helping, you know!” James commented, plopping onto a bench and pulling on his shin guards.

  “I know,” Zane replied, plunking next to James on the bench. “Which is why I wanted to tell you an idea I had earlier today. It might just help get your mind in the right place.”

  “He told me about it already,” Ralph nodded. “It’s… interesting.”

  Across the low room, Oliver Wood called out, “Goggles tonight, everyone! The wind is picking up something fierce, and we don’t want anyone blinded by the mist. I’ll perform Impervius charms on the lenses once we’re all on the platform. Five minutes until warm-up laps!” He turned and clumped up the steps himself followed by several members of the team, who began singing the Bigfoot anthem in husky voices.

  “Tell,” James said, lacing up his boots. “What’s your idea?”

  “All right,” Zane said, leaning back and studying the low ceiling. “Last year, I had old Stonewall Jackson for Technomancy two-oh-two, which is the intermediate class between Intro to Technomancy and Advanced Applied Technomancy, which we’ve got this year.”

  “Get to the Nexus doorway thing,” Ralph prodded.

  “All right, so last year, Stonewall talked about how there are bunches of other dimensions, all packed together alongside ours like layers in a big giant cake. The attack on the Vault of Destinies got me thinking about it because, apparently, our Loom got switched around with one from some neighboring dimension, one that’s a lot like ours, but not exactly like it.”

  “What’s this have to do with Clutch?” James asked, harried, as Ralph helped him shrug into his shoulder pads.

  “Nothing,” Zane said, smiling crookedly. “That’s the point! Now pay attention. Back in Techno two-oh-two, Stonewall talked about the theory of this thing called the Nexus Curtain. He said that, theoretically, every dimension has a gate into a sort of middle world, where all the dimensions hook up and hold together, sort of like spokes meeting at the hub of a wheel. This middle place is called the World Between the Worlds. According to the theory, the Nexus Curtain can only be found and opened by someone who has a special key: something from one of those alternate dimensions. Those sorts of things are extremely hard to come by, though, which is why the Nexus Curtain is mostly just a theory and a legend at this point.”

  “Interesting as this is,” James interrupted, standing and patting himself down, “I just don’t see the point. Why would anyone want to go to another dimension? This one has enough problems of its own, including surviving Clutchcudgel matches in the dark during a windstorm. Where’s my skrim?”

  “Right here,” Ralph nodded, handing James the blue skrim with the painted-on flames that he had ridden on his first outing.

  “Three minutes, Potter!” Norrick called as he pounded up the wooden steps.

  “Here’s the point,” Zane said hurriedly, warming to the subject and following James toward the steps. “According to Jackson, somebody did find and open the Nexus Curtain once, somebody from this school, although it was a long time ago. His name was Professor Magnussen, and he apparently went through and never came back.”

  James pulled his goggles on over his head and seated them awkwardly over his glasses. “Fascinating,” he said. “Good for him. Wish I was there with him right now.”

  Zane rolled his eyes. “You’re not paying attention!” he said, punching James on his padded shoulder. “Whoever attacked the Vault of Destinies stole a thread from the foreign dimension’s Loom! It’s an object from another dimension! Don’t you see? It could be used to open the Nexus Curtain!”

  James stopped on the stairs and looked back at Zane over his shoulder, his brow furrowed. “So whoever it was… they could have used the missing thread as a key and followed this Professor Magnussen bloke into… wherever he went? They could be… hiding there?”

  Zane nodded, his eyebrows raised. “And if they did, then that would explain how the missing crimson thread vanished without any trace! No one’s been able to track it down or even sense the slightest hint of it ever since the night the Vault was attacked. That doesn’t make any sense at all with something that crazy magical unless they used it to esc
ape into the World Between the Worlds! And if that’s what they did, then no one is ever going to find them there because no one else has any way of getting past the Nexus Curtain! No one except maybe us!”

  “Zane has an idea!” Ralph rasped, smiling crookedly.

  James looked from one boy to the other, his brow lowered. “You’re both completely daft,” he said wonderingly. “What in the world are you talking about?”

  “Adventure!” Zane announced happily. “Honor, and mischief, and really wild stuff! And maybe saving the universe while we’re at it!”

  “You can’t be serious!” James proclaimed, shaking his head. “My mum was right! You’re both suffering from delusions of grandeur! My dad, and your dad, Ralph, and Merlin and all the rest of the best witches and wizards from two countries are working on this mystery, and you two think that they need a trio of school kids to give them a leg up?”

  Zane shrugged. “Wouldn’t be the first time,” he replied reasonably.

  “If you recall,” James said impatiently, “the three of us failed miserably! We were supposed to prevent Merlin’s return back during the Hall of Elders’ Crossing, and instead we completely fell into Madame Delacroix’s trap! We just got lucky because Merlin ended up being good! More or less. The world would probably be a lot better off if we had left everything well enough alone!”

  Ralph looked worriedly thoughtful, but Zane was unperturbed. “Worked though, didn’t it?”

  “What worked?” James asked, exasperated.

  Zane smiled. “You’re not worried about Clutch anymore. Now go! You’ll do excellent.”

  James rolled his eyes, turned, and ran up the steps, following the last of his teammates.

  The rest of the night happened so fast, so breathlessly, that James could barely keep up with it. His clearest memory was of standing in the darkness of the platform, looking out over the brightly lit parapet grandstands and hearing the ringing roar of the gathered crowds. Banners snapped in the wind as a misty rain began to fall again, making the platform shine as if it was coated with oil.

  “Huddle up, team,” Wood shouted over the damp wind. “It’s the first match of the season, so let’s take it easy out there. I want to see a solid, textbook match, just like we’ve been practicing. Begin with swallow formation, Bullies in front. Mukthatch, you’ll start as Keeper, but be prepared to switch with Gobbins if they stack their Clippers. Got it?”

  The team grunted in understanding. Next to James, Mukthatch the Bigfoot nodded his shaggy head and barked a guttural woof of agreement. Wood looked around at the gathered faces, his expression tense, and then stuck out his right hand, palm down. As one, the rest of the team piled their right hands on top of his, Mukthatch last, his great furry-knuckled fingers as big as bananas.

  “GooOO FEET!” the team cried in unison, and then broke away, clutching their skrims. In the lead, Jazmine Jade dropped her skrim, stepped easily onto it, and kicked off into the darkness. The rest of the team began to follow her, forming the one-two chain of swallow formation.

  James pressed his lips together tightly, swept his damp hair out of his face, and then strode toward the edge of the platform. His heart was pounding as he dropped his skrim next to him. He’d watching. The crowd cheered loudly, echoing in the mist all around, but James ignored them. He nodded to himself, planted his right foot onto the smooth flat of his skrim, and kicked off.

  The team circled sedately through two laps of the figure eight course, merging gradually with the members of Igor team, whose short green cloaks flapped wetly in the wind.

  “Hey Cornelius,” an older Igor boy called, swinging comfortably alongside James on his long silvery skrim. James had learned, after several confusing interactions, that ‘Cornelius’ was a generic American term for anyone with an English accent, based on a series of famous speeches given by former Minister of Magic Cornelius Fudge some decades earlier. “I hope you aren’t too attached to that board of yours,” the boy said, grinning meanly. “I plan on splitting it in two before the night’s out.”

  “You’ll have to catch me first,” James replied lamely, avoiding the boy’s eyes.

  “You’ll want to keep an eye peeled when you cross at the intersection,” the boy nodded smugly. “I’ll be the one meeting you there, and I won’t be playing nice. Igors play for keeps.”

  James grimaced, glancing down at the dark field far below. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  As the final warm-up lap completed, both teams had spread throughout the rings of the course, mixing and assembling into their beginning formations. Mukthatch hovered on his skrim over the middle ring, crouched and ready with his Cudgel held before him, guarding the goal ring, which glowed faintly in the darkness. The Igor Keeper, a rangy girl with a round, freckled face, flexed her knees on her own skrim, watching Mukthatch out of the corner of her eye.

  Flying on a standard broom outside of the course, the match official, Professor Sanuye in a black and white striped tunic, raised a whistle to his mouth. As Jazmine and the Igor team captain crossed the center ring, Sanuye blew his whistle, announcing the start of the match. Three leather balls, the Clutches, spiraled up into the air from three different directions, and the teams instantly fell upon them in an explosion of motion.

  James was starting the match in the position of Clipper, but by the time he propelled his skrim through the center ring, all three Clutches had already been collected. He glanced around, crouching low over his skrim, and saw that Norrick had collected one of the Clutches. The other two had been claimed by Igor team. Grimly, James sped up, meaning to catch the Igor Clippers and try his best to knock them out of the rings, thus forcing them to relinquish the Clutches. He was no longer nervous or worried, nor was he afraid of falling off his skrim and embarrassing (or killing) himself. Now, all that mattered was the match. James became lost in the blur of the rings, the whoosh and buffet of the air as he passed by the other players, and the smack and thump as riders collided and spun away into the darkness.

  At first, the intersection seemed dreadfully frightening, but soon James came to anticipate it, throwing a darting glance toward the crossing stream to see who might be coming to meet him while he prepared to dodge or feint around them. Eventually, in fact, he saw how he could use the intersection to his advantage, using his speed and maneuverability in a strategic manner. As the match progressed, James began to throw in little false maneuvers to trick the opposing offense into flying off course or cause them to ram into each other. Dimly, he was aware of the applause of the crowd as he performed these moves, but it seemed far away and unimportant.

  By the third quarter, James had grown confident enough to go on the offensive. During one cross passage, he leaned hard on his skrim, performing a perfect barrel roll, so that when he passed through the ring, he was completely upside-down. The passing Igor Clipper was so stunned by the move that James was able to easily jab out his hand, punch the Clutch from beneath the boy’s arm, and catch it as it lobbed into the air on the other side. All around, the crowd cheered wildly, leaping to their feet and stomping raucously. Protecting the Clutch with both arms, James swept easily through the course the requisite three times, avoiding the Igor Bullies, and finally lobbed the Clutch toward the goal ring. The Igor Keeper lunged for it with her Cudgel, missing only barely, and James threw both hands into the air, celebrating his first goal along with the grandstands all around.

  By the fourth quarter, however, James realized that Bigfoot team was trailing the Igors by a score of forty-six to twenty-nine. This was not because the Igors were better players, necessarily, but because of the very thing that Zane had warned about. Magic was allowed in the sport of Clutchcudgel and the Igors used it quite liberally. James saw them casting defensive spells, such as turbulence pits, Lanyard Charms, and gravity wells, and offensive spells, like inertia enhancers, speed hexes, and accuracy charms. The Bigfoots, on the other hand, used almost no magic whatsoever. James had his wand with him, encased in the leather sleeve sewn into th
e lining of his gauntlet, but he had no idea what to do with it, not knowing any of the spells he saw the Igors casting.

  Finally, as the match neared its end, James grew desperate enough to perform one of the spells that he had learned during his earlier school years. As he circled the course, he noticed an Igor Bully preparing to cast a Lanyard Charm on Jazmine Jade, intending to use it to yank one of the Clutches out of her hands. James sped up, hunkered over his skrim, and swept his own wand from the sheath in his gauntlet.

  “Expelliarmus!” he cried, aiming for the Igor boy’s outstretched wand. Instantly, the wand sprang from the boy’s fist and spun off into the misty night. The crowd responded with a shocked outburst and a whistle pierced the air nearby.

  “Penalty!” Professor Sanuye called out, swooping in on his broom. “Team Bigfoot, nonapproved magic. Two minutes in the dock.”

  Shaking his head in confusion, James circled out of the course and flew toward the platform. Oliver Wood met him there, scowling.

  “What was that all about?” the professor demanded as James hopped off his skrim.

  “Magic!” James exclaimed angrily. “The other team is using it! Why aren’t we?”

  Wood grabbed James’ skrim as it bobbed into the air. “We don’t play that kind of match, James!” he said sternly. “We’re a team of solid fundamentals and textbook formations. Nothing unsportsmanlike. We may not always win, but we walk away knowing we played a fair match. Besides, that was a dueling spell, not approved Clutchcudgel game magic! You’re lucky you didn’t get ejected from the match, and me along with you!”

  “It was just a Disarming Spell,” James fumed, turning away. “Besides, I might as well be ejected. The match will be over before my dock time is over.”

  Wood sighed, looking out over the match as it sped through its final moments. “I give you points for enthusiasm, James, but you’ll need to learn some self-control. We Bigfoots pride ourselves on a clean game. If you can’t abide by that, then no amount of flying skills will make up for it.”