JAMES POTTER AND THE VAULT OF DESTINIES jp-1

by G. Norman Lippert

  Petra looked at Harry, and then at James. “I’m not. I swear it. I know a lot of weird stuff has happened around me, but I’m as baffled by it as everyone else. I want to know the truth just as much as Mr. Keynes does. Please believe me.”

  James spoke up. “I believe you, Petra,” he said, meeting her eyes. She smiled aside at him, a little sadly.

  Harry Potter, however, didn’t say anything at all.

  14. THE MAGNUSSEN RIDDLES

  “I thought you told me,” Zane said the next day, “that if there was any connection between this old Professor Magnussen story and the attack on the Vault, your dad and Merlin and everybody else were already all over it.”

  James shook his head. “Come on,” he urged. “It’s already ten ‘til two. Franklyn’s office hours are nearly over.”

  “Yeah,” Ralph said, warming to the subject. “What ever happened to all that stuff about us just being a bunch of school students with too much to do to get all wrapped up in any big adventures?”

  James grabbed Ralph’s sleeve and pulled the bigger boy around the corner into a high corridor lined with partially open doors. “That was then, this is now, all right? Dad’s got his hands full with his own problems, especially now that he’s got Petra and Izzy staying with them while that Keynes idiot does his investigating. We’re not taking over for him, we’re just helping. If there is anything to this whole thing about Professor Magnussen and the Nexus Curtain, we’ll send it his way.”

  “I see how it is,” Zane said with a smile. “Now that Petra Morganstern’s fate is in the balance, you’re willing to break the old Prime Directive, eh?”

  “I don’t even know what that means,” James sighed impatiently. “Hurry. Franklyn’s office door is still open.”

  All three boys piled to a stop just outside of the tall wooden door and peered inside. The office was surprisingly small, dominated by a very large oak desk, a set of visitor’s chairs, and a bookshelf crammed with enormous books and the occasional clockwork gizmo. Franklyn sat at the desk facing the door, a large volume in his hands. He glanced up as the three students clambered to a halt.

  “Boys,” he said welcomingly. “What can I do for you?”

  “Hi Chancellor,” James said, entering the small room and looking around. “Er, this is your office?”

  “One of them at least,” Franklyn smiled. “This is the one that serves me for meeting with students and faculty. Why do you ask?”

  James shrugged as he moved to stand behind one of the visitor’s chairs. “No reason. I just expected something a bit… bigger.”

  “We thought we’d get to see your Daylight Savings Device again,” Ralph added.

  “Ah, yes, that,” Franklyn answered, closing his book with a thump. “I keep that in my personal study. It is far too large and complex to leave in the faculty offices. After all, we are still victim to the occasional school prank, although such things are somewhat rarer nowadays, thanks to Madam Laosa.”

  “You mean Crone Laosa?” Zane asked, his eyes widening. “So she’s really for real? Some of the Zombies were saying that she was just made up to scare us all out of exploring the basements.”

  “How may I help you boys?” Franklyn asked, smiling a little crookedly, obviously avoiding Zane’s question.

  “Er,” James began, clutching the back of the chair in front of him, “we just have a quick question. It’s about the history of the school. We thought you’d be the best person to ask.”

  Franklyn nodded approvingly. “Always a pleasure to see students taking an interest in the university. And I do suppose I am uniquely qualified to discuss its history since I have been alive throughout much of it. What’s your question?”

  James glanced back at Ralph and Zane, suddenly reluctant. “It’s… er… about one of the professors.”

  “From a long time ago,” Ralph added.

  Franklyn’s chair creaked as he leaned back in it. “We’ve had a rather impressive list of teachers throughout the years, continuing even to the present. Mr. Bunyan, the giant, is one of our most recent additions, and believe me, it was no small task to convince him to take the post. Prefers the wide open spaces, he does, along with his great blue ox, Babe.”

  “It’s about Professor Magnussen,” Zane blurted, stepping forward.

  Franklyn’s expression froze on his face. He paused, staring at all three boys.

  “Do you remember him?” James prodded tentatively. “We looked him up in the library, but there was almost nothing. His full name was Ignatius Karloff Magnussen, and he was Head of Igor House like a hundred and fifty years ago or something.”

  Franklyn continued to study the boys, his eyes suddenly cautious. He leaned forward slowly again, producing another long creak from his chair.

  Ralph said, “There are legends about this Magnussen bloke. They say that he opened up something called the Nexus—”

  “Boys,” Franklyn interrupted, “I am afraid that Professor Magnussen is a name from a period of time that this school would prefer to forget. It would behoove you not to inquire about him any further.”

  “Well,” Zane replied slowly, glancing aside at his friends, “as much as I’d like to agree to that, I suspect that we’re just about ten times more curious now.”

  Franklyn sighed hugely. “I suppose you learned of this in Professor Jackson’s Technomancy class, yes?” He nodded to himself, not awaiting an answer. “The professor and I have had words on the subject. We have rather differing views regarding the merits of security versus disclosure. Perhaps I simply wish to make my job as Chancellor a bit easier. Surely the good professor would agree.”

  James risked pressing the matter a bit further. “What can you tell us, Chancellor? Is it true that Magnussen opened the Nexus Curtain and made his way into the World Between the Worlds?”

  Franklyn stood up and straightened his waistcoat. He turned toward the window and leaned to peer out over the campus.

  “He used to live in the most prominent faculty home of Alma Aleron, the one that originally belonged to John Roberts, one of the school’s founders. He was a brilliant man, Magnussen, and yes, I knew him. He was, in fact, that most rare of men: he was a scientist, and he was a lover of stories. His calculating mind was equal to the best technomancers who’ve ever lived, but his love of the tale allowed him to think in creative, ingenious ways that none of his colleagues could ever dream. The characteristics that made him great, however, also led him to… obsessions. It was these, unfortunately, that drove him to commit acts that were both heinous and ultimately senseless.”

  Franklyn paused, apparently determining how much he should say. Finally, he went on, still peering out the window. “It was a time of great interest in magical exploration and experimentation. Schools such as Alma Aleron allowed a virtually unlimited amount of autonomy and resources to their teachers, all in the name of progress. Too late did we learn that sometimes progress means decay. Professor Ignatius Magnussen was allowed to conduct his experiments and pursue his goals, even though the costs were far higher than we knew at the time, and the dangers were… well, incalculable. By the time he was found out, it was too late to stop him. In the end, he fell victim to his own designs, and that, unfortunately, is the end of his story.”

  “What did he do, sir?” James persisted.

  Franklyn was thoughtful. After a moment, he glanced back at the boys, his eyes narrowed. “Why, pray tell, are you three so interested in this?”

  “Er…” James began, but Zane overrode him.

  “We’re just curious, sir. It’s in our natures. You know how we young people are.”

  Franklyn studied Zane for a long moment. “Indeed I do. Curiosity is a good thing, my young friends. It is the fuel for the engine of invention. But like any fuel, it can be dangerous. It can burn you, if you are not careful with it.”

  James asked, “Is that what happened to Professor Magnussen?”

  Franklyn’s face remained calm as he shifted his gaze to James. After a
long moment, he said, “Magnussen lived in the home that once belonged to one of this school’s three founders, as I said. It is the home that now stands in ruins at the opposite end of the mall.” He nodded toward the window. “Professor Magnussen is the reason that that building was reduced to rubble. His laboratory was there and it was the scene of terrible things. When these things became known, a riot erupted on the campus. Hundreds rushed to the mansion, intent on dragging Magnussen out and bringing him to justice. Of course, an arbiter had already been assigned to Magnussen—justice had already been set into motion—but because of Magnussen’s status, he was granted the privilege of maintaining his post and his home during the investigation. This infuriated the population of the school, including, I regret to say, much of the faculty. During the fracas that followed, Magnussen escaped from the mansion. In the aftermath, the mansion was burned nearly to the ground. To this day, no one knows if the fire was an accident or deliberate. Some say that Magnussen himself set it, meaning to distract everyone from his escape. Either way, it not only destroyed the mansion, it wiped out all the evidence of what Magnussen had done. And, frankly, perhaps that was for the best.”

  Zane was impressed. “So what happened to him after that? Did he live out the rest of his days on some South American island somewhere?”

  “Ignatius Magnussen was never seen or heard from again,” Franklyn answered brusquely, seating himself once more at his desk. “The most likely explanation is that he escaped via the rift that he created into some reality that none of us can even imagine.”

  “So did succeed in opening the Nexus Curtain!” Ralph exclaimed.

  Franklyn pinned Ralph with a steely gaze. “He succeeded in opening something, Mr. Deedle. Unfortunately, we had virtually no time to question him before his escape and the fire ruined what clues we might have gained in his absence. Therefore, no one knows for sure what he did or where he might have gone. All we know is that his ‘success’ came at great cost and ruined many lives. I suggest you leave it at that.”

  James wanted to ask more, but Franklyn’s expression made it clear that he was done discussing the topic. The three boys thanked the Chancellor and excused themselves as quickly as possible.

  “Well,” Ralph said once they had exited Administration Hall, “that was pretty much a bust.”

  James pulled his cloak around him as the wind picked up. “At least we found out that Magnussen really did open up the Nexus Curtain,” he replied. “That means that there might be something to Zane’s theory. Maybe whoever really did steal the crimson thread used it to open the Curtain again, and is still hiding out there, in the World Between the Worlds. If we can figure out how Magnussen got through, then maybe we can do it as well.”

  Zane feigned surprise as he said, “I thought we were just going to turn this all over to the great Harry Potter and his squad of Auror superdudes?”

  “Shut up, already, why don’t you?” James grumbled crossly. “Dad’s got enough on his hands. There’s no harm in us following a few leads, is there? It’ll save him some time. Besides, we’re already right here on campus. We can do all the footwork more easily than he can. I just wish Franklyn hadn’t been so tight-lipped about everything. He gave us almost nothing to go on.”

  Zane sighed expansively and stopped walking. A moment later, Ralph and James stopped as well and turned to look back at him.

  “Maybe,” the blonde boy said with a crooked smile, “we can try it my way now?”

  James was quite curious as to what Zane’s way actually was, but as it turned out, the next few days were too busy for the boys to attempt anything at all.

  On Friday evening, James joined Zane, Albus, Lucy, and Ralph at Pepperpock Down for the Vampires versus Werewolves Clutchcudgel match. Albus rooted ardently for his own team while Lucy led spirited cheers and waved a red and black banner in her gloved hands. James, Ralph, and Zane, however, liking neither team, cheered only when there were penalties or injuries, earning quite a few disapproving looks from those in the grandstands around them. In the end, Werewolf House defeated the Vampires by a score of eightyeight to sixty-five, leaving Lucy in a grumpy mood that lasted well into her second licorice soda at the Kite and Key.

  James spent most of Saturday afternoon in the attic of Hermes House, accompanied by Zane, in search of a costume for that evening’s Halloween Ball. Together, they settled on a mummy costume comprised mostly of shreds of old sheets, which had, for some forgotten reason, been tiedyed into rainbow colours.

  “We’ll call you the Saturday Night Fever,” Zane proclaimed happily, examining James in his costume. “The Disco Mummy! You’ll be a total hit. Frankly, I’m a little jealous.”

  Having failed disastrously in his attempt to make Petra his date to the Ball, James sought out and asked Lucy to go with him, figuring that they could have more fun together than apart. She agreed instantly and with rather more enthusiasm than James had expected. When he arrived at Erebus Mansion that evening to escort her to the ball, she came down the main staircase dressed as a vampire princess, resplendent in a rather striking black dress, boots, and a vial of blood worn on a black ribbon around her neck.

  “It’s not real blood,” she smiled sheepishly, showing her canine teeth, which had been hexed into long points for the evening. “It’s just poisonberry juice, so I really can drink it if I want to. I borrowed the boots from Professor Remora. Can you believe her feet are nearly as small as mine?”

  James told her that he couldn’t and that he frankly preferred to think of Professor Remora’s feet as absolutely little as possible. Along the way to Administration Hall, they met Ralph, who was dressed as a ghost with a rather sadly moth-eaten sheet over his head. Together, the three made their way down to the cafeteria for drinks and then up to the main ballroom, where the band, Rig Mortis and the Stifftones, was already well into their first set.

  It turned out to be a delightfully raucous evening. The music was very loud and after a few failed attempts, Lucy finally coaxed James into joining her on the dance floor. Zane was already there, gyrating and bouncing wildly, dressed, of course, as a zombie. He’d painted his face green, added some stitches with black magic marker, and donned a moldy, ill-fitting, powder blue tuxedo. Across from him, Cheshire Chatterly looked rather fetching as his zombie prom date, complete with a blood-stained pink taffeta dress and every inch of exposed skin charmed a deathly, blotchy blue.

  “Some party, eh?” Zane called as he shimmied past.

  “It is!” James called back, grinning. In front of him, Lucy danced happily, looking surprisingly beautiful with her hair done up in a complicated beehive. He told her as much as the lights flashed and twirled all around. Even in the flickering dimness, he saw the blush rise to her pale cheeks and she smiled at him, obviously pleased.

  It wasn’t until the following Wednesday afternoon that Zane finally gathered James and Ralph and told them to get ready for a little ‘fact-finding mission’ once classes were over for the day. By five o’clock, all three boys met at Apollo Mansion for a quick dinner.

  The meal was prepared by the house steward, a bald, hunched, painfully thin wizard whose demeanor usually hovered somewhere between veiled crankiness and outright hostility. Known only as Yeats, the steward had apparently been a fixture in Apollo Mansion for nearly seventy years and didn’t seem to have any intention of retiring, ever. He was so old that he appeared to be in need of a good dusting, but he moved with a sort of grim economy that implied that if ever the need arose, he could probably tackle any single member of Bigfoot House with one of his large knuckly hands while flipping crepes with the other.

  “I hope this is to the young sir’s liking,” he said through gritted teeth as he pushed their plates in front of them. “Cheeseburgers and homemade potato chips. The cornerstone of any nutritious dinner.”

  “Thanks, Yeats,” Ralph said, digging in.

  “What is it about that guy?” Zane asked quietly as Yeats retreated slowly to the stove. “Every time we ask him f
or something, I get the impression that he’s barely restraining himself from hexing us into salt and pepper shakers.”

  James shrugged and munched a potato chip. They were still hot and sprinkled with some kind of crumbly blue cheese. “Yeats is all right,” he said. “Reminds me of home. He’s like a grownup human version of Kreacher.”

  “He is!” Ralph nodded, his mouth full. “I knew he seemed familiar. You’re right. He does remind me of good old number twelve Grimmauld Place.”

  Twenty minutes later, the three boys made their way out into the darkening evening, Zane in the lead. James noticed that they were heading toward the Hall of Archives.

  “Just doing a little research, fellas,” Zane said to the Werewolf students who were still serving as guards around the Archive steps. “Or do we need a permission slip signed in triplicate from the Chancellor himself?”

  “Just make it quick, Walker,” one of the Werewolf boys sneered. “The Hall gets locked up at eight on the dot, whether you’re out of there or not.”

  “Hey,” Zane grinned as he trotted up the steps toward the huge doors, “that rhymed! You’ve been practicing that one, haven’t you? You Werewolves are so stinkin’ clever.”

  “Smile while you can, Walker,” another of the boys called. “We’ll see if you’re still grinning this Friday night after your team meets ours on the Clutch course.”

  “Well, that didn’t rhyme at all,” Zane admonished. “Back to the doghouse with you.”

  The Werewolf boys bristled, but they were apparently too committed to their guard duties to abandon their posts. James and Ralph sidled up the steps behind Zane, avoiding eye contact with the older boys on either side.

  “So what are we going to do here?” James asked as they entered the round, darkened room of the Disrecorder. “Even if there are any relics from Magnussen’s time, they’d be in the restricted section of the Archive. We can’t get in there, no matter how many Werewolves you insult.”