JAMES POTTER AND THE VAULT OF DESTINIES jp-1

by G. Norman Lippert

  “Why are you doing this?” This time, it was Lucy who approached. She stood next to James.

  “Why?” the woman said, raising her eyebrows in a surprised smile. “Because it is my destiny. And because I enjoy it. Need there be any other reason?” She laughed. “The truth is, I have been working toward this end for nearly a year by your time—almost since the moment I arose from the lake’s surface. It took me some time to find all of you, but once I did, I knew that you would lead me to where I needed to be. I even assisted when it was absolutely necessary. And sure enough, you led me to Alma Aleron and that delightful device known as the Vault of Destinies. The rest was eerily easy.”

  James felt Zane and Ralph join him now. The group was once again complete.

  Petra’s voice turned cold as she said, “What is it you want?”

  “Still the wrong question,” Judith scolded, her smile turning brittle. “Soon I will grow impatient with you. Stop wasting our precious time. We have work to do.”

  Zane spoke up then, his voice trembling slightly. “Give us back the crimson thread!”

  “That is a demand, not a question.” Judith sneered slightly, turning her pretty face piggish for a moment. “And I cannot grant your demand at any rate.”

  Petra made to reach for the brooch, around which was twined the tantalizing thread, but Judith chided her warningly.

  “I would not be so bold, dear one,” she teased. “The brooch can only be taken by she who owns it.”

  “But I own it!” Petra exclaimed. It was nearly a plea.

  James took one more step forward, placing himself at the head of the group, his hand still intertwined with Petra’s. “Will you,” he asked, framing the question with great emphasis, “give us back the crimson thread?”

  “That’s the question I’ve been waiting for!” Judith cried out, clapping her hands with glee. “And I have an answer for you, James Sirius Potter, you wonderful, bold young man. The answer is no.”

  “Why not?” James demanded, barely stopping himself from reaching for the thread-twined brooch again.

  “Because that is not the crimson thread!” Judith exclaimed, delightedly. “And because the real crimson thread does not wish to go back!”

  As Judith spoke, James perceived movement inside the beam of the light. He turned toward it and saw that there was someone else in the castle with them, someone who’d been there the entire time, seated on the high-backed chair, turned away from them. A pale hand moved on the arm of the chair, gripping it as the figure stood, arose to her full height, and turned around.

  “You wonderful fools,” Judith breathed triumphantly, gazing at the young woman who now stood in the beam of light. “You failed to understand the true meaning of the Loom. That length of thread you see wrapped around the brooch is only a symbol. She is the true Crimson Thread, drawn through the Vault of Destinies from her own dimension, just as the symbolic thread itself was plucked from the Loom. As long as the symbolic thread stays here with us, so… does… SHE.”

  James was speechless. He stared into the beam of light, unable to take his eyes from the young woman standing there, smiling weakly. Her hair was long and dark, framing a face he knew very well except for the eyes. There, he saw only a hollow deadness, lurking just under a pall of misery. Except for the eyes, the young woman standing inside the light, at home in that odd bedroom assembly, was Petra herself.

  “Izzy,” the other Petra said, her voice cracking into tears. “I’m so sorry I killed you.”

  “It was you I dreamed of,” Petra said, staring at her sudden twin. “Not me. In your world, you were too late. You killed her.”

  The other Petra nodded slowly, not taking her eyes from the Izzy that stood just outside the light.

  “So that’s your brooch,” James said, nodding toward the jewelry box. “You never went on the ocean journey with us, so you never lost it.”

  “This is not the Petra you know, James,” Judith replied, finally moving into the light. “In her world, she never came to your home seeking refuge. Instead, she gave herself over to the destiny that claimed her on the night she killed her sister. She has abandoned good and forsaken love. She has nothing left, which is why she was so willing to join me. And after all, why wouldn’t she? I am her mother. She paid for me. She paid very dearly.”

  The other Petra responded to this by leaning her cheek onto Judith’s shoulder.

  “Petra,” James called out sharply, speaking to the young woman in the light. “That isn’t really your mother! Haven’t you been listening? She’s some evil beast from the netherworld, bent on creating chaos! Petra, she’s not even really human!”

  “Don’t call me that name anymore, James,” the young woman in the light said sadly. “Petra is no more. Now there’s just me, Morgan.”

  Judith nodded slowly and smiled. “My ‘daughter’ and I have been very busy ever since I drew her into your world. You see, the rules of the Nexus Curtain do not apply to either of us. She is not of your dimension and I am not human. We may pass through as we wish, although doing so does have its consequences. Dimensions don’t respond well to two of one person occupying them at the same time. Whenever my Morgan passed into your world, your Petra fell asleep. In truth, I suspect she even faded from your world, and slept here, on this very bed, trading places with Morgan. I suppose they could exist at the same time in the same world—for a time, at least—but it would not be without its own strange consequences. The fabric of existence would reject such a duality, and would strive to annihilate one of the dimensional twins, all in the name of balance. But this is neither here nor there. The fact is, we have passed through into your reality, on several, important occasions. We have, in fact, had quite the busy little lives in your world.”

  James suddenly thought he understood. He narrowed his eyes angrily. “You!” he exclaimed, pointing. “You killed the leader of the W.U.L.F. and took over! You’re their new leader!”

  “Oh my, no,” Judith laughed again, delightedly. “No, no, no, you silly boy. I’m not the leader of the W.U.L.F.” She gestured affectionately toward Morgan. “She is. She killed Edgar Tarrantus. Frankly, she was doing the man a favor. He’d grown so very political in his old age that he was very nearly a joke. More importantly, she killed the Muggle politician. They’d had other plans for him, of course, but Morgan here can be quite persuasive. In death, Senator Filmore will serve a much greater purpose. And besides, American politicians are, as they say, a dime a dozen.” She laughed as if she’d made a small joke at a party.

  “Why couldn’t you just stay in your own dimension?” Lucy called out suddenly to Morgan, her face pale but stern. “I’m sorry that you bollixed it all up and killed your own version of Izzy, but why do you want to go spreading your misery around to somebody else’s dimension?”

  “Why, that’s simple,” Morgan said, raising her cheek from Judith’s shoulder. She shook her head, as if amazed that the answer wasn’t completely obvious. “Because in your world, Izzy is still alive. Mother told me so. Here, I can get her back.”

  And then, with horrible suddenness, Morgan made a beckoning motion with her right hand. Izzy jerked away from Petra and flew into the light. Morgan caught her and instantly drew a hand down over the younger girl’s face, putting her into a deep sleep. Izzy slumped.

  “I’m sorry, Iz,” Morgan said, nearly sobbing with relief. “I won’t ever let you go this time. This time, I’ll keep you safe.”

  Petra was rushing forward into the light, but she was completely unprepared for the bolt that struck her, emanating from Morgan’s outstretched hand. Petra flew backwards, bowling into James, Zane, and Ralph, who toppled behind her.

  “Stop this!” Lucy cried, running forward with her wand in her hand, pointing wildly ahead of her. She had nearly made it to Izzy, was reaching for the younger girl’s limp hand, when Judith acted.

  James saw it, but was helpless to stop it. He opened his mouth to cry out, but it happened even before he’d drawn the breath t
o scream.

  “Die, little one,” Judith laughed, and flicked a finger at Lucy, as if she was merely a fly. A bolt of green exploded against Lucy’s side. Her head jolted sideways as her body flew into the air, turning almost gracefully. Lucy flew out of the light, dead in midair. Her wand fell from her hand and clattered to the rug, making no noise. There was a rolling thump as the girl herself dropped onto the shadowy stone floor fifteen feet away.

  There was a pause of completely shocked horror. For one long, terrible moment, James refused to believe what he had just seen. Then, with perfect finality, the reality of it fell upon him and he cried out, using the very breath that he had drawn to warn his now dead cousin.

  “NOOO!” he shrieked, screaming the word so long and loud that sweat sprang out on his brow and his vision doubled. He saw Judith laughing at his horror, saw Morgan clutch Izzy even closer to her, ignoring the dead girl on the floor nearby. Zane and Ralph were clambering to their feet, moving as if in a daze. Between them, Petra seemed too stunned to speak. Her eyes were so round, her expression so utterly transfixed with shock and rage, that she looked as if she couldn’t even move.

  And then, as Morgan and Judith carried Izzy toward one of the waiting curtains, Petra did move. She pushed her way through the makeshift bedroom, shoving furniture aside almost without touching it, chasing after the departing women.

  “Wait!” James cried out desperately, grabbing at Petra’s arm. “What about Lucy? We can’t just leave her here!”

  Petra seemed not to hear. Across the vast room, Morgan and Judith passed through one of the billowing portal curtains and vanished. Petra began to run. Her dress streamed out behind her and coldness beat from her in waves.

  “Petra!” James shouted, turning his plea into a hoarse demand. “We can’t just leave Lucy!”

  He caught up to Petra, clutching her arm so hard that she finally stopped and spun around. When she turned her gaze upon James, he stumbled backwards. Her eyes were horrible—flashing like diamonds in a winter sun, yet dark as tombs. She blinked and seemed to recognize him, although her expression didn’t soften.

  “I’m sorry, James,” she said. “There’s nothing I can do for Lucy. She’s dead. But Izzy is still alive and she needs me. I can’t stay here.”

  James buried his face in his hands, overcome with helpless misery. He glanced back and saw Zane and Ralph kneeling over Lucy’s body, lifting her hands as if to help her up. They didn’t understand yet, or were simply refusing to believe it.

  “But she killed Lucy!” James exclaimed, crying out with such affronted wretchedness that his voice splintered.

  “Then they should pay for it,” Petra said, and her voice rang in the high chamber of the room, building on its echoes until it sounded like a chorus. James looked back again and saw Zane and Ralph crossing the floor to join them. Lucy’s body hung limp in Ralph’s arms and Ralph, James saw with real surprise, was crying. Tears streamed down the big boy’s face, making shining tracks on his cheeks.

  “We did everything we could, James,” he said pleadingly. “But we ran out of ideas! Even my wand won’t do anything! And I tried! I really did!”

  James found himself nodding at his friend. “I know, Ralph,” he said, and tears filled his own eyes, tears of mingled misery and rage. “I believe you.”

  “Let’s go get those two witches,” Zane seethed in a low, fierce voice. His face had gone as pale as a gravestone.

  “Neither of them are witches,” Petra said, turning back to the wafting fabric of the portal curtain. “But that won’t help them when I find them.”

  With a shuddering breath, James moved alongside Petra and gripped her hand once more. It was so cold that it almost stung. Together, with Ralph in the rear, still carrying Lucy’s body, the four strode toward the curtain and vanished into its sweeping folds.

  When the curtain swept back from them, James blinked into darkness. Noises rang out all around—scufflings and shouts, the whoosh and crackle of spells, all forming the unmistakable clamor of a magical fight. A streak of green lit the space and James saw a man nearby, dueling a wildly grinning witch.

  “Where are we?” Ralph called, his voice frightened.

  “The Department of Mysteries,” Petra replied grimly, striding forward. “But not in our time. Don’t touch anything. Don’t even raise your wands. This is not our destination. It’s only a trick.”

  James matched Petra’s stride, but couldn’t avoid looking around. What he saw sent a chill deep into his heart. The dueling man was his father’s godfather and one of James’ namesakes: Sirius Black. His black hair clung to his face in sweaty tangles as he manipulated his wand.

  “Give it up, Bellatrix,” Sirius grunted, jabbing forth with a Disarming Spell. “You’ve always been far better with your tongue than your wand.”

  The wild-eyed woman cackled eagerly, deflecting the spell and parrying with another green curse.

  “We are not real to them,” Petra called out, walking directly between Sirius and Bellatrix as they battled. “Unless we stop and take possession of this reality, it will not recognize us. Don’t interfere! There is another curtain straight ahead. That is where the Lady of the Lake and Morgan have gone. We must keep on.”

  James looked and saw what Petra meant. Straight ahead of them, no more than fifteen paces away, was another Nexus Curtain, identical to the one through which they had already passed. Petra strode toward it purposefully and James matched her stride for stride.

  “James!” Zane exclaimed, grabbing at his friend’s shoulder and pointing. “Look over there! Is that…?”

  James knew the story of where they were. He knew what the battle was about and what was about to happen. Sirius Black was going to be killed, sent through the veil that wafted even now behind him—the veil through which, ironically, James and his companions had just come. And yet, as he looked toward where Zane was pointing, James was stunned almost to a standstill.

  His father moved at the perimeter of the battle, engaged in his own struggle. His glasses were crooked on his face; the famous scar marked his forehead. He appeared to be almost exactly the same age as James himself.

  “We could stop it,” he said, reaching out to grasp Petra’s arm. “We could stay here and stop it all. We could save Sirius and stop all the terrible things that happened afterward!”

  “James,” Petra said, pausing only for a moment, “you’ve been here before. It’s the bargain of the Gatekeeper all over again. We can’t change what’s been done, no matter how much we might want to. History will find a way to happen, no matter what. Our destiny is elsewhere. Come.”

  Reluctantly, James agreed. The troop moved through the battle, unscathed and unseen, and stepped into the soft folds of the second portal. As he went, however, James couldn’t help looking back. Sirius was taunting Bellatrix for her failure to strike him and she was raising her wand, her teeth bared in fury and black glee. And then, thankfully, the fabric of the curtain swooped around James and he felt that reality drop away behind him.

  This time, when the curtain passed over the travelers, they moved into the noise and heat of an even larger battle. James recognized their surroundings immediately: it was Hogwarts, although not quite as he knew it. Witches and wizards crowded the hall, engaged in outright war. In the near distance, James saw Bellatrix Lestrange again, only this time she was dueling his own grandmother, Molly Weasley, her face nearly unrecognizable with grim ferocity. More faces became visible in the fracas: his long dead Uncle Fred, whom he knew only from pictures; Ted Lupin’s mother, Tonks; even a much younger version of Oliver Wood, fiercely battling alongside Horace Slughorn. The floor vibrated beneath James’ feet and enormous legs moved beyond the windows—a giant was just outside, its club rising to deliver a blow to the decimated castle. A snarling shape leaped over the crowd in a blur, landing directly beside James and flashing its bloody teeth. With a jolt of terror, James realized that it was the infamous Fenrir Greyback, the werewolf.

  “None of
it can harm us,” Petra called out, approaching a third wafting curtain. “So long as you do not engage in what you see. Try not to look.” James heard the reluctance in Petra’s own voice, however. If not for Izzy’s kidnapping, she herself might have stopped and joined the battle, regardless of the consequences.

  The travelers stepped into the third curtain.

  Screaming met them this time. It was a woman’s voice and James saw her almost instantly. She stood before a wooden crib, clutching a baby to her chest, shielding the tiny shape with her hands and arms. At her feet lay a dark-haired man. He stared unseeingly up at the ceiling of the small room, dead, and James recognized himself in the man’s features—it was his grandfather, of course, James Potter the First. A high, cold voice overwhelmed the woman’s screams and James found himself walking directly in front of the figure of Tom Riddle, still young and bursting with malevolent strength.

  “Make it easy on yourself, Lily,” the Dark Lord instructed, raising his wand. “In a moment, there will be nothing left for you to live for anyway.”

  “Go!” James screamed out, pushing Petra toward the next curtain, which wafted in the doorway of the room’s small closet. “Either stop him from killing her or go! Go! I don’t want to see it!”

  Lily Potter continued to scream and James fled through the curtain, tears of helplessness and rage blurring his vision. A flash of blinding green light followed him, briefly but memorably.

  And then they were in a small dingy kitchen. A woman was seated at a rickety table across from a man James recognized: Lucius Malfoy, although much younger than James had last seen him. He was drawing a cloth-wrapped object from his robes, placing it onto the table next to his empty teacup.

  “Unwrap it, Mrs. Agnellis,” he said quietly. “It is for you.”

  She did, and it was a singularly ugly dagger, its blade tarnished nearly black, as if it had been rubbed with soot.

  “No!” Petra moaned this time, pausing. “No, Mum! Don’t do it! He’s lying!”