The Vault of Destinies (James Potter #3) (31 page)

"Sorry, Nobby," James soothed, kneeling in front of the cage and opening the door. "I nearly forgot all about you. Go on outside and get some dinner, but don't go far. I'll find out tomorrow where they keep owls around here."

The owl hopped out of the cage and ruffled his feathers. With a disgruntled hoot, he spread his wings and took off through the open front door.

"There's a note from your mum," Ralph said, taking an envelope from the top of his trunk. "It's addressed to all of us. You, me, Lucy, and Albus."

James plopped onto his trunk and pulled the beanie from his head. "Go ahead and read it," he said, flapping a hand vaguely.

Ralph drew the note from the unsealed envelope and unfolded it. "'Dear children,'" he began, and then looked at James. "'Children'?"

"Just go on," James prodded, shaking his head wearily.

"'I hope you've settled in OK with your classes and house assignments. We all miss you already, although we'll be sure to see you tomorrow night at Professor Longbottom's assembly. Your new school uniforms are in your trunks. Be good and we'll see you tomorrow. Love,' blah, blah, blah, she put everybody's names here, even Headmaster Merlin."

"That's my mum," James smiled crookedly.

"There's something written on the back," Ralph said, turning the note over. "It's from Lucy. She says… she's spending the night at Vampire House with her new mates, and then she writes 'I'll probably see you three at class in the morning if you don't sleep in or skip it or forget you're on American time now'. Blimey, she can be a nag, can't she?"

James shrugged. "That's how the women in my family show love, I think."

"You think Albus is already here somewhere," Ralph asked, grunting as he lugged his trunk toward a rickety dumbwaiter built into the wall next to the staircase. A very tarnished brass statue of a monkey in a bellhop uniform stood on a shelf next to the dumbwaiter door.

"I don't know," James sighed, standing and hefting his own trunk. "Maybe he got lucky like Lucy and is spending the night at his new house."

Ralph socked his trunk into the large dumbwaiter compartment and James used his wand to levitate his own on top of Ralph's. The brass monkey sprang jerkily to life, squeaking as if it desperately needed to be oiled. It clambered into the dumbwaiter, sidling next to the stacked trunks, and pulled the door shut. A moment later, a ratcheting noise marked the compartment's ascent into the floors above.

"How does it know where to go?" James asked, peering at the closed door. Ralph shrugged and the two of them struck off in search of the bathrooms.

The common dormitory turned out to be just as dank, moldy, and woefully outdated as Zane had implied. When Ralph turned on the faucets, a mixture of rusty orange water, dirt, and the occasional worm spilled out, and continued for several minutes while the boys let it run. Finally, they satisfied themselves by heading back outside and splashing off in a nearby fountain. In the center of the fountain, a monstrous birdbath seemed to regard them coolly from the eyes of a half dozen stone gargoyles.

"Foreigners," one of the gargoyles muttered, rolling its eyes.

Ralph and James chucked pinecones at the statues for a few minutes, but soon realized that nothing is quite as imperturbable as a stone gargoyle. Eventually, exhausted, the boys stumped back inside and, after a short search, found their trunks kicked out onto the hallway carpet of the top floor. There, they found an empty dormitory room and dropped immediately to sleep on the ancient, bowed beds.

The next day, James and Ralph's first class was Wizard Home Economics, which was held in the cellars of the Administration Hall, in what, for all intents and purposes, appeared to be a converted dungeon. Low vaulted ceilings were supported by squat pillars, and James had the unsettling sense that he could feel the weight of the massive building above, pressing down on the space. All in all, he found the classroom nearly indistinguishable from some of the more cobwebbed classrooms at Hogwarts.

The Wiz Home Ec teacher was a fat, wizened old witch with rosy cheeks, frizzy white hair that seemed to have a very rich life of its own, and sparkling black eyes that darted over the classroom mischievously, as if she wasn't exactly sure if she wanted to teach the children or cook them in an enormous pie. Her name, as it turned out, was Professor Betsy Bartholemew Ryvenwicke Newton, however she instructed her students to refer to her merely as Mother Newt. Smiling in a grandmotherly fashion, she began to stack cauldrons, pots, and pans on her expansive desk, launching into an introductory explanation of the class. Zane, who sat between James and Ralph at a table in the rear of the room, leaned aside to James.

"She may look like last decade's cinnamon bun," he whispered behind his hand, "but don't mess with old Ma Newt. She's as tough as a Bigfoot's heel callus and twice as stinky if you get her riled up."

Ralph slumped in his seat and fiddled with his quill. "Isn't Home Ec a girlie class?" he whispered gloomily, but Zane interrupted him, shushing urgently and holding a finger to his lips.

"What's that?" Mother Newt asked suddenly, interrupting herself at the front of the classroom. She raised her chin and peered over the heads of the students. Her black gaze found Zane and she offered him a rather charming smile. "A question, Mr. Walker?"

"No, no," Zane replied, grinning a little manically. "It's nothing."

"Someone back there implied that Wizarding Home Economics is… I'm sorry," she said, frowning slightly. "My poor hearing isn't what it used to be. What did your friend call it?"

"Er…," Ralph muttered, his face turning dark red. "Er, er… I was just asking. I'm new here."

Mother Newt nodded comfortingly, closing her eyes. "Yes, yes. Mr. Deedle, from our wizarding neighbors across the sea. I've heard much about you and your friends. What was it you were wondering, young man? Don't be shy with your old Mother Newt."

Emboldened, Ralph sat up a little. "Well," he said, glancing around. The eyes of the rest of the class had all turned to him, most wide and serious. One or two students shook their heads very faintly, warningly. Ralph gulped and went on. "I, er… I always thought… pardon me for saying… that home economics was a girl's study."

"Oh no," Mother Newt answered soothingly, smiling again. "A common misconception, dear boy, I assure you. No, you see, the truth is…," here, the professor stepped away from her desk, backing into the shadows of the high cupboards that lined the dungeon's front wall, "the truth is that Home Economics is not at all a
girl's
study… it is, in fact, a
woman's
study."

In the shadows, Newt raised her hands swiftly, and the sleeves of her robes fell back, revealing surprisingly lean, strong arms. "Home economics is more than a mere class. It is the lifetime pursuit of only the most rare and powerful woman. A fierce,
cunning
woman, a witch whose wiles are without depth, whose motives are infinitely unplottable, and whose boundless potential is kept in check only by her own willing discipline…"

Lightning crackled from Newt's upraised wand and her fingertips, licking along the faces of the cabinets. Her voice lowered, but grew louder, echoing. "The sort of witch whose minions exist only at her tolerance, only to serve her unknowable whims, moved either by fear of her or love for her, forever beguiled and bewitched, whether they
know
it… or
not
!"

Thunder boomed suddenly in the enclosed space of the dungeon and a cold gust of wind swirled around the room, clapping the cupboard doors and snuffing out candles in the wall sconces. At their desks, students held onto their parchments and quills as the wind rushed over them, streaming through the girls' hair and flapping the boys' ties. A skeleton on a metal stand in the corner rattled and swayed. Its jaw clacked as if it was laughing. A moment later, as quickly as it had begun, the wind ceased. The lighting in the room returned to normal. With a series of small pops, the extinguished candles relit themselves.

"Does that answer your question, my dear?" Newt said sweetly, smiling in front of her desk once again, as if she had not moved an inch.

"Y-yes ma'am," Ralph said quickly, sitting bolt upright in his seat. "Clear as crystal."

"Good," Mother Newt replied warmly, her eyes twinkling. "Now where were we? Oh yes, the basic essentials of any magical kitchen, beginning with ladles. Do pay attention, students. There may be a quiz."

Forty minutes later, as the class shuffled out into the low hallway, each bearing a miniature poisonberry muffin that Mother Newt had helped them prepare in the classroom's goblinfire oven, Zane explained, "Ma Newt is the President of Pixie House. Theirs is the big gingerbready mansion, Aphrodite Heights, up on the hill behind the theater. She's a good example of why you don't want to underestimate a Pixie even if they
do
look like a bunch of frosted lemon cookies."

"I've met a few Pixies," Lucy said falling in line next to the three boys. "I don't think most of them are like Mother Newt.
She's
got issues."

Zane laughed. "Oh, you've got no idea. Trust me."

James eyed the miniature muffin in his hand. "Are these safe to eat? I mean… poisonberry?"

"It's just a name," Zane shrugged, adjusting his backpack. "Like plaguepoppies or deathshrooms. They're delicious. On the other hand, if anyone tries to get you to eat a blisscake… watch out."

"Have any of you seen Albus?" Lucy asked, climbing the stone steps to the Administration Hall's long foyer.

Zane nodded. "I saw him this morning in the cafeteria, following around a gang of senior Werewolves. They had him carrying all their trays, balancing them like it was some kind of circus trick. I was pretty impressed, to tell you the truth. He was levitating the last one with his wand between his teeth."

"He'll get in," Lucy said confidently. "Albus is tenacious when he wants to be."

"Tenacious is one way to put it," James commented, shaking his head.

At the Administration Hall stairs, Lucy bid the boys goodbye and headed off to the Tower of Art for her Wizlit class. As the three boys made their way across campus to the Applied Magical Sciences Building, a figure trotted up to them over a nearby lawn. James glanced aside and saw that it was Warrington.

"Hey Walker," he called. "Pledges. Hold up a minute."

James and Ralph stopped and began to mumble, "Yes, oh High Sultan Warrington, Leader of the—"

"Can it," Warrington interrupted. "Listen up. Your pledge dare is all set, and tonight's the night. You'll find everything you need in a trash can behind the common dorm. Look for the one with the big yellow 'Z' hexed onto its side. Walker, you get them started, all right? You'll know what to do. But don't help them!"

"Aye aye, captain," Zane said, smacking the back of his hand to his forehead.

"But tonight's Professor Longbottom's assembly," James said, turning to Zane as Warrington trotted away again. "We can't miss that!"

"That's this
evening,"
Zane said, shaking his head. "When a Zombie says 'tonight', what he really means is, oh, sometime in the wee hours of the next morning. Get the picture?"

"Ah," James replied, frowning a little.

Ralph looked worried. "So what's the dare, then?"

"We'll know when we peek into the garbage can behind the common dorm," Zane answered simply. "No time now, though. We've got Mageography next, and Professor Wimrinkle is known to dock grades for tardiness. He's wound so tight he squeaks when he walks. Come on."

Mageography was held in a huge round room in the base of the Applied Magical Sciences Building's dome. The floor was terraced like an amphitheater, lined with tables and chairs. Enormous maps surrounded the upper reaches of the room, floating in bulky gilded frames. James was not surprised to see that the map images, most of which were ancient, hand-drawn in faded browns, reds, and greens, moved very slightly. They were enchanted, of course, showing the movements of the rivers and oceans, and even the ant-like crawl of tiny boats and magical vehicles.

"I hear that if you use a special magnifying glass," Zane whispered, heading toward a seat in the middle terrace, "that you can see tiny people moving in the cities and stuff. You could probably even find yourself if you looked hard enough."

"That must be what my dad meant," Ralph replied thoughtfully. "He told me that one of the purposes of school was to find yourself."

James groaned and Zane rolled his eyes. Ralph looked affronted.

As the three settled into their seats and produced their parchments and quills, James saw Albus saunter into an entrance on the other side of the room. He spotted James, Ralph, and Zane and waved, grinning. Behind him, a tall boy in a slate grey uniform gave him a little shove. Albus lurched forward amiably and moved to a seat in the front row followed by three severe-looking Werewolf House students. One of them was the dark girl that had met them outside of the Administration Hall the previous day.

"Looks like Al's doing all right," Zane muttered.

James peered down at his brother. "How can you tell?"

Zane shrugged simply. "No bruises that I can see. Always a good sign with Werewolf House."

Professor Wimrinkle entered the room from a door near his desk. He was very old, stooped, and wore very thick black spectacles which magnified his eyes so much that he looked rather perpetually surprised. He placed his leather portfolio neatly onto the desk and, without preamble, announced in a loud voice, "Number four nib quills, please, and a single sheet of forty weight parchment. Today: the Nile Delta and surrounding lowlands."

The professor adjusted his glasses studiously as one of the maps drifted down from the upper reaches of the room, moving into place behind his desk.

"For new students, I will only say this once: I do not allow Quick-Quotes Quills or recording charms in this class. You will pay attention, and you will kindly take your own notes and draw your own maps. As the rest of you know, there is no point in my telling you that talking out of turn is forbidden in my class. If you intend to receive a passing grade, you will be so busy keeping up with me that there will be no time for you to open your mouths. Questions will be submitted to my secretary, where they will be answered during scheduled office hours. And now…"