The Vault of Destinies (James Potter #3) (66 page)

"So, all these Progressive Element types are complete nutters, then?" James said, throwing up his hands.

"Not all of them," Harry replied with a sigh. "They
are
right that a lot of awful things have been done throughout the ages in the name of good. Merlin himself tells of battles that occurred between the magical and non-magical peoples of his day, not over right and wrong, as they pretended to be, but over mere prejudice and fear, intolerance and hatred. These are the things we must always be wary of at all costs. And yet, to deny that some struggles are, indeed, worthy of the fight—that evil and good are always alive and in enmity against one another, like fire and water—is to turn a pragmatic truth into a dangerous delusion. This, James, is what the Progressive Element is guilty of. Most of them are not bad, and most of them are very well-meaning. But that does not mean that their philosophy is not, in the end, thoroughly deadly."

James thought on this for a long moment. Finally, he asked, "So who do you think ratted you all out?"

Harry shook his head again, his face growing dark. "I don't know. Hardly anyone knew about the raid. But I suspect that Espinosa and Price are right. Whoever warned them about us also killed their leader, Tarrantus, and left his body for us to find. The W.U.L.F. has a
new
leader now, someone who may well know a lot more about us and how we plan to stop them than Tarrantus ever did. I suspect that the first order of business is to find out who that person is. Then, perhaps we will know how to proceed."

"But who could it have been, Dad?" James asked earnestly, leaning forward over the desk. "I mean, Mum knew, and maybe Lil…"

"Even if they did tell someone else," Harry replied, narrowing his eyes, "nobody sent any messages out of the flat, either via Floo or even through the Shard. I've set up hexes to alert me anytime there is any communication between the flat and the outside world, just to make sure that no one is spying on us. If any message had gone out, I'd have known about it." Suddenly, Harry looked up at his son, his eyes sharp. "James, did any of you come or go over the last few hours? Besides Percy, I mean. After the time you arrived, did anyone go out? Even for a little stroll around the neighborhood?"

"No, Dad," James said, but then he paused. Unbidden, he found himself thinking of Petra's empty bed upstairs when he had gone to look for her. He'd searched through all of the upstairs rooms, but hadn't seen any sign of her. And yet, some time later, she had come downstairs, as if she'd been up in her bedroom all along. James was still shaking his head, but his thoughts spun onward, turning cold and fearful. Petra would have known about the raid. But
surely
she wouldn't have warned the villains even if she could have somehow Disapparated from the flat without anyone noticing. Would she?

"Well, I don't know, then," Harry said, leaning back in his chair again. "But I'll find out. Whoever it was that leaked the information about the raid and killed Tarrantus, I'll find them. And when I do, they'll be sorry they ever took over for him. I'll make very sure of that."

James nodded, but inside he felt numb and deeply frightened.

I am the Princess of Chaos
, he thought, remembering the dream-vision of Morgan, the shadowy figure that had spoken with Petra's voice.
I… am the Sorceress Queen…

Christmas at the flat seemed to go by in a rather hectic rush, juggled between the much shorter Alma Aleron holiday break, Harry and Percy's constant work demands, and James' spinning thoughts about Petra, the W.U.L.F., Professor Ignatius Magnussen, and the Magical Integration Bureau.

Christmas Day was the only somewhat relaxing day of the break, during which time the family opened their presents and visited with Grandma Weasley, Uncle Ron, Aunt Hermione, and the rest via Floo. From his mother, James did indeed get a box of new underpants as well as a new winter cloak. His father, however, had purchased James a brand new pair of Clutchcudgel gauntlets from a wizarding sporting goods store in New Amsterdam. The gloves were leather, coloured Bigfoot orange and blue, with a chamois-lined wand sleeve in the left wrist. Denniston Dolohov had gotten Ralph a new wizard chess set with enchanted pieces that could, if desired, play themselves. The pieces had been especially hexed by a famed wizard chess champion so that Ralph could practice the game alone whenever he couldn't find a suitable opponent. Petra, to James' surprise, had managed to procure Izzy a new dollhouse and china doll, which Izzy had immediately christened Victoria Penelope.

"But never Vicky Penny," she warned, peering sternly at James, to which James nodded solemnly in agreement.

Petra, of course, having no surviving parents or grandparents, received no gift whatsoever. Ginny had confided in James that the girl had insisted they not buy her anything either.

"She says it's more than enough that we're letting her live with us during the investigation," she said as they dried dishes near the kitchen sink. "I respected her wishes, but it seems so depressing not to have any gifts to open at Christmas. Especially since she lost that brooch of hers on the voyage. She downplays it, but I think that brooch had special significance to her. She says it was a gift from her father for her first Christmas. Did you know that?"

James had not, and admitted that he'd never seen her wear it until earlier that summer. He assumed that the brooch had come in the box of Petra's father's things, sent to her by the Ministry of Magic upon her coming of age.

Having made no such Christmas deal with Petra himself, however, James slipped outside late Christmas evening and found a bunch of dry weeds rooted behind some dumpsters. These he transfigured into a very satisfactory display of roses and tulips, which he encased in a simple Timeloop Charm, preventing them from wilting. He carried the flowers back up to the flat and bound them with a length of leftover Christmas ribbon. Finally, while everyone else was gathered around the fire downstairs, he sneaked into Petra's room and left the bouquet on her dresser along with a small note which read, simply, 'Happy Christmas Petra'.

Content with his handiwork, James went to bed that night and fell almost immediately to sleep. He dreamed of Clutchcudgel with his new gauntlets, and zombie Professor Straidthwait's hollow chuckle, and the mysterious riddle of the halls of Erebus Castle, complete with a ghostly figure of Professor Magnussen stalking warningly in the dimness, his eyes like chips of mica. Finally, in the deepest chasm of the night, James dreamed of the flat island surrounded by crashing surf and low, iron clouds. He dreamed of the black castle, both ancient and steadfast, and the figure watching from the balcony, her gaze heavy and hot, watching, waiting. Was it she that had alerted the members of the W.U.L.F. of the impending raid? Had Morgan somehow killed Tarrantus, leaving Petra, her alter ego, to take the blame? In the pit of the night, wrapped in the guileless lucidity of dreams, James thought it was entirely possible.

He wouldn't remember any of it the next morning, but his dreaming self tried to send out the message, tried to warn his subconscious of what was to come.
My job isn't to save Petra from Keynes the arbiter,
he realized as he wafted through the dreaming vision of the island, gazing up at the shadowy balcony.
My job is to save Petra from Morgan.

My job
, he thought from the depths of sleep,
is to save Petra from herself.

W
here the holiday break seemed to come and go like a flash of lightning, the spring semester unrolled before James like an interminable carpet with no end in sight. Albus, in particular, seemed to return to school with a rather bitter disposition.

"I thought we were going to be quit of this dump by now," he grumped as they stalked across the campus toward their morning's classes. A frigid wind scoured the mall beneath low, hulking clouds, making the boys' cloaks flap like sails.

 "Hey," Zane said, his own typically cheerful disposition dampened by the arctic weather, "that's the Aleron you're talking about. I get why you might hate all your Wolfy pals back at Ares Mansion, but that's just them. Hate the player, don't hate the game."

"I'll hate whatever I bloody well want," Albus muttered darkly.

"I'm surprised," Ralph commented. "I thought you'd be fitting in just fine with the Werewolves. They don't seem that far removed from our mates back in Slytherin."

Albus scoffed humorlessly. "Hah. I'll take Tabitha Corsica over Olivia Jones any day. Tabitha may have turned out to be a little off her broom in the end, but at least
she
hated people on
principle
. These gits just hate anyone whose great-great-great-great grandparents didn't have the good fortune to have been on some stupid boat that landed at Plymouth bloody Rock."

James was surprised at his brother's sudden openness. He knew it would probably evaporate once he'd had a chance to settle into the routine of school again, but for now he took advantage of it. "You mean," he said as evenly as possible, "that they give you a hard time just because you aren't an American?"

Albus pressed his lips together tightly and shook his head. "They're fine with the fact that I'm not an American, so long as I don't want to play Clutch or take part in the Morning Calisthenics Preparedness Corps or join their precious Salem-Dirgus Free Militia. Not that I
want
to do any of those things, mind you, but still, it gets a little old being constantly reminded that I'm shut out, whether I want in or not."

"What's old Stonewall say about it?" Zane asked, hefting his backpack against the icy wind.

"Oh, he talks a big game about how Werewolf House, like America in general, is the great melting pot, 'welcoming all into the arms of liberty, vigilance, and civil service', but the students are another cauldron of newts entirely. I suppose if I pressed the issue with Jackson, he'd make sure I got into whatever club or team I wanted, but then I'd just have to live with the Werewolves who'd tried to freeze me out to begin with. It's easier just to lay low and wait to get back home to Slytherin."

"Blimey," Ralph commented. "After your performance on the clock tower during the flag switch escapade, I'd have thought you'd be the Werewolves' golden boy."

"Yeah," Albus agreed sourly. "That impressed them all right. They said I showed a lot of promise 'for a Cornelius'."

"Hmm," James nodded, reticent to say anything more. Some small, petty part of him was meanly glad that Albus was having difficulties with his house.
Serves him right for always siding with whatever group seems the most dodgy and evil, he thought. First the Slytherins, and now these daft, nationalistic Werewolf stump-heads
. Still, seeing how unhappy Albus apparently was, James' spite was short-lived.

"Maybe you can come hang out with us at Apollo Mansion," he offered. "We have a pretty decent game room and Yeats makes a mean pizza, if you can talk him into it."

"Yeah, that's just what I want," Albus replied, rolling his eyes. "To start hanging out with the campus losers' club. Thanks but no thanks. Werewolf House may be a bunch of narrow-minded grunts, but they excel at house pride. And at least there I can look forward to a Clutchcudgel trophy this year. You guys will be lucky if you get a single win."

"He's got you there, James," Zane agreed unhelpfully. James was too cold to argue the issue and the boys trudged the rest of the way to class in silence.

Within the first week of school, James realized that he had entirely forgotten to ask Lucy about taking him, Ralph, and Zane on a tour of Erebus Castle so that they could try to solve the riddle of Magnussen's dimensional key.

Zane rolled his eyes as the three boys huddled around a table in the library near the top of the Tower of Art. "It's easy," he whispered. "You just ask Lucy to be your date to the Valentine's dance. Then, she'll
have
to say yes when you tack on that you want her to show us around the Vampires' castle."

James shook his head. "It's Lucy," he said. "I don't need to
trick
her or anything. I'll just ask her. Of course she'll say yes."