James Potter and the Vault of Destinies Page 5

  "I could see that," Damien nodded. "She has that look, 'round about the eyes. Pleased to meet you, Cousin Lucy."

  "Likewise," Lucy replied, nodding with practiced diplomacy.

  "So tell us how this all came about, then," Ted said, leaning back in his seat and crossing his arms. "I mean, Hogwarts is a boarding school. You don't need to go with your parents to the States even if they're going to be there all year. Right?"

  James sighed and leaned on his elbows. "It was Mum's idea," he began. "She didn't want to be so far away from Albus and me for so long. She was right upset when the owl came with Dad's instructions, straight from the Minister himself. I mean, things have been pretty humdrum in the Auror Department for quite a while now. It's like Professor Longbottom said to my dad once: peace is a pretty boring thing for an Auror, you know? I think the family just got used to it all. Now that things seem to be, sort of, heating up out in the world…" James spread his hands over the table, palms up.

  "Whole city blocks being Disapparated away and chucked into waterfalls does tend to put people on edge," Damien nodded wisely.

  "My mum's acting the same as yours, James," Rose said. "I hear her and Dad talking. They say it's a scary time because too many people have forgotten what things were like back when YouKnow-Who was still alive. They get tolerant of all sorts of iffy ideas, start questioning the way the whole wizarding world works."

  "Like Tabitha Corsica and her bloody Progressive Element," Ted scoffed. "And don't think they've gone away either. Not by a long shot. They're like bugs that have retreated into the walls. They'll come back, and when they do, there'll be a lot more of them."

  Sabrina picked up the paper again and peered at the headlines. "Is that who this Wulf bloke is involved with, you think?"

  "Wulf isn't a bloke, Sabrina," Ted said, pointing at the headline. "It's an organization."

  "The Wizard's United Liberation Front," Lucy said carefully. "I've seen some of their posters up around London, talking about equality at any cost and such things. Supposedly they're international, thousands in numbers, but my father says not. He says they are probably just a few kooks in a cellar somewhere."

  "Why would they go and pretend to kidnap some Muggle politicians if it wasn't true?" Rose asked, shaking her head and looking around the table. "I mean, even if it was true, why would they do it?"

  "I don't know," James answered, scowling. "And I don't care. All I know is, it's getting everybody all up in a snit, and now my dad has to go work on some big international task force, and Mum's worried that something will happen to him, or us, or everybody. Dad says he could wrap the whole thing up by Christmas, but Lucy's probably right. Nobody knows how long it'll last. As long as it does, Mum wants us all to be together, or at least on the same continent."

  "But Deedle's going with you, right?" Ted said, looking at James. "His dad's already been over there once, visiting Stonewall and Franklyn and everybody at Alma Aleron, checking out their security and Muggle repellent techniques, that sort of thing. Is that why he's going along this time?"

  "I guess," James answered, slumping again. "I don't know."

  "Well," Lucy said, climbing off her end of the bench, "if any of us are going, we'd better get upstairs to bed. Show me the way, Rose?"

  Rose got up to join her cousin, and the rest of the Gremlins stirred, stretching and squeaking as chairs were pushed away from the table.

  "What about you, Petra?" Damien asked, turning his attention to the girl across from him. "What's over there for you?"

  James watched Petra, who smiled slightly at Damien and shrugged. "I don't know," she answered, and then sighed disconsolately, looking around the common room. "What's over here for me?"

  James awoke the next morning to a scratching at the window next to his bed. He sat up, buried deep in the fog of sleep, and wondered for several moments where in the world he was. Dark shapes hulked around him, thick with the silence of night. A single candle burned nearby, but James couldn't see it over the four-poster bed next to him. Something tapped the window, startling him, and he spun blearily, straining his eyes in the dark. Nobby, James' barn owl, stood on the other side of the glass, hopping up and down impatiently.

  "What do you want?" James whispered crossly as he opened the window. Nobby hopped in and extended his foot, showing James the small note attached to his leg by a twine knot. James pulled the knot loose and unrolled the strip of parchment.

  Awake yet? I thought not. Meet us by the rotunda doors in ten minutes. We'll have breakfast on the ship. —Mum

  James balled up the note and dropped it onto the bed. Clumsily, he got up and began to change out of his pyjamas.

  "Looking forward to your little holiday, Potter?" a voice drawled quietly. James startled, hopping on one leg as he pulled on his jeans, and fell over onto his mattress. Nobby jumped back onto the windowsill and flapped his wings, bristling.

  "Bloody hell, Malfoy," James breathed, shaking his head. "Don't you ever sleep?"

  "I'm just a tiny bit jealous," Scorpius Malfoy mused from where he sat, leaning against his headboard with the single candle lit on his bedside table. He lowered the book he'd been reading and peered over his glasses. "And yet you don't seem to be looking forward to this in the least. I find it hard to believe you'll miss not making the Quidditch team again that much."

  James had grown used to Scorpius' backhanded conversational style. He sighed, hoisted his jeans the rest of the way up and reached for his trainers. "Maybe. I don't know."

  "I have a sneaking suspicion, Potter," Scorpius said, apparently returning his attention to the book on his lap. "Would you like me to share it with you?"

  James knotted his shoe vigorously. "Is there any way I can get you not to?"

  "I think you aren't as grumpy about going on this trip as you're letting on," Scorpius said quietly. "And for obvious reasons."

  James nodded curtly. "That Malfoy intuition of yours kicking in? Maybe you'll tell me my lucky lotto numbers too."

  "Petra Morganstern is accompanying you and your family, isn't she?" Scorpius said, finally closing his book. "She and her Muggle sister?"

  "Yeah," James answered, stuffing his pyjamas into the duffle bag and zipping it up. "So?"

  "Come now, Potter, it's no secret how you feel about her. When she sat down next to you last night in the common room your face turned so red we could have roasted chestnuts on it."

  "Shut up," James rasped, mortified. "You're crazy!"

  "I'm just stating the obvious," Scorpius said, shrugging. "It's not a bad thing. She's a very fetching girl, if you ask me. I just think you ought to be careful."

  "Yeah, I know," James muttered, somewhat mollified. "Rose already warned me. I shouldn't say anything stupid to ruin the friendship. I know. I'm not a complete idiot."

  "That's not what I'm thinking of," Scorpius said, meeting James' eyes. "Personally, I don't give a newt for your friendship with Petra Morganstern. There are more important things at work in the world, if you haven't noticed."

  "I've noticed," James said, frowning at the blonde boy. "But what am I supposed to do about it?"

  "Maybe nothing," Scorpius answered, narrowing his eyes. "You're… you. But you've managed to be involved in some other fairly spectacular world events over the last two years, sometimes for the better, and sometimes not. Fate seems to enjoy placing you Potters right onto the bull's-eyes of history. I'm just saying, it might be a good idea to try not to be too… distracted if that should happen again."

  James shook his head wearily and hefted his bag. "This isn't my adventure this time," he said, crossing the circular room. "This time, it's all Dad's."

  "So you keep saying," Scorpius replied, raising his eyebrows sardonically.

  "See you later, Scorpius," James said, stopping at the top of the stairs. "I hope."

  "Bon voyage, Potter," the boy said, dismissing James and opening his book again. "Remember what I said."

  James frowned quizzically at the boy, but that seemed to
be all Scorpius had to say. Shrugging, James turned and trotted down the stairs.

  "Your cousin Lucy's already left," a far-off, wispy voice commented from the hearth sofa. James saw the ghost of Cedric Diggory seated there. "I was supposed to come up and wake you if Nobby wasn't able to do it."

  "Thorough bunch, aren't they?" James said, but he couldn't help smiling. Scorpius was right. Now that it was finally happening, he was becoming rather excited about it.

  "Have fun, James," Cedric nodded, meeting James' smile. "I always wanted to see the States, back when I was alive. Tell us all about it when you come back."

  "I will, Ced. See you!"

  The portrait swung open easily, and when James closed it behind him, he heard the soft whistle of the Fat Lady's snore. He looked back at her from the dark corridor. There would be no common room passwords for him this year, he thought, testing the fact to see if it still panged him as much as it had the previous night. There would be no D.A.D.A. classes with Professor Debellows and his horrid Gauntlet, no dinners in the Great Hall under the floating candles and the enchanted ceiling. None of Peeves' nasty pranks or Professor McGonagall's steely glares. No weekend teas with Hagrid in his hut.

  It was sad, of course, but not as sad as he'd thought it would be. Because there would be new things to experience instead, at least for this year. He didn't know what they'd be, but unsurprisingly, that was a rather large part of the excitement. Maybe not all of it would be fun, but it would at least be noteworthy, and when he returned, everyone would be dying to hear all about it. Especially Rose, and Cedric, and even Scorpius. He puffed out his chest a little, taking in the darkened, sleepy corridor, the portrait of the Fat Lady, and all of Hogwarts beyond. He almost said goodbye to the school, and then thought that'd be a little silly. Instead, he turned and fairly ran down the stairs, taking two at a time.

  He was very nearly to the rotunda entrance, could even hear the dim babble of his fellow travelers' voices echoing from up ahead, when a figure moved in the dim shadows, jingling faintly. To James' surprise, he recognized Professor Sybil Trelawney.

  "Ah, James," she said tremulously. "Off on your grand adventure to the colonies, I see. I am glad of the opportunity to say fare-thee-well and bonne chance. May your voyage avoid the ravages of the many fates that always lurk the depths, preying upon the unwary."

  "Thanks, Professor," James replied. "Uh, I guess. What are you doing awake at this hour?"

  Trelawney drew a great, dramatic sigh. "Oh, I need very little sleep these days. Age takes its toll. But don't let me detain you. Your fellow sojourners await…"

  She patted James lightly on the shoulder as he passed her, her wrist bangles jingling merrily. Suddenly, James stopped in his tracks, nearly dropping his bag. He peered aside and saw the professor's hand clamped onto his shoulder, gripping it so tightly that her purple fingernails virtually disappeared into his sweatshirt. He glanced up at Trelawney, but she wasn't looking at him. She stared straight ahead, her eyes wide and unfocused, as if she had suddenly been turned into a statue.

  "Professor?" James asked, furrowing his brow worriedly. "Are you all right?" In the distance, James could still hear the voices of his family and friends, echoing in the high vaults of the rotunda.

  "I see a world on fire," Trelawney said conversationally. She didn't seem to be talking to James or even to herself. Her words hung in the air almost like they had lives of their own, like solid things just outside the limits of human vision. James shivered, and yet her hand held him like a vice, as immobile as stone.

  "Worlds upon worlds, stretching away into forever," she said, her voice becoming dreamy, singsong. "All linked back to one place, the crux, the fulcrum, the axle upon which every reality turns. It is wobbling, leaning, falling… it is shattered, and with it go all things and all times."

  "Er, Professor…?" James breathed, trying to pry Trelawney's hand from his shoulder. Truthfully, he barely felt the pain of her grip. Her words were like poison smoke. He was afraid to breathe, for fear that her voice would get into him and infect him, and grow into something unspeakable.

  "There is only one," she mused, her voice changing, deepening. "One who stands on the nexus of destinies, one whose hand can preserve the balance or knock it into oblivion. The power is not in his hands, but in the hand of whom he shepherds. There is only one outcome. The fates have aligned. Night will fall, and from it, there will be no dawn, no dawn, save the dawn of forever fire, the demon light of worlds burning, consuming, the light in which there is no life. Goodnight. Goodnight. Goodnight." She repeated the word rhythmically, eerily, like a scratched record.

  James shivered violently. Finally, the professor's hand came loose from his shoulder, wrenched free as she fell forward, toppling full length like a tree. James scrambled to catch her, and she fell partially upon him. She was so light, so festooned with bangles, jewelry, and coloured shawls, that it was like being fallen on by a thrift store mannequin.

  "Professor?" James gasped, struggling to roll her over. She was as stiff and cold as a plank of wood. He shook her. "Professor Trelawney?" She stared up at the dark ceiling, her eyes boggling blindly behind her spectacles, which had been knocked askew on her face. James was terrified. He filled his lungs to call for help, but at that moment, the professor convulsed before him. She inhaled desperately, filling her narrow chest and flailing her arms, struggling to sit up. James grasped one of her cold hands and tugged her shoulder with his other hand, pulling her upright.

  "Goodness me," Trelawney wheezed, her voice an octave higher than normal. "What has become of me, fainting dead away right here on the corridor floor. My apologies, Mr. Potter, I do hope I didn't alarm you…"

  James helped the professor to her feet, and peered at her face suspiciously, his heart still pounding in his chest. She seemed not to remember what had happened or any of her strange words, but James felt almost certain that she knew something had happened. She glanced at him, fanning herself, and then looked away.

  "I'll be just fine, James, my boy," she said faintly. "Please, go on, go on…" She seemed either unwilling or unable to look directly at him.

  "Professor," James said slowly, "are you sure you're… I mean, what did all of that mean?"

  "I don't know what you're talking about, young man," she admonished, as if he had suggested something slightly dirty. "Off with you now. Your family awaits."

  "I could walk you to your rooms, Professor," James offered, stepping forward and reaching for Trelawney's elbow.

  "No!" she nearly shrieked, snatching her elbow away from him. She struggled to moderate her tone. "No. Of course not. Just go. Please."

  James peered up at her face, his eyes wide, worried. "It was about someone who's going on this trip, wasn't it?"

  Trelawney sighed hugely, shakily turning to lean against the wall and fanning herself with the end of a mauve scarf. "There are those who laugh at me," she said, as if to herself. "They don't believe in the cosmic harmonics. They doubt that I am one of its rare vessels." She tittered a little madly, apparently forgetting that James was even there. He began to back away, half afraid to leave the professor alone, but knowing his fellow travelers were waiting for him. Trelawney didn't look up at him, but continued to mutter nervously to herself, her face lost in the shadows of the corridor. Finally, shaking his head, James turned and began to run, following the distant voices from the rotunda.

  "It was you, James," Trelawney's voice said blankly, stopping him in his tracks. "It will surprise no one that I have had very few true revelations in my life. Rarely do I remember them, nor is this time any exception, but for one thing: I saw you. You are the one. You are the instrument, but not the tool. You will shepherd the one who will bring down the darkness. Even now… even now…" Her voice had gone flat, resigned and dead.

  James turned slowly to look back over his shoulder. Trelawney stood right where he'd left her, leaning against the wall, indistinct in the shadows.

  "You're confused. My dad was the Chose
n One. Not me. It was his job to save the world."

  She shook her head slowly, and then laughed again. It was a thin hopeless sound. "Your father was indeed the chosen one. His task is finished. Now, the universe demands payment, and that payment will come by your hand. It is done. You cannot escape your destiny, any more than your father could his."

  "I don't believe that," James heard himself say. "Nothing is unchangeable. Whatever this payment is, I'll fight it."

  "I know you will," she said slowly, so sadly that it nearly broke James' heart. "I know you will. But you will fail, dear boy. You will fail…" She exhaled on the last word, turning it into a long diminishing note, fading into the darkness. James shivered violently.

  "James?" a voice called. It was his dad, Harry Potter. "Is that you? We need to move along, son."

  James glanced along the corridor and saw shadows approaching, growing longer in the torchlight.

  "I'm coming, Dad," he called. "I just… I ran into somebody. We were saying goodbye… She's still—"

  He turned around again, pointing, but Trelawney was gone. In the predawn darkness of the corridor, there was no sign of her whatsoever.

  2. The Gwyndemere

  James couldn't remember the last time he had been awake at such an early hour. The sun was barely a rose-grey suggestion on the horizon, leaving the rest of the sky scattered with faint stars and high clouds, frosted with moonlight. Mist rose from the school grounds and the grass was so wet that James could feel it through his trainers.

  "Good morning, James," Izzy, Petra's sister, announced cheerfully, moving alongside him as the travelers made their way into the pearly dawn gloom. "It's exciting, isn't it?"

  "It is, actually," James agreed, smiling at the younger girl as she skipped next to him, her blonde curls bouncing around her face. Izzy was a year older than James' sister, Lily, but it was a little hard to remember that. Where Lucy tended to strike people as older than she really was, Izabella Morganstern had a simple innocence that made her seem rather younger. Petra had explained to James and his family that Izzy had been born with some sort of learning disability, one that had earned her the disdain of her own mother and very nearly doomed her to a life of dull servitude at the woman's cold hand. James didn't think that Izzy seemed slow, exactly. On the contrary, it was almost as if her brain was simply blissfully unencumbered by the sorts of nagging worries that left most people grumpy and irritable. James envied her a little bit.