JAMES POTTER AND THE VAULT OF DESTINIES

two cards made his stomach drop slowly, as if he were standing on a high ledge, swaying perilously. The points of the star were like paths, merging together, forming something new and unknowable. He had a strange premonition that he was one of the four points. The strange lady, with her enigmatic smile and sourceless magic, was another. But who were the other two?

       Petra, he thought. Of course, she's one of them.

       But that didn't feel exactly right. James leaned low over the star, squinting at it, concentrating. The star almost seemed to pulse, and a dull ringing came with it, blocking out the other faint noises in the room.

       Petra isn't one of the other two points, he now realized, and the sinking sensation in his stomach grew worse, chilling him. Petra isn't one of them. She's both of them. Petra… and Morgan.

       He frowned to himself. That didn't make any sense at all, did it? Petra and Morgan were the same person, like two parts of the same mind, like the Jekyll and Hyde character in Mr. Walker's book. The Morgan side was the part that was influenced by the cursed shred of soul that once belonged to Lord Voldemort. The other part was the Petra that they had always known: smart, honest, inquisitive, and quirky. The good Petra had subdued the Morgan part of her personality— once in the Chamber of Secrets, and again at Morganstern Farm, when she had almost (but not quite) sacrificed her own sister to the lake.

       But what about Petra's mysterious dreams? What did it mean that Petra had been plagued by visions of her sister dying in that very lake? Was the Morgan side of Petra's mind growing more powerful? Was the balance of power tipping? I watch and I wait, the voice of Morgan had said, echoing from the dark tower in Petra's new dream of the strange, ocean-locked plateau. My time is very near. I am the Sorceress Queen. I am the Princess of Chaos…

       James looked at the last octocard again, the Star; four points merging toward the center, like paths meeting, forging a new destiny. The four of us are converging somehow, he thought, and even though it seemed vaguely mad, he knew that it was true. Petra and Morgan, the mysterious lady, and me—all leading to something. But is it something good or bad? Is it something that should be stopped? Is it a destiny? Or a choice?

James didn't know the answer to the first part of that question, but the second part was all too clear. Destiny, as Professor Jackson had once said, is merely the name we give to the sum total of all of our life's choices. Was James making the right choices? Were the octocards offering him confirmation of his recent decisions… or a warning?

       'James,' a voice said, startling him. He glanced up and saw Professor Thackery standing in front of him, his hand out. 'The examination period is over, James. Your test, please.'

       James was shocked. How had the last twenty minutes gone by so quickly? He looked around and saw that the rest of the classroom was empty. Everyone else had finished and headed off to lunch.

       'Uh, sure, Professor,' James stammered, glancing guiltily down at his parchment. To his continued surprised, he saw that the last page was covered with his own handwriting. He had no recollection of writing anything at all. With no chance to read his own prediction, he handed the parchment to the professor.

       'Very good,' Thackery said, peering through his glasses at the parchment. 'Very, er, thorough.'

       James nodded uncertainly. 'Thanks, Professor.'

       Feeling shaky and a little spooked, he virtually fled the classroom, following his friends to lunch.

16. CHRISTMAS IN PHILADELPHIA

       On the Friday before Christmas, James, Ralph, Albus, and Lucy made their way to the Warping Willow, duffle bags slung over their shoulders and breaths of mist puffing into the frigid air. The first snow of the season had fallen that morning, covering the campus with a blanket of sparkling white and effectively hiding all of the flagstone paths, so that the four left winding, crisscrossing trails of footprints across the mall.

       Once they congregated under the Tree, Lucy spoke the incantation that James had first heard from the undead Professor Straidthwait's account of the night Ignatius Magnussen had escaped.

       'Abitus,' she said, tapping the snow-crusted trunk with her wand. She turned to James as the Tree began to move subtly all around them. 'Professor Remora taught me that.'

       James nodded, not explaining that he'd heard it himself from a different professor. Lucy sidled next to him, shoulder to shoulder, and her gloved hand laced fingers with his. James' face reddened a little and he looked away, watching as the campus became hidden behind the shifting whip-like branches of the Warping Willow.

       The transition to the outside was swifter than that which occurred whenever Professor Baruti took his Potion-Making class to visit Madam Ayasha in the old Indian city of Shackamaxon. Within a few seconds, a push of wintry air shivered the Tree's branches and James saw the tiny walled courtyard beyond. Snow still frosted the ground, turning the trash-strewn yard into something nearly as magical as the university they had just left.

'Merry Christmas, friends,' a deep grating voice said as the four stepped into the dull daylight. Flintlock stood near the gate, his rocky face sculpted into a crooked smile. His diamond eyes sparkled happily.

       'Hey, Flintlock!' Albus cried, stepping to pat the rock troll on his huge rough elbow, which was as high as the boy could reach. 'Aren't you cold? It feels like about fifty below out here!'

       'Cold?' the troll repeated slowly. 'I suppose the temperature has dropped a tiny bit, hasn't it? I'd barely noticed.'

       'Barely noticed!' Albus scoffed. 'Last time we saw you, it was the end of summer. I could have fried a flobberworm on your forehead at noon.'

       The troll shrugged, making a sound like boulders rolling on gravel. 'I have found that you humans are far more affected by tiny shifts in the weather than am I. You may not be aware that I was born in the crucible of the earth's furnace, where lakes of lava wash on beaches of pumice. I remember it only vaguely, but fondly. When the temperature reaches five thousand degrees, then I will comment on the weather, as do you.'

       Albus shook his head. 'You won't be commenting on it to me, that's for sure.'

       The troll nodded and chuckled. With one languid movement, he reached for the gate. It squeaked noisily as he wrenched it open. A long brown car was waiting next to the curb beyond, a plume of exhaust dancing behind it. The passenger's window powered partly down and James spied his Uncle Percy in the driver's seat.

       'Come on, you lot,' he called. 'Boot's open. Throw your bags back there and pile in. Hello Lucy dear! Happy Christmas, all of you!'

       'Happy Christmas, Dad,' Lucy called, finally unlacing her fingers from James' hand as she angled toward the boot of the car. James breathed a sigh of entirely mixed emotions.

       It was very warm in the car as Uncle Percy navigated the narrow, slushy streets, muttering to himself in irritation at the slowness of the Muggle traffic and occasionally tapping the horn, making fussy little