JAMES POTTER AND THE VAULT OF DESTINIES

'Well, Mr. Harding,' the portrait of Erebus said from the reverse side of the Mirror, 'it would appear that this young man is, indeed, the real article. According to the house rules, he and his guests must be granted entrance.'

       'But,' Harding said, disgusted, 'look at him! That's not what a vampire is supposed to look like!'

       'And you are an expert on these things, of course,' Erebus sighed. 'Fear not. I will accompany our guests during their visit and assure that they do not wander where they are unwelcome. After all, being granted entrance does not amount to carte blanche access to anywhere they wish, does it?'

       'It sure doesn't,' Harding nodded dourly. He sneered at Zane again and then, rather stiffly, handed him the small portrait. 'Enjoy your stay, gentlemen.'

       'Thanks, Harding,' Zane grinned, taking the portrait. 'Your vigilance is inspiring. I'll put in a good word for you with all the other vampires I know.' He winked at the older boy.

       'Well then, my friends,' Erebus said briskly as Harding skulked back down to the parlor, 'now that you have attained something approaching a legitimate entrance, I believe you were on your way to the upper corridor. Shall we proceed together this time with better luck?'

       Over the course of the next hour, James, Ralph, Wentworth, and Zane wandered the myriad halls, landings, secret stairways, hidden chambers, dens, bathrooms, and various common spaces of the castle, all the while listening to an informative, if slightly pedantic monologue from Erebus' portrait about the details of each space. Apart from being somewhat amazed at the sheer number of rooms crammed into the castle, the boys found nothing that illuminated the riddle of Ignatius Magnussen's dimensional key.

       'I don't get it,' Zane finally proclaimed, plopping onto a chair on the third-floor landing. 'How'd the quote go? 'The truth walked the halls of Erebus Castle,' right? Well, we've walked more halls than I can count and I didn't encounter any truth. Did you?'

       James shook his head. 'I didn't realize it would be this hard. I thought once we got inside, it'd just make sense, somehow.'

       'Might I inquire,' the portrait of Niles Erebus said with a somewhat impatient sniff, 'what you gentlemen are talking about?'

       'You got me,' Wentworth announced, shaking his head and rolling his eyes. 'I'm just the token vampire. I decided these three were totally nuts three floors ago.'

       'It's this riddle we heard,' Ralph admitted, leaning the portrait on a windowsill so he could look at it. 'Some old professor from a long time ago said it: the truth walked the halls of Erebus Castle. You seem to know an awful lot about this place. Any ideas what it might mean?'

       'I built this castle,' Erebus said, bristling. 'I should think I would know everything that could possibly be known about it. Your riddle, however, is rather hopelessly obtuse. Without any sort of context, it could mean anything at all.'

       James sighed. 'What a complete waste of time. It was probably just something Magnussen made up after all, just to throw everyone off his trail.'

       'Magnussen, you say?' the portrait asked, raising one eyebrow. 'Ignatius Magnussen?'

       'Yeah,' Ralph replied, perking up a little. 'You know anything about him?'

       'Virtually nothing,' Erebus answered dismissively. 'He was rather after my time as you've apparently failed to notice. In my current state, however, I do recall seeing him visit the castle from time to time. The man had a bit of a fascination, it seemed.'

       'How'd he get in?' James asked. 'He wasn't a vampire too, was he?'

       Erebus rolled his eyes impatiently. 'Obviously the rules of entrance do not apply to faculty and administration, young man. Every house is regularly frequented by professors from different societies, both for social and academic reasons.'

       'So where did Magnussen go when he was here?' Zane asked impatiently.

       'I did not have to chaperone him during his visits,' Erebus answered disdainfully. 'But I do recall that he took copious notes about some of the tapestries.'

       Zane looked hard at James, his eyebrows raised. 'Tapestries,' he repeated. 'Can we, maybe, see these tapestries?'

       Erebus sighed dramatically. 'Second floor,' he drawled. 'North corridor. And do try not to carry my frame like that, young man. There might be less pleasant views in the world than your armpit, but I am hard-pressed to think of any at the moment.'

       'Sorry,' Ralph muttered, taking the frame from beneath his arm.

       When they finally arrived at the second-floor corridor, James was surprised to find that they had somehow missed this area during their earlier tour. The corridor was quite high, lined with windows on one side and very old floor-length tapestries on the other. The windows were covered with thick golden curtains, pulled tightly closed.

       'It's so dark,' Ralph said, creeping slowly into the hall. 'I can barely see in here.'

       'Luminos,' the portrait of Erebus said in a low voice. In response, a series of crystal chandeliers began to glow, flames growing silently from their previously unlit candles.

       'The tapestries are quite ancient,' Erebus explained as the boys walked along the corridor, watching as the candlelight flickered over the woven images. 'Erebus family treasures, in fact, passed down through many generations. Sunlight has faded them over the centuries, thus they are now kept secluded in darkness, preserved as well as they can be.'

       James took a step closer to the first of the huge tapestries. The threadwork was very fine, reminding him of the neat weaving of the Loom of Destinies. Unlike the Loom, however, the images shown here were not abstract. Each illustration was skillfully rendered, even lifelike. James almost expected them to begin moving.

       'It looks like they tell a story,' Wentworth commented, his voice unconsciously hushed.

       'An astute observation, my friend,' Erebus replied. 'These are, in fact, a complete series, telling an ancient tale known as the Ballad of the Rider.'

       'I've never heard of it,' Zane commented.

       Erebus chuckled humorlessly. 'Nor am I surprised. It is not the sort of tale the wizarding world tends to repeat. It is a tragedy, in fact, and a very dark one.'

       James peered up at the nearest tapestry again. On it, a tall, grave man with a black beard sat upon a horse. On closer inspection, James realized that the horse was, in fact, a unicorn, dappled grey, with powerful forelegs and a mane of shimmering gold. Every line and thread of the image implied that the rider and the unicorn were regal, solemn, almost glorious. Behind them, a wildly colourful and ornate starburst stretched from one edge of the tapestry to the other. Along the bottom were dozens of hands and faces, all leering up toward the Rider, pointing, shouting, crying carefully woven blue tears of delight or terror.

       'What's happening in this one?' James asked, a little breathlessly.

       'That,' Erebus intoned solemnly, 'is the arrival of the Rider. According to the Ballad, his coming was marked by a blinding curtain of light, as if one of the very stars had descended from the night sky and settled, for one twinkling moment, on a hilltop. The Rider appeared from within the light, which vanished behind him. This was in the Dark Ages of Europe, and as you might imagine, his arrival caused great fear among those who witnessed it.