JAMES POTTER AND THE VAULT OF DESTINIES

       James hunkered down in the weeds, hoping the darkness and the overgrowth would be enough to hide them. Shortly, the motion of the Tree increased, hiding the space beneath it. James held his breath, watching. With a shudder and a sort of sigh, the limbs relaxed, and a figure stepped purposely out from beneath the Willow.

       There was no question of who the figure was. Even in the darkness, the fringe of short grey hair and the chiseled features of Ignatius Magnussen were clearly visible. Further dispelling any doubt, the man thumped the ground with his cane and James saw moonlight glinting off the hooked iron face of its handle.

      'Awake, my friend,' Magnussen announced in his unmistakable British accent, speaking to Flintlock. 'I have one final duty to perform this evening and then you will know me no more.'

       Slowly, Flintlock stirred, his movements like a miniature landslide in reverse. 'Professor,' the troll said, spying the man before him, 'I'm afraid I cannot allow you to pass. I have orders directly from Chancellor Franklyn himself.'

       Magnussen lowered his head and stepped forward in a friendly fashion. 'I am quite certain that you do, my friend,' he said. 'But look here…'

       With that, Magnussen raised his cane, holding the iron head aloft, nearly at the troll's eyelevel. A green flash lit the troll's face, sparkling in his diamond chip eyes, and Flintlock stopped moving.

       'Open the gate,' Magnussen ordered, and all the friendliness had dropped out of his voice. 'Or I will unmake you and return you to the guts of the earth, a million pebbles without memory of the shape they once comprised.'

       Jerkily, almost as if he were being operated by a careless puppet-master, Flintlock reached for the gate. He wrenched it open in one swift motion, ripping the vines that had grown up through the bars.

       'Thank you, my friend,' Magnussen said easily, lowering his cane. With a sweep of his cloak, he strode through the entrance and disappeared into the dark street beyond.

      'That was an Imperius Curse,' Zane breathed worriedly. 'He Imperioed Flintlock!'

      'Come on!' James whispered, scrambling to his feet.

      'But what about Flintlock?' Ralph asked. 'What if he tries to stop us?'

       Zane approached the great stony troll carefully and then patted him on the knee. 'I don't think he's going to notice anything for awhile,' he said with a shudder.

       James looked up at the troll as he passed. Flintlock's eyes stared straight ahead, glinting dully in the moonlight. More than anything, he looked like a machine that had been temporarily switched off.

       'Come on,' Zane nodded soberly. 'Mags went to the right. We have to hurry up or we'll lose sight of him.'

With a renewed sense of urgency, the three boys darted through the open doorway out into the streets of nineteenth century Muggle Philadelphia.

       To James' eye, Muggle Philadelphia didn't look immediately very different despite the change of nearly two centuries.

       The streets were narrower and cobbled rather than paved and the footpaths were made of uneven slabs of stone, leaning somewhat drunkenly toward the brick-lined gutters. What streetlamps there were flickered with gas flames instead of the bright incandescence of the modern lights. The houses that lined the streets, however, seemed nearly unchanged, apart from the lack of any televisions flashing behind the windows. Occasionally, a black carriage or hansom cab would trundle past in the tow of large horses, their eyes hidden behind black blinders, their harnesses creaking and jingling.

       'This would be a lot easier if there were more people on the street,' Ralph whispered as they trailed Magnussen. 'If he turns around, he'll see us straight away.'

      'Just walk casual,' Zane muttered, 'and try to keep in the shadows.'

       Magnussen strode briskly, his cape billowing behind him like bat wings in the chilly breeze. The three boys had to occasionally trot to keep him in sight as he zigzagged through the narrow residential streets. Obviously, Magnussen knew exactly where he was going and was sparing no time in getting there. Shortly, the boys trailed the big man into a neighborhood of much larger houses, most surrounded by low stone walls and wrought-iron gates. The gas lampposts were more prominent here and the windows of the houses glowed brightly, making it harder for the three boys to stay hidden in shadows. Magnussen never once looked back, however, even as he turned sharply and descended into a narrow alley.

       'We're heading down toward the river,' Zane whispered as they ducked into the alley. 'Wrong-side-of-the- tracks-city.'

      'What's that mean?' Ralph asked. 'I didn't see any tracks.'

       'It means keep a sharp eye out, Ralphinator,' Zane said grimly. 'This area is seedy enough in our own day. I don't expect it's any better in this timeframe. Watch your back.'

       Fortunately, it was much easier for the boys to follow Magnussen here since the streets were very narrow and crowded with carts, uneven stacks of crates and barrels, and parked carriages. Figures moved in the dim recesses of doorways or skulked along the cobbled road, their feet splashing in the puddles that trickled downhill toward the river beyond. James realized that they had gotten close enough to Magnussen to hear his boot heels knocking hollowly on the cobbles.

       'How far's he going to go?' Zane whispered, darting behind a row of empty carts. 'We're nearly to the waterfront. Those're the wharves up ahead. After that, there's nothing but river.'

Suddenly, Magnussen stopped and turned around. James ducked behind the nearest cart, his heart leaping up into his throat. Both Ralph and Zane hunkered down next to him. After a long, tense moment, the three dared to peek out from beneath the cart, their chins virtually touching the wet street.

       Magnussen was fingering his cane as he peered around the cramped intersection, his eyes narrowed. Finally, apparently satisfied, he turned and stalked into an even narrower alley.

      'That looks like a dead end,' James whispered. 'Doesn't it?'

      Zane nodded. 'Come on, we can get closer if we hide behind that pile of broken crates.'

       As quietly as possible, the three boys crept along the edge of the street into the shadow of the jagged pile. Bits of broken wood crunched underfoot as the three gathered against the corner of a brick warehouse.

       'It is a dead end,' Ralph whispered, peering cautiously around the corner. 'There's a little stairway at the end, though, and a door. Looks like a cheap little flat or something.'

       Zane craned his head around the corner as well, squinting in the darkness. 'Any sign of old Mags?'

       'No,' Ralph shook his head. 'He must have gone inside. You think maybe it's his flat? Like, he rented it special just to have a place outside of school?'

       James nodded. 'He needed a place to hide the horseshoe, where nobody magical would sense its power. While it was up in the museum, it was probably lost in the background noise of all the other magical relics up there. Once he took it out, though, he'd need to keep it hidden. This is probably the perfect place.'

       'So,' Ralph whispered, turning back around and leaning against the grimy bricks, 'how are we going to get the horseshoe from him?'

      Zane rubbed his hands together against the cold. 'Right. What's the plan, James?'