JAMES POTTER AND THE VAULT OF DESTINIES

however, was Forbidden Practices and Cursology with the insufferable Persephone Remora. Remora had, it seemed, developed a bit of a fixation with James and his famous father. As a result, her attitude toward him seemed to swing between doting favoritism and spiteful jealousy. James never knew, on any given Thursday afternoon, whether the professor would gesture for him to sit close to her in the front row—where she would favor him with conspiratorial winks and infuriatingly condescending pats on the head—or glower at him darkly, annoyed and impatient at his apparent lack of awe for her accomplishments and her self-proclaimed 'dark wiles'. James' last essay had been returned to him with the incomprehensible grade of 'INSIPID +' scrawled across the top of it in red, followed by the handwritten comment, 'You show mild promise IF you receive the proper tutelage. You know my office hours. See me.'

       'She either has a crush on you or she wants to poison you,' Zane whispered, peering at the handwriting atop James' essay. 'And you never know. With her, it could be both.'

       'No way I'm seeking her out for 'proper tutelage',' James hissed from behind his hand. 'I'll take 'insipid plus' for the rest of the year if I have to.'

       From the front of the classroom, Remora narrowed her eyes at him, her red lips pressed into a tight frown.

The rest of the semester's classes dragged on with varying degrees of boredom, challenge, and occasional strangeness. Muggle Occupation Studies, for instance, seemed to be the Alma Aleron version of Muggle Studies, but with a specific emphasis on learning about Muggle careers and working conditions. Most of the class-times were spent on discussions of the difference between such concepts as 'water cooler breaks' and 'coffee runs', 'cubicles' versus 'corner offices', elevator etiquette, surreptitious use of magic in Muggle surroundings, and how to converse about the sorts of things most Muggles seemed to be interested in, such as Muggle sports, television, and the weather. James didn't quite understand the point of the class since he himself planned to become an Auror like his father, but the teacher, a very fat woman by the name of Heather Wocziak (who, for some reason, nearly always wore a pink jogging outfit) insisted that Muggle occupational familiarity was 'absolutely essential for all witches and wizards in the current social climate of magical-Muggle diversification'. James accepted this with a sigh, secretly vowing to forget everything he was learning once the final exams were over.

       Potion-Making class continued to be an intriguing challenge despite the noticeable lack of Petra as Professor Baruti's assistant. Besides teaching traditional Native American forms of potionmaking via visits to the ancient city of Shackamaxon, Baruti spent much time demonstrating potion techniques from many of the world's magical cultures, including Oriental enchanTeas, African steamcreatures, and Russian cold-soup tonics, most of which were made with a very potent clear liquor known as Stortch, known to melt cauldrons if they were not thoroughly pre- oiled with a thick coating of mucous eel slime.

       James had once approached Professor Baruti after class and asked how things were going with Petra.

       'Ms. Morganstern is coming along very well,' Baruti replied easily, displaying one of his stunningly bright smiles. 'I see her once a week, most of the time. She misses her freedom, but her French is tres magnifique.'

       James nodded. 'Any word about the investigation with that Keynes bloke? I haven't heard a word about it from my parents. I think they're trying to keep me from worrying about it, but I can handle it.'

       Baruti clucked his tongue and shook his head dismissively. 'Don't you worry about that, young Master James. Ms. Morganstern is not worried! Why should you be? If tomorrow brings trouble, it will bring the solution as well.' He patted James on the shoulder with his large callused hand and James nodded disconsolately.

       The only class that James was performing particularly poorly in was Arithmatics. Taught by a young professor named Plumvole with far more enthusiasm for the subject than actual teaching ability, James simply couldn't wrap his mind around the long, dense formulas and symbols scrawled onto the magical blackboard. As a result, he was pressed to attend occasional tutoring sessions with Professor Plumvole in his office on the fifth floor of Administration Hall. The professor was thoroughly patient with James, explaining the concepts over and over on parchment while James leaned on the desk, his forehead cradled helplessly in his hands. He still didn't understand the equations, but Plumvole was so infatuated with his own explanations that he didn't notice James' complete lack of involvement.

      As a result, Plumvole completed all of James' homework while James himself merely watched. At the end of the last session, Plumvole clapped James heartily on the shoulder, promising that they were making excellent progress. Sheepishly, James nodded, shrugged and bid the professor goodnight.

       It was growing dark outside the Administration Hall's tall windows as James meandered his way to the ground floor. Passing a set of propped-open auditorium doors, however, he heard a familiar voice. It was Professor Wood giving a lecture to an audience of college-level students. James remembered that Wood taught a subject called Ethics of Magic, which Zane had promised was 'dead boring'. Still, James was curious. He stopped to listen, hovering just inside the open doorway.

       'So,' Wood was saying, turning to a huge blackboard and pointing his wand at it, 'the question of intervention revolves around these three primary questions: motive, benefit, and repercussion.

       'Before considering any intervention in the affairs of our Muggle fellows, we must honestly ask ourselves: one: why are we doing it? Is it truly for the Muggles' good? Or for another, more selfish reason? Two: what is the real benefit that might be gained by such an intervention? Is it worth the risks involved? We cannot judge this on feelings alone; we must answer this impartially and honestly. Finally, what are all the possible repercussions of such an action? As in the example, if a fellow wizard is being attacked by Muggle robbers in an alley and we Stun the leader within sight of his cohorts, is the damage of that magical revelation worth the money that the attackers might have stolen? This is a safe example for it involves only money and is therefore easier to consider. But the equation might well involve lives rather than coin. It is ethically incumbent on us to consider: if we save a life but harm the integrity of the magical/Muggle worlds for thousands of others, is that a worthy intervention?

       'There are no obvious conclusions, but as we have seen in the examples, any interaction between the Muggle and magical world that fails in any one of these considerations threatens, at the very least, the integrity of those involved, and potentially, the very stability of our twin cultures. Easy answers are tempting, as we all know —answers that rely on emotion and goodwill and basic concepts of immediate justice—but easy answers can lead to horrific consequences. This is the weight of responsibility that we, unlike our Muggle brothers, bear. It is no easy burden, but that does not give us an excuse to shrug it off. We must consider the fact that, despite how we might feel, sometimes it is better—and more deeply responsible—to do nothing. Sometimes we cannot trust our feelings alone. Sometimes, the heart is a liar.'

      James didn't quite understand everything that Wood was saying, but the last part stuck with him: sometimes the heart is a liar. Petra Morganstern had, in fact, said something almost exactly like that, James remembered. Months earlier, when they'd talked, strangely enough, about the Bible story of Adam and Eve. Eve had born the burden of the same sort of responsibility that Wood was talking about—the responsibility to consider that sometimes what felt right was, in fact, exactly the wrong thing to do. She wasn't evil, Petra had said that day, as they'd walked toward the Warping Willow under Professor Baruti's shimmering rainbow umbrella. She was just… misinformed. She was doing what she felt was best.

       Sometimes… the heart is a liar, Petra had told him that day, her eyes solemn. In James' memory, though, Petra didn't sound quite like she meant it. She sounded more as if she was trying on the concept, the way someone might try on a shoe or a hat just to see if it fit.

       For some reason, the thought made James shudder. Without waiting for Professor Wood to finish his lecture,