JAMES POTTER AND THE VAULT OF DESTINIES

       'Come along now,' Keynes demanded, grabbing at Izzy. Lucy could bear it no longer. She jumped up, not even aware of what she was doing. She was holding Izzy's hand in her own and Izzy began to clamber after her.

       'Oh no you don't—' Keynes cried, but was cut off as Izzy extended both of her feet at once, connecting with the man's thin chest. He sprawled backwards, knocking Percy aside. Both men fell to the floor.

       'Stop her!' Keynes called, his knees poking up into the air as the court guards scrambled to help him up. 'Forget about me! Get the girl!'

       'Lucy, no!' Percy called out.

       Lucy heard his voice but didn't so much as glance back as she ran, Izzy at her side. Hands grabbed at them as they sped through the archway into the main corridor, but the girls were young and quick. They ducked between the two guards flanking the entry and darted into the door-lined corridor, making for the stairs beyond.

       It was completely hopeless, of course. They'd never make it out of the building and even if they did, where would they go? And yet, Lucy couldn't stop herself. She ran on, Izzy at her side, even as a red bolt struck the marble floor at her feet, sending up a burst of sparks.

       'Petra,' Izzy said, almost to herself, still running. 'We have to find Petra…'

       Not very far away, Albus followed along with the Clutchcudgel tournament, somewhat indirectly.

       He'd stayed back at Ares Mansion as Team Werewolf geared up for the match and left, pausing only for their ceremonial rubbing of the bronze werewolf statue in the front garden. No one asked him why he was still there, not even his mates, Greunway and Shrum, since they had left an hour earlier to get good seats up in the grandstands. Albus watched through the tiny window in the center of the third-floor hall until the team was completely out of sight, their barking grunts lost in the increasing roar of the crowd. Then, as patiently as he could, Albus had waited.

       He'd overheard Altaire and Jones talking in the parlor earlier that afternoon. Altaire had heard all about James' overtures to the other houses, seeking help in the Bigfoots' attempt to defeat the Werewolves. Both of them had laughed maliciously at this.

       'Isn't it just like the Foots to ask the losers for help in beating the winners,' Olivia Jones had observed, shaking her head. 'They should have just come to us. We'd have given them the best advice of all: go home and hide under your beds, little Foots.'

       Altaire had chuckled. 'We should teach them a lesson,' he'd said, his voice hardening, 'just for having the gall to try to rally the whole school against us. We should beat them into the ground like tent pegs even for trying. Make an example out of 'em.'

       'I have an idea,' Jones had agreed and then lowered her voice. Half a minute later, Altaire had yodeled a laugh of pure spite. Albus hadn't liked the sound of that laugh although he hadn't heard the details of Jones' plan. It didn't matter, really. Team Werewolf's tactics were never particularly subtle. Probably, they meant to sacrifice a few penalties in favor of taking out a Bigfoot player or two. Albus only hoped that one of the players they eliminated wouldn't be James.

       Albus hadn't known for sure what he intended to do, but at that moment, he had decided on a plan. It might not work, but then again, it just might.

       Besides, it wasn't as if he would be sabotaging his own team. He would merely be evening the odds.

       From his dormitory room, he'd listened to the ebb and roar of the crowd at nearby Pepperpock Down. He'd watched the clock impatiently. Finally, when it had gotten dark enough outside to hide his movements, he had crept out the front door of Ares Mansion and approached the statue of the snarling werewolf.

       As before, he could hear the shouts and commands of Team Werewolf echoing from the statue's muzzle as if on a distant wireless frequency. Albus hunkered in the darkness, waiting for his moment to act. People were still moving along the nearby footpaths—latecomers to the match, hurrying toward Pepperpock Down. None of them noticed the boy hiding in the shadow of the werewolf statue, but Albus didn't mean to take any chances. He waited and listened, watching for the moment when no one would observe his actions.

       Faintly, via the mysterious statue, he heard Altaire's instructions, shouted to his teammates as the match approached halftime. He could even hear the dull thumps and exclamations as the players collided in air or the buzzing whooshes of the game magic spells. Albus could tell that Team Bigfoot was holding their own against the Wolves, although not well enough to take the lead.

       Of course not, Albus thought sourly, they don't have Liquid Luck on their side. He glanced up at the werewolf statue as he listened. Its eyes glowed faintly, coppery in the last light of the sunset.

       Finally, just as Albus was preparing to act, he heard Altaire call out a command, directed at that block- headed prat, Parker Pentz.

       Number nine! Do it now! Phase one, Operation Achilles!

       A moment later, a heavy thump and yelp of pain emanated from the statue's mouth. Albus heard Altaire's wicked laugh as the unfortunate Bigfoot player screamed, falling away from his assailant.

       Nearby, drowning out the thin broadcast of the statue, the crowd roared in Pepperpock Down's grandstands.

       Albus didn't know what happened next, but he assumed that the Bigfoot player was all right, more or less, since the match continued shortly thereafter.

       It was nearly halftime. Albus thought that that was probably the best time to act. He waited for the halftime horn to sound and then climbed carefully to his feet, producing his wand from the sheath in his sleeve. He stood in front of the statue's glowing eyes, hearing the distant whoops and barks of his team as they congregated for halftime, and then raised his wand.

He opened his mouth to speak the incantation—Convulsis was the spell he had chosen after some consideration—but the words stopped in his throat as the werewolf statue blinked. It moved, shaking its shaggy bronze neck and turning very slightly, as if to face Albus directly. The amber eyes narrowed and a low growl, almost like the purr of a very large cat, emanated from deep within the thing's metal throat.

       Albus froze. This, he had not at all expected. His mouth moved, framing the words of the spell, but he couldn't speak. Fear had closed off his breath. The statue's eyes flared brighter and Albus sensed it preparing to pounce on him, to crush him under its weight. He had time to think, Did Havershift enchant it to recognize when it was being threatened, and to defend itself? Is that even possible? Obviously, it was. The truth wrinkled its bronze lips back from its bronze teeth and the growl grew louder, announcing its intention to strike.

       And then, suddenly, a hand closed on Albus' wrist, pushing his arm upright.

       'Halt right there, Cornelius,' a voice commanded stridently. 'Drop the wand. Now!'

       Albus didn't obey. He barely heard the words. He continued to stare wildly at the crouching werewolf shape before him, but most of the light suddenly seemed to have gone from its eyes. It was no longer moving or growling.

       'I said drop it!' the voice commanded again. The hand holding Albus' wrist tightened painfully and Albus' hand spasmed, releasing his wand. It fell silently into the grass in front of the statue. Albus finally looked aside and found himself staring into the face of Dayton Englewood, a senior Werewolf student and member in good standing of Professor Jackson's Salem Dirgus Free Militia. Englewood's crew cut bristled and his wide pockmarked face was set with a sweaty gleam of triumph.

       'Looks like I caught me a spy,' he said with grim glee. 'A spy and a saboteur.'