JAMES POTTER AND THE VAULT OF DESTINIES

       At that point, a dull thump and a series of heavy footsteps sounded overhead. Englewood glanced up and then showed Albus a toothy grin.

       'That's Professor Jackson,' he said smugly. 'I sent for him by pigeon, interrupted him right in the middle of the match. Boy, will he be mad at you.'

       'Yeah,' Albus nodded. 'Dangerous prisoner like me definitely couldn't have waited until after the tournament was over. I bet he'll give you a medal even.'

       Englewood's grin faltered for a moment. Footsteps knocked loudly on the stone stairs of the dungeon as Professor Jackson descended, his black waistcoat buttoned all the way to his chin. Englewood spun around to face him. He saluted with fierce efficiency.

       'I've captured a spy, General!' he shouted, snapping to attention. 'He was engaged in the act of sabotage when I discovered him and apprehended him. I have been guarding him ever since, awaiting instructions.'

       Jackson glanced at Englewood and then shifted his gaze to Albus, his expression unchanging. Slowly, he looked back at Englewood again.

       'This is Albus Potter, Englewood,' Jackson said, apparently struggling to keep his voice even. 'He is a member of this house.'

       'Sir! He is a spy, sir!' Englewood barked, saluting again. 'I caught him attempting to sabotage the werewolf statue out front!'

       Jackson closed his eyes and pressed his lips together. When he opened them again, he was looking at Albus.

       'Is this true, Mr. Potter?' he asked tiredly.

       'Yes sir,' Albus answered honestly. There didn't seem to be any point in lying about it. 'I was planning to blast it a hard one right between the eyes. It was on the edge of attacking me.'

       'Attacking you,' Jackson repeated. 'The statue, you say, was attacking you.'

       'Sir, yes sir.' Albus nodded easily.

       Jackson drew a long, deep breath. When he let it out, he returned his attention to Englewood. 'Could this not, perhaps, have waited for the end of the match, Private?'

       'The spy presented a clear and present danger, sir!' Englewood declared, his face going red. He glanced back over his shoulder at Albus. 'He, er, was engaged in covert activities!'

       'He was pulling a prank, Private,' Jackson sighed. 'At best. I cannot imagine why he was doing it, but I admit that I have never quite understood the thought processes of the Potter family. Frustrating as they may be, they are relatively harmless, I assure you.'

       Englewood snapped his heels together and stood so straight that he looked like he meant to rocket up through the low dungeon ceiling. 'Sir! What are your orders, sir?'

       Jackson closed his eyes again and rubbed them with the thumb and forefinger of his left hand. 'I order you both,' he said patiently, 'to accompany me back to Pepperpock Down for the remainder of the tournament match. It was, you may be interested to know, just getting good.'

       'Sir, yes sir!' Englewood barked again, snapping off yet another salute.

       'At ease, Private,' Jackson growled. A moment later, he beckoned for Albus to follow him. In single file, Albus in the middle, the three made their way back up the dungeon stairs and through the mansion's main hall.

       'I hesitate to ask this, Mr. Potter,' Jackson said as the front door slammed behind them, 'but why, pray tell, were you pointing your wand at the werewolf statue?'

       'Like I said,' Albus answered, still seeing no need to lie, 'I planned to destroy it. At least a little.'

       Jackson shook his head slowly. 'I doubt you'd have succeeded in any case,' he said wryly. 'But why, young man?'

       Albus paused and stopped. Englewood nearly ran into him from behind. His wand was still out, pointing at his prisoner, and Albus felt it poke him harmlessly in the back. Englewood dropped it and cursed urgently to himself, scrambling to pick it up again.

       Three paces away, Jackson stopped as well. He turned and looked back, his eyes impatient but curious.

       Albus tilted his head toward the bronze statue. It stood unmoving next to him, its muzzle frozen in its characteristic snarl.

       'Do you really,' he said, turning back to the professor, 'want to know?'

       By the end of the third quarter of the tournament match, Team Werewolf had succeeded in taking out yet one more Bigfoot player. This time, Troy Covington had received a blindside hit with a skrim, right in the middle of the back. Covington had fallen from his skrim, completely unconscious, while the Werewolf Bully, Pentz, had collected the dropped Clutch and flown on without a backward glance.

       Sanuye had succeeded in levitating Covington just as he had Norrick. The penalty had been called—ten more minutes in the dock for dangerous maneuvering—and Pentz had landed on the Werewolves' platform, no longer grinning but grimacing smugly.

       'Professor Jackson's not even in the stands,' Gobbins panted, swooping in next to James and pointing. 'The Wolves always play dirty, but even he wouldn't have allowed a brazen hit like that. They're taking advantage of the fact that he's not here!'

       James swore loudly and glanced back at his own platform. What he saw there gladdened his heart even if the match seemed increasingly hopeless. Several members of the other House Clutch teams stood on the platform, surrounding Professor Wood. Every one of them wore a Bigfoot jersey and held their skrims at their sides. Warrington was first in line. As Covington was lowered gently onto a waiting stretcher, Warrington hopped onto his skrim and swooped out into the rings.

       'It's his grand poobahness!' James announced gamely.

       'Welcome to the jungle, Warrington,' Jazmine Jade called. 'Thanks for coming!'

       'Wouldn't miss it for the world,' Warrington said. 'Zane says howdy by the way. And if you ever remind me that I once wore a Bigfoot jersey, I'll paint your house with Plimpy puke. See if I don't.'

       James nodded. 'Point taken.'

       'Is it break time?' Viktor Krum called as he swept past. 'Or is a match going on?'

       Warrington frowned. 'Into the breach!' he called, and leaned over his skrim, following Krum. A moment later, James and Gobbins followed. The Bigfoots were still behind—no matter how many goals they scored, the Werewolves always, infuriatingly, managed to keep a slim but stubborn lead. James refused to think about it. As he had thought several minutes earlier, the match wasn't over yet. The Foots still had a chance, no matter how slim.

       James flashed through the center ring and snatched a floating Clutch. He pointed his wand, called out one of the Pixies' proprietary speed charms, and rocketed forward in a blur.

       Lucy and Izzy made it to the bottom of the narrow stairwell and pushed through the heavy door. It was very dark in the corridor and a pair of guards stood at the end, flanking the last doorway. They looked up as the two girls approached.

       'This is a restricted area, sweetheart,' one of the guards called to Lucy. He was young with a Southern accent.

       'Don't call me sweetheart,' Lucy instructed, raising her wand. Her Stunning Spell struck the young guard in the shoulder and he collapsed like a bag of cauldrons. The other guard watched this in disbelief, not even thinking to reach for his own wand.

       'Oh no you didn't,' he said, looking up at Lucy and frowning. He was finally reaching for his wand, but it was