JAMES POTTER AND THE VAULT OF DESTINIES

when it had been the only thing between Petra and the rushing waves. James had been willing to die for Petra. He hadn't known it at the time, had not consciously thought about it, but there was no doubt about it. He had been willing to trade his life for hers.

       Merlin, on the other hand, might well have been willing to allow Petra to die. Incredible as it seemed, he might not have raised a single magical finger to save her. James shook his head slowly on his pillow, letting his hand thump to the bed next to him. He trusted Merlin. His experiences last year had cemented his belief in the old man's wisdom and good intent, just as James' dad had said, but what could possibly explain the fact that Merlin might have chosen not to save Petra? Suddenly, James' heart dropped and his eyes widened. What if Merlin himself had conjured the storm? Nature was his medium, after all, and the source of his powers. What if the storm really had been of magical origin, and Petra's death had been its intent?

       It was completely ridiculous, of course. Merlin could be trusted. James knew that now, fully and deeply. Merlin was a good guy.

       But what about Petra, James asked himself, unable to silence the voice of his deepest, most honest heart. After all, Petra believes that she has killed. If she did, maybe Phyllis deserved it, but then again, maybe she didn't. Maybe Albus is right. Maybe the only reason Petra isn't in Azkaban is because nobody can prove what she did. Maybe Merlin was willing to let Petra die tonight because… Petra isn't good. Maybe she's bad. Worse, maybe she's bad… and powerful.

       James stopped his thoughts before they could go any further. Petra wasn't bad. She might be confused, and she was certainly sick in some way, but deep down she was good. He knew it. If Merlin thought otherwise—and James couldn't really know if he did, despite how things might have appeared earlier that night—then he was simply wrong.

       Thinking that, James finally drifted into a fitful, restless sleep.

       The next day, after breakfast, Barstow reined Henrietta in, halting the Gwyndemere on the rocking waves. With Dodongo's help, the crew heaved swordfish carcasses overboard, and James, Ralph, and Lucy watched as Henrietta caught them in her jaws, crunching them up whole.

'Was it like the glowing rope you saw last year?' Ralph asked quietly. 'In the cave, when we went to get Merlin's cache?'

       James shook his head. 'No. That started out as a sunbeam, and then turned into a plain old rope, made out of some kind of gold stuff. This was like… like a thread spun out of moonlight.'

       Ralph frowned. 'What do you think, Lu?'

       'I think Uncle Harry was right about what he told James. It's old magic. Not everybody can tap into it. And when they do, it's not like something you can control. It'd be like trying to bottle a lightning bolt.'

       'What about Petra, though?' James said, glancing between the two of them. 'She does magic without a wand! Is that… normal?'

       'It isn't normal, of course,' Lucy replied. 'But it isn't completely unheard of. Lots of people practice wandless magic, as a sort of hobby. It's just very hard to manage. The wand focuses magic, like a magnifying glass can focus a sunbeam and turn it into a torch. Maybe Petra's just especially talented.'

       Ralph looked around to make sure no one was nearby, and then said in a low voice, 'I'm more worried about the bit where she told you someone or something was following her around. I mean, is she just being paranoid? Or is there really somebody after her? And maybe the rest of us too?'

       'If it really was someone evil,' Lucy mused, 'then Merlin would have felt it. He's dead powerful that way. Still, there was that scary moment when the pirate ships nearly captured us all. Maybe that's what she was thinking of.'

       Both Ralph and Lucy looked at James, but he merely shrugged and shook his head.

       Shortly, Barstow ordered the hatches closed again in preparation for the last leg of the ocean journey. 'That's my girl, Henrietta,' he called down affectionately. 'Just a wee bit further, then Dodongo will put in his little bit and give you a well-deserved break.'

       Henrietta frolicked in the water, swimming in massive circles and figures of eight, her humps slicing through the waves. She thrashed her tail and flung seawater from her great, scaly head. Finally, Barstow climbed into the brass chair, whistling.

       'Want to man the reins one more time, James?' he called down, grinning. 'Last chance before landfall!'

       James shook his head, but couldn't help smiling. 'No thanks.'

       'Suit yourself,' Barstow said, shrugging. He called a short incantation and the magical fishing line pulsed once. Henrietta lunged forward and the boat lurched behind her, rising onto the waves.

As the journey neared its end, James found that the thrill of it had finally worn off. He was eager to reach land again and found himself lurking around the bow as the day progressed, watching the horizon for any sign of their destination. Ralph accompanied him sometimes, as did Albus and Lucy. After lunch, Petra joined him, leading Izzy at her side. The three sat cross-legged on the deck, leaning against the railing, talking idly about what the United States might be like. Interestingly, Petra seemed to be feeling rather better, to the point where she almost seemed like her old self. She laughed as they spoke, and James was glad to hear it. He wanted to ask her about the magic, about how she did it without her wand, but he didn't. Later, he would, but not now. The timing just wasn't right.

       Finally, as the sun began its descent back toward the horizon, James heard a babble of voices and looked up. Persephone Remora and her gaggle of fellow travelers were climbing onto the bow, squinting in the sunlight, their faces pale as gravestones.

       'Yes, my friends, I believe you are correct,' Remora announced, lifting her face to the breeze. 'I can smell it as well. The dark purple scent of lifeblood is thick on the wind. We are very nearly home.'

       James sighed and rolled his eyes. He stood and threaded through the black-clothed figures, heading below- decks. He sensed the teenagers looking at him as he passed, their faces sly and sarcastic.

       Later, James, along with his fellow travelers, climbed a circular stairway to the top of the deckhouse, eager to catch their first glimpse of the United States. James elbowed in between Albus and Lucy at the railing, watching as an irregular dark shape grew on the horizon. Below, the bow looked very small and narrow. James could clearly see Henrietta carving the waves up ahead, her long lithe body rippling just under the rushing surface.

       'Are you excited?' Lucy asked, leaning eagerly over the railing, her dark eyes sparkling. 'I sure am. I can't wait to get there.'

'Why are you so hopped up about it, Lu?' Albus asked. 'You've traveled all over the world.'

       'Sure,' Lucy answered, shrugging, 'but that was the world. This is the United States. For better or worse, there's no other place quite like it.'

Albus scoffed darkly. 'The same thing can be said about James' clothes hamper.'

       'Look,' Molly cried suddenly, pointing. 'Over there, just to the left of the bow. See? Buildings! That's the skyline! We're nearly there!'