JAMES POTTER AND THE VAULT OF DESTINIES

some of the more cobwebbed classrooms at Hogwarts.

       The Wiz Home Ec teacher was a fat, wizened old witch with rosy cheeks, frizzy white hair that seemed to have a very rich life of its own, and sparkling black eyes that darted over the classroom mischievously, as if she wasn't exactly sure if she wanted to teach the children or cook them in an enormous pie. Her name, as it turned out, was Professor Betsy Bartholemew Ryvenwicke Newton, however she instructed her students to refer to her merely as Mother Newt. Smiling in a grandmotherly fashion, she began to stack cauldrons, pots, and pans on her expansive desk, launching into an introductory explanation of the class. Zane, who sat between James and Ralph at a table in the rear of the room, leaned aside to James.

       'She may look like last decade's cinnamon bun,' he whispered behind his hand, 'but don't mess with old Ma Newt. She's as tough as a Bigfoot's heel callus and twice as stinky if you get her riled up.'

       Ralph slumped in his seat and fiddled with his quill. 'Isn't Home Ec a girlie class?' he whispered gloomily, but Zane interrupted him, shushing urgently and holding a finger to his lips.

       'What's that?' Mother Newt asked suddenly, interrupting herself at the front of the classroom. She raised her chin and peered over the heads of the students. Her black gaze found Zane and she offered him a rather charming smile. 'A question, Mr. Walker?'

       'No, no,' Zane replied, grinning a little manically. 'It's nothing.'

       'Someone back there implied that Wizarding Home Economics is… I'm sorry,' she said, frowning slightly. 'My poor hearing isn't what it used to be. What did your friend call it?'

       'Er…,' Ralph muttered, his face turning dark red. 'Er, er… I was just asking. I'm new here.'

       Mother Newt nodded comfortingly, closing her eyes. 'Yes, yes. Mr. Deedle, from our wizarding neighbors across the sea. I've heard much about you and your friends. What was it you were wondering, young man? Don't be shy with your old Mother Newt.'

       Emboldened, Ralph sat up a little. 'Well,' he said, glancing around. The eyes of the rest of the class had all turned to him, most wide and serious. One or two students shook their heads very faintly, warningly. Ralph gulped and went on. 'I, er… I always thought… pardon me for saying… that home economics was a girl's study.'

       'Oh no,' Mother Newt answered soothingly, smiling again. 'A common misconception, dear boy, I assure you. No, you see, the truth is…,' here, the professor stepped away from her desk, backing into the shadows of the high cupboards that lined the dungeon's front wall, 'the truth is that Home Economics is not at all a girl's study… it is, in fact, a woman's study.'

       In the shadows, Newt raised her hands swiftly, and the sleeves of her robes fell back, revealing surprisingly lean, strong arms. 'Home economics is more than a mere class. It is the lifetime pursuit of only the most rare and powerful woman. A fierce, cunning woman, a witch whose wiles are without depth, whose motives are infinitely unplottable, and whose boundless potential is kept in check only by her own willing discipline…'

       Lightning crackled from Newt's upraised wand and her fingertips, licking along the faces of the cabinets. Her voice lowered, but grew louder, echoing. 'The sort of witch whose minions exist only at her tolerance, only to serve her unknowable whims, moved either by fear of her or love for her, forever beguiled and bewitched, whether they know it… or not!'

       Thunder boomed suddenly in the enclosed space of the dungeon and a cold gust of wind swirled around the room, clapping the cupboard doors and snuffing out candles in the wall sconces. At their desks, students held onto their parchments and quills as the wind rushed over them, streaming through the girls' hair and flapping the boys' ties. A skeleton on a metal stand in the corner rattled and swayed. Its jaw clacked as if it was laughing. A moment later, as quickly as it had begun, the wind ceased. The lighting in the room returned to normal. With a series of small pops, the extinguished candles relit themselves.

       'Does that answer your question, my dear?' Newt said sweetly, smiling in front of her desk once again, as if she had not moved an inch.

       'Y-yes ma'am,' Ralph said quickly, sitting bolt upright in his seat. 'Clear as crystal.'

       'Good,' Mother Newt replied warmly, her eyes twinkling. 'Now where were we? Oh yes, the basic essentials of any magical kitchen, beginning with ladles. Do pay attention, students. There may be a quiz.'

       Forty minutes later, as the class shuffled out into the low hallway, each bearing a miniature poisonberry muffin that Mother Newt had helped them prepare in the classroom's goblinfire oven, Zane explained, 'Ma Newt is the President of Pixie House. Theirs is the big gingerbready mansion, Aphrodite Heights, up on the hill behind the theater. She's a good example of why you don't want to underestimate a Pixie even if they do look like a bunch of frosted lemon cookies.'

       'I've met a few Pixies,' Lucy said falling in line next to the three boys. 'I don't think most of them are like Mother Newt. She's got issues.'

       Zane laughed. 'Oh, you've got no idea. Trust me.'

       James eyed the miniature muffin in his hand. 'Are these safe to eat? I mean… poisonberry?'

       'It's just a name,' Zane shrugged, adjusting his backpack. 'Like plaguepoppies or deathshrooms. They're delicious. On the other hand, if anyone tries to get you to eat a blisscake… watch out.'

       'Have any of you seen Albus?' Lucy asked, climbing the stone steps to the Administration Hall's long foyer.

       Zane nodded. 'I saw him this morning in the cafeteria, following around a gang of senior Werewolves. They had him carrying all their trays, balancing them like it was some kind of circus trick. I was pretty impressed, to tell you the truth. He was levitating the last one with his wand between his teeth.'

       'He'll get in,' Lucy said confidently. 'Albus is tenacious when he wants to be.'

       'Tenacious is one way to put it,' James commented, shaking his head.

       At the Administration Hall stairs, Lucy bid the boys goodbye and headed off to the Tower of Art for her Wizlit class. As the three boys made their way across campus to the Applied Magical Sciences Building, a figure trotted up to them over a nearby lawn. James glanced aside and saw that it was Warrington.

       'Hey Walker,' he called. 'Pledges. Hold up a minute.'

       James and Ralph stopped and began to mumble, 'Yes, oh High Sultan Warrington, Leader of the —'

       'Can it,' Warrington interrupted. 'Listen up. Your pledge dare is all set, and tonight's the night. You'll find everything you need in a trash can behind the common dorm. Look for the one with the big yellow 'Z' hexed onto its side. Walker, you get them started, all right? You'll know what to do. But don't help them!'

       'Aye aye, captain,' Zane said, smacking the back of his hand to his forehead.

       'But tonight's Professor Longbottom's assembly,' James said, turning to Zane as Warrington trotted away again. 'We can't miss that!'

       'That's this evening,' Zane said, shaking his head. 'When a Zombie says 'tonight', what he really means is, oh, sometime in the wee hours of the next morning. Get the picture?'

       'Ah,' James replied, frowning a little.

       Ralph looked worried. 'So what's the dare, then?'

       'We'll know when we peek into the garbage can behind the common dorm,' Zane answered simply. 'No time now, though. We've got Mageography next, and Professor Wimrinkle is known to dock grades for tardiness. He's wound so tight he squeaks when he walks. Come on.'

Mageography was held in a huge round room in the base of the Applied Magical Sciences Building's dome. The floor was terraced like an amphitheater, lined with tables and chairs. Enormous maps surrounded the upper reaches of the room, floating in bulky gilded frames. James was not surprised to see that the map images, most of which