JAMES POTTER AND THE VAULT OF DESTINIES

12. GAME MAGIC

       That evening, the Administration Hall cafeteria buzzed with the anticipation of the season's first Clutchcudgel match. As James waited in line with his tray, he looked around at the packed tables and milling students, most of whom were decked out in sweaters or scarves bearing their house colours, some even with their faces painted. Most prominently displayed, of course, were the acid green of the Igors and the autumn orange of the Bigfoots. To James' surprise, the Igors were apparently considered the stronger team, thus most of other houses had donned the Bigfoots' orange and blue, rooting for the team that they believed would be an easier victory for their own teams when the time came.

       Many upperclassmen and college-aged students had turned out in the cafeteria in preparation for the evening's match, showing just how seriously the population of Alma Aleron took the sport. Realizing this, James finally began to feel a stirring of nervousness. He ate very little and then excused himself quickly, darting alone back to Apollo Mansion to grab his jersey and glasses.

       He hated wearing the black-framed spectacles most of the time, but tonight, being able to see at distance while navigating the figure eight course was going to be essential. One thing he'd learned during practices was that at skrim speed, things that were far away got close very quickly. This was especially true at the intersection, where two directions of players passed at lightning speeds.

       Apollo Mansion was completely deserted and as James left the building and heard the front door slam behind him, he felt a moment of panic. Was he late? Had the match already begun? He glanced up at the clock tower over Administration Hall and breathed a shallow sigh of relief. He had thirty minutes. Simultaneously nervous and excited, James ran across the campus, heading toward the glow of the stadium parapets and the increasing roar of the crowd.

       It had stopped raining, fortunately, but as evening descended, the sky was very low and dark, churning slowly and spawning a capricious, gusty wind. Leaves scarpered across the dark footpaths like startled ghosts, highlighting the eerily empty campus. When James turned the corner at Faculty Row and came in sight of Pepperpock Down, however, he stopped in surprise.

       The stadium's high parapets glowed colourfully against the low purple sky, filled nearly to overflowing with a sea of gathering students, waving banners, and high, streaming flags. James gulped. What had he gotten himself into? If he had played on the Gryffindor Quidditch team, he might have been prepared for this. Now, the sight of all of those eager faces, those flapping, handmade banners, signs, and shaking pom-poms filled him with a sort of leaden terror. They were all waiting to see him fly a skrim, to watch him score goals, or—always a possibility—to fail miserably and perhaps even fall to his doom. It was like his first time trying out for the Gryffindor Quidditch team, but this time with the entire school watching. If he failed this time, as he had on that day back during his first year at Hogwarts, then he'd never live it down, not in a million years.

       He swallowed past a hard lump in his throat, listened to the roar and chant of the crowd, and considered abandoning the whole thing. He could run back to Apollo Mansion and pretend to be sick. It would be easy. The truth was he felt rather sick just staring up at those brightly lit parapets and milling, excited faces.

       What finally got him going was the thought of his mum and dad. No matter what happened tonight, they would be proud of him. Especially his dad, who had been the youngest Seeker in Hogwarts history. Even if James only managed to stay on his skrim throughout the match, Harry Potter, his father, would be proud of him. Thinking of this, James drew a deep shaking breath and, feeling as if he was walking to his own doom, struck off toward the glow of the stadium. Less than a minute later, he was swallowed up in the roar and momentum of the event and there was no looking back. After that, everything was nearly a blur.

'I thought maybe you'd given the whole thing up,' Zane announced, meeting James at the door in the base of Bigfoot team's designated wooden gantry. 'I was prepared to find you hiding under your bed back in your dorm room. Me and Ralph were ready to come and drag you here.'

       'I told you today that I wasn't nervous,' James protested weakly, ducking through the doorway into the sunken locker cellar. The rest of Bigfoot team moved about inside, strapping on their leather wrist gauntlets and shoulder pads, spitting into their goggles and shining them up with the tails of their jerseys.

       'That was then,' Ralph replied loudly, following James into the light and noise of the room. 'When you left the caf, though, you were looking pretty tetchy.'

       Zane nodded seriously. 'It's normal. Clutch is a brutal sport. Last year, Pixies' best Clipper was knocked off his skrim in the first twelve seconds of the first match! He got hit so hard that his boots landed in the announcer's box, seventy feet away! No one can blame you for being worried.'

       'You're not helping, you know!' James commented, plopping onto a bench and pulling on his shin guards.

       'I know,' Zane replied, plunking next to James on the bench. 'Which is why I wanted to tell you an idea I had earlier today. It might just help get your mind in the right place.'

       'He told me about it already,' Ralph nodded. 'It's… interesting.'

       Across the low room, Oliver Wood called out, 'Goggles tonight, everyone! The wind is picking up something fierce, and we don't want anyone blinded by the mist. I'll perform Impervius charms on the lenses once we're all on the platform. Five minutes until warm-up laps!' He turned and clumped up the steps himself followed by several members of the team, who began singing the Bigfoot anthem in husky voices.

       'Tell,' James said, lacing up his boots. 'What's your idea?'

       'All right,' Zane said, leaning back and studying the low ceiling. 'Last year, I had old Stonewall Jackson for Technomancy two-oh-two, which is the intermediate class between Intro to Technomancy and Advanced Applied Technomancy, which we've got this year.'

       'Get to the Nexus doorway thing,' Ralph prodded.

       'All right, so last year, Stonewall talked about how there are bunches of other dimensions, all packed together alongside ours like layers in a big giant cake. The attack on the Vault of Destinies got me thinking about it because, apparently, our Loom got switched around with one from some neighboring dimension, one that's a lot like ours, but not exactly like it.'

       'What's this have to do with Clutch?' James asked, harried, as Ralph helped him shrug into his shoulder pads.

'Nothing,' Zane said, smiling crookedly. 'That's the point! Now pay attention. Back in Techno two-oh-two, Stonewall talked about the theory of this thing called the Nexus Curtain. He said that, theoretically, every dimension has a gate into a sort of middle world, where all the dimensions hook up and hold together, sort of like spokes meeting at the hub of a wheel. This middle place is called the World Between the Worlds. According to the theory, the Nexus Curtain can only be found and opened by someone who has a special key: something from one of those alternate dimensions. Those sorts of things are extremely hard to come by, though, which is why the Nexus Curtain is mostly just a theory and a legend at this point.'

       'Interesting as this is,' James interrupted, standing and patting himself down, 'I just don't see the point. Why would anyone want to go to another dimension? This one has enough problems of its own, including surviving Clutchcudgel matches in the dark during a windstorm. Where's my skrim?'

       'Right here,' Ralph nodded, handing James the blue skrim with the painted-on flames that he had ridden on his first outing.

       'Three minutes, Potter!' Norrick called as he pounded up the wooden steps.

       'Here's the point,' Zane said hurriedly, warming to the subject and following James toward the steps.