JAMES POTTER AND THE VAULT OF DESTINIES

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       'We have plenty of time for that,' Petra said, beaming down at her sister. 'She's just getting used to her wand, for now.'

       'Her wand?' James blinked. 'But… Izzy's not… er.'

       'How are things in Bigfoot House?' Petra asked, glancing aside at James and smiling.

       'James is teaching magic to the Bigfoot Clutch team,' Ralph interjected proudly. 'Looks like the Bigfoots might win a match for the first time in… I don't know. Ever, maybe.'

       James meant to downplay this detail, but then he noticed the way Petra looked at him, obviously impressed.

       'That's excellent, James,' she said, nudging him. 'I've noticed how Team Bigfoot's been playing lately. Much more confident than when the season first started. Are you really responsible for that?'

       James shrugged and looked away, his face reddening. 'Well… you know. I… yeah. It's nothing, really.'

''Nothing,' he says,' Zane grinned. 'James took that team from zero to hero in no time flat.'

       'We haven't even won a match yet,' James said, trying to suppress a smile of pride. 'But we did have one tie game.'

       'You watch,' Zane insisted, ignoring James' protests. 'My boy's going places. Maybe even pro! There was a guy last year, a Werewolf named Stubb, who got drafted by the Hoboken Hobgoblins. I bet James is even better than he was!'

       'Stop!' James exclaimed, his cheeks burning. 'Look, it's nothing, all right? I just taught them a few basic spells, that's all. For some reason, Wood wasn't coaching anything by way of a magic game. We're just catching up to everyone else now.'

       'He's so humble, isn't he?' Zane said mistily, nodding toward Petra. 'Why, it breaks my heart. It really does.'

       James rolled his eyes.

       Fifteen minutes later, the five of them made their way toward the cafeteria doors, talking excitedly about the upcoming Halloween Ball, and James was gearing himself up for something. He felt wound so tight that he thought everyone else must see it, as if he was physically vibrating. There was a knot of people near the door, milling around some unseen curiosity, and James touched Petra's elbow as they stopped to watch.

       'Petra,' he said, trying not to blush, 'I was wondering…'

       She turned back to him and brushed her hair out of her face with her hand. 'Yes?'

       'Er,' he began, furious at himself for how awkward he sounded. He took a deep breath. 'You know the costume ball that's coming up?'

       She smiled at him wryly. 'The one we were talking about just now? Sure. What about it?'

       James ran a hand through his hair. 'Yeah. Well, I know you're not really a student, like, but we've known each other for some time now, and… I thought maybe we could—'

The crowd near the doorway parted at that moment and somebody backed into Petra, bumping her.

       'Make room, everyone,' a voice announced. It was Professor Cloverhoof, his hands raised in the air.

       James took another step toward Petra, trying to catch her attention again. 'Anyway, I was just thinking, maybe you and me could—'

       'Stand aside, Mr. Potter,' Cloverhoof said, touching James on the shoulder. James glanced up, annoyed, and then sidled up next to Petra once more.

'Go on, James,' Petra said, smiling slightly, her eyes twinkling. 'I'm listening.'

       James smiled back at her, feeling harried but encouraged. He opened his mouth to speak, but another voice cut him off, piercing the air like fingernails on a chalkboard.

       'You!' the voice cried, so high and shocked that it silenced the entire room at once. James startled and spun toward the owner of the screeching voice. A thin old man with very white skin and balding black hair stood in the center of the cafeteria doorway, supported between two witches in pale green robes. James recognized him vaguely, but couldn't remember where he might have seen him before.

       'Yooouu!' the man screeched again, drawing the word out like a howl, his voice ebbing away as his breath ran out. James felt a thrill of panic as the man raised a trembling hand, the index finger extended. He was pointing at Petra.

       'Mr. Henredon,' one of the green-robed witches said, firming her grip on the man's arm. 'Try not to get too excited. You're still very weak. You've only been thawed enough to walk for a few hours.'

'It was her!' Henredon shrieked, tottering on his legs. 'She was the one!'

       James took Petra's hand, tried to pull her away, but she was rooted in place, her eyes frowning, narrowing.

       'I dreamed of you,' she said, her voice barely a whisper. Every eye in the crowded room had turned to stare at her.

       'You're confused, Mr. Henredon,' the second green-robed witch soothed, obviously shaken. 'You've been through a terrible ordeal. Perhaps we should get you back to the medical center.'

       'SHE… FROZE ME!' Henredon shouted, his voice cracking, his eyes bulging in his pale face. 'It was her in the Vault of Destinies! Her and some other horrible woman, but she's the one that did it! Her!' He crumpled then, and the green-robed nurses struggled to hold him up. Others rushed forward to assist as pandemonium broke out. Voices babbled as students backed away from Petra and James, forming a widening circle of staring, frightened faces.

'She froze me,' Henredon continued, weeping, his voice growing lost in the increasing rabble. 'She came out of the Vault, smiling like a demon… and she froze me…'

       Within an hour, Harry Potter had arrived on campus and a gathering had assembled in a faculty lounge on the main floor of Administration Hall. In attendance were Harry, Chancellor Franklyn, Professor Cloverhoof, Petra, James, and a man James had never seen before who had arrived on campus only minutes before Harry Potter. The stranger wore all black robes, gloves, and a black hat with a very wide, flat brim. He had a pleasant face, although James thought there was something vaguely unsettling about it. As the man sat down on the bench near the dark window, James noticed that he seemed to be almost completely hairless. His face was as pink and smooth as a baby's, with his hat pressed down onto his bare scalp so firmly that it rested on his ears. He smiled at James as he smoothed out his robes, and James glanced away.

       'It goes without saying,' Chancellor Franklyn began, still standing and stoking the fire with a long poker, 'that this is a very serious and rather shocking accusation.'

       James glanced at his father, but Harry Potter's face was as inscrutable as the poker in Franklyn's hand. The man in the wide-brimmed hat, James noticed, was looking at Harry as well, smiling a small pleasant smile. Franklyn slotted the poker into its stand and turned around.

       'Mr. Henredon is one of our oldest and most reliable trustees. His service to the school has been entirely spotless. Thus, his allegation cannot be downplayed. If the confrontation that just took place had not occurred in front of much of the entire school, this would be somewhat simpler to address. As it is, direct and decisive action must be taken.'