The Vault of Destinies (James Potter #3) (85 page)

Rose accepted this stolidly. "Well, then. Sorry your dad won't be there to see you play in your tournament, James," she said a little stiffly. "And I do wish you well, no matter what."

James shrugged, as if he didn't really mind that his dad wouldn't be there, which he did. "It's all right," he said. "Mum says that Viktor Krum might come along with her since Dad doesn't really need him for his little lookie-loo around New Amsterdam that day. Besides, Lily will be there too along with Izzy, Uncle Percy and everybody else. That'll be pretty cool. I mean, how many players get to have a former professional Quidditch player and Triwizard Tournament contestant supporting them from the stands?"

"Not many, I'd guess," Rose admitted. "Strange that your dad doesn't want Viktor to come along for his reconnaissance mission since he came all that way to help out. But anyway, no matter how it all turns out,
promise
me, all three of you, that you'll be careful."

"We'll be careful," Zane said soothingly. "We'll watch out for each other, Rosy. I won't let anything happen to your cousin."

Rose sighed harshly and shook her head. "I'm less worried about the three of
you,"
she said grimly, "than I am the universe in general."

When the day of the Clutchcudgel tournament match finally came around, the school was universally abuzz with excitement and anticipation. The irony of the decade's worst team facing off against the long-time champions was not in the least lost on the student body at large. Banners had appeared on the balconies of several of the mansions and rowhouses, proclaiming support for Team Bigfoot in the face of their daunting adversary. "STOMP THE WOLVES!" the poster on Hermes Mansion declared in bright green letters, accompanied by a messily painted (and animated) drawing of a gigantic foot mashing a werewolf's whimpering head. All over the campus, the members of Team Bigfoot were greeted with encouraging cheers and backslaps, reducing the players to sheepish, happy grins.

James made his way through the day's last exam—Clockwork Mechanics, with Professor Cloverhoof—in a state of nervous euphoria. On one hand, he harbored a secret confidence that Team Bigfoot might actually succeed in winning the tournament, with the help of the other four houses, whose grudges against Team Werewolf had made them exceedingly eager to assist in whatever way they could. On the other hand, James was painfully aware that if they lost, there was much more at stake than mere house pride and a place on Victory Hill.

"Good luck tonight, Mr. Potter," Professor Cloverhoof commented as he examined James' Clockwork test assignment, a magic-powered owl feeder. "Thoroughly prepared, are you?"

James nodded. "As prepared as we'll ever be, I think."

"I am given to understand that my own students have taught your team a few of our better tactics," Cloverhoof said, tipping a handful of birdseed into the tiny clockwork hopper. The machine's brass gears began to turn and click industriously. "I trust that you will keep such things to yourselves, hmm?"

James nodded again, more quickly. "Absolutely, sir!"

"Excellent," the professor grinned. "But for tonight, young man…," here, Cloverhoof leaned over the desk slightly, his grin turning predatory, "use them well, and send those wolves to the doghouse. With our blessing."

"Will do, sir!" James agreed, taking a step back from the professor's mirthless grin. Tiny chugs and ratchetings sounded from the Clockwork owl feeder. After a moment, it deposited a small supply of seed into a copper dish and let out a happy little
ding
.

"Excellent work, Mr. Potter," Cloverhoof said breezily, leaning back at his desk. "On
all
counts."

As James made his way out into the heat of the campus, heading for a late lunch at Apollo Mansion, he thought on what Cloverhoof had said. The truth of it was that he was just a bit nervous about some of what the other houses had offered by way of assistance. Much of it, like the Zombies' Clutch spells, struck James as rather experimental and risky—the sort of things that the teams might have considered throughout the season, but never quite had the guts (or the audacity) to try themselves. The Igors, for instance, had installed tiny clockwork gizmos on the backs of some of Team Bigfoot's skrims. James knew what they did—they had even partly been his idea, although he hadn't been entirely serious about it—and yet he was worried that they weren't technically legal. Perhaps even worse, Team Vampire had offered the Foots the use of some rather dastardly curses and airborne potions.

"Entirely sporting," the Vampire magic coach, a boy named Ellis Alekzander had insisted seriously. His narrowed eyes and tight smile had seemed to say just the opposite, however. "I've packaged them in convenient little pouches. Your team can wear one each around their neck. When the right time comes, simply pull the ripcord attached to the top here. The wind will do the rest."

Norrick had been especially pleased by the Vampires' 'game cursology' tactics.

"Lesson twelve in the Werewolves' own handbook," he declared, holding up the tiny pouch. "'All's fair in love and war'. Right back at'cha, fellas!"

Still, despite James' worries about the dubious nature of some of the other teams' suggested tactics, his overall plan seemed to have worked even better than he could have hoped. The members of Team Bigfoot, from Jazmine Jade to Mukthatch, seemed thoroughly convinced that they could win the tournament and unseat the reigning Werewolf champions. They'd even begun talking about what life would be like on Victory Hill.

"I hear that Apollo Mansion hasn't been on the Hill for over a hundred years!" a senior Bigfoot boy named Troy Covington said when James met the team in the kitchen for lunch. "Yeats told me. He was here back then, making grilled cheese sandwiches with pickles, just like today."

"We'll have to move all the game room stuff ourselves, after the mansions swap places," Wentworth commented through a mouthful of sandwich. "The cellars don't move, of course, and we sure don't want to let those Werewolf goons have our ping pong table."

"Or the disarmadillo," Jazmine added. "
OR
, Heckle and Jeckle."

"Wraagh Arbphle!" Mukthatch concurred, nodding.

Norrick frowned. "That's right. That fridge is dead heavy. We'll have to levitate it."

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves," James interrupted, raising his hands. "Let's just concentrate on winning tonight, eh? The rest will take care of itself."

As James finished his lunch and prepared to head off to his last class, he met Professor Wood in the hallway.

"James," Wood said, and James could tell by his tone of voice that the professor had been looking for him. "Come with me down to my office for a moment, would you? I want to talk to you about something."

James gulped. "Er, sure, Professor," he replied, and followed Wood toward the stairs.

Wood didn't speak until he was seated at his desk in the corner of the mid-day-empty gameroom. James settled into one of the old reclining easy chairs across from the professor's crooked desk. He sank deep into its sprung seat, but didn't lean back. Heckle and Jeckle hung on either side of the nearby refrigerator, apparently asleep. The disarmadillo had managed to climb onto the corner of Wood's desk, where it lay curled in a sort of armored ball, its narrow nose on its forepaws. James waited for Wood to begin. After a thoughtful pause, the professor drew a breath and peered up at the low ceiling.

"The Bigfoot Clutchcudgel team has done remarkably well this season, hasn't it?" he asked with forced casualness.

James nodded. "Yes sir."

"Unusually well, many would say," Wood went on, still looking up at the ceiling, his hands folded on his chest. He shook his head slowly, musingly, and then lowered his gaze to the boy across from him. With a small smile, he said, "You know, James, I've been President of Apollo Mansion for several years. I took it over from the previous Bigfoot President, Maxwell Greenfield, when I became a full professor and he decided to retire. I remember it like it was yesterday. Chancellor Franklyn called me to his office, and Greenfield was there when I arrived. Together, they told me about the history of Bigfoot House, about how, despite what many believed, it was the real backbone of the entire school. Bigfoot House, they said, is Alma Aleron's true melting pot. Back then, you see, Apollo Mansion was home to two Arctic Sasquatches, a she-werewolf, a half-goblin, two American Indian shamans from Shackamaxon, and an Atlantean merman who had to sleep in a giant tub and wear a water helmet to classes. As you now know, Bigfoot House enjoys the same diversity today as it did then, not as a slogan or a gimmick, but as a basic fact of life. Just as Franklyn told me on that day, years ago, we, the Bigfoots, represent the true American ideal."

James nodded again, not quite sure what any of this had to do with the Bigfoot Clutch team. "Sure, Professor. I mean, we've got Jazmine, who's part-Veela, although she hardly ever acts like it. And Mukthatch, and Went, whose a… er…"

"It's all right," Wood said, smiling a bit more easily. "I know about Mr. Paddington. Wentworth's parents made arrangements with the school administration to keep his, er,
heritage
a secret. They themselves are part of the Crimson Teetotalers League. That means they've trained themselves not to require blood at all. Extremely dedicated to their new lives they are, which is why they felt it was important for Wentworth to receive a normal magical education. One would think that he would have ended up in Vampire House, of course, but as you might imagine, Apollo Mansion is a much better fit for him."

James nodded meaningfully. "Yeah, we spent some time in Vampire House. They think
real
vampires have to be like the ones in Remora's stupid books—all unbelievably good-looking and tragically romantic and rubbish like that."

"In all fairness," Wood said, as if he felt it was his duty. "Some vampires
are
like that." Here, he paused and bobbed his head thoughtfully. "Although not very many, admittedly. You understand then, why so many real vampires, werewolves, and even the occasional pixie, actually come to live with the Foots. Don't you?"

"Because here, they can be
who
they are, and not just
what
they are." James stopped and frowned. "Er, right?"

Wood nodded heartily. "Well said, James. That's exactly it. But there is one more thing that the former Bigfoot President and Chancellor Franklyn impressed upon me when I took this post." He leaned forward and crossed his arms on his desk, cupping his elbows. He studied James seriously. "They told me that Bigfoot House really is the moral core of all the campus societies. And as such, it is held to a rather higher standard of conduct. Fairness, honesty, respect, courage, these are the things that are exemplified by the Bigfoot banner, and these must be applied to
all
areas of life. Most specifically, at least as far as you and I are concerned, these qualities are meant to be demonstrated on the sporting field. Chancellor Franklyn was very clear about this when he asked me to take the post of House President. He knew I had played professional Quidditch, you see, and worried that I might allow my love of victory to cloud my judgment in this regard. Winning, he told me, must always be secondary to self respect and the courage of one's convictions. I vowed to them that I completely concurred with that philosophy. In the years since, I have tried very hard, James, to maintain that record—not a record of wins and losses, you see, but a record of honorable matches, well-played and strenuous, with an eye, ultimately, to fairness and respect."

Wood stopped, and James realized that the professor's eyes had grown rather unfocused. He wasn't quite looking at James, but rather into the darkness of the game room. James waited, fearing the worst—that Wood was going to forbid Team Bigfoot from using their recently acquired game magic in the night's tournament match.

"We've lost every year," Wood finally said, blinking and returning his gaze to James. "Not just the tournament, but nearly every single match. We've always had a good team, a solid team, but we've never won. We were building character, though. At least, that's what I told myself. And building character is important, no question."

Wood paused again, as if struggling with himself.

"Character is important," James began, but Wood waved him into silence.

"I've allowed you to teach Team Bigfoot game magic, James," he said seriously. "It was against my better judgment, but I allowed it. Because I saw that while you were teaching the team to play in a way that was decidedly unlike previous Bigfoot teams, going back over a century, you were still managing to play each match with respect, honor, and fairness. Er,
Mostly
. And then, you introduced the concepts of the magical martial arts—
Artis Decerto
. You built that clockwork contraption in the back garden, with the help of Professor Cloverhoof and some of the Zombie House students. This, again, was contrary to my better judgment. And yet I allowed it. Perhaps it was a mistake. And yet, I saw that there
might
be some good in it.
Artis Decerto
is a respected discipline, after all, if used wisely and with self-control."