“Isn’t it just like the Foots to ask the losers for help in beating the winners,” Olivia Jones had observed, shaking her head. “They should have just come to us. We’d have given them the best advice of all: go home and hide under your beds, little Foots.”

Altaire had chuckled. “We should teach them a lesson,” he’d said, his voice hardening, “just for having the gall to try to rally the whole school against us. We should beat them into the ground like tent pegs even for trying. Make an example out of ’em.”

“I have an idea,” Jones had agreed and then lowered her voice. Half a minute later, Altaire had yodeled a laugh of pure spite. Albus hadn’t liked the sound of that laugh although he hadn’t heard the details of Jones’ plan. It didn’t matter, really. Team Werewolf ’s tactics were never particularly subtle. Probably, they meant to sacrifice a few penalties in favor of taking out a Bigfoot player or two. Albus only hoped that one of the players they eliminated wouldn’t be James.

Albus hadn’t known for sure what he intended to do, but at that moment, he had decided on a plan. It might not work, but then again, it just might.

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Besides, it wasn’t as if he would be sabotaging his own team. He would merely be evening the odds.

From his dormitory room, he’d listened to the ebb and roar of the crowd at nearby Pepperpock Down. He’d watched the clock impatiently. Finally, when it had gotten dark enough outside to hide his movements, he had crept out the front door of Ares Mansion and approached the statue of the snarling werewolf.

As before, he could hear the shouts and commands of Team Werewolf echoing from the statue’s muzzle as if on a distant wireless frequency. Albus hunkered in the darkness, waiting for his moment to act. People were still moving along the nearby footpaths—latecomers to the match, hurrying toward Pepperpock Down. None of them noticed the boy hiding in the shadow of the werewolf statue, but Albus didn’t mean to take any chances. He waited and listened, watching for the moment when no one would observe his actions.

Faintly, via the mysterious statue, he heard Altaire’s instructions, shouted to his teammates as the match approached halftime. He could even hear the dull thumps and exclamations as the players collided in air or the buzzing whooshes of the game magic spells. Albus could tell that Team Bigfoot was holding their own against the Wolves, although not well enough to take the lead.

Of course not, Albus thought sourly, they don’t have Liquid Luck on their side. He glanced up at the werewolf statue as he listened. Its eyes glowed faintly, coppery in the last light of the sunset.

Finally, just as Albus was preparing to act, he heard Altaire call out a command, directed at that block-headed prat, Parker Pentz.

Number nine! Do it now! Phase one, Operation Achilles!

A moment later, a heavy thump and yelp of pain emanated from the statue’s mouth. Albus heard Altaire’s wicked laugh as the unfortunate Bigfoot player screamed, falling away from his assailant.

Nearby, drowning out the thin broadcast of the statue, the crowd roared in Pepperpock Down’s grandstands.

Albus didn’t know what happened next, but he assumed that the Bigfoot player was all right, more or less, since the match continued shortly thereafter.

It was nearly halftime. Albus thought that that was probably the best time to act. He waited for the halftime horn to sound and then climbed carefully to his feet, producing his wand from the sheath in his sleeve. He stood in front of the statue’s glowing eyes, hearing the distant whoops and barks of his team as they congregated for halftime, and then raised his wand.

He opened his mouth to speak the incantation— Convulsis was the spell he had chosen after some consideration—but the words stopped in his throat as the werewolf statue blinked. It moved, shaking its shaggy bronze neck and turning very slightly, as if to face Albus directly. The amber eyes narrowed and a low growl, almost like the purr of a very large cat, emanated from deep within the thing’s metal throat.

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Albus froze. This, he had not at all expected. His mouth moved, framing the words of the spell, but he couldn’t speak. Fear had closed off his breath. The statue’s eyes flared brighter and Albus sensed it preparing to pounce on him, to crush him under its weight. He had time to think, Did Havershift enchant it to recognize when it was being threatened, and to defend itself? Is that even possible? Obviously, it was. The truth wrinkled its bronze lips back from its bronze teeth and the growl grew louder, announcing its intention to strike.

And then, suddenly, a hand closed on Albus’ wrist, pushing his arm upright.

“Halt right there, Cornelius,” a voice commanded stridently. “Drop the wand. Now!” Albus didn’t obey. He barely heard the words. He continued to stare wildly at the crouching werewolf shape before him, but most of the light suddenly seemed to have gone from its eyes. It was no longer moving or growling.

“I said drop it!” the voice commanded again. The hand holding Albus’ wrist tightened painfully and Albus’ hand spasmed, releasing his wand. It fell silently into the grass in front of the statue. Albus finally looked aside and found himself staring into the face of Dayton Englewood, a senior Werewolf student and member in good standing of Professor Jackson’s Salem Dirgus Free Militia. Englewood’s crew cut bristled and his wide pockmarked face was set with a sweaty gleam of triumph.

“Looks like I caught me a spy,” he said with grim glee. “A spy and a saboteur.” Despite his fear and frustration, Albus rolled his eyes. “Great,” he said wearily. “Just what you’ve always wanted.”

“Gobbins!” James shouted hoarsely. “Overhead! Brick wall! Now!” Gobbins acted immediately, stopping his skrim in midair as if he had struck a solid wall and dropping flat onto its surface with the Clutch held beneath him, protected. The Werewolf Bullies swooped over him, barely missing his head as he hunkered down. Instantly, Gobbins sprang up again, rocketing forward, now following the Bullies, drafting behind them. They boggled back at him and then jerked upwards out of the course under the influence of Wentworth’s gravity well.

There was no time to celebrate even as Gobbins swept on toward the goal. The other two Clutches were in the Werewolves’ possession. James leaned over his skrim, driving it forward so 443

quickly that the rings flashed past like fence posts. He caught up to one of the Werewolf Clippers, Olivia Jones, and fired a Zombie hex at her. Somehow, uncannily, Jones jigged to the left at just the right moment, causing the spell to deflect from the center ring as she passed through it. James cursed loudly to himself and ducked through the melee of the center ring, still chasing Jones.

They were only five minutes into the second half when James swooped past Clayton Altaire, who let out a guttural bark of triumph.

“Number four!” he shouted, apparently to one of his teammates. “Phase two! Now!” James didn’t know what the call meant. A few seconds later, however, a piercing howl rang out over the course. James was so surprised that he nearly fell off his skrim. He swooped out of the course and spun around in a tight corkscrew. There was only one person in the rings who could make a sound like that. Sure enough, Mukthatch had fallen onto his skrim, holding his right knee in pain. His Keeper’s Cudgel was spinning lazily as it fell toward the field far below.

“On no!” Jazmine cried helplessly, dismay and rage evident in her voice. “Not Muk! What’d they do!”

“They buzzed him,” Troy Covington called from the opposite end of the course. “On purpose!”

James flew over to the platform and jumped off his skrim, landing next to Professor Wood, whose face was set in a hard frown.

“They shot Muk!” James declared angrily, pointing. “And that was no accident! What spell was it?”

“Inertia Charm,” Wood answered tersely. “Great for thrown Clutches, terrible for human bones. Or Sasquatch bones for that matter.”

Professor Sanuye was towing Mukthatch toward the platform using a Lanyard Charm. His whistle poked from between his teeth. On his skrim, Mukthatch groaned, still clutching his right knee.

“Medical College, immediately,” Sanuye announced as Wood helped Mukthatch off his skrim.

“They did that deliberately,” Wood said to the match official. “You know that, right?”

“Miss Brazil says it was an accident,” Sanuye replied evenly.

“Linton Brazil is a cheat and a liar!” James exclaimed, but Wood raised a hand, silencing him.

“Your word against hers,” Sanuye said, shaking his head slowly. “Either way, you’re down by two players, Professor. You don’t intend to finish the match, do you?”

“Absolutely!” Gobbins cried, landing on the other side of the platform. Jazmine and the rest of the diminished team were close behind. As they landed, two medical students in green tunics appeared on the platform to examine Mukthatch’s knee. They shook their heads gravely and began to splint the knee in preparation for the trip back to the Medical College.

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“I’d strongly advise you to forfeit,” Sanuye said, still speaking to Wood. “You may choose to contest the results at a later time. Frankly, I’d testify to the board that you deserve a tie. Team Werewolf would still receive a technical victory, but you’d save your team the embarrassment of losing rather miserably. A squad two players short is a lost cause, I’m afraid.” Wood considered this stoically. He looked out over the remainder of the team.

“No way,” James declared, shaking his head. “We can’t give up! They’re trying to force us out, one by one, because they know they can’t beat us in a clean match!”

“Right you may be, James,” Wood nodded, “but Professor Sanuye is right. We’re two players down. I don’t see that we have much of a choice.”

“But we can’t give up!” James insisted, looking around at the team. “That’s what they want us to do!”

“Maybe we should, though,” Jazmine suggested sadly. “I mean, if we can at least get a technical tie game like Professor Sanuye says…”

Troy Covington nodded. “It’s better than getting completely destroyed in the rings at least. I sure don’t want to risk any more ‘accidents’ at the hands of those maniacs.” He shot a dark look at the platform across the way.

“Face it,” Wentworth added, stripping off his gauntlets and throwing them down onto the platform floor. “Playing a clean game is just no match for ‘all’s fair in love and war’.” The rest of the team muttered agreement.

“Shall we take a vote?” Wood asked, raising his voice.

“What’s the point?” Gobbins declared angrily, glancing around at his teammates. “Let’s just get out of here.”

He made his way toward the stairs that descended through the center of the platform and the rest of the team followed, discouraged into silence.

Gobbins stopped on the second step, however, as the sound of clumping footsteps rang up from below. James watched as Gobbins backed up off the stairs again, making way for the newcomer. A head with very short dark hair appeared from below followed by a stocky body with arms like tree trunks. The figure was carrying Mukthatch’s skrim and wearing an ill-fitting Bigfoot jersey.

“You need a reserve player?” the figure asked seriously, glancing around at the wide-eyed members of Team Bigfoot.

“You’re Viktor Krum!” Wentworth exclaimed suddenly, pointing a finger at the big man.

“I’ve got your Chocolate Frog card back in my room!”

Krum

smiled

gravely.

“Viktor,” Wood said, stepping forward and shaking the man’s hand. “Good to see you.

Especially under these circumstances.”

445

“Is it legal?” James asked impatiently, glancing around at Professor Sanuye. “Can he actually play for us?”

Sanuye nodded consideringly. “Every house has their own rules for who can play on their team,” he said. “The official Alma Aleron rulebook only states that a simple majority of any team must be students from that team’s house of origin. Mr. Krum may indeed play if he wishes and if you’ll have him.”

“But

can he play?” Covington asked. “I mean, no offense, Mr. Krum, but do you even know how to fly a skrim?”

“Are

you

skrewt poop?” Wentworth exclaimed, nearly beside himself. “He’s Viktor zarking Krum! He can do anything!”

Without a word, Viktor tossed Mukthatch’s skrim into the air. As it came down next to him, the big man hopped easily onto it. It bobbed with him on it and he directed it in a quick corkscrew swoop, ending in a ready crouch, his hands held out flat on either side.

“I once played for Bulgarian Clutchcudgel Minor League,” he admitted with a grin. “It’s not Quidditch, but sport is sport, yes?”

“Sport is definitely sport,” Wood agreed, matching the big man’s grin. “Professor Sanuye? It would appear that the Bigfoots are not quite prepared to give up just yet.” All around him, Team Bigfoot cheered fervently.

Sanuye nodded. A moment later, he turned his broom away from the platform and swept out over the center ring. He blew his whistle and the babbling crowd fell quiet.

“Penalty, Team Werewolf. Careless use of magic. Five minutes in the dock.” The crowd roared approval as the members of Team Werewolf cried out angrily, denouncing the call. James grinned as he jumped back onto his skrim. Careless use of magic carried a much harsher penalty than mere accidental buzzing, which enforced only two minutes in the dock. Linton Brazil would be out of the match for the rest of the third quarter, making the teams even once again, at least for the moment.

“And in a shocking turn of events,” Cheshire Chatterly called from the announcer’s booth,

“Team Bigfoot gains a surprise reserve player in the form of Mr. Viktor Krum, world-renowned Harrier, athlete and participant in the famed Triwizard Tournament! Team Werewolf faces a stiff but fair penalty at the hands of match official Sanuye, and the match resumes with the Wolves leading by a score of seventy-six to sixty-five!”

James heard the whistle as the match plowed once again into motion. He watched as Viktor Krum immediately snagged one of the loose Clutches and tucked it under his huge arm.

This match isn’t over yet, he thought, and plunged eagerly into the fracas.

446

Lucy and Izzy clambered down into the dark stairwell. Voices rang out behind them, but they echoed so that Lucy couldn’t tell how close their pursuers were.

“We can’t just keep running, Iz!” Lucy panted, but Izzy paid no attention. The two girls darted around a corner and pushed through a heavy door. There were no windows here and a sign overhead was lit with red light: ‘ Experimental Medicine and Elixirs—No Admittance! ’

Izzy ran on, her blonde curls flying. Lucy followed, glancing back the way they had come.

“Petra,” Izzy moaned again, looking around wildly. “She’s here! I feel her. She’s dreaming!”

“Izzy, Petra’s in an enchanted sleep!” Lucy insisted. “They gave her the poison apple!

Nothing will wake her up until they want her to wake!”

Izzy didn’t seem to hear Lucy. She turned and pushed through a set of swinging double doors.

“There!” a voice echoed behind Lucy. She glanced back and saw two of the court agents bursting through the stairwell doors. Their faces glowed crimson in the light of the overhead sign.

One of the men pointed his wand and shouted. A Stunning Spell burst against the pale green brick wall next to Lucy, showering her with red sparks.

“Lubricus!” Lucy cried, flinging her own wand out.

Both men suddenly flailed wildly, as if the marble floor beneath them was coated with ice.

They slid into the walls, one on each side, overcorrected, and then bounced off of each other, collapsing messily to the corridor floor.

Lucy spun and ran again, following Izzy through the swinging double doors.

The walls here were black tile, shiny in the overhead lights. The room itself was low and wide, packed with aisles of shelves. Lucy had been to the Ministry of Magic many times and was reminded of the Department of Mysteries. Here, however, the shelves were crammed with stoppered jars of coloured liquid, each labeled in glowing green ink. Izzy was looking around at the shelves, helplessly.

“She’s nearby,” she moaned. She looked up at Lucy, her eyes pleading. “I can feel her. She’s close. She’s dreaming. She’s dreaming of us!”

447

“Stop, Izzy, please,” Lucy plead. “It’s useless. You can’t wake her even if you do find her. Do you understand? Maybe we can talk to the people, try once more to convince them not to take away your memory. My father can hel—”

A burst of red shattered one of the vials on a nearby shelf, startling both girls. They ducked and clambered away as more spells lit the air. Izzy spun at the end of one of the aisles and grabbed a large jar. Her face was etched with fear and rage as she flung it. The jar arced over Lucy’s head and shattered loudly on the marble floor, directly in front of the approaching court agents. Fire leapt up from the jar’s liquid contents and engulfed the men. They shrieked in unison as they scrambled forward, beating at their clothes to extinguish the red flames. Lucy had only a moment to realize that the flames weren’t fire, however; they were leaves. Red vines and bright red flowers grew with lightning speed from the released liquid, entwining the men’s arms and legs, attaching to their grey tunics.

“Stop!” one of the men shouted, tugging at the vines. “Stop in the name of the wizarding law of the United States!”

“Sod off!” Lucy shouted back. A moment later, she and Izzy doubled back to the main doors, banging through them even as the court agents fired Repelling Spells at the red vines, releasing themselves.

“If you see her,” Lucy asked as they ran on, “if you see Petra, Iz, will you stop running?”

“Yes!” Izzy cried out eagerly.

Lucy nodded. “I know where she is,” she said. “Follow me.”

Izzy had been right, after all. Petra had been very close. She had been exactly one floor below them, in the lowest basement of the Medical College.

Glancing back only once, the two girls found the rear stairwell and began to clamber down into the darkness below.

“What were you planning to do?” Dayton Englewood demanded, pushing his face so close to Albus’ that he completely blocked the view of the tiny Ares Mansion dungeon.

448

“I

told you,” Albus replied in irritation, “I was giving old Wolfy a little haircut. That’s all.

Shaggy fur is so last year.”

“Laugh all you want, Cornelius,” Englewood growled, narrowing his eyes. “You won’t be laughing when Professor Jackson gets here. He’ll nail you to the wall. I’ve seen it happen, you know.

He doesn’t take kindly to saboteurs.”

“I’m sure he doesn’t,” Albus agreed. “What’d you do with my wand?” Englewood smiled thinly. “I confiscated it. You’ll probably never see it again. They don’t allow wands where you’re going.”

“Really?” Albus said, shifting on the hard bench in the corner of the dungeon. “So you Americans are in the habit of sending blokes to Fort Bedlam just for pointing wands at statues?

Sounds pretty touchy if you ask me. Maybe you should consider growing a bit thicker hide.”

“Shut up, Cornelius,” Englewood suggested, lowering his own wand a little, but not completely. “It’s just a good thing I was coming back late from my last exam. Who knows what you might have done?”

“That’s pretty late for an exam, isn’t it?” Albus replied, unable to stop himself. “The pointy end of the quill goes down, you know. The fluffy end points up. Tough one to remember, that.”

“Shut

up, I said!” Englewood commanded, raising his wand again. “You think I want to be here guarding your sorry English butt? I’m missing the tournament match!” Albus rolled his eyes and slumped on the wooden bench. “Ah, you’re not missing anything,” he muttered. “Same old song and dance.”

At that point, a dull thump and a series of heavy footsteps sounded overhead. Englewood glanced up and then showed Albus a toothy grin.

“That’s Professor Jackson,” he said smugly. “I sent for him by pigeon, interrupted him right in the middle of the match. Boy, will he be mad at you.”

“Yeah,” Albus nodded. “Dangerous prisoner like me definitely couldn’t have waited until after the tournament was over. I bet he’ll give you a medal even.” Englewood’s grin faltered for a moment. Footsteps knocked loudly on the stone stairs of the dungeon as Professor Jackson descended, his black waistcoat buttoned all the way to his chin.

Englewood spun around to face him. He saluted with fierce efficiency.

“I’ve captured a spy, General!” he shouted, snapping to attention. “He was engaged in the act of sabotage when I discovered him and apprehended him. I have been guarding him ever since, awaiting instructions.”

Jackson glanced at Englewood and then shifted his gaze to Albus, his expression unchanging.

Slowly, he looked back at Englewood again.

“This is Albus Potter, Englewood,” Jackson said, apparently struggling to keep his voice even.

“He is a member of this house.”

449

“Sir! He is a spy, sir!” Englewood barked, saluting again. “I caught him attempting to sabotage the werewolf statue out front!”

Jackson closed his eyes and pressed his lips together. When he opened them again, he was looking at Albus.

“Is this true, Mr. Potter?” he asked tiredly.

“Yes sir,” Albus answered honestly. There didn’t seem to be any point in lying about it. “I was planning to blast it a hard one right between the eyes. It was on the edge of attacking me.”

“Attacking you,” Jackson repeated. “The statue, you say, was attacking you.”

“Sir, yes sir.” Albus nodded easily.

Jackson drew a long, deep breath. When he let it out, he returned his attention to Englewood. “Could this not, perhaps, have waited for the end of the match, Private?”

“The spy presented a clear and present danger, sir!” Englewood declared, his face going red.

He glanced back over his shoulder at Albus. “He, er, was engaged in covert activities!”

“He was pulling a prank, Private,” Jackson sighed. “At best. I cannot imagine why he was doing it, but I admit that I have never quite understood the thought processes of the Potter family.

Frustrating as they may be, they are relatively harmless, I assure you.” Englewood snapped his heels together and stood so straight that he looked like he meant to rocket up through the low dungeon ceiling. “Sir! What are your orders, sir?” Jackson closed his eyes again and rubbed them with the thumb and forefinger of his left hand. “I order you both,” he said patiently, “to accompany me back to Pepperpock Down for the remainder of the tournament match. It was, you may be interested to know, just getting good.”

“Sir, yes sir!” Englewood barked again, snapping off yet another salute.

“At ease, Private,” Jackson growled. A moment later, he beckoned for Albus to follow him.

In single file, Albus in the middle, the three made their way back up the dungeon stairs and through the mansion’s main hall.

“I hesitate to ask this, Mr. Potter,” Jackson said as the front door slammed behind them, “but why, pray tell, were you pointing your wand at the werewolf statue?”

“Like I said,” Albus answered, still seeing no need to lie, “I planned to destroy it. At least a little.”

Jackson shook his head slowly. “I doubt you’d have succeeded in any case,” he said wryly.

“But why, young man?”

Albus paused and stopped. Englewood nearly ran into him from behind. His wand was still out, pointing at his prisoner, and Albus felt it poke him harmlessly in the back. Englewood dropped it and cursed urgently to himself, scrambling to pick it up again.

Three paces away, Jackson stopped as well. He turned and looked back, his eyes impatient but curious.

450

Albus tilted his head toward the bronze statue. It stood unmoving next to him, its muzzle frozen in its characteristic snarl.

“Do you really,” he said, turning back to the professor, “want to know?” By the end of the third quarter of the tournament match, Team Werewolf had succeeded in taking out yet one more Bigfoot player. This time, Troy Covington had received a blindside hit with a skrim, right in the middle of the back. Covington had fallen from his skrim, completely unconscious, while the Werewolf Bully, Pentz, had collected the dropped Clutch and flown on without a backward glance.

Sanuye had succeeded in levitating Covington just as he had Norrick. The penalty had been called—ten more minutes in the dock for dangerous maneuvering—and Pentz had landed on the Werewolves’ platform, no longer grinning but grimacing smugly.

“Professor Jackson’s not even in the stands,” Gobbins panted, swooping in next to James and pointing. “The Wolves always play dirty, but even he wouldn’t have allowed a brazen hit like that.

They’re taking advantage of the fact that he’s not here!”

James swore loudly and glanced back at his own platform. What he saw there gladdened his heart even if the match seemed increasingly hopeless. Several members of the other House Clutch teams stood on the platform, surrounding Professor Wood. Every one of them wore a Bigfoot jersey and held their skrims at their sides. Warrington was first in line. As Covington was lowered gently onto a waiting stretcher, Warrington hopped onto his skrim and swooped out into the rings.

“It’s his grand poobahness!” James announced gamely.

“Welcome to the jungle, Warrington,” Jazmine Jade called. “Thanks for coming!”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Warrington said. “Zane says howdy by the way. And if you

ever remind me that I once wore a Bigfoot jersey, I’ll paint your house with Plimpy puke. See if I don’t.”

James nodded. “Point taken.”

“Is it break time?” Viktor Krum called as he swept past. “Or is a match going on?” 451

Warrington frowned. “Into the breach!” he called, and leaned over his skrim, following Krum. A moment later, James and Gobbins followed. The Bigfoots were still behind—no matter how many goals they scored, the Werewolves always, infuriatingly, managed to keep a slim but stubborn lead. James refused to think about it. As he had thought several minutes earlier, the match wasn’t over yet. The Foots still had a chance, no matter how slim.

James flashed through the center ring and snatched a floating Clutch. He pointed his wand, called out one of the Pixies’ proprietary speed charms, and rocketed forward in a blur.

Lucy and Izzy made it to the bottom of the narrow stairwell and pushed through the heavy door. It was very dark in the corridor and a pair of guards stood at the end, flanking the last doorway. They looked up as the two girls approached.

“This is a restricted area, sweetheart,” one of the guards called to Lucy. He was young with a Southern accent.

“Don’t call me sweetheart,” Lucy instructed, raising her wand. Her Stunning Spell struck the young guard in the shoulder and he collapsed like a bag of cauldrons. The other guard watched this in disbelief, not even thinking to reach for his own wand.

“Oh no you didn’t,” he said, looking up at Lucy and frowning. He was finally reaching for his wand, but it was too late.

“Oh yes I did,” Lucy replied. “Sorry.”

She winced as her Stunning Spell struck the second guard. He crumpled on top of his mate, dropping his wand. Sometimes, Lucy thought, it helped to be a young girl.

“They’re coming,” Izzy said urgently. “I sense them. Petra’s dreaming of them.”

“She’s just beyond that door,” Lucy shrugged, pointing. “Go ahead, Iz. Go see her. Do what you have to do.”

Izzy trotted forward, clambering easily over the fallen guards. Lucy thought the heavy metal door would be locked, but when Izzy turned the handle it opened easily, swinging silently on its hinges. Izzy disappeared quickly inside.

452

Lucy stepped gingerly over the guards and stood just outside the open door. It was dark inside the cell. The walls were blank stone with no windows. A narrow metal bed stood in the exact center of the room beneath a dim lamp. Petra lay on the bed, uncovered, clothed in the same drab dress she had been wearing on the day that they had arrested her. Izzy stood beside the bed and clasped one of Petra’s hands.

“Petra!” she said fervently. “Wake up! They’re coming to get me! They’re going to make me forget you and everybody else! They’re going to send us away from each other! You have to wake up and help me!”

Lucy watched, frustrated anger and fear settling over her like a wet blanket. Petra lay on the bed still as stone, her eyes closed peacefully. Lucy could make out the shape of Petra’s eyes beneath her lids. They didn’t so much as flinch.

“Petra!” Izzy insisted in an urgent whisper. “Wake up! Please! Don’t let them take me!

They’re coming! You’re dreaming of them! I can see it in your thoughts even now!”

“Izzy,” Lucy whispered, shaking her head. “She can’t. She would if she could, but she can’t.

Do you understand? It isn’t Petra’s fault.”

“No!” Izzy wailed, raising her voice, not taking her eyes from the sleeping shape of her sister.

“She will wake up! She has to!”

A door banged open at the end of the dark corridor. Lucy looked back the way they had come and saw figures emerging into the dim light. Keynes was in the lead, his face hard. Lucy’s father was close behind him.

“Lucy!” he called, his voice echoing in the low corridor. “Put your wand down, love! Please stop!” Then, to the others, he said, “If any of you raise a wand to my daughter, I will have your badges before the International Wizarding Court, I swear it.”

“Come out, Izabella,” Keynes demanded. All the sweetness had gone out of his voice. “You are only making this hard on yourself.”

Lucy turned back to the small room. Izzy had not looked up from her sister. Petra, of course, had not moved in the slightest.

“Petra,” Izzy cried, still clinging to the young woman’s hand with both of her own, “don’t leave me alone with them! Don’t let them make me forget you!”

“Stand back, young lady,” Keynes demanded, pushing Lucy aside. Her father stopped next to her and put his hand on her shoulder. He shook his head down at her, both sadly and warningly.

“Izabella Morganstern,” Keynes said, striding into the room, “come this moment. I don’t wish to Stun you.”

He grabbed her, one hand on each shoulder. Izzy screamed and wriggled beneath his grip, but Keynes was no longer wasting any effort. His grip on her was like a vice. He turned her around even as Izzy still clung to her sister’s hand.

“Petra!” Izzy gasped, tears running down her face again. “Don’t let them! Petra, please!” 453

Lucy watched helplessly as Keynes pushed her toward the door. He stopped only to grasp Izzy’s small fingers and pry them away from Petra’s hand. The hand fell away limply and hung next to the narrow bed, the fingers curled loosely in sleep.

Izzy screamed, loudly this time, making no words. Keynes’ face was hard as stone as he maneuvered Izzy through the door, which she clung to uselessly. Lucy reached to comfort the girl, but Keynes pushed her hand away, giving her a black look. A moment later, he dragged Izzy down the corridor toward the basement stairwell. The court agents followed along, cutting off Lucy’s view of the blond girl. One of them remained by the door, his wand in his hand, standing over the Stunned guards.

“I’m so sorry, Lu,” her father said, his hand still on her shoulder. “There’s nothing I can do.”

“PETRA!” Izzy screamed once more through her tears. The sound of it rang in the hall like a gong and Lucy realized that she herself was crying. She turned to look back through the open doorway of Petra’s cell. The girl lay on the bed like a corpse, her eyes closed peacefully, her hand hanging limply to the side, pale in the lamplight.

“PETRA!” Izzy’s voice shrieked, cracking, and then, frantically, echoing as the girl was pushed into the stairwell: “MORGAN! Help me! HELP ME!”

And on the bed, Petra’s eyes flickered. They fluttered, opened, and then turned aside as Petra rolled her head toward the door, meeting Lucy’s astonished gaze.

Coldness rushed out of the room like a gust of wind, streaming through Lucy’s hair and clothes. Lucy gasped at the frigid blast and raised an arm to shield her eyes from its force.

When she looked again, the narrow bed in the dark room was empty.

“Are you quite certain of this?” Professor Jackson asked flatly, studying Albus’ face.

“Teach-cheat don’t lie,” Albus said, nodding toward the pink paper in Professor Jackson’s hands. Albus had realized that he’d been carrying the tiny paper in his blazer pocket ever since the day he’d used it to test the statue. It looked very small in Jackson’s big knuckly fingers.

“Indeed it does not,” Jackson stated gravely.

454

“He could’ve gotten that from anywhere!” Englewood cried. “There’s no way of knowing if that stuff came from the statue! It’s a trick! Got to be!”

Jackson narrowed his eyes at Albus. Slowly, he lowered the teach-cheat and pushed it into the pocket of his waistcoat. When the professor’s hand reappeared, it was holding his wand.

“You may be right, Mr. Englewood,” Jackson replied in a low, smooth voice. “This is, after all, an extremely serious allegation.”

“Damn straight,” Englewood agreed, giving Albus a beady-eyed glare.

Jackson raised his wand. Albus felt a moment of raw panic as the wand seemed to level at him. He glanced around, remembering that his own wand had been confiscated by Englewood. He was defenseless. And then, with a monumental sense of relief, he saw what the professor was really pointing at.

“There’s only one way to find out,” Jackson said, obviously reluctant to do what he was about to do. He stared down the length of his wand and trained it on the werewolf ’s bronze head, just past Albus’ shoulder.

The wolf growled, loudly this time.

Albus spun around, his eyes going wide, and ducked aside. If the statue meant to tackle its opponent, Albus did not wish to be between them.

Professor Jackson called his spell at exactly the same moment that the bronze werewolf pounced.

“Expulso!” Jackson thundered, raising his arm instinctively to match the metal beast’s motion.

The spell struck the statue in midair, producing a blinding purple flash which was, strangely, perfectly silent.

Albus dropped to the ground and covered his head with his hands. Bits of statue rained down like hail, peppering him, none larger than his pinky finger. When the rain of bronze bits was over, Albus raised his head, his eyes wild.

The rear half of the statue was mostly intact. It lay sideways on the grass, six feet from its base. The rest of the statue was spread around the lawn like a corona, thousands of tiny bits glinting in the yellow moonlight.

“Well then,” Jackson said, his own eyes wide as he pocketed his wand, “let us proceed to the tournament match, then. We shall see what effect, if any, this turn of events has on the outcome.”

“Er, what about him?” Albus asked, climbing to his feet and glancing back toward Englewood.

Jackson peered over his shoulder at the boy. He lay on his back in the grass, his arms and legs splayed in a dead faint.

“Leave him,” Jackson sighed. “If he’d have saluted once more, I’d have Stunned him myself.” 455

James sensed the change immediately. He couldn’t put his finger on what it was, but it was evident nonetheless.

For one thing, Pentz dropped the Clutch. James had been chasing him, trying to aim a Lanyard Charm, when the leather ball had simply popped out from beneath the boy’s arm. James could scarcely believe it and almost forgot to grab for the Clutch as he sped past. An instant later, he hugged it against his chest and leaned over his skrim, hardly believing his luck. He rocketed past Pentz, who was glancing around confusedly, comically.

“What happened?” Warrington demanded, swooping in next to James to escort him through his laps.

“He fumbled!” James called, swooping through the center ring and ducking beneath a Werewolf Bully. “Straight up dropped it! It nearly hit me in the face!”

“Well, don’t waste it!” Warrington advised, aiming a Bonefuse Hex at a Werewolf Clipper.

“We’re only down by four! We can still take this match!”

James nodded as he completed his second lap. He expected to be fallen upon by Werewolf Bullies, but as he glanced around, he was amazed to see that his course was almost completely clear.

In fact, most of the Werewolves seemed to have fallen into a sort of confused fugue. They had slowed in their path through the rings. One of them, Olivia Jones, had completely missed one of the far rings and had been forced to relinquish her Clutch. She stared dumbly down at her own hands and then back at the ring she had flown past. There were no Bigfoot Bullies around her at all. She had simply missed the ring.

“What’s happened to them?” Warrington called wonderingly, glancing around. “They act like somebody pulled the plug on ’em!”

“It won’t last, whatever it is,” James replied, raising his voice into the rushing wind of the course. “Stay on top of it! If they take out one more Bigfoot, we’ll have to forfeit the match!” Warrington nodded grimly as James spun around on his skrim, lobbing the Clutch toward the goal ring. Dunckel, the Werewolf Keeper, wasn’t even watching. The Clutch sailed through the goal and James glanced toward the scoreboard as he flew on, watching the numbers change.

456

“With only ninety seconds left in tonight’s incredible match-up,” Cheshire Chatterly cried exuberantly, “Team Bigfoot closes within three points of the reigning champions! What a match, folks!”

James sped on. He sensed the Werewolves recovering from the mysterious confusion that had overtaken them. Altaire swooped in next to him as they passed through the center ring. They both grabbed for the single remaining Clutch, but Altaire body-checked James, knocking him violently out of the course. The Werewolf captain glanced back angrily as he sped on, holding the Clutch under his arm. Even as he looked back, however, Jazmine Jade fell in next to him. James hurled himself forward, attempting to catch up.

“Hey Altaire,” Jazmine called out, giving her voice a very uncharacteristic lilt. James was shocked to see the big girl place one hand behind her head and the other on her waist. She cocked her hip toward the Werewolf captain and smiled at him, all while rocketing along next to him, skrim for skrim. “You’re such a big bad wolf,” she trilled, fluttering her eyes at Altaire. “How’d you like to huff and puff and blow my house down?”

Altaire did a complete double take at Jazmine, apparently forgetting for the moment where he was. A split second later, he spanged headlong into one of the passing rings, dropping the Clutch as his skrim squirted away into the night. Jazmine caught the Clutch easily, tucked it beneath her arm, and hunkered over her skrim.

“Wow!” James called to her, his eyes wide with disbelief. “That Veela thing is pretty amazing when you turn it on!” He glanced back and saw Altaire dangling gamely from the ring he’d crashed into.

“If you’ve got it,” Jazmine called, grinning sheepishly, “flaunt it.” As Jazmine scored, James saw that the Werewolves were only ahead by two points. Ten seconds later, Viktor Krum socked home another goal, hurling the Clutch so hard that it knocked the Cudgel clean out of Dunckel’s hand. The crowd exploded into deafening cheers, stomping their feet and waving banners wildly against the night.

“Two more and we win!” Gobbins shouted, grinning with disbelief. “We’re gonna do it!” James nodded. The Werewolves had been merciless in their attack on Team Bigfoot and had apparently been infuriated by the line of players from other houses gathering to play reserve for the underdog team. Only minutes earlier, Wentworth had gotten forced into a collision with a Werewolf Bully, jamming most of the fingers on his right hand. He had sworn loudly and even bared his teeth at the Werewolf Bully before being pulled away by Jazmine and Gobbins. By the time Pixie captain Ophelia Wright subbed in for Wentworth, nearly half of the team had become comprised of players from other houses. If only one more native player got removed from the match, Team Bigfoot would have to forfeit.

James tried not to worry about it. The last thing the team could afford right now was to be careful.

457

Thinking this, James rammed through the center ring, collecting the Clutch that Krum had just scored with. He tossed it aside to Gobbins and fell in behind him, meaning to escort him through his laps. Two Werewolf Bullies dropped instantly alongside, moving to flank Gobbins.

Now’s as good a time as ever, James thought, pressing his lips together tightly. He leaned severely into the wind, driving his skrim wildly forward, and reached toward the button the Igors had installed on the end of his skrim. He pounded it with the flat of his hand.

Beneath his skrim, a small box popped open. James knew what was in the box: a tiny photograph of a babelthrush spore and a curled length of Bamboozle vine that James had asked Professor Longbottom to send to him. As the box opened, the Bamboozle transformed into a cloud of fat pink babelthrush spores. The Werewolf Bullies flew through the spores, which peppered their goggles and chests. Immediately, the Bullies corkscrewed off course, swiping at their goggles and dissolving into fits of sneezes.

That’s the last of our tricks, James thought as Gobbins lobbed the Clutch through the goal ring, tying the match. From here on out, it’s just us!

The crowd roared constantly now as the final seconds of the match ticked away. James heard Cheshire Chatterly’s voice echoing wildly from the announcer’s booth, but he couldn’t make out any of her actual words. He leaned completely sideways on his skrim as he powered through the figure eight course, passing Werewolves and Bigfoots on both sides. As he ripped through the center ring, he managed to grab two Clutches, one in each hand. Amazingly, there were no Werewolves challenging him for them. He tucked one under each arm, leaned over his skrim, and grimaced into the oncoming wind. He completed the first lap easily, almost effortlessly, and was halfway through his second when a voice cried out.

“James!” Krum called distantly. James barely stopped to look. When he did, he saw Krum waving wildly at him, pointing. “Behind you!”

James peered back over his shoulder. The entirety of Team Werewolf was stacked up behind him, gaining on him, their faces set into grim lines of resolve. Most of them had their wands out, aiming at him.

They’re going to take me out! James thought, and panic ripped through him. They don’t care if their whole team gets penalized! If they knock me out of the match, there won’t be enough native Bigfoots left on the team and we’ll have to forfeit! Team Werewolf will get a technical victory!

Even as this realization formed in James’ mind, a blast of red sparks sizzled over his shoulder, barely missing him. It hadn’t been a Lanyard Charm or a gravity well. The Werewolves were using dueling spells.

“James, look out!” Jazmine cried from somewhere far behind, but it was no use. James ducked and swooped back and forth, struggling to stay inside the rings while simultaneously avoiding being struck. More magical bolts lit the air all around. Sanuye was blowing his whistle repeatedly, but the Wolves weren’t stopping. They were desperate, and in their desperation, they were willing to do anything. James felt a sudden wriggle of real fright. It spread through him like ice, freezing him. He scrambled for his wand, fumbling one of the Clutches. He stripped the thin 458

wooden shaft out of his gauntlet and then dropped it as well. It spun away into the darkness and he stared after it, petrified.

Something thumped against his chest as he leaned over. He scrambled at it, worried that it was a Lanyard Charm, or worse. With some amazement, he realized that it was a small cloth pouch, both soft and dense to the touch. It hung around his neck on a length of rawhide string: the Vampires’ game curse! He had been so intent on getting the rest of the team to take the Vampires’

potion powders off before the match that he had completely forgotten to remove his own!

Without thinking, he grabbed at the short fluttering ripcord. He pulled it, and felt the pouch pop open. Black powder exploded from it, streaming backwards instantly into his wake. It engulfed the trailing Werewolves, covering them in writhing black tendrils. James glanced back, struggling to stay on his own skrim while holding onto the last Clutch.

The tendrils of black powder solidified around the Werewolves, forming a sort of loose net.

Then, violently, it contracted. The black net pulled tight, sucking the entirety of Team Werewolf into a monstrous collision. If the game curse had been deployed on a single player, it would surely have forced them to momentarily lose control of their skrim, sending them off course. Deployed on the entire team, however, the effect was both sickly amusing and utterly devastating. The team crashed instantly in midair, pulled together by the force of the magical black net. A second later, the net vanished into smoke and the Werewolves fell out of it, scrambling to stay on their skrims, grabbing at one another, spiraling away in every direction.

Breathlessly, James turned back to the course. Somehow, he had managed not to miss a single ring. He raised the final Clutch, held it over his shoulder, and tossed it easily through the goal ring. No one was guarding it. The Clutch sailed through so cleanly that James caught it himself, coming through on the other side.

The crowd erupted into a single riotous cheer. The scoreboard flickered, reflecting the change in the score: ninety-seven to ninety-eight. Team Bigfoot, including the several reserve players, collapsed around James, laughing wildly and hoisting him up over them.

The horn sounded, echoing deafeningly over the grandstands. The match was over.

Team Bigfoot had won.

459

23. The Beginning of the End

For the Bigfoots, most winning matches had ended in a victorious evening’s celebration at the Kite and Key, crowded around a few tables in their usual corner, quaffing Butterbeers and licorice sodas. The ending of the tournament match, however, launched a major event that nearly the entire campus turned out to watch.

Thanks to the Werewolves’ recent string of championship victories (due in no small part to the now destroyed werewolf statue), the March of the Houses had not been witnessed at Alma Aleron for over a decade. Apart from the teachers, hardly anyone had ever seen it. Ares Mansion had become a fixture on Victory Hill, and many had begun to think that it would never move again.

They might have been right if Albus had not discovered the secret of Stafford Havershift’s bewitched werewolf statue. Even now, already, rumors about the broken bronze statue were circulating among the student populace. James heard snippets of them, although he wouldn’t hear Albus’ complete story until later, during the journey home. Some students were whispering that the statue had been magical and had come alive, forcing Professor Jackson to destroy it. Others claimed that it had been a good luck charm that had been overwhelmed by the Werewolves’ tournament loss, resulting in its spontaneous destruction.

Regardless of the reason, as Team Bigfoot gathered at the base of Victory Hill, James saw that the imposing statue was, indeed, destroyed. Its rear half lay several feet away from its base, and while James couldn’t be certain, it looked to him as if the pose of the remaining half was rather different than it had been when he’d seen it last.

460

“People are saying that the statue just exploded as soon as the Werewolves lost,” Ralph said, crowding between James and Jazmine Jade. “Like it committed statuicide in shame or something.”

“I don’t blame it,” Zane commented from James’ other side.

Beside him, Warrington scoffed. “Who cares what happened to it? If it was me, I’d leave it there like a trophy even after Ares Mansion scampered off with its tail between its legs.” James noticed that Warrington was still wearing the Bigfoot jersey he’d donned earlier in order to play reserve.

Behind the team, the crowd from Pepperpock Down was still milling around, congregating noisily in the quad between Administration Hall and Victory Hill, packing the lawns in excited anticipation. Team Werewolf was nowhere in sight and James assumed that they were simply waiting it out in their locker cellar, refusing to watch the moving of the houses. Viktor Krum, unfortunately, had left immediately after the match along with James’ mum and sister. Word had leaked back to James that they had received an urgent message via the Shard, which Ginny had been carrying in her purse in the hope of news from her husband.

James’ dad, of course, was out on his reconnaissance mission to New Amsterdam, accompanied by Titus Hardcastle, in preparation for tomorrow’s raid. Viktor himself had wanted to go along, but Harry had been adamant in his refusal—taking more than two spies on the night’s mission would have been conspicuous, he’d said, and he had no intention of alerting the new W.U.L.F. leader to the impending raid. James was quite glad that his father had insisted that Viktor stay behind for the night. If he hadn’t, the game would have ended in forfeit before it was barely half over.

Now, in the wake of the Bigfoot victory, cheers still rang out from the gathering throng and pops of fireworks sounded in the hot evening air, flashing their colours up onto the Hill and the stern facade of Ares Mansion.

“So how’s this going to happen?” Ralph asked, glancing around at the throng. “Does Franklyn or somebody need to come out and, like, levitate the houses or something?” Gobbins shook his head. “I don’t think so. I think the March of the Houses is old magic, set up by Pepperpock and Roberts and the rest back when they first built the Aleron. I think it happens all by itself. We just wait and watch.”

Even as Gobbins spoke, a low, ominous groan arose. James felt the rumble of it in his chest and the soles of his feet. It throbbed in the air, blotting out the other noises rather like a base note on a gigantic magical amplifier. Immediately, the crowd hushed into bright-eyed silence. James looked toward Ares Mansion, but it simply sat there, unmoving, its windows unlit and blank like stubborn, staring eyes.

“Is this it?” James called, raising his voice over the thrumming rumble.

Zane shook his head, glancing around. “Must be! Look!” He pointed—not at Ares Mansion, but backwards, over the heads of the throng behind them. James and the rest of Team Bigfoot turned around and gasped.

461

Hovering over the crowd, casting its humongous blocky shadow onto the upturned faces was Apollo Mansion. It looked exactly the same as always except that you could see inside the dark footprint of its foundation: a square of heavy bricks, surrounding what was, unmistakably, the ceiling of the erstwhile basement game room. Clods of dirt and mortar pattered down over the crowd as the structure drifted overhead, moving like a giant parade balloon. A round white shape peered from one of the upper windows and James saw that it was Geoffrey Kleinschmidt, the Bigfoot reserve player who’d been too sick to make it to the match. He waved gamely, grinning, his hair poking up in an unruly strew.

“We won!?” he hollered down, both as a question and a statement, and the crowd roared back, laughing and cheering.

Slowly, ponderously, Apollo Mansion approached Victory Hill, passing over the crowd and emitting that deep, throbbing rumble. As it swept over James’ head, he almost thought he could reach up and touch the rafters of the basement ceiling. He laughed out loud as he saw the disarmadillo hunkered on top of one of those rafters, crouched in a sort of alert ball, eyes blinking down at the crowd below.

As the house passed over the lawn of Victory Hill, casting its shadow over the broken werewolf statue, James was surprised to see that Ares Mansion was still there, sitting stubbornly on the Hill’s foundation.

“Go on!” Zane called, grinning. “Beat it, house!”

“Yeah!” the members of Team Bigfoot joined in, raising their fists. Soon, the entire crowd rallied the cry, cheering and jeering raucously.

Ares Mansion did not budge, however, even as the shadow of Apollo Mansion crept up its front, casting its reflection onto the tall staring windows. Finally, gently, Apollo Mansion nudged the front corner of its counterpart. The sound of it was a soft, rattling crunch. In response, Ares Mansion shuddered slightly and seemed almost to let out a resigned sigh. A moment later, it arose from the foundation of Victory Hill, producing a long, crumbling, ripping noise.

The crowd erupted into cheers again as the houses traded places, moving like elephantine dancers. Slowly, almost sheepishly, Ares Mansion began its long march down Victory Hill and toward the empty foundation on the opposite end of the mall. In its place, Apollo Mansion settled slowly atop Victory Hill, its footprint meeting perfectly with the gaping foundation beneath it. The ground shook as the weight of the house settled and a puff of masonry dust arose all around it, pale in the moonlight.

The crowd redoubled its cheers, and the members of Team Bigfoot looked around at each other in amazement. Wentworth was there by then, his fingers wrapped in white bandages. Next to him, also wearing various bandages and braces, were Norrick, Mukthatch, Troy Covington, and the rest of the disabled players. Geoffrey Kleinschmidt burst through the front door in his pajamas, his hands raised as if the crowd was cheering solely for him. He made his way down the walkway and joined the team where they stood beaming at one another, happy for the moment beyond words.

462

“Go on in!” Ophelia Wright cried out, nudging James forward. “Check out your new digs!

See what the view looks like from Victory Hill!”

“You too,” Jazmine called, turning to the reserve players from the other houses. “All of you!

Tonight, you’re all Bigfoots!”

“Watch your mouth!” Warrington replied, frowning, but he didn’t argue when the gathering pushed him up the footpath toward Apollo Mansion.

James thought that the building had been transformed, somehow. It looked exactly the same as it always had—just a big blocky mansion, perhaps a little too symmetrical and rather lacking in embellishment—but now, seated atop Victory Hill, the things that had once made it boring now made it regal. It’s the angle, he thought, looking up at it as he approached, smiling with pride and triumph. This is where it was originally built, I’d bet my skrim on it. This is how it was meant to be seen…

This thought was interrupted, however, even as James put his foot on the first step of the main entrance. A very loud, very strange noise fell over the entire campus, shocking the crowd into silence. James glanced back, alarmed.

“What’s tha—” Zane began, but was drowned out by the noise as it sounded again. It was a sort of metallic creak, long and ragged, followed by a rumble and a distant tinkle of breaking glass.

“Is that still the March of the Houses?” Ralph frowned, his eyes wide and nervous.

Next to him, Warrington shook his head. “No. That’s coming from over there, just past Admin Hall.”

“It’s the Medical College,” a voice cried from the crowd. “Something’s wrong with it. Look out!”

The crowd began to move then in that alarming, sluggish way that only large groups of suddenly frightened people can move. They pushed and clambered, backing away from the corner nearest the beige bricks of the Medical College.

James looked, remembering what he had seen earlier, the small gathering in front of the Medical College’s main entrance—Uncle Percy, Lucy, Izzy, and the group of Wizarding Court agents.

The arbiter, Albert Keynes, had not been in sight, but he had to have been there somewhere.

“What have you done?” James asked under his breath, his eyes widening. He realized, with no real surprise, that the question wasn’t addressed to Keynes.

As he watched, the lights of the beige building flickered, flashed, and then fell dark. Inside, monstrously, that awful noise sounded again, creaking and groaning rather like a beast in pain. And then, with no warning, most of the windows on the nearest side of the building exploded outwards.

Glass tinkled and flashed like confetti, spreading out and down into the nearby trees.

Another noise followed—a sort of massive crumpling crash, and the face of the building changed. It sucked inward, distorting the shape of the structure as if it had been punched by a gigantic invisible fist. Bricks and broken masonry showered down into the bushes.

463

“It’s imploding!” Zane announced, both frightened and amazed. “What could make it do that?”

Not a what, James thought, but didn’t say, a who.

Debris rained down from the face of the Medical College, but the noise fell away. The event seemed to have spent itself. A moment later, James sensed movement at the far edge of the crowd, closest to the distorted building. The gathering was parting, spreading away from some moving nucleus. James stood on tiptoes, trying to see who or what it was. From his vantage point atop Victory Hill, he could finally see.

It was, of course, Petra.

She was walking away from the Medical College, her face pale and calm. Accompanying her, one on each side, were Izzy and Lucy. Both younger girls looked around at the parting throng, their eyes bright in the darkness.

James broke away from his friends and moved down the footpath of Victory Hill, meeting Petra as she emerged from the crowd. No one had tried to stop her or even to question her. Perfect silence hung over the scene as everyone watched, inexplicably breathless.

Petra met James’ eyes. She looked tired and drawn but otherwise perfectly normal. She was holding Lucy’s right hand and Izzy’s left. Slowly, she glanced aside at the broken statue where it lay nearby, glinting in the moonlight.

“Congratulations, James,” she said weakly, and offered him a small affectionate smile. “You won.”

A ripple of commotion moved over the crowd as realization dawned on those closest to the front: this was Petra Morganstern, the one who had attacked the Hall of Archives and cursed Mr.

Henredon, the one who had been escorted to the Medical College unconscious, in preparation for her imprisonment.

“But they gave her the poison apple!” someone whispered harshly. “How’d she wake up?” 464

“She’s a criminal,” another rasped. “She’s dangerous!”

And another: “Look what she did to the Medical College!”

A low clamor arose from the crowd, spreading to a rabble. Then, louder voices called out in commanding tones. James looked up and didn’t know whether to be relieved or dismayed to see Chancellor Franklyn approaching, shouldering through the throng. Professor Jackson and Mother Newt were close behind, their faces grim. Inexplicably, Albus seemed to be following along in Professor Jackson’s wake, his eyes shining with the excitement of it all.

“Ms. Morganstern,” Franklyn announced as he broke through the crowd. “What are you doing? Return to the Medical College at once! Where are your guards?”

“I’m sorry, Chancellor,” Petra said, and James heard in her voice that she truly was. “I’m sorry for everything that’s happened. But I won’t be going back. Perhaps I will be able to repair everything. But not now. There are more pressing matters.”

“There are no more pressing matters, miss,” Jackson proclaimed grimly. James saw that the professor had his wand in his hand, at the ready. Albus peered avidly around Jackson’s elbow as he went on. “You are a convicted criminal. You understand that we cannot allow you to leave this campus.”

“And you understand, I think, that there is no way you can stop me,” Petra replied, almost apologetically.

Jackson raised his wand. Franklyn saw this and raised his as well, his face strained. He opened his mouth to speak, but Mother Newt interrupted him.

“What is it you need to do, my dear?” she asked, moving ahead of the two men and smiling curiously at Petra.

Petra looked aside, at James. “We have a journey to make,” she answered. “Not far and yet, I think, very far indeed. Are you still with me, James?”

James nodded. “But how do you know about that? I never got a chance to tell you…?”

“I know because you know,” she said, and James understood: the silver thread. It ran both ways. She may not have understood the plan before her arrest, but she did now. James could see it in her eyes as she looked at him.

“And what, if I may be so bold,” Mother Newt asked, still smiling faintly, “is the purpose of this journey?”

James answered this time. “To find out the truth, ma’am.”

Franklyn shook his head firmly. “No. I cannot allow this. Professor Newton, you do not understand what it is they intend to do. They mean to open the Nexus Curtain. You see that Apollo Mansion once again stands atop Victory Hill. Given the proper key, they may succeed in passing through into another dimension. The young lady means to escape into a realm where none will be able to follow her!”

465

“That’s not true,” James called out, moving to get in front of Petra. “Petra doesn’t need to escape because she’s not guilty!” He stopped and then glanced back over his shoulder, his brow knitted. “Er… are you?”

Petra met his gaze but didn’t respond. At least, not with words.

“Chancellor,” Mother Newt said, “as a matter of fact, I am inclined to disagree with you. I do not believe that Ms. Morganstern means to escape. I believe that she is telling us the truth.

About everything.”

“All evidence to the contrary, Professor,” Jackson said, his wand still raised and pointed at Petra, “how could you possibly know this?”

Mother Newt’s smile broadened as she continued to stare at Petra. “Call it woman’s intuition,” she said with low emphasis. “Besides, I suspect that she is right about one more thing: I don’t believe we can stop her even if we wished to. She is…,” Mother Newt paused and narrowed her eyes, “… unique.”

“Professor Newton,” Franklyn said, shaking his head again, making his square spectacles flash in the moonlight, “we cannot simply allow this woman to leave. She is a convicted prisoner of the Wizarding Court of the United States.”

“But she isn’t leaving, not technically,” Mother Newt replied lightly. “If you are right, Chancellor, then Ms. Morganstern will simply be entering Apollo Mansion. She can still be said to be confined to the campus. None would deny that fact. Thus, I believe, we can be honestly said to have performed our duties as well as could be expected under the circumstances.”

“Madam,” Jackson began, but Mother Newt stopped him with a quick backward glare.

“Put down your wand, Theodore,” she said, her voice suddenly steely. “Don’t be a fool. We are teachers. This is, as they say, well above our pay grade.”

“She is a prisoner of the Wizarding Courts,” Franklyn insisted urgently, lowering his own wand.

“And we are not arbiters,” Mother Newt answered, sighing. “Let the young lady do what she means to do. She will return. Won’t you, dear?” she asked, addressing this last to Petra.

“If I can,” Petra answered. “And I will submit to whatever consequences there are when I do.

I am hoping that things will look a bit different by then. To all of us.” Franklyn’s face was red with tension. Jackson appeared to be balanced precariously between raising his wand again and submitting to Mother Newt’s suggestion.

“Thank you, Professor,” Petra said to the older woman across from her.

“Please,” Newt said, smiling in a grandmotherly fashion, “call me Mother Newt.” Petra turned to James again and then glanced aside toward Ralph and Zane, who had also approached, their eyes wide and grave.

466

“I guess I’ll go get the unicorn horseshoe,” Zane suggested in a hushed voice. “It’s still buried under the Warping Willow…”

“No need,” Petra said. She let go of Lucy’s hand and reached into a pocket on the front of her drab dress. James would have sworn that the pocket was too small to contain anything so large, but when Petra withdrew her hand, she was holding the silvery horseshoe. It glowed faintly and a low murmur of awe and fear thrummed through the crowd.

“Dear God,” a voice said faintly. James glanced back and saw Chancellor Franklyn staring up at the horseshoe, his face draining of colour. He’s figured it all out, James thought. Just like that. He is one smart fellow…

“I didn’t expect we’d be doing this in front of the entire school,” Ralph muttered, accepting the horseshoe as Petra handed it to him.

“It doesn’t matter,” Petra said, smiling wanly. She turned to Lucy and Izzy. “You both stay here. There’s no need for you to come.”

Izzy made no effort to let go of Petra’s hand and James understood that Petra’s suggestion was merely perfunctory. There was no way Izzy would consent to staying behind.

“I want to come,” Lucy said, looking from Petra to James. “I want to see. I don’t know anything about what’s going to happen, but I’m in on it now, no matter what.” James expected Petra to forbid Lucy, but the older girl merely nodded. She looked back at Ralph, who still held the faintly glowing horseshoe.

“Let’s do it,” Zane announced stoically. “Let’s get it over with.” Together, the three boys and three girls turned and walked up Victory Hill, approaching the corner of Apollo Mansion. The remainder of Team Bigfoot gathered silently around them, but at a careful distance. All of them could see the horseshoe shape engraved in the building’s cornerstone, divided by the crack between the main house and the permanent foundation.

“What’s this all about, James?” Jazmine asked quietly. James glanced back at her.

“It’s… a long story,” he answered after a moment. “But it’s not a bad story. Petra is my friend. I have to try to help her.”

“You’ll tell us all about it when you get back, right?” Wentworth suggested, frowning slightly.

“Definitely,” Ralph nodded, producing his large wand. Its lime-green tip glowed dimly in the moonlight.

“You want us to come too?” Gobbins asked. “Because we could, you know.” The rest of the team, even the reserve players, murmured agreement.

“No,” James replied, smiling, “but thanks.”

“Whew,” Norrick breathed. “Good luck, then. Wherever you’re going, and whatever you’re gonna do when you get there, good luck.”

Mukthatch let out an encouraging woof.

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Ralph turned around and held the horseshoe up, measuring it against the shape carved into the conjoined cornerstone.

“Petra,” James asked quietly, turning to look at her, “what happened back there, in the Medical College? What happened to Keynes?”

Petra met his gaze thoughtfully. “He’s still alive,” she answered simply. James sensed her thoughts and sensed that this was the truth. It wasn’t all of the truth, he knew, but for now, it was enough.

He moved a step closer to her so that no one else would hear. “Is it true, Petra?” he whispered. “Are you a… a sorceress?”

Her eyes hadn’t left his. “Yes,” she mouthed, and shrugged faintly. Tears stood in her eyes, shining dully. She tried to smile, but it faltered.

James nodded. For now, there was nothing more to say.

With a soft grating sound, Ralph pushed the unicorn horseshoe into the shape engraved in the cornerstone. There was no shocking noise or burst of magical light, and yet the crowd responded. A sigh of awe washed over the quadrangle. James looked up, as did the rest. A faint rose-coloured light glowed from every window of Apollo Mansion. It shifted softly, seeming to hint at every colour of the rainbow and even some colours that James had never imagined.

“I guess we go inside,” Lucy suggested, her voice an octave higher than usual. “Is that it?” James nodded. He reached out, took Lucy’s hand in his right and Petra’s in his left. Slowly, the group began to walk toward the main entrance of Apollo Mansion.

“Boys!” a voice called suddenly. James paused again with one foot on the first step. He looked back and saw Chancellor Franklyn peering up at him, his face lit with the soft, rosy light.

“If you see Ignatius Magnussen,” Franklyn said earnestly, “tell him… tell him to stay away.

Tell him not to come back. Will you do that?”

With those words, James thought he finally understood Franklyn’s reasons for wanting to keep the Nexus Curtain closed for good. Magnussen, despite being Franklyn’s friend, had been a monster. If he had escaped through the Nexus Curtain, then perhaps—hopefully—it had been a one-way trip. Perhaps the only way the murderer could ever return would be if the Curtain was opened again from this side. Franklyn had made it his life’s mission to assure that that never happened.

“He won’t be coming back, Chancellor,” Ralph answered stolidly, raising his voice just enough to be heard. “Trust us.”

Franklyn studied Ralph’s face for a moment and then nodded slowly.

A moment later, Zane reached for the door handle atop the short stoop of Apollo Mansion.

He gripped it, thumbed the latch, and pushed it open. The mysterious pulsing light covered every surface inside, shifting hypnotically.

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“All of us together,” Petra said, squeezing James’ hand. “Everyone hold onto someone else. I think the moment we cross over the threshold, we’ll go through. I think the whole house is the portal. Ready?”

James gulped. Ralph shuddered. Zane said, “You all go on ahead. I’m just gonna pop back to Hermes House for my camera. ’Kay?”

Ralph grabbed the blonde boy’s hand and Zane gripped it, tittering nervously.

As one, the six stepped through the doorway into the faint rosy light, and vanished.

James’ first step into the World Between the Worlds nearly tumbled him headlong over a rocky black cliff. Petra and Lucy were still holding his hands on either side and they pulled him back even as his foot dipped into empty space. He gasped as he drew his foot back and wobbled on the ledge. The six travelers peered carefully down into the misty distance.

They seemed to be standing on the lip of a shallow cave worn into a cliff of sharp black stone. A hundred feet below, monstrous waves slammed against the face of the cliff, sending up explosions of white water as if in slow motion. Beyond this, steely grey ocean stretched off toward the horizon, heaving beneath a low, white sky.

James shuddered. “I nearly fell into that,” he commented, wide-eyed.

“This isn’t the most convenient place to put a portal,” Zane nodded. “Even if you survived the drop, who knows what kind of monsters swim around in an ocean like that?”

“None at all,” Petra answered, her voice calm but emphatic. “There’s nothing alive in that water. Nothing at all. You can sort of feel it, can’t you?”

Lucy frowned. It was almost a grimace of disgust. “Yes,” she answered. “It’s like this isn’t really a place at all. It’s more like a kind of window dressing, something just to take up the space.

There’s no… no taste to it. No life or colour at all. It’s like chewing on cardboard.” 469

“Or like taking a peek behind the curtain of reality,” Ralph agreed, his face tense. “Like it’s here just because something has to be, but it’s not meant to be seen by anyone.”

“I think it makes sense,” Izzy said, still holding Petra’s hand.

Petra agreed. “It’s not really a world after all,” she mused. “It’s just the World Between the Worlds.”

“Look,” Zane suddenly pointed, raising his arm toward the distant horizon. “It isn’t all just water. There’s something out there.”

James followed Zane’s pointing finger. Very faint and distant, a dark shape clung to the horizon.

“Is it a boat?” Lucy asked doubtfully.

Ralph shook his head. “It’s an island, I think. But not like any island I’ve ever seen. It looks almost like a big giant footstool.”

“It’s a plateau,” Petra said. “Just like this one, I think. Look over to the right. There’s another one.”

“There’s more on this side,” Zane added, peering around the boulders of the cave’s left edge.

James leaned carefully out over the rocks of the cave’s mouth, scanning the length of the watery horizon. The shapes were grey in the ocean mist, so far off as to be almost invisible, but once you began looking for them, more and more of them seemed to appear. They were eerily similar: rocky plateaus, oddly flat on top, rising like giants’ stepping stones out of the monstrous ocean.

“What are they?” Izzy asked in a hushed voice.

“They’re portals,” Petra answered, and James did not doubt her. “Like this one. Each one leads to a different universe, or dimension, or reality. Some of them would be almost exactly like our own. Others would be so different, so alien, that we could barely look at them.”

“They’re awful,” Lucy proclaimed with a shiver, hugging herself.

“No,” Petra countered. “They’re just themselves. They aren’t good or bad. They just are.” Ralph asked, “Do you think this whole world is covered with them?” Petra shook her head. “It isn’t a world. It isn’t round, and it doesn’t have an end. But yes. I think all of it is like this. On and on, infinitely. If one had a boat, just think of the places they could go, the things they could see.”

James shuddered again at the thought. The idea of taking a boat out onto that strangely disastrous, unnaturally flat ocean was horrible. Looking out over all that distance and those endless bland islands, James wanted nothing more than to crawl back into the shallow of the cave and huddle into a ball. He turned around and was both amazed and relieved to see a door standing in the shadows of the cave. It was framed with wood and James recognized it immediately as the front entrance of Apollo Mansion, seen from the inside. It hung open and through it, James could still see 470

the slope of Victory Hill, the broken werewolf statue, and the crowd congregated on the quad behind Administration Hall, milling uncertainly.

“I guess that’s how we go back when we’re ready,” he said, gesturing toward the doorway.

The others turned and looked, and there was a palpable sense of relief. The view of the dark quad and the familiar campus was very comforting after all that bright, blank vastness.

Lucy finally let go of James’ hand. “So what do we do now?”

James glanced around nervously. “I guess we just look around,” he ventured. “The whole reason we came here is because this is the one place that someone could hide something as powerful as the stolen thread from the Vault of Destinies. If we can find the thread, then perhaps we can find out who really broke into the Archive and prove Petra’s innocence.”

“Not to mention,” Zane added suddenly, as if the idea had just occurred to him, “if we find the missing thread, maybe we can put it back into the Loom! Maybe that would set everything back to rights again! After all, our Loom was switched with one from another dimension, right? It got stuck here instead of reverting back to its own universe because whoever broke into the Vault stole the crimson thread from it! Remember what Professor Jackson said? He said that the switching of the Looms between our dimension and some foreign one changed everything, and maybe even broke the balance of the destinies! He made it sound like if the thread wasn’t returned, eventually things would break down into complete chaos! Maybe if we put it back…”

“Then all of our destinies will snap back to the way they were before the break-in happened,” James said, completing his friend’s thought. “I wonder, is that really possible?”

“Perhaps Petra will never have been arrested?” Izzy suggested, a small ray of hope alighting on her brow.

“Maybe, if we replace the crimson thread,” Zane replied thoughtfully, “then none of this will have happened.”

The gathering was quiet for a moment as they all considered this. Finally, James nodded decisively.

“All right then,” he announced. “Everyone take a look around. Let’s see if we can find any evidence that someone from our world was here recently.”

Ralph blinked. “Like, maybe, a candy wrapper or something?”

“Why,” Zane asked, “do you see one?”

“No,” Ralph shook his head, and then pointed. “But there are some stairs carved into the rocks by the ledge over there. Maybe somebody dropped something there…?” James peered around the larger boy, looking toward the right corner of the cave’s mouth. Just as Ralph had said, a series of worn, narrow steps curved around a boulder, leading out into the dull light.

Lucy asked, “Where do you think they go?”

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Petra took a step toward the stairs. “Up,” she said simply. She let go of James’ hand, renewed her grip on Izzy’s, and moved toward the nearly hidden stone staircase. The rest followed in silence.

The stairs did indeed go up. As James followed Petra and Izzy into the strangely flat light of the World Between the Worlds, he saw the stairs rising unevenly before them, carved into the crags of the cliff. The steps were worn smooth with age, and were wet with mist so that James gulped as he began to climb them. He felt the pull of the distance on his left side, heard the shuddering crash of the surf as it reached up, up, trying to drag them all down into it. To compensate, he leaned against the cliff face on his right, nearly hugging it as he climbed. Behind him, Lucy, Zane, and Ralph followed closely, shooting worried glances into the hungry depths.

Several minutes went by. The cliff was remarkably high and James felt that the steps had taken them some distance around the strange island. Finally, unexpectedly, the six travelers reached the top. Petra and Izzy moved a few paces out onto a flat plateau and the rest gathered around them, clustering unconsciously against the gaping white space all around.

James realized where they were even before he saw the black castle. He remembered the hissing shush of the yellow grass and the march of the clouds as the wind pushed them. He’d seen it all in Petra’s dream-visions and had assumed it had only been a figment of her subconscious mind.

Now, standing on the solid rock of this place, feeling the salty mist on his face and the feather of the wind as it combed through his hair like fingers, he felt the subtle shift of destinies. Here, everything was possible. The six of them were standing on the raw bedrock of reality, from which all dimensions sprang and grew. Here, every footstep had the potential to shake universes. And somehow, deep in the basement of Petra’s mind, she had known. She had sensed they would end up here, and because she had known it, so had James. He just hadn’t made the connection.

“I sure wasn’t expecting that,” Ralph breathed, staring with astonishment at the black castle.

It stood on the distant ledge of the plateau, defying gravity, encrusted with turrets and conical roofs.

Its windows were tall and narrow, glassless, black as doom.

“That’s where we need to go,” James said, not at all wanting to go there, but knowing it was their destination nonetheless. Beside him, Petra nodded.

“Someone’s there,” Lucy said in a low voice.

Zane peered up at the castle. “Looks empty to me,” he commented, a little hopefully. “It almost looks… sort of… dead.”

“Nice,” Ralph moaned.

Petra spoke calmly. “If there is someone there, then they’re expecting us. This is what we came for, isn’t it? Let’s go. But… keep your wands handy. You never know.” The group began to make their way across the gentle hump of the plateau, wading through the whispering yellow grass. With a sinking jolt, James remembered that he had dropped his own wand during the last seconds of the Clutchcudgel tournament and had completely forgotten to retrieve it afterward. He cursed himself silently, but reminded himself that he was walking alongside 472

one of the most powerful people in the magical world. If Petra proved unable to confront whatever was to come, then his wand surely would not be of any help anyway.

As the minutes passed, the castle grew gradually closer. It was rather small, at least compared to Hogwarts, but nearly fantastically tall, scraping its towers at the grey clouds. James noticed that just as in the dream-visions, the castle was perched on the ledge of the far cliff, jutting partly over it in complete defiance of gravity. Perhaps magic held it in place or perhaps it was simply balanced there by habit. Either way, it was very disconcerting to look at. James felt that the mere weight of his gaze might be enough to send the structure collapsing backwards into the waiting waves below.

“What’s that?” Izzy asked suddenly, stopping and pointing. James turned and saw an object protruding from the grass some distance away, in the shadow of a low outcropping of boulders.

Silently, the troop angled toward the object, cautious but curious.

James was the first to reach it. He peered at it, trying to make sense of the shape of it. It was quite large, but low and streamlined, comprised of wood and metal and draped with tangles of thin, silky rope. It lay tilted onto its side, nearly buried in the grass.

“It looks like a boat,” Ralph suggested uncertainly. “But how could it have gotten up here?”

“It’s not a boat,” Zane called from some distance away. “Look at the hill next to it. See all that old fabric?”

James looked. Next to the boat-shape was a pool of wrinkled blue fabric, faded almost white.

It clung to the rocky hill like a skin, poked through in a thousand places with tufts of grass.

“It was an airship,” Lucy said, her voice filled with awe. “Someone came here by air. A long time ago, by the look of it. Maybe decades ago.”

“Maybe even centuries,” Petra added. “There’s no way to know for sure. There’re no bugs here. Nothing to rot the cloth or wood, nothing to corrode the metal. It looks almost like the day it landed except that the balloon is flat and destroyed by the grass that poked up through it.”

“Travelers from one of the other island dimensions, you think?” James asked, approaching the wooden hull and peering in. The inside was nearly empty save for a few seats and a large rudder handle which protruded crookedly from the rear.

“One traveler, at least,” Petra hazarded. “I wonder what dimension he came from? And if he made it into our own world?

James noticed a series of symbols painted onto the hull of the ship, faded almost into obscurity. Among them was the unmistakable shape of a unicorn, white and stern, its horn a pale purple. Ralph and Zane joined James there and saw the same thing.

“The Rider,” James said quietly. “The one from the tapestries in Erebus Castle! This was his ship. His and the unicorn that came with him.”

“How can that be?” Ralph queried in a low voice. “When the Rider came through, he arrived somewhere back home, in Europe, in the Middle Ages, didn’t he?” 473

James shook his head. “These portals aren’t like normal doorways,” he replied. “I don’t think time or distance make much difference with them. The Nexus Curtain may always be there, connecting to our world, but it probably looks different every time it opens. It may open up into entirely different times and places in our world. There’s no way of knowing.” Zane was barely listening. He was moving along the hull of the abandoned airship, studying the symbols painted onto it. “Look,” he said, touching one of the drawings. “The unicorn that came through with the Rider wasn’t just a regular beast. You can see that just by looking at the way it’s painted. It was smart. It wasn’t the servant of the Rider.”

“They were partners,” Ralph agreed, leaning to peer at the drawings. “They were explorers.” James shook his head darkly. “Too bad their explorations led them here.” They knew the dangers they faced, a thin, ghostly voice said in James’ ear.

The three boys startled and spun around, their eyes bulging. Behind them, staring at them with sad curiosity was a wispy grey shape, almost invisible in the flat light of the plateau. It was the figure of a woman, young and moderately pretty, with huge eyes and a small, sad mouth.

Sorry, she said faintly. I didn’t mean to frighten you.

“Are you a gh-gh—,” Ralph stammered, his face going white. “A ghost?”

“Oh good grief, Ralph,” Lucy said, approaching and shaking her head. “You had a ghost teacher for the last two years at Hogwarts.”

“Yeah,” Ralph admitted a little defensively. “Well, it’s one thing to have a scheduled class with one. It’s another thing to have one whisper in your ear when you’re exploring some weird dead island.”

Sorry, the ghost said again, drifting backwards. It’s been so long since I’ve seen anyone. I forget what it’s like to deal with the living.

“Who are you, miss?” Petra asked, tilting her head thoughtfully.

My name is Fredericka, the ghost answered, and made a dutiful curtsy with her transparent hands. Fredericka Staples. I’ve been here ever since I… She paused before finishing, as if she was embarrassed or reluctant to admit it. Um, ever since I died.

“Fredericka Staples,” James said, his eyes widening. “You’re the one who… the woman that Magnussen…! Er!”

The ghost nodded and pressed her lips together, obviously not wishing to discuss the topic.

“Who?” Lucy asked, but James shook his head.

“She died on the campus of Alma Aleron,” he answered quietly. “She was a Muggle and she got mixed up with the wrong dark wizard. I’ll tell you the rest later if you really want to know.”

“I don’t,” Lucy said quickly. “Pleased to meet you, Miss Staples. I think.”

“But I thought there weren’t any ghosts at Alma Aleron,” Ralph commented.

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Zane shrugged. “I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore, Toto.”

Ralph rolled his eyes. “I don’t know what that means.”

Lucy said, “It means we aren’t at Alma Aleron anymore, are we? The regular rules don’t apply.”

“Perhaps,” Petra mused, as if to herself. “Perhaps this place is the reason there are no ghosts at Alma Aleron. Perhaps the portal into the World Between the Worlds is like a ghostly magnet, sucking them in or driving them away, or even both at the same time.”

“But that can’t be right,” James said. “Nobody can get through the Nexus Curtain without the proper key.”

“I think that’s only true for the living,” Izzy commented thoughtfully. “The dead can get through all kinds of doorways that were closed while they were alive.” The ghost of Fredericka Staples nodded. When I died, there was a huge white light. I knew I was supposed to go to it, but I didn’t want to. I wasn’t ready to leave yet. I was engaged to be married, you see. My life had barely just begun and I didn’t really know then that I had died. Not really. The light drew me to it, but I resisted it. And then, as I pushed back from the white light… something else began to pull at me. It was like the opposite of the white light… it was… a black hole, sort of. It was strong and I couldn’t control it. It pulled me in, and then… suddenly… I was here. At first, I thought this was the afterlife, but not for very long. It wasn’t either heaven or hell. It was just… here. And there were people here, sometimes.

James blinked. “You’ve seen people here?”

Fredericka looked at him and then gestured toward the ancient airship. More of the ships came once, a long time ago, she said in her thin, far-off voice. They looked just like that one, only bigger.

They saw me and spoke to me. They’d traced the journey of the ones who came in that ship and asked me about them. I told them I was sorry, that I didn’t know anything about their missing friends. Then they used their tools to learn the truth—that evil magical people had captured the man and the unicorn and killed them—and then they discovered that the same had happened to me. They learned more, though.

They learned that not all of the people from our world are like the ones who committed those acts. There are good ones among us, always fighting the bad, but the balance of power is forever changing. They determined that our world was too dangerous for them to explore, and built the black castle as a warning.

It’s been there ever since, empty and silent. Until very recently.

“You saw someone else,” Petra said. It wasn’t a question, but Fredericka nodded anyway, turning her attention to her.

I saw, but I didn’t approach. I hid. I knew it was safer that way. Being a ghost has its benefits.

Hardly anything can scare you anymore. But some things are worse than death. I hid and I watched.

Petra seemed to understand this. “They went to the castle, didn’t they?” Fredericka nodded, unwilling or unable to say any more.

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“That’s where we’re going,” James said, and swallowed past a lump of fear in his throat. “We should keep moving, before it gets dark.”

It never gets dark here, Fredericka instructed blandly. Nothing ever changes here at all. Not even time.

“Come with us, Miss Staples,” Lucy suggested. “Maybe we can help you get back to our own world.”

Fredericka considered this with obvious longing and then shook her head. I can’t go into the castle, she said. I was afraid to go inside even before… she … arrived. Now I can’t even bear to think of it.

Petra said, “Do you know where the staircase is, Fredericka? The one that leads down to the cave portal?” When the ghost nodded, Petra smiled. “I think you’ll be able to get back yourself if you really want to. As long as we are here, the portal is open and it’ll take you back to our time and place. Perhaps you can get through and stay there if you try very hard.” Fredericka looked heartbreakingly hopeful. Do you really think so?

“I don’t know,” Petra answered, but James thought she did. “Either way, it’s worth a try.

Good luck, Fredericka.”

“Good luck,” James added, and the others joined in.

Thank you, Fredericka said faintly. I think I’m ready to go on now. Into the light, if I can, and whatever is beyond it. Maybe I’ll see you all again on the other side.

“Later rather than sooner,” Ralph said quickly, and the ghost smiled her understanding. A moment later, she turned and seemed to fade from view as she drifted across the plateau.

The gathering watched the ghost of Fredericka Staples vanish and then stood in the constantly shushing grass for a long moment, silent and thoughtful. Finally, still wordlessly, James turned back toward the castle. It stood tall and ominous on the near horizon, casting virtually no shadow in the diffuse light of the World Between the Worlds. The others turned around as well and looked up at the stark shape, weighing their own secret thoughts and fears.

Slowly but surely, the six travelers resumed their journey.

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24. Through the Curtains

As they neared the castle, the silence seemed to develop its own strange inertia. At first, James merely felt that there was nothing to say. And then, as the minutes passed, he began to feel as if spoken words would somehow spoil the moment—not because the moment was beautiful, of course, for it certainly was not, but because there was a brittleness in the air, a tension that spun out like spider’s silk, that James was loath to break. As the gathering finally approached the cliff ’s edge upon which the black castle stood, James finally realized the truth of why everyone had grown so quiet: they were all afraid that there really was someone inside the castle, someone powerful and terrifying, who might hear even the softest whisper and come out to greet them.

When they stood before the massive open gates of the castle, however, speech became necessary.

James rasped, “Do we just go in? Should we… knock, like?”

“We just go in,” Petra replied, her own voice hushed. “But keep a sharp eye out.”

“Someone’s watching,” Lucy nearly moaned, peering up at the overhanging balconies.

Petra nodded. “I know. They’re waiting for us.”

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James stepped alongside her as they moved into the shadow of the entryway. “Do you know who it is?”

Petra shook her head and pressed her lips together.

The inside of the castle was almost entirely empty. One enormous room yawned before the travelers, leaping up into shadowy vaults and stretching off toward pillared archways on the far side.

The group’s footsteps echoed loudly in the darkness, making stealth impossible. The stone floor was covered with decades of blown grit and drifts of dead grass. As the troop crept into the center of the space, moving in a nervous huddle, James caught a hint of movement on the far wall. He peered into the darkness, squinting without his glasses, and made out a large framed shape. It was much larger than a man and filled with shifting shadows: a gently billowing curtain.

“I have a bad feeling about this,” Zane muttered, looking in the same direction as James.

Ralph nodded. “There are more of them. All around the room. I see at least a dozen.”

“They’re escape routes,” Petra said in a low voice. “Placed here by those who built the castle for those unfortunate adventurers who might end up marooned here. Each curtain will take the stranded traveler back to the dimension from which they came, although the where and when might be a bit tetchy.”

Nervously, Lucy asked, “How do you know these things, Petra?”

Petra shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“So they’re all like mini Nexus Curtains,” James said, looking around wonderingly at the gently billowing portals.

Ralph seemed heartened by this news. “So all of these will take us back to our own world?”

“I’d beware of them,” Petra warned. “They’re under the influence of she who has taken this castle. They will do what they were made for, but not without her capricious tricks. You may find yourself in the bottom of the Dead Sea, or a hundred feet over a live volcano. Beware of these portals unless there is no other hope.”

“Good advice indeed,” a woman’s voice said brightly. The sound of it echoed all around, rendering it huge and directionless. James startled, as did the rest of the group. All eyes scanned the dark space, seeking the speaker, but no one was evident.

“Who are you?” Petra called out. “And why have you attacked our world?”

“That’s not the question you really want answered,” the voice replied, still echoing broadly around the cavernous room. “Here, time may not mean much, but I assure you, in the world from which you come, it is still marching along as always, and there are things we must attend to, you and I. Let us not waste precious minutes on trivialities.”

James raised his voice and ventured, “Where’s the crimson thread?”

“A better question,” the woman’s voice answered, smiling, and a thin beam of light came into view, cutting through the heights of the room and alighting on a previously unnoticed scene. James 478

turned toward it and was surprised at what he saw. A collection of utterly prosaic furniture was laid out in the unmistakable arrangement of a bedroom. There was a narrow bed and side table, a chest, a desk, and a high-backed chair, turned so that it faced away from the travelers.

Petra’s hand squeezed James’ suddenly, nearly hard enough to hurt.

“The thread is there,” the woman’s voice echoed in answer.

James squinted toward the light. A small silver jewelry box sat open upon the desk. Visible just inside it was an opal brooch. Spooled around this, glinting in the light, was a length of metallic red thread.

Zane gasped. “The missing thread!”

Petra moaned, “My father’s brooch!”

James broke away from the group. Steeling himself, he approached the desk, which stood nearest of all the furnishings. When he reached for the brooch, however, his hand froze. He felt the veins of his fingers go brittle a moment before the flesh crackled white all the way up to his wrist.

Tendrils of icy vapor trailed behind as he yanked his hand away and hugged it to his chest, crying out in shock and fear.

“That was unwise,” the woman’s voice said, smugly amused. “But instructive, I am quite sure. Only she who owns the brooch may approach it.”

“Why are you doing this?” Petra demanded, striding toward James and taking his hand into both of her own. After a moment, James cried out again as the feeling returned to it. He flexed his fingers experimentally and then glanced thankfully at Petra.

“I am not doing any of it,” the woman answered, and James finally thought he saw her. A figure stood disguised in the shadows beyond the beam of light. Even in the darkness, he recognized the shape of her—the hooded robe, framing that beautiful, arrogant face. It was the woman he had first met in the halls of the Aquapolis back at the beginning of their journey. It was Judith, the Lady of the Lake.

“You are right, James,” the woman said, as if reading his thoughts. She stepped forward slightly so that the light reflected up onto her features. “But only a little. I have taken the form of the woman that Merlinus once loved, but I have also adopted a trace of the woman your sorceress friend bargained for. If she looks at me closely, she will see it.” Petra peered past the beam of light toward the woman on the other side. Her face paled.

“Mother?” she whispered.

“I am both and I am neither,” the woman answered lightly, waving a hand. “I have borrowed from the shape of Merlin’s Judith and your own mother, my dear, partly because it amuses me and partly because it was the condition of the bargain.”

“The bargain,” Petra said, still whispering. “But… I didn’t kill Izzy. The dreams I had at the beginning of our journey were wrong. Izzy didn’t die in the lake on that night. I called it off. The bargain was never completed.”

479

“You didn’t kill Izabella,” the woman corrected, “but you did kill. You sent your stepmother into the lake in your sister’s place. By doing so, you only changed the conditions. The bargain itself was fulfilled. Your destiny insisted upon it. Thus, rather than recalling your beloved mother from the afterlife, you got… me. I arose from the lake on the night that you murdered your stepmother.

You recalled me from the mists of the netherworld, my dear, in the place of your mother. I wish I could say that I was sorry, but alas, I am not.”

“Who are you?” Petra asked again.

“This is still not the question that begs to be asked,” the woman replied impatiently, “but if you must know, I am a Fate. There are three of us, although not in the way that you might think.

The other two Fates do not know their own identities, and for now that suits me just fine. My true name would be unpronounceable to you, so you may simply call me Judith or the Lady of the Lake.

I enjoy both titles.”

“Why are you doing this?” This time, it was Lucy who approached. She stood next to James.

“Why?” the woman said, raising her eyebrows in a surprised smile. “Because it is my destiny.

And because I enjoy it. Need there be any other reason?” She laughed. “The truth is, I have been working toward this end for nearly a year by your time—almost since the moment I arose from the lake’s surface. It took me some time to find all of you, but once I did, I knew that you would lead me to where I needed to be. I even assisted when it was absolutely necessary. And sure enough, you led me to Alma Aleron and that delightful device known as the Vault of Destinies. The rest was eerily easy.”

James felt Zane and Ralph join him now. The group was once again complete.

Petra’s voice turned cold as she said, “What is it you want?”

“Still the wrong question,” Judith scolded, her smile turning brittle. “Soon I will grow impatient with you. Stop wasting our precious time. We have work to do.” Zane spoke up then, his voice trembling slightly. “Give us back the crimson thread!”

“That is a demand, not a question.” Judith sneered slightly, turning her pretty face piggish for a moment. “And I cannot grant your demand at any rate.”

Petra made to reach for the brooch, around which was twined the tantalizing thread, but Judith chided her warningly.

“I would not be so bold, dear one,” she teased. “The brooch can only be taken by she who owns it.”

“But I own it!” Petra exclaimed. It was nearly a plea.

James took one more step forward, placing himself at the head of the group, his hand still intertwined with Petra’s. “Will you,” he asked, framing the question with great emphasis, “give us back the crimson thread?”

480

“That’s the question I’ve been waiting for!” Judith cried out, clapping her hands with glee.

“And I have an answer for you, James Sirius Potter, you wonderful, bold young man. The answer is no.”

“Why not?” James demanded, barely stopping himself from reaching for the thread-twined brooch again.

“Because that is not the crimson thread!” Judith exclaimed, delightedly. “And because the real crimson thread does not wish to go back!”

As Judith spoke, James perceived movement inside the beam of the light. He turned toward it and saw that there was someone else in the castle with them, someone who’d been there the entire time, seated on the high-backed chair, turned away from them. A pale hand moved on the arm of the chair, gripping it as the figure stood, arose to her full height, and turned around.

“You wonderful fools,” Judith breathed triumphantly, gazing at the young woman who now stood in the beam of light. “You failed to understand the true meaning of the Loom. That length of thread you see wrapped around the brooch is only a symbol. She is the true Crimson Thread, drawn through the Vault of Destinies from her own dimension, just as the symbolic thread itself was plucked from the Loom. As long as the symbolic thread stays here with us, so… does… SHE.” James was speechless. He stared into the beam of light, unable to take his eyes from the young woman standing there, smiling weakly. Her hair was long and dark, framing a face he knew very well except for the eyes. There, he saw only a hollow deadness, lurking just under a pall of misery. Except for the eyes, the young woman standing inside the light, at home in that odd bedroom assembly, was Petra herself.

“Izzy,” the other Petra said, her voice cracking into tears. “I’m so sorry I killed you.”

“It was you I dreamed of,” Petra said, staring at her sudden twin. “Not me. In your world, you were too late. You killed her.”

The other Petra nodded slowly, not taking her eyes from the Izzy that stood just outside the light.

“So that’s your brooch,” James said, nodding toward the jewelry box. “You never went on the ocean journey with us, so you never lost it.”

“This is not the Petra you know, James,” Judith replied, finally moving into the light. “In her world, she never came to your home seeking refuge. Instead, she gave herself over to the destiny that claimed her on the night she killed her sister. She has abandoned good and forsaken love. She has nothing left, which is why she was so willing to join me. And after all, why wouldn’t she? I am her mother. She paid for me. She paid very dearly.”

The other Petra responded to this by leaning her cheek onto Judith’s shoulder.

“Petra,” James called out sharply, speaking to the young woman in the light. “That isn’t really your mother! Haven’t you been listening? She’s some evil beast from the netherworld, bent on creating chaos! Petra, she’s not even really human!”

481

“Don’t call me that name anymore, James,” the young woman in the light said sadly. “Petra is no more. Now there’s just me, Morgan.”

Judith nodded slowly and smiled. “My ‘daughter’ and I have been very busy ever since I drew her into your world. You see, the rules of the Nexus Curtain do not apply to either of us. She is not of your dimension and I am not human. We may pass through as we wish, although doing so does have its consequences. Dimensions don’t respond well to two of one person occupying them at the same time. Whenever my Morgan passed into your world, your Petra fell asleep. In truth, I suspect she even faded from your world, and slept here, on this very bed, trading places with Morgan. I suppose they could exist at the same time in the same world—for a time, at least—but it would not be without its own strange consequences. The fabric of existence would reject such a duality, and would strive to annihilate one of the dimensional twins, all in the name of balance. But this is neither here nor there. The fact is, we have passed through into your reality, on several, important occasions. We have, in fact, had quite the busy little lives in your world.” James suddenly thought he understood. He narrowed his eyes angrily. “You!” he exclaimed, pointing. “You killed the leader of the W.U.L.F. and took over! You’re their new leader!”

“Oh my, no,” Judith laughed again, delightedly. “No, no, no, you silly boy. I’m not the leader of the W.U.L.F.” She gestured affectionately toward Morgan. “She is. She killed Edgar Tarrantus. Frankly, she was doing the man a favor. He’d grown so very political in his old age that he was very nearly a joke. More importantly, she killed the Muggle politician. They’d had other plans for him, of course, but Morgan here can be quite persuasive. In death, Senator Filmore will serve a much greater purpose. And besides, American politicians are, as they say, a dime a dozen.” She laughed as if she’d made a small joke at a party.

“Why couldn’t you just stay in your own dimension?” Lucy called out suddenly to Morgan, her face pale but stern. “I’m sorry that you bollixed it all up and killed your own version of Izzy, but why do you want to go spreading your misery around to somebody else’s dimension?”

“Why, that’s simple,” Morgan said, raising her cheek from Judith’s shoulder. She shook her head, as if amazed that the answer wasn’t completely obvious. “Because in your world, Izzy is still alive. Mother told me so. Here, I can get her back.”

And then, with horrible suddenness, Morgan made a beckoning motion with her right hand.

Izzy jerked away from Petra and flew into the light. Morgan caught her and instantly drew a hand down over the younger girl’s face, putting her into a deep sleep. Izzy slumped.

“I’m sorry, Iz,” Morgan said, nearly sobbing with relief. “I won’t ever let you go this time.

This time, I’ll keep you safe.”

Petra was rushing forward into the light, but she was completely unprepared for the bolt that struck her, emanating from Morgan’s outstretched hand. Petra flew backwards, bowling into James, Zane, and Ralph, who toppled behind her.

“Stop this!” Lucy cried, running forward with her wand in her hand, pointing wildly ahead of her. She had nearly made it to Izzy, was reaching for the younger girl’s limp hand, when Judith acted.

482

James saw it, but was helpless to stop it. He opened his mouth to cry out, but it happened even before he’d drawn the breath to scream.

“Die, little one,” Judith laughed, and flicked a finger at Lucy, as if she was merely a fly. A bolt of green exploded against Lucy’s side. Her head jolted sideways as her body flew into the air, turning almost gracefully. Lucy flew out of the light, dead in midair. Her wand fell from her hand and clattered to the rug, making no noise. There was a rolling thump as the girl herself dropped onto the shadowy stone floor fifteen feet away.

There was a pause of completely shocked horror. For one long, terrible moment, James refused to believe what he had just seen. Then, with perfect finality, the reality of it fell upon him and he cried out, using the very breath that he had drawn to warn his now dead cousin.

“NOOO!” he shrieked, screaming the word so long and loud that sweat sprang out on his brow and his vision doubled. He saw Judith laughing at his horror, saw Morgan clutch Izzy even closer to her, ignoring the dead girl on the floor nearby. Zane and Ralph were clambering to their feet, moving as if in a daze. Between them, Petra seemed too stunned to speak. Her eyes were so round, her expression so utterly transfixed with shock and rage, that she looked as if she couldn’t even move.

And then, as Morgan and Judith carried Izzy toward one of the waiting curtains, Petra did move. She pushed her way through the makeshift bedroom, shoving furniture aside almost without touching it, chasing after the departing women.

“Wait!” James cried out desperately, grabbing at Petra’s arm. “What about Lucy? We can’t just leave her here!”

Petra seemed not to hear. Across the vast room, Morgan and Judith passed through one of the billowing portal curtains and vanished. Petra began to run. Her dress streamed out behind her and coldness beat from her in waves.

“Petra! ” James shouted, turning his plea into a hoarse demand. “We can’t just leave Lucy!” He caught up to Petra, clutching her arm so hard that she finally stopped and spun around.

When she turned her gaze upon James, he stumbled backwards. Her eyes were horrible—flashing like diamonds in a winter sun, yet dark as tombs. She blinked and seemed to recognize him, although her expression didn’t soften.

“I’m sorry, James,” she said. “There’s nothing I can do for Lucy. She’s dead. But Izzy is still alive and she needs me. I can’t stay here.”

James buried his face in his hands, overcome with helpless misery. He glanced back and saw Zane and Ralph kneeling over Lucy’s body, lifting her hands as if to help her up. They didn’t understand yet, or were simply refusing to believe it.

“But she killed Lucy!” James exclaimed, crying out with such affronted wretchedness that his voice splintered.

“Then they should pay for it,” Petra said, and her voice rang in the high chamber of the room, building on its echoes until it sounded like a chorus. James looked back again and saw Zane 483

and Ralph crossing the floor to join them. Lucy’s body hung limp in Ralph’s arms and Ralph, James saw with real surprise, was crying. Tears streamed down the big boy’s face, making shining tracks on his cheeks.

“We did everything we could, James,” he said pleadingly. “But we ran out of ideas! Even my wand won’t do anything! And I tried! I really did!”

James found himself nodding at his friend. “I know, Ralph,” he said, and tears filled his own eyes, tears of mingled misery and rage. “I believe you.”

“Let’s go get those two witches,” Zane seethed in a low, fierce voice. His face had gone as pale as a gravestone.

“Neither of them are witches,” Petra said, turning back to the wafting fabric of the portal curtain. “But that won’t help them when I find them.”

With a shuddering breath, James moved alongside Petra and gripped her hand once more. It was so cold that it almost stung. Together, with Ralph in the rear, still carrying Lucy’s body, the four strode toward the curtain and vanished into its sweeping folds.

When the curtain swept back from them, James blinked into darkness. Noises rang out all around—scufflings and shouts, the whoosh and crackle of spells, all forming the unmistakable clamor of a magical fight. A streak of green lit the space and James saw a man nearby, dueling a wildly grinning witch.

“Where are we?” Ralph called, his voice frightened.

“The Department of Mysteries,” Petra replied grimly, striding forward. “But not in our time.

Don’t touch anything. Don’t even raise your wands. This is not our destination. It’s only a trick.” James matched Petra’s stride, but couldn’t avoid looking around. What he saw sent a chill deep into his heart. The dueling man was his father’s godfather and one of James’ namesakes: Sirius Black. His black hair clung to his face in sweaty tangles as he manipulated his wand.

“Give it up, Bellatrix,” Sirius grunted, jabbing forth with a Disarming Spell. “You’ve always been far better with your tongue than your wand.”

484

The wild-eyed woman cackled eagerly, deflecting the spell and parrying with another green curse.

“We are not real to them,” Petra called out, walking directly between Sirius and Bellatrix as they battled. “Unless we stop and take possession of this reality, it will not recognize us. Don’t interfere! There is another curtain straight ahead. That is where the Lady of the Lake and Morgan have gone. We must keep on.”

James looked and saw what Petra meant. Straight ahead of them, no more than fifteen paces away, was another Nexus Curtain, identical to the one through which they had already passed. Petra strode toward it purposefully and James matched her stride for stride.

“James!” Zane exclaimed, grabbing at his friend’s shoulder and pointing. “Look over there!

Is that…?”

James knew the story of where they were. He knew what the battle was about and what was about to happen. Sirius Black was going to be killed, sent through the veil that wafted even now behind him—the veil through which, ironically, James and his companions had just come. And yet, as he looked toward where Zane was pointing, James was stunned almost to a standstill.

His father moved at the perimeter of the battle, engaged in his own struggle. His glasses were crooked on his face; the famous scar marked his forehead. He appeared to be almost exactly the same age as James himself.

“We could stop it,” he said, reaching out to grasp Petra’s arm. “We could stay here and stop it all. We could save Sirius and stop all the terrible things that happened afterward!”

“James,” Petra said, pausing only for a moment, “you’ve been here before. It’s the bargain of the Gatekeeper all over again. We can’t change what’s been done, no matter how much we might want to. History will find a way to happen, no matter what. Our destiny is elsewhere. Come.” Reluctantly, James agreed. The troop moved through the battle, unscathed and unseen, and stepped into the soft folds of the second portal. As he went, however, James couldn’t help looking back. Sirius was taunting Bellatrix for her failure to strike him and she was raising her wand, her teeth bared in fury and black glee. And then, thankfully, the fabric of the curtain swooped around James and he felt that reality drop away behind him.

This time, when the curtain passed over the travelers, they moved into the noise and heat of an even larger battle. James recognized their surroundings immediately: it was Hogwarts, although not quite as he knew it. Witches and wizards crowded the hall, engaged in outright war. In the near distance, James saw Bellatrix Lestrange again, only this time she was dueling his own grandmother, Molly Weasley, her face nearly unrecognizable with grim ferocity. More faces became visible in the fracas: his long dead Uncle Fred, whom he knew only from pictures; Ted Lupin’s mother, Tonks; even a much younger version of Oliver Wood, fiercely battling alongside Horace Slughorn. The floor vibrated beneath James’ feet and enormous legs moved beyond the windows—a giant was just outside, its club rising to deliver a blow to the decimated castle. A snarling shape leaped over the crowd in a blur, landing directly beside James and flashing its bloody teeth. With a jolt of terror, James realized that it was the infamous Fenrir Greyback, the werewolf.

485

“None of it can harm us,” Petra called out, approaching a third wafting curtain. “So long as you do not engage in what you see. Try not to look.” James heard the reluctance in Petra’s own voice, however. If not for Izzy’s kidnapping, she herself might have stopped and joined the battle, regardless of the consequences.

The travelers stepped into the third curtain.

Screaming met them this time. It was a woman’s voice and James saw her almost instantly.

She stood before a wooden crib, clutching a baby to her chest, shielding the tiny shape with her hands and arms. At her feet lay a dark-haired man. He stared unseeingly up at the ceiling of the small room, dead, and James recognized himself in the man’s features—it was his grandfather, of course, James Potter the First. A high, cold voice overwhelmed the woman’s screams and James found himself walking directly in front of the figure of Tom Riddle, still young and bursting with malevolent strength.

“Make it easy on yourself, Lily,” the Dark Lord instructed, raising his wand. “In a moment, there will be nothing left for you to live for anyway.”

“Go!” James screamed out, pushing Petra toward the next curtain, which wafted in the doorway of the room’s small closet. “Either stop him from killing her or go! Go! I don’t want to see it!”

Lily Potter continued to scream and James fled through the curtain, tears of helplessness and rage blurring his vision. A flash of blinding green light followed him, briefly but memorably.

And then they were in a small dingy kitchen. A woman was seated at a rickety table across from a man James recognized: Lucius Malfoy, although much younger than James had last seen him.

He was drawing a cloth-wrapped object from his robes, placing it onto the table next to his empty teacup.

“Unwrap it, Mrs. Agnellis,” he said quietly. “It is for you.”

She did, and it was a singularly ugly dagger, its blade tarnished nearly black, as if it had been rubbed with soot.

“No!” Petra moaned this time, pausing. “No, Mum! Don’t do it! He’s lying!” James touched her shoulder, drawing her back. “It won’t change anything,” he urged softly, hating himself for doing so. “You were right before. It’s all a trick. We have to save Izzy.” Petra nodded, but didn’t take her eyes away from the woman at the table. James saw the resemblance between the two.

“It’ll hurt only for a moment,” Lucius said soothingly.

“Go on,” Zane said, nudging Petra gently. “One more curtain. There’s nothing we can do here and you don’t want to watch.”

Petra nodded again, but still she did not move. Finally, she shook herself. She glanced at Zane, Ralph, and James, even at the sad bundle of Lucy’s body in Ralph’s arms, and then sighed deeply. She turned, saw the billowing curtain in the corner of the kitchen, and walked toward it.

486

Somehow, James knew that it was the last of the portals. They had passed through the Gauntlet.

For better or worse, whatever was about to come, there would be no turning back.

When the final Nexus Curtain unfolded around them, the travelers were once again met with the noise of a crowd.

James blinked, his eyes dazzled with flashing lights and monstrous hulking structures. People pressed in on him from all sides, thronging and jostling. It took several seconds for James to realize where and when he was.

“New Amsterdam!” Zane called out, raising his voice over the noise. “Why are we here?”

“Is it the present day?” Ralph asked. “Our present day?”

Next to James, Petra swayed on her feet for a moment, as if disoriented. She clutched James’

shoulder, and he covered her hand with his.

“Are you all right?”

She nodded uncertainly, and then seemed to recover herself.

“We are back to our own day and time,” she said with grave confidence. “Morgan is here.

We are both here together.” Suddenly, she turned and led the group through the throng, angling toward bright lights ahead.

Ralph looked up at the looming skyscrapers and the rain of parade confetti. “But why are we here, in New Amsterdam?”

Petra stopped at the perimeter of the crowd, where the view opened onto a section of the closed-off city street. “Because this is where she wants us to be.” James jostled to get next to Petra and saw.

They stood on the edge of the Memorial Day parade route, which cut straight through the main thoroughfare of the great city. Flat wagons lined the avenue, covered in festive decorations and oversized tableaux, most decorated in red, white, and blue colours. The floats were stopped now, halted by a police helicopter which sat incongruously in the center of a wide intersection, its rotors revolving slowly. The parade crowd watched with avid interest as policemen in riot gear moved in an urgent circle, their weapons raised, surrounding two men. The men stood in the center of the street, flooded with spotlights, their arms held over their heads. James recognized both of them. One was Titus Hardcastle. The other was his father, Harry Potter.

“That’s them!” a woman’s voice called out, heard by the entire crowd. James glanced wildly toward the sound and saw Judith herself, pointing, her chin raised and her eyes bright. “They killed Senator Filmore! I saw it myself in that basement hideout right behind you! His body is there even now, next to their names, written in his own blood! Look! They’re terrorists and murderers! Arrest them!”

Nearby, Morgan stood at the edge of the crowd, still cradling Izzy against her shoulder, as if the girl had fallen asleep while waiting for the parade.

487

The police approached Titus and Harry cautiously, hunkered low, their weapons raised. Near the helicopter, two men in black suits spoke urgently into a handheld radio and James recognized them as the men from the Magical Integration Bureau, Price and Esposito. Harry and Titus did not attempt to flee their captors or use spells to escape. There were far too many Muggle observers.

Television cameras surrounded the parade route, installed on tall gantries, even now broadcasting the event live to the entire country. James marveled hatefully at the perfection of Judith’s plan.

“She means to have your dad arrested, James!” Zane cried, pushing James out into the street.

“Stop them!”

“I can’t!” James shouted back. “The whole Muggle world is watching on TV! The giant Disillusionment Spell that hides New Amsterdam from the Muggles won’t work on magic we perform right in front of them! It’d break the Law of Secrecy! Why do you think Dad and Titus are just going along with them?!”

“Look!” Ralph shouted suddenly, pointing into the air over the street.

James looked and felt as if the entire world had dropped out from beneath him. One hundred feet over the New York intersection, floating like a cloud of bats and hidden from the Muggle observers below, were dozens of broom-borne wizards in black robes. It was the W.U.L.F., waiting for their moment to strike. They could be stealthy, James knew. They simply had to wait for the helicopter to rise into the air, bearing their enemy, Harry Potter, and they could strike it down easily, perhaps freezing its rotors or cursing the pilot dead in his seat. To the observers below, inured by the city’s massive, constantly refreshed Disillusionment Charm, the crash would appear as a freak accident.

Judith knew that Harry Potter and his Aurors were her greatest enemy in her pursuit of chaos. She didn’t just mean to see him arrested. She meant to see him dead.

“We can’t let it happen!” Zane insisted, staring up at the swirling dark wizards.

“But we can’t use magic!” James insisted. “The Vow won’t let us! We couldn’t do it even if we wanted to!”

“Some of us can,” Petra said, her voice as flat and cold as iron. With that, she stepped out into the street and raised her right hand, her fingers splayed. A crackle of light exploded from it, but Petra did not aim it at the helicopter. Instead, she flung it out over the avenue toward the young woman who held her sleeping sister.

This time, it was Morgan who was unprepared for the attack. Petra’s bolt struck her in the shoulder and threw her backwards into a lamppost, which bent ominously at the force of the blast.

Izzy flailed from Morgan’s arms, but did not fall. Instead, she floated in the air, levitated by Petra herself as she strode out into the street.

“Wake up, Iz,” Petra said, lowering her sister gently to the ground. “Come back to me, love.” Izzy blinked as her feet touched the pavement, and the crowd backed away all around her, frightened by the blast and the sight of the magically floating girl.

488

“Petra! The helicopter!” Ralph called out, hoisting Lucy’s body in his arms. The crowd was becoming agitated, progressing toward raw panic.

“Drop your weapons!” an amplified voice roared out. James spun toward it and saw a policeman in riot gear pointing an electric bullhorn at his father, who held his wand in his upraised hand. Behind the policeman was the Magical Integration Bureau agent named Price. He was pointing at Harry Potter’s wand, instructing the officer to take it from him.

“Ms. Morganstern,” a man’s voice declared suddenly, coming from directly next to James. He glanced up and was shocked to see Merlinus Ambrosius. The big man stood at the edge of the crowd, his eyes locked onto Petra as Izzy rejoined her in the middle of the street.

“Headmaster,” Petra said, taking Izzy’s hand in her own. Strangely, she didn’t seem terribly surprised to see him there.

“I know what you are thinking, Ms. Morganstern,” Merlin said. “And I understand. I have been following your progress—all of you—very closely. I applaud your ingenuity and spirit, but this must end here.”

“You big sneak!” Zane suddenly exclaimed, glaring up at Merlin. “You kept the third Shard of the Amsera Certh, didn’t you? You’ve been using it to listen in on all of us!” Merlin ignored him. To Petra, he called, “Come back, my dear. Join us. We cannot stop what is about to happen, but we do not have to watch it. We have all seen enough terrible things.”

“But

we

have to stop it!” James exclaimed, boggling up at Merlin. “They mean to kill my dad! You’re Merlin! Stop the engine of the helicopter with your magic! Freeze it to the ground or something!”

“The woman who calls herself Judith has foreseen every possibility,” Merlin answered, gravely apologetic. “Their combined magic is like a shield around the helicopter, preventing even myself from interfering with it. It will take off and it will have your father inside it, along with Mr.

Hardcastle. What happens after that, I’m afraid, is beyond our control. I am sorry, James.” In the intersection, the whine of the helicopter began to cycle up. The rotors spun faster as Harry Potter and Titus Hardcastle were led to it, surrounded now by the police in their armored riot gear. Grit and confetti began to spiral up from the intersection under the force of the helicopter’s backwash.

Petra did not move to join Merlin at the edge of the crowd.

“Ralph!” James cried suddenly, turning and grasping the bigger boy’s shoulder. “Give me your wand!”

James expected Ralph to waste several seconds asking for an explanation, but to his credit, he simply hugged Lucy’s body to him with one arm and dipped into his back pocket with the other.

Wordlessly, he handed his oversized wand to James. It wasn’t the first time that circumstances had required such an exchange.

489

James gripped Ralph’s wand and leapt into the street. He pointed the lime-green tip toward the police helicopter even as the doors shuttled closed on its side, enclosing Titus Hardcastle and his father.

“Protego!” he shouted, putting as much force into the command as possible. Rather than the bolt of bluish light he had expected, enveloping the helicopter with a spell of protection, Ralph’s wand merely emitted a muted flicker, hardly brighter than a Muggle camera flash. James stared at it furiously, and then leveled it again at the helicopter.

“Congelo!” It was a Freezing Charm, meant to lock the helicopter onto the ground or seize up its engines. Instead, there came only a puff of cold air, which blew back into James’ face. He tried again, crying out in frustration. “Salvio hexia! Stupefy! Confundo!” He felt the magic of each spell snuff from the wand the moment it appeared. Nearby, parade watchers observed him with worried confusion, wondering at the odd boy with the green-tipped stick.

“Let me try, James,” Petra said firmly. She raised her hand again, fingers splayed.

“Petra!” Merlin warned sternly, but the bolt of light shot from her hand even as he spoke. It leapt toward the helicopter, but exploded after only a few feet, illuminating the street around Petra brilliantly but briefly. The crowd recoiled in alarm, but the scene around the helicopter remained unchanged.

“Morgan’s power is identical to yours!” Merlin roared. “She is preventing you from interfering! There is no way to thwart their plan! If there were, I would do it myself!”

“Don’t listen to him, my dear!” Judith called out suddenly, cupping her hands to her smiling mouth. “He is weak! Only you know how weak he is!”

James glanced helplessly toward Judith. Next to her, Morgan had regained her feet. She had been hurt by her encounter with the lamppost—blood trickled from beneath her hair, staining her face—but her eyes were clear and cold, studying the scene before her.

Petra narrowed her eyes thoughtfully at Merlin.

“Don’t let them hurt my dad!” James cried, unable to contain himself. “Please, Petra!”

“I don’t intend to,” she answered immediately, her eyes still locked upon Merlin.

“There is nothing that can be done, Ms. Morganstern,” the Headmaster announced, raising his voice. He stepped into the street now, moving to get between Petra and the police helicopter.

“Awful as this may be, Morgan’s magic is far too great for us to defeat by subtle means, and the consequences would be disastrous if you intervened using overt methods. There are too many observers. You must recognize that.”

When Petra spoke again, her voice was calm yet unnaturally loud. “You’re wrong,” she said flatly.

490

And then, to James’ surprise and dismay, she turned around. Together, the two girls began to walk down the center of the New York street, away from the police helicopter as its rotors whooshed faster and faster, turning into a blur.

“Petra!” James called again, but his voice was drowned out by the increasing whine. Merlin’s voice, however, rang out as clear as thunder over the packed, watching street.

“Petra Morganstern,” he called. “Stop! Return to me.”

“I think the Lady is right,” Petra declared without looking back. “Your strength is in the vast expanses of nature. Here, in the deepest heart of the city, you are cut off from your powers. You are diminished almost to the point of helplessness.”

“It would be a mistake to assume that, Ms. Morganstern,” Merlin warned, and yet Petra walked on, increasing her stride as purpose seemed to pour into her. At her side, Izzy matched her sister’s pace, hand in hand.

“I am different from you, though,” Petra called out. “I am a sorceress. My power does not come from the wastes of nature. I sensed this truth the first time I set foot in New Amsterdam. My power comes from the web of the city, from the interconnected knot of humanity that lives and strives here. The thrum of their lives empowers me. I am a new kind of sorceress and this is my element. Here, you are no match for me. Here, I will do what no one but me can do. I will protect those who have protected me using whatever means are necessary.” Petra raised her hand and one of the halted parade floats jerked sideways, sliding out of her way. It rammed into a line of dumpsters with a rattling crash.

The crowd observed this with growing alarm. Throngs began to break out into the street, running in all directions. Oblivious of this, the police helicopter first tilted forward on its skids, and then began to float upward, its engines falling into a steady roar. Above it, the W.U.L.F. agents swirled into position, raising their wands.

“You are mistaken!” Merlin cried out, beginning to follow Petra down the broad thoroughfare. “Petra! Remember the error of Eve! You will do far more harm than good!”

“Enough killing,” Petra said with calm ferocity. “Enough death. No more. I cannot allow it, no matter the price.”

“Petra!” Merlinus cried, and raised his staff to strike her. A bolt of white light sprang from it, connecting with the slight girl, but it had no effect upon her. Neither Petra nor Izzy looked back.

Above the din of the crowd and the roar of the rising helicopter, James heard Judith laughing triumphantly.

“Go forth, my sister Fates!” she cried shrilly. “Do what you were made to do! Together, you are more powerful than life and death! Call forth the chaos you have earned!” She laughed again, and at her side, Morgan blinked. She looked askance at Judith and frowned.

Oblivious of this, Petra raised her hand again and a second parade float lofted into the air, spinning gently. It crashed into a gas station, knocking the canopy over and shattering the windows of the small convenience store beneath it. Another float flew over the crowd and smashed against the 491

columns of a bank before crashing onto the steps below. Muggle New Yorkers ran in all directions, screaming in panic.

James was jostled from all sides as the crowd fled around him. He peered up, looking in the direction that Petra was walking. The avenue stretched away before him, wide as a river, leading toward the night-glitter of the ocean. Framed between the buildings, shining in a grid of spotlights, was the Statue of Liberty.

Suddenly, for no reason, James thought of his ride on the Lincoln Zephyr and his conversation with Chancellor Franklyn about the conjoined Muggle and magical cities that had even then unrolled past the train’s windows. The New Amsterdam Department of Magical Administration requested assistance from a foreign ally, Franklyn had said, in the guise of a very unique and gifted witch…

“Petra Morganstern!” Merlin roared, stopping in the street, his staff held aloft next to him and his left hand raised imploringly. “Stop! Remember that the heart is sometimes a liar! You do not know what you are about to do!”

And to James’ surprise, Petra did stop. Next to her, hand in hand, Izzy stopped as well. They looked up at the huge shining statue in the distance.

A uniquely talented foreign witch, James thought wonderingly, amazed in spite of the circumstances, whose only job is to maintain the world’s most perfect Disillusionment Charm.

When Petra spoke, her voice rang out as loud as a cyclone yet as clear as silver bells. She spoke in the language of the giant witch before her.

“Chère Madame,” she said, lifting her chin to the distant statue, “baissez votre torche.”1

The entire crowd heard it, and paused even in their panic. Every eye turned toward the great woman’s statue where it stood over the ocean, glowing greenly in its web of lights. When it moved, the metallic groan and creak carried through the clear air. Lady Liberty first turned her head, looking over her monstrous shoulder toward the city behind her. Her calm eyes spied Petra and Izzy where they stood in the center of the avenue. And then, so ponderously that the entire action seemed to occur in slow motion, the statue’s raised right arm began to lower, bringing down its lit, golden torch.

The crowd gasped. It was a long, terrible sound, punctuated by the creaking moan of the distant copper figure. The arm lowered, lowered, and Lady Liberty began to hunker down, her great flowing robes pooling beneath her. She dropped her calm gaze to the ocean waves around her and then, with irreversible, balletic grace, plunged her torch into the ocean, extinguishing it.

A silent, grey explosion of water came up around it. From this came a sort of invisible, penetrating shock wave. It spread over the entire city, leaving a stunning numbness in its wake.

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“Dear Lady, lower your torch.”

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All around, the crowd had fallen completely quiet. Every eye blinked, looking around the city as if seeing it for the first time. Next to James, a man in a tweed cap peered up at a nearby skyscraper.

“They’re…,” he breathed, his voice a high, worried tremolo. “They’re… flying!” James understood. The entire Muggle city was seeing for the first time the magical city that overlay it, covering it like a blanket. Eyes bulged up at the flying highways of brooms and magical buses, the heretofore unseen entryways, facades, and bridges built directly into the sides of Muggle skyscrapers.

And nearby, delightedly, the Lady of the Lake cackled.

Television cameras swiveled atop their gantries, zooming in on the sudden magical city which had appeared inexplicably out of nowhere. The police helicopter dipped dramatically as the pilot became aware of the sudden wizarding air traffic that surrounded his craft. The whine of the rotors rose to a distressed scream as the machine wobbled back down toward the intersection, struggling to avoid the nearby traffic lights and power lines. The landing gear touched the pavement and scraped along it, sending up a screech and a curtain of sparks. A moment later, the machine ground to a halt and the rotors began to power down.

Doors shuttled open on the helicopter’s side and bursts of magical red light shone from within. Titus Hardcastle jumped out, brandishing his spare wand and firing it immediately into the W.U.L.F. assassins above. They shot back with red and green curses, but were suddenly distracted by a spray of gunfire. Fortunately for Titus, the Muggle police below had recovered enough from their shock to remember their weapons. The officers scrambled behind a line of nearby vehicles, shooting randomly into the air at the swooping hooded figures. Harry Potter followed Titus out of the helicopter and strode purposefully toward Price, the Magical Integration Bureau agent, who shrank away from him. Harry reached for him, but only to pluck his own wand from the man’s inner coat pocket.

Pandemonium erupted throughout the street, echoing the clamor that arose throughout the entire city.

In Times Square, traffic snarled to a messy halt around dozens of accidents. Cabbies leapt from their stalled vehicles and turned their faces upward, toward the dozens of enormous magical signs that had suddenly appeared, hovering over them. Dominating them all, completely obscuring the Muggle Coca-Cola neon, was a monstrous grinning woman with clockwork arms, mechanically raising and lowering a car-sized tin of Wymnot’s Wand Polish and Enchant-Enhancer. Every ten seconds, her teeth sparkled magically, popping like a gigantic flash bulb.

In Central Park, horses spooked and bolted before their carriages as an amateur Clutchcudgel match suddenly sprang into view over the lake, producing screams from the nearby joggers and feeders of ducks.

Along the newly erected elevated expansion of the New York City Subway system, a conductor encountered the shocking sight of a magical train as it barreled straight toward him, popping into existence along the same length of track. Panicked, the Muggle conductor jammed the 493

brakes. Lights flickered throughout the crowded compartments as sparks flew up from the locked wheels. The subway train squealed, lurched, and then derailed. Passenger cars jackknifed into zigzag patterns on the raised tracks, still screeching forward under the force of their inertia. Windows shattered and screams filled the cars, even as the magical train before it leapt into the air, spun sideways, and vanished beneath the elevated tracks, zooming onward.

Lincoln Tunnel became the sight of forty car pileup as motorists suddenly confronted the shocking sight of a flying hippogriff and its rider, swooping low over the traffic, its wingtips brushing the roofs of buses.

At LaGuardia Airport, alarms sounded at every terminal. Klaxons rang out over the runways, forcing planes to brake even as they lined up for takeoff. Airliners suddenly pulled up in mid-landing as warning beacons lanced out, warning pilots of the thousands of unidentified flying objects which had suddenly appeared, crowding the New York airspace.

Throughout the entire city, Muggles clamored to the windows of their apartments and office buildings, gaping at the strange flashing lights, alien billboards, and flying magical traffic. Some became alarmed enough to produce guns and make their way into the streets, demanding answers from the strange people that had suddenly appeared. Shots rang out, mostly aimed into the air, at the mysterious flying traffic, although, thankfully, very few bullets actually struck their marks.

Across the country, televisions tuned to the event. Muggle viewers sat awestruck, disbelieving their own eyes as the networks interrupted their normal broadcasts, preempting them with live footage of the incredible scenes in New York City. Around bars, living rooms, and hospital waiting rooms, televisions were turned up as viewers fell silent, slack-jawed. CNN showed a live shot of the Statue of Liberty, suddenly and shockingly hunkered on her base, her torch plunged into the ocean up to her copper wrist. The running banner along the bottom of the screen read, ‘NY SENATOR

CHARLES FILMORE FOUND DEAD/UNEXPLAINED MASS PHENOMENON

OVERWHELMS NYC…’

And in the center of the Memorial Day parade route, Merlinus Ambrosius moved through the rioting throng, gathering James, Zane, and Ralph close to him, looking down at the pathetic form of Lucy Weasley, dead in Ralph’s strong arms. Harry Potter pushed toward them through the crowd, his face stern. Behind him, shooting Stunning Spells up at the swirling W.U.L.F. assassins and the running looters that had suddenly appeared, stalked Titus Hardcastle.

Merlin surveyed them all gravely and then turned his gaze to the pandemonium that was unfolding all around.

“What happened?” Harry called out, surveying the rioting crowd.

With grim composure, Merlin replied, “Ms. Morganstern has relieved the world of its ignorance.”

Just like Eve, James thought, frowning sadly. She isn’t evil, just mistaken. She ate the forbidden fruit from the Tree of Knowledge, and then she gave it to the rest of the world. He shuddered as another thought occurred to him.

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Merlin glanced down at him and his face suddenly looked very old. “What is it, James?

What do you know?”

James sighed. “I was just thinking about Petra and Eve,” he replied, and then met the old man’s eyes. “I was thinking about how people have always called this city ‘the Big Apple’.” Merlin

nodded. “The fruit of knowledge,” he agreed morosely, “offered to the rest of the world. From here, just as with Eve, there will be no turning back.” All around, the Muggle crowd roared and rioted, boggling up at the magical city above them.

Car alarms blared as people abandoned the footpaths and clambered over vehicles. Glass shattered as store windows were broken, inundated by people seeking refuge from the frightening sights all around. Harry Potter and Titus Hardcastle continued to fire their wands into the air, Stunning the remaining W.U.L.F. assassins or chasing them into hiding.

Merlin spoke once more. “Do you know what else they call this city?” he asked. Without waiting for an answer, he went on. “They call it… ‘The City that Never Sleeps’.” With that, he raised his staff in both of his hands, gripping it so tightly that his knuckles whitened. He coiled himself, uttered something incomprehensible in his ancient mother tongue, and plunged the staff back down again, driving it into the pavement like a spike.

A massive flash blinded James. It seemed as large as the sun, but heatless and silent. When James blinked and looked around again, he saw the flash still, like a dome of light. It spread along the canyon of the street, growing larger, rippling noiselessly over the thousands of Muggles gathered there. As it passed over them, lighting them for a moment with its bony glow, they froze in their tracks. Within seconds, the milling, heaving Muggle crowd fell silent and still, petrified by the receding blast, like ten thousand statues.

The television cameras shut down. Every electric light in the city flickered, buzzed, and went dark. Stoplights winked out over intersections and cars rolled to gentle stops, knocking bumpers dully on the crowded streets. Silence fell over the city as wizarding New Amsterdam surveyed the suddenly inert body of its sister, Muggle New York, silent and dark as a crypt below it.

James turned back toward Merlin and blinked in surprise. James, Ralph, Zane, Harry Potter, and Titus Hardcastle stood in a circle around the space where Merlin had been standing only moments earlier, but the big wizard himself was nowhere in sight. In his place, still vibrating faintly with the shock of its planting, was the rune-covered staff. The runes no longer glowed with their faint inner light. Now they were completely dark.

“Oh no,” Harry said into the sudden silence. He shook his head in woeful negation. James looked around at the frozen tableaux of Muggle humanity and then glanced helplessly up at his father. Harry wasn’t looking at the human statues that filled the streets, however. He was looking down at the dead figure of his niece, held in Ralph’s arms.

“Lucy,” he said, his voice barely a whisper. Gently, he took her body from Ralph and cradled it in his own arms.

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“The woman is gone,” Titus declared somberly, scanning the petrified crowd. “And her protégé is dead.”

James blinked and followed Titus’ gaze. A figure lay on the ground amidst the sea of human statuary. A hitch rose in James’ chest as he broke away from the group and moved toward the shape.

When he reached it, he knelt down.

Morgan’s hair had fallen across her bloody face, obscuring it. James could see immediately that the girl was dead just as Titus had declared. Protruding from her back, its jeweled handle glinting maliciously, was a silver dagger. For the third time that night, James’ eyes blurred with tears.

Morgan—the Petra from some other, less fortunate dimension—had merely been Judith’s pawn after all. Petra and Izzy, Judith’s unknowing and unwitting sister Fates, had been the real prize all along.

Once the Lady of the Lake had finished using Morgan, she had disposed of her, quickly and without a second thought.

Morgan’s eyes were open, staring calmly at the heel of a petrified man who had frozen in the act of jumping over her body. James bit his lips sorrowfully and then reached forward. As gently as he could, he closed Morgan’s eyes.

“We must go,” Titus said from behind him, addressing the group. “Merlinus’ Petrification Spell may only last a few hours.”

James stood up slowly and turned around. Harry drew a deep breath and then, still cradling Lucy’s body against his shoulder, lifted his wand to his throat.

“Attention, all magical denizens of New Amsterdam,” he called, sending his amplified voice echoing up into the canyons of the buildings. “You must leave this place immediately. It is no longer safe for you here. The city of New Amsterdam is now a compromised zone. Soon, the Muggle city below you will reanimate. When it does…” Here, Harry paused and drew a deep, reluctant breath. “When it does, it will be unsafe for you to be here. For the immediate future, you must evacuate as quickly and as calmly as you can. Take only what you need, and attempt to be gone by morning.”

Overhead, the magical city began to rumble nervously. The flying highways and byways, which had paused in alarm during the massive flash of Merlin’s Petrification Spell, fell into frantic, zooming motion.

Harry pocketed his wand and took James’ hand in his own.

“I have sent word to your mother,” he said. “She and your brother and sister will Apparate here soon to meet us, and your aunt, uncle, and cousin Molly will follow them shortly.” He looked aside, inviting Ralph and Zane into the conversation as well. “Tell me exactly what happened, all of you, so that I may be prepared to give Percy and Audrey this awful news.” James drew a deep, shuddering breath, but Zane answered first.

“She died trying to save Izzy,” he said gravely. “There’s a lot more to the story, but that’s the most important thing. That’s the only part that really matters.” 496

Together, as the group set out toward the nearby waterfront, weaving through the throng of Muggle statues, the three boys began to tell their tale.

The Lady of the Lake was gone, vanished away into hiding, as were Petra and Izzy.

Morgan, the unfortunate Petra from another dimension, lay dead with the ugly dagger still protruding from her back.

Confetti still sifted down into the eerily frozen, suddenly darkened streets.

And Merlinus Ambrosius was no more.

25. Those Who Stayed Behind

Denniston Dolohov chose to remain in America, at least for a time.

An envoy from the Crystal Mountain had met Harry Potter and the rest on the docks that very night—the Night of the Unveiling, as it soon came to be called. Benjamin Franklyn was among the representatives from the American wizarding government, as was Professors Jackson and, to James’ surprise, Persephone Remora, who was looking decidedly less composed than usual. Together, they extended their official condolences to Percy, Audrey, and Molly for their loss. Percy accepted this somewhat blankly, as if he was in shock. Audrey refused to look at her visitors or anyone else.

Her eyes were red and swollen as she hugged Molly to her. Molly, James noticed, was sucking the first two fingers of her right hand—something she hadn’t done since she was five years old.

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Next, the envoy acknowledged Harry and Titus’ innocence in the death of Senator Charles Filmore, but warned that this would be rather harder to prove to the Magical Integration Bureau.

Franklyn vowed to do his diplomatic best on their behalf, but made no promises.

Finally, the envoy turned their attention to Denniston Dolohov, who had Side-Along Apparated directly to the harbor with Percy Weasley. James was surprised at what they said. They officially requested that Dolohov remain with them for the immediate future to help with the security and ambassadorial demands of the coming days and weeks. Being an expert on Muggle/magical security, as well as a Squib who had been raised among Muggles, Dolohov was just the sort of individual to assist in the daunting task at hand—that of protecting the city of New Amsterdam and explaining its existence to the Muggle New Yorkers beneath it. Somewhat reluctantly (although not, James suspected, as reluctantly as he let on), Dolohov agreed.

James would have liked to have had more time to say goodbye to his friends, but it was an emergency situation and he understood.

“Bye Zane,” he said, reaching to shake the boy’s hand where they stood on the dark pier.

“The ship will be here any moment, so…”

Zane threw an arm around James’ shoulders and drew him into a fierce embrace. When he released his friend, Zane’s face was pale and tense. “This changes everything, doesn’t it?” James shrugged and then nodded. “That’s what Merlin said back when the Vault was first broken into.”

“Do you think the old man’s really gone for good?”

James did. He nodded.

“See you, James,” Ralph sighed. “I wish I didn’t have to stay behind.”

“You’ll be back soon enough,” James assured him. “Just be careful. Things are like to be pretty dodgy around here for the next bit.”

Ralph nodded morosely. “I know it probably won’t be much better back home, but still…

this is where it’s all beginning. I’d really love to just put the whole mess behind me for awhile.”

“Sorry,” James said seriously. “I know. Try to get home soon.”

A foghorn echoed over the dark water of the harbor. James turned and saw the silhouette of a low ship approaching, weaving its way through the much larger ships moored nearby. Soon, the magical ship—not the Gwyndemere this time—would be at the dock. He and his family would climb the gangplank to its deck, leaving the rest of his traveling companions behind. His heart was low as he turned back to his friends once more.

“Take care of yourselves,” he said. “We can keep up via the Shard. You have mine and I can use Dad’s. Don’t forget.”

“We won’t,” Ralph assured him. “Tell Rose and the rest we said hi.” 498

James rolled his eyes, dreading the task of explaining all of this to Rose, but he nodded anyway.

The ship swept slowly into position alongside the pier. Ropes thumped to the dock and were secured to nearby bollards. The gangplank appeared.

It took only a few minutes for the Potters and Weasleys to climb aboard. Apart from a few hastily packed bags gathered by James’ mum, they had left most of their things behind, abandoned, at least for now.

Shortly, the ship was underway, gliding smoothly across the black waves beneath a cloudy night sky. James and Albus’ owls, Nobby and Flynn, had flown to meet them at the pier and now circled the ship like silent kites, alighting occasionally on the ship’s masts. James leaned against the stern railing and watched. The New York skyline was eerily dark, lit only by the relatively dimmer lights of New Amsterdam.

“Why do you think she did it?” James asked quietly. Next to him, also leaning on the railing, Albus shrugged.

“To save Dad and Titus. Right?”

James shook his head vaguely. “I don’t know.” He thought for a long moment, and then said, “She could have done it some other way. Don’t you think? She could have… I don’t know…

battled Morgan right there on the street and broken her spell over the helicopter. Or perhaps she could have just thought all those W.U.L.F. killers to death. She can do that kind of thing, you know.

She doesn’t even need a wand.”

Albus nodded. “Yeah,” he agreed doubtfully. “But I guess she’d just had enough with death.

Don’t you think?”

James sighed deeply. He thought of the journey Judith had forced them to take through the Nexus Curtains—all the killings and mayhem she had made them witness, all the loved ones murdered for the sake the struggle against evil. Even that had been part of Judith’s plan, pushing Petra to make her final, ultimate decision.

“She wasn’t just trying to save Dad,” James finally said. “She was trying to change it all. It was probably a huge mistake… and it’ll probably end in even more death… but maybe she was just tired of things being the way they are. Maybe this was just her final act of rejection.” Albus frowned. “Rejection of what?”

James shook his head. “Everything,” he said grimly. “Just… everything.” Albus considered this. After a minute, he stirred and dug his hand into his back pocket.

“Here,” he said, holding something out to James.

“My wand,” James said, taking the wooden shaft from his brother’s hand. “You found it down on the Clutch field?”

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Albus shrugged and leaned on the railing again. “I thought you’d want it. I went looking for it after you lot went dimension-hopping.”

James shook his head slowly. “I’ll never figure you out, little brother,” he said appreciatively.

“Don’t even try,” Albus replied.

James nodded and rejoined his brother, leaning on the railing and watching the oily black waves.

Below-decks, James knew, his mum was putting Lily to bed, probably singing a nighttime song to her just as if everything was normal. Elsewhere, possibly in the captain’s quarters, his father and Titus Hardcastle were discussing what was to come. Uncle Percy and Aunt Audrey had gone down to their berth immediately, doomed to sleep in the same ship that bore their dead daughter.

Molly had already been asleep by then, held in her mother’s arms. James guessed that Aunt Audrey would probably not let go of her for the entire night, but would sleep sitting upright on the bed, leaning against the headboard, taking what comfort she could from the sleeping breath of her surviving child.

Lucy was dead. It struck James as completely impossible and ridiculous. Reluctantly, he replayed the memory of her last moments, recalled the horrible helplessness of watching Judith raise her hand with murder in her eyes. Lucy had been trying to save Izzy, and had acted almost without thinking, rushing forward into the teeth of her own doom.

With a shudder and a dry sob, James realized two things: that Lucy really was gone, and that he had loved her. It hadn’t been the same sort of love that he felt for Petra, but it hadn’t merely been the love of a cousin either.

Could he have done something to save her? Should he have acted sooner? Or held her back somehow? Heat rushed to his cheeks as he considered this, and felt the first deep pangs of regret.

I’m sorry, Lucy, he said in his thoughts, in the deepest depths of his heart, almost as if it were a prayer. I should have done something. I should have stopped her from hurting you. Forgive me…

In response, he remembered Lucy on the day of the Valentine’s dance, when he had almost kissed her for the first time. I forgave you that very night, she’d admitted shyly, I can’t stay mad at you…

But it was only a memory. Lucy’s voice was stilled forever. Tears pricked James’ eyes, but he refused them. He knew that if he let them come, they wouldn’t stop coming for a long time, and he was just too tired to go through that now. He rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger, pushing the tears away. Next to him, purposely not watching, Albus sighed sadly.

Beneath them, the ship cut a smooth wake through the harbor, heading out into the ocean and leaving the half-dark twin cities behind.

James felt terribly alone. Somewhere out there, falling further and further behind them, were Petra and Izzy. And what of Judith, the Lady of the Lake? Had she retreated back into the World Between the Worlds? James thought not. This was her world now—her chaos. She wouldn’t miss it, no matter what. James had a strong, sinking feeling that none of them had seen the last of her.

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Eventually, the pressing darkness became too much for James and Albus. Without a word, they walked along the deck and found the doorway that led below. They followed the corridor until they discovered the berth that belonged to their parents. Harry was there now, along with Ginny, who was indeed singing to Lily as she drifted to sleep.

At least they were still all together. That counted for a lot, if not everything.

That night, the five of them stayed together in a single berth, piled like cats on the two large beds.

The next morning, James unpacked what clothes he had. They had been hastily gathered by his own mum from his dormitory room before she’d Disapparated to meet them at the pier, and she had forgotten his favorite pair of jeans. He sighed, reminding himself to ask Ralph or Zane to send them to him, and was about to toss his duffle bag beneath the bunk when he noticed something tumbling loosely in the bag’s bottom. He raised it again and peered inside. In the darkness was a small bundle of parchment, closed so tightly that it didn’t show the slightest seam. James recognized it immediately and his heart trip-hammered.

He touched the packet briefly, but nothing happened—no overwhelming visions or telepathic blasts. Carefully, he retrieved the packet and laid it on the small table of his room.

Feeling a strange mixture of hope and trepidation, he tapped the packet with his wand, whispering the spell that would open it.

The parchments unfurled, blooming, as before, like an origami flower, but the pages were no longer covered with Petra’s handwriting. Now, there was only one line, written in the center of the top page. James leaned over the parchment, his brow furrowing as he read.

Remember the silver thread. You didn’t let go. For better or worse, I’ll never forget that.

She hadn’t signed it, but then again, she hadn’t needed to. James closed the parchment packet again and simply stared at it. Finally, after nearly a minute, he picked it up. He put his wand in his right back pocket and the parchment packet in the left.

There, he carried it from then on, until the very last time he ever saw her.

The end.

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