G. Lippert - JAMES POTTER AND THE VAULT OF DESTINIES

"You up for this, Ralph?" James asked in a whisper.

"No," Ralph admitted. "But we're going to do it anyway, right?"

James nodded and gulped. "Remember why we're doing it. It's for a good cause. We can't let Petra take the blame for something she didn't do. We have to find the people who really broke into the Hall of Archives and attacked the Vault of Destinies."

Ralph shook his head. "But… we saw her, James. What makes you so sure that it wasn't really her?"

In the past, James would have felt angry about such a question, but he knew Ralph better now. He knew that Ralph was a pragmatist. Besides, Ralph didn't feel the same way about Petra that James did. He didn't know what James knew.

"Because she told me," James said simply, meeting his friend's gaze. After a moment, he added, "When we were on the ship, Dad told me that the best thing I could do for Petra was to be her friend. Friends trust one another, and that's what I am doing for her. Do you trust me?"

Ralph shrugged. "Sometimes," he answered seriously. "But mostly I just back your plays. That's the best way I know how to be a friend. That's what tonight's about. I hope that's good enough."

James smiled despite the cold and stillness of the night. Slowly, he pulled the door of Apollo Mansion closed behind them. "That's more than good enough, Ralph. Come on."

As James and Ralph stole into the darkness, they found the campus eerily quiet, covered in low, creeping tendrils of fog. The air was so cold that James immediately began to shiver. Overhead, the half moon shone brightly, covering the lawns and footpaths with its bony light.

"Over there," Ralph whispered, his breath making puffs of mist in the air. "Is that Zane hunkered down by the Octosphere?"

In answer, a poor imitation of an owl echoed across the dark lawn. James rolled his eyes.

"You didn't do the countersign," Zane rasped as James and Ralph ran to join him. " I hoot, you bray like wolves. We practiced it this afternoon."

"And I told you then," James whispered, looking about at the empty campus, "we're in a time bubble in the middle of major American city. There aren't any wolves for miles and centuries in every direction!"

"There would've been if you'd have done the countersign," Zane groused.

"Did you bring the Grint?" James asked, glancing at the blonde boy.

Zane hugged himself, shivering. "You mean the standard Zombie tool for magically picking locks that any self-respecting Zombie carries with him every time he goes out on an evening sneak? That Grint? No, I left it in your grandma's sock drawer. Silly me."

James nodded. "All right, then. Looks like the coast is clear. Let's go."

Together, the three boys ran along a line of leafless elms, hunkering low and keeping as much in shadow as possible. They skirted the front of the theater, crossed the mall in front of Administration Hall, and ducked into the warren of footpaths that ran through a block of college student apartments. Finally, his lungs raw from the cold night air, James looked up and saw the gates of the campus cemetery gaping open before him. Tentacles of mist crept like lazy ghosts between the nearest gravestones, beyond which was impenetrable darkness.

"Why's there have to be so many big willow trees and shrubberies and stuff?" Ralph whispered as they tiptoed through the gates. "I mean, it's a cemetery, not a hedge maze."

"Blame it on the old groundskeeper, Balpine Bludgeny," James replied, his teeth chattering. "He's what you call a traditionalist. Makes sure all the gates creak, all the trees are covered with Spanish moss, and the headstones lean just so . Gotta love a guy who takes that kind of pride in his work."

The three boys huddled unconsciously together as they followed the winding path through the hills of the cemetery. Shortly, they rounded a curve and found themselves out of sight of the main entrance. Moss-covered statues and obelisks loomed in silhouette out of the misty shadows. Not so much as a breath of wind moved the trees or the ever-present ground mist.

"I think it's over there," Ralph whispered, pointing up a nearby hill. "Can't we light our wands?"

Zane shook his head. "Somebody will see us. Your eyes will get used to the dark soon enough."

James led the way up the hill, skirting the leaning headstones. Suddenly, unbidden, he remembered his father's infrequent stories about the last days before the Battle of Hogwarts, when he and Headmaster Dumbledore had broken into a cave where Voldemort had hidden one of his many Horcruxes. Specifically, James found himself thinking of the cursed dead that occupied that cave's deep lake, flailing to the surface like beastly, gaping fish: Inferi . James shuddered and tried not to envision dead white hands scrabbling up out of the ground, clutching at his ankles. He actually found himself hoping for a good old-fashioned ghost, just to break the tension. Unfortunately, for whatever reason, Alma Aleron apparently didn't have any ghosts. He drew a deep breath and shuddered as he let it out.

"There it is," Zane nodded, angling toward the crest of the hill. " Roebitz . I can just read it by the light of the moon. Come on."

James watched as Zane retrieved a small complicated tool from a pocket in the recesses of his cloak. The blonde boy examined the keyhole beneath the mausoleum's door handle and then peered down to fiddle with the Grint.

"How's it work?" Ralph asked, leaning close.

"It's got a little imp locksmith in it," Zane replied. "He sniffs out what sort of lock he's dealing with and pops out whatever tool is best to get it open."

Ralph frowned and glanced at James. "Is he making that up?"

"You never can tell, can you?" James answered, shaking his head.

Zane leaned close to the door, squinted into the keyhole, and then pressed an ear to the cold metal, listening. "Nobody moving around inside," he said, peering back at James and Ralph. "Always a good sign."

James was impatient. "Can you get it open?"

"No problem," Zane nodded. "Nothing special here. Looks like a standard Mourning Rose double-tongued turnbolt. I looked them up this afternoon at the library. It's a basic mortuary homunculus lock. The key is tears."

"Like, one of us has to cry?" James asked, blinking.

Ralph frowned. "How do you cry on command? Maybe you should try it, James. You're the actor, aren't you?"

"I've only ever been in one play," James protested. "And it didn't require any waterworks. I don't know how to make myself cry."

Ralph's eyes widened with inspiration. "You just think about the saddest thing that's ever happened to you! Like, when your first pet died or something! It's easy!"

"I've never had any pets die yet," James replied. "If it's so easy, you do it then."

"You guys coming in or what?" Zane asked, pushing the copper door open. It creaked ponderously, revealing darkness beyond.

James boggled. "How'd you do that?"

"I just picked it," Zane shrugged, pocketing the Grint. "I figured that'd be faster than waiting for you to get all misty-eyed. I think I broke the lock a little, but we can fix it on the way out, eh? Let's go."

"I'll, er, keep watch," Ralph whispered nervously, backing away. James nodded, sighed, and then followed Zane into the musty darkness of the mausoleum.

It was very cold inside with a low ceiling and a gritty floor that scraped loudly under the boys' feet. Zane raised his wand slowly.

" Lumos," he whispered harshly. The wand sprang alight, filling the tiny space with its harsh glow. The interior of the mausoleum was completely unmarked. Cobwebs filled the corners, wafting with the boys' movements. The only objects in the cramped space were an old floor brazier with one remaining candle and a low stone shelf, upon which sat the unmistakable shape of a wooden casket.