G. Lippert - JAMES POTTER AND THE VAULT OF DESTINIES

"Ms. Morganstern is coming along very well," Baruti replied easily, displaying one of his stunningly bright smiles. "I see her once a week, most of the time. She misses her freedom, but her French is tr ès magnifique ."

James nodded. "Any word about the investigation with that Keynes bloke? I haven't heard a word about it from my parents. I think they're trying to keep me from worrying about it, but I can handle it."

Baruti clucked his tongue and shook his head dismissively. "Don't you worry about that, young Master James. Ms. Morganstern is not worried! Why should you be? If tomorrow brings trouble, it will bring the solution as well." He patted James on the shoulder with his large callused hand and James nodded disconsolately.

The only class that James was performing particularly poorly in was Arithmatics. Taught by a young professor named Plumvole with far more enthusiasm for the subject than actual teaching ability, James simply couldn't wrap his mind around the long, dense formulas and symbols scrawled onto the magical blackboard. As a result, he was pressed to attend occasional tutoring sessions with Professor Plumvole in his office on the fifth floor of Administration Hall. The professor was thoroughly patient with James, explaining the concepts over and over on parchment while James leaned on the desk, his forehead cradled helplessly in his hands. He still didn't understand the equations, but Plumvole was so infatuated with his own explanations that he didn't notice James' complete lack of involvement.

As a result, Plumvole completed all of James' homework while James himself merely watched. At the end of the last session, Plumvole clapped James heartily on the shoulder, promising that they were making excellent progress. Sheepishly, James nodded, shrugged and bid the professor goodnight.

It was growing dark outside the Administration Hall's tall windows as James meandered his way to the ground floor. Passing a set of propped-open auditorium doors, however, he heard a familiar voice. It was Professor Wood giving a lecture to an audience of college-level students. James remembered that Wood taught a subject called Ethics of Magic, which Zane had promised was 'dead boring'. Still, James was curious. He stopped to listen, hovering just inside the open doorway.

"So," Wood was saying, turning to a huge blackboard and pointing his wand at it, "the question of intervention revolves around these three primary questions: motive, benefit, and repercussion.

"Before considering any intervention in the affairs of our Muggle fellows, we must honestly ask ourselves: one: why are we doing it? Is it truly for the Muggles' good? Or for another, more selfish reason? Two: what is the real benefit that might be gained by such an intervention? Is it worth the risks involved? We cannot judge this on feelings alone; we must answer this impartially and honestly. Finally, what are all the possible repercussions of such an action? As in the example, if a fellow wizard is being attacked by Muggle robbers in an alley and we Stun the leader within sight of his cohorts, is the damage of that magical revelation worth the money that the attackers might have stolen? This is a safe example for it involves only money and is therefore easier to consider. But the equation might well involve lives rather than coin. It is ethically incumbent on us to consider: if we save a life but harm the integrity of the magical/Muggle worlds for thousands of others, is that a worthy intervention?

"There are no obvious conclusions, but as we have seen in the examples, any interaction between the Muggle and magical world that fails in any one of these considerations threatens, at the very least, the integrity of those involved, and potentially, the very stability of our twin cultures. Easy answers are tempting, as we all know—answers that rely on emotion and goodwill and basic concepts of immediate justice—but easy answers can lead to horrific consequences. This is the weight of responsibility that we, unlike our Muggle brothers, bear. It is no easy burden, but that does not give us an excuse to shrug it off. We must consider the fact that, despite how we might feel, sometimes it is better—and more deeply responsible—to do nothing. Sometimes we cannot trust our feelings alone. Sometimes, the heart is a liar."

James didn't quite understand everything that Wood was saying, but the last part stuck with him: sometimes the heart is a liar . Petra Morganstern had, in fact, said something almost exactly like that, James remembered. Months earlier, when they'd talked, strangely enough, about the Bible story of Adam and Eve. Eve had born the burden of the same sort of responsibility that Wood was talking about—the responsibility to consider that sometimes what felt right was, in fact, exactly the wrong thing to do. She wasn't evil , Petra had said that day, as they'd walked toward the Warping Willow under Professor Baruti's shimmering rainbow umbrella. She was just… misinformed. She was doing what she felt was best .

Sometimes… the heart is a liar , Petra had told him that day, her eyes solemn. In James' memory, though, Petra didn't sound quite like she meant it. She sounded more as if she was trying on the concept, the way someone might try on a shoe or a hat just to see if it fit.

For some reason, the thought made James shudder. Without waiting for Professor Wood to finish his lecture, he turned and followed the hall toward the stairs at the far end, shaking his head worriedly.

It was fully dark outside by the time James crossed the campus, heading toward Apollo Mansion. The mall was virtually deserted, lit by the occasional lamppost and the glow of lights from the other houses. Light glinted off a large dark orb as James passed a pool. Stopping, he saw that it was the Octosphere. It turned slowly, shimmering in the moonglow and creating its soft, almost inaudible rumble. James frowned at it in the darkness, thinking.

Professor Magnussen had created the Octosphere, his first attempt at reading all things in the universe at once and therefore predicting—and controlling—the future. Everyone believed that Magnussen had finally succeeded, in a way: they believed that he'd escaped into the World Between the Worlds, leaving this dimension forever. James knew the truth, however. Magnussen had been struck down in vengeance for the acts he'd committed in pursuit of his horrible plan. He may once have trod the World Between the Worlds, as he had claimed in the Disrecorder vision, but he certainly had not ended up there. As Kendrick Debellows had once said during last year's classes, the warrior who trusts only in the greatness of his magic will trip over the smallest stone. Magnussen had been extremely arrogant, and he had tripped over the smallest stone imaginable—one the size of a single Muggle bullet.

Suddenly, James remembered that he, himself, had very nearly interfered with that reality. He had jumped out from his hiding place in the alley, wand in hand, prepared to duel Magnussen rather than watch him kill the Muggle man, William. If he had intervened only a second earlier, he probably would have interrupted Helen in the act of aiming her pistol. What would have happened? Would Magnussen have defeated them all? Might James, Ralph, and Zane have somehow prevailed over the professor and saved Helen from the act of shooting him? How would that have affected history and the lives of all those involved?

James shook his head and shivered. Wood was right: it was scary to consider the repercussions of such things. James himself had very nearly changed history, and in a rather dramatic way. Somehow, he knew that it was best that he had not—that his intervention had been a split second too late. Maybe it wasn't the best possible reality that Helen had shot and killed Magnussen, but James was secretly sure that if things had gone any other way, it could have been far worse in the end.