G. Lippert - JAMES POTTER AND THE VAULT OF DESTINIES

James shook his head. "Dad's completely swamped," he replied. "Ever since Petra's arrest, he's been buried in some major secret plan. Titus Hardcastle came over for it, and even Viktor Krum and the Harriers. Dad doesn't trust the locals much, and they don't trust him, so he thought it'd be best to bring his own blokes along for this last raid, whatever it is. There's no way I'm going to throw this on him as well."

"Is it the W.U.L.F.?" Rose asked, interested in spite of herself. "Has Uncle Harry found them? And that missing Muggle politician?"

James shook his head and shrugged. "All I know for sure is that it's all going to go down in the next few days. Dad can't even come to my Clutchcudgel tournament. He and Titus Hardcastle are going to be in New Amsterdam, 'doing some last minute reconnaissance' is what he told me. There's going to be a big Muggle parade that night—it's some American holiday or other."

"Memorial Day," Zane piped up, nodding.

"Yeah, that," James agreed. "Dad says it'll be the perfect time to make last-minute arrangements since everybody will be distracted with the parade and all the festivities. Last time he tried to raid them, the bad guys caught wind of it somehow, and got away only hours before. Dad doesn't want that to happen this time."

Rose sighed. "Well," she admitted, "I do feel a bit better knowing that this could all be over soon. You'll be coming home after this is all said and done? Assuming Uncle Harry's raid goes well?"

"Oh, it'll be a smash," Zane nodded confidently. "I mean, he's Harry Potter, right? The Boy Who Lived! And he's got his A-team with him! Hardcastle, Krum, everybody! Those W.U.L.F. loons and their crazy new lady leader will be breaking rocks in Fort Bedlam by this time next week. You wait and see."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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