G. Lippert - JAMES POTTER AND THE VAULT OF DESTINIES

"Don't worry about it, James," Wood suggested, nodding encouragingly. "Just have fun, eh? This is what you were made for."

James looked at the professor, hoping he was right. He nodded, gulped, and then swung his other foot onto the beam of his skrim. A moment later, the platform was gone, replaced by open space.

James remembered everything.

Less than a minute later, Professor Sanuye blew his official's whistle. From that point on, there was no looking back.

The match was a blur of wild motion, punctuated only by the whoosh of the rings, the buffet of passing players, and the occasional thump and cry as Bullies collided with Clippers. Spells sizzled through the air all around and James thought he had never experienced such intense, instantaneous ferocity. It was as if the Wolves were pulling out all the stops from the very moment the whistle blew, meaning to crush Team Bigfoot's spirit even before it had a chance to take root. As James passed through the center ring in pursuit of a Werewolf Clipper, he was walloped from overhead by what felt like a passing freight train. He spun off his skrim, grabbed onto it as he fell away, and then swung back up on the other side—a maneuver he had practiced so many times in the Gauntlet that it was nearly second nature. As he re-oriented himself, he glanced aside. Pentz, the boy who had tried to knock him off his skrim the very first time he, James, had attempted to fly one, was rocketing away, grinning back over his shoulder.

James shook his head, fuming, and darted back into the rings, rejoining the flow of the match.

It was difficult to keep track of the match as it was underway. James tried to be aware of what the rest of his team was doing, but the viciousness and speed of the Werewolves' tactics made it a challenge simply to stay on his skrim. James was sure that he had never flown so fast for so long, and yet he was barely keeping up. At one point during the first quarter, he saw Jazmine and Gobbins performing one of the two-man offensive spells that the Pixies had taught them with some apparent success. Later, he followed Wentworth in Clipper formation and saw the smaller boy activate one of the Igors' ingenious gizmos from the rear of his skrim. A small box popped open and a Boggart deployed from it, immediately taking the shape of a ghastly flying clown. Clayton Altaire, who had been gaining on Wentworth in Bully position, nearly fell off his skrim as the clown loomed over him. James flashed past and used the Riddikulus spell his father had taught him to turn the clown into a cloud of ping pong balls, which fell away into the darkness below.

In general, the team seemed to be putting everything they knew to good use, and yet as the match neared halftime, James noticed with dismay that Team Werewolf was leading by a score of fifty-two to forty-four.

And then, fifteen seconds before the end of the second quarter, James heard a sickening thud and a shout of pain. The crowd roared deafeningly, either in anger or encouragement, and James glanced around, seeking the source of the cry. His heart rammed up into his throat as he saw Norrick falling into the darkness of the field, his arms and legs thrashing at the empty air. Far over him, his skrim spun lazily, weaving a looping trail out over one of the grandstands. Professor Sanuye's wand was out in a flash.

" Wingardium Leviosa !" he shouted, his voice thin with distance.

Norrick bobbed upwards, missing the grassy field below by less than ten feet. He hovered over his shadow, his right arm dangling limply.

The crowd, which had fallen silent for a few seconds, erupted with mingled cheers and jeers. From the announcer's booth, Cheshire Chatterly's voice rang out.

"Bigfoot number six, Willem Norrick, appears to be injured after a devastating sideswipe by Werewolf number nine, Parker Pentz," she cried, obviously angry. "Match Official Sanuye is escorting Norrick to the Bigfoot platform. Unless we hear otherwise, it would appear that Mr. Norrick will be out for the rest of this match, leaving Team Bigfoot one player short!"

James shouted to Norrick as Sanuye levitated him to the platform, "Norrick! How bad is it?"

"Bad enough!" Norrick called back through gritted teeth. "But I'll keep playing! That punk can't get rid of me that easily!"

James glanced back at the 'punk' in question. Pentz flew in a lazy arc around the Werewolf platform, grinning crookedly.

"Do we have any reserve players?" Gobbins asked, floating up to join James near the center ring.

"Rrrarpgh!" Mukthatch answered dolefully from his place by the goal ring.

"We only had Kleinschmidt," James said. "And he came down with the yipsplits from eating too many of Yeats' dragon fingers."

"He'd have been no help anyway," Gobbins observed mournfully. "Kid flies a skrim like a fish flies a kite."

"So what'll we do?" James asked.

Gobbins shrugged. "We play one man short unless we can find a replacement. Can you think of anyone else who can suit up in Norrick's place?"

James shook his head dourly.

From the Bigfoot platform, Professor Sanuye turned away from Norrick and blew his whistle.

"Penalty, Team Werewolf," he called out, using his wand to amplify his voice. "Malicious sideswiping. Three minutes in the dock."

James glanced back to the Werewolf platform in time to see Pentz dropping easily onto it. The Werewolf coach, a college-level student with a blocky head and a crew cut, collected Pentz's skrim and grinned tightly.

"They planned it," Gobbins commented wonderingly. "Pentz did it on purpose! See how easy they're taking the penalty?"

James sighed angrily. "Well, at least our numbers will be even for the next three minutes."

"Three minutes nothing!" Gobbins said, glancing back at him. "It's only thirteen seconds 'til halftime! All penalties are canceled at that point! Why do you think they waited to do this now? Come next half, they'll have a full crew and we'll be down by one! Unless Norrick can keep playing."

As if on cue, Cheshire Chatterly spoke again, her voice echoing from the announcer's box.

" And Willem Norrick is escorted down to the field by the medical crew, apparently suffering a dislocated shoulder at the hands of Team Werewolf. Thus, with no reserves, Team Bigfoot finds themselves one player short of a full squad. Daunting odds indeed for the perennial underdogs."

James' face was hot with anger and frustration. When Sanuye blew his whistle again, announcing the resumption of play, he felt clumsy on his skrim. Werewolf players thundered past, quickly collecting all three Clutches. By the time the halftime horn sounded, two of those Clutches had been turned into scores. Team Werewolf circled like wasps, barking gleefully and collapsing onto their platform in triumph.

"How's Norrick?" Jazmine asked dispiritedly as she landed on the Bigfoot platform.

"He'll be all right," Wood replied, sighing, "by tomorrow afternoon. For now, I'm afraid he's out of the match."

"Do we have to forfeit?" Wentworth asked, his eyes huge and angry behind his glasses.

"Not legally, no," Wood answered immediately. "But we are at a distinct disadvantage. Let's give it a vote. Do you lot want to go on with the match? Or shall we pack it in and head down to the Kite and Key to celebrate a season well spent?"

"No way," Gobbins announced loudly. "I'll take them all on myself even if the rest of you go home. Lousy cheats! I'll teach them to play dirty like that!"

"I'm in too," Jazmine said, firming her jaw.

"Wraak Rubffthuth!" Mukthatch agreed, nodding vigorously.

"We can still take them," James added, sounding much more confident than he felt. "This is our match to win!"

"Hear hear," Wood concurred as the rest of the team cheered in agreement. "Then we stay and play on. You're doing incredibly well, all of you. I have nothing else to tell you than just to keep it up. Now that we're down one player, though, we'll all have to be even more alert. Concentrate on offense, sink as many scores as you can. You'll have to get used to playing Clipper and Bully at the same time whenever necessary. We can do that because you all know all the parts, right?"