G. Lippert - JAMES POTTER AND THE VAULT OF DESTINIES

"Shh!" James hissed, leaning. "I'm trying to listen in on this."

Zane stood some distance away on the side of the railway bed next to Professor Franklyn and the rest of the adults.

"I'm sorry, Professor," one of the wizarding policemen, a thin man named Trumble, was saying, consulting his little notepad. "You mentioned that these men came out of nowhere. They weren't provoked in any way?"

"I assure you," Franklyn answered, puffing out his chest, "we are not in the habit of provoking warfare whilst aboard moving trains. We have women and students aboard the train, as you know, not to mention any number of anonymous fellow travelers. These men attacked us in a coordinated fashion, and with no provocation whatsoever."

"That's not entirely true," Harry Potter said.

"What do you mean?" the larger and older policeman, Dunst, said, his face suspicious.

"The leader announced his affiliation with the W.U.L.F." Harry answered. "I expect it was Edgar Tarrantus himself, by the mask he was wearing. He certainly seemed to feel provoked. He threatened me and my people by name, telling us if we didn't leave the United States there would be trouble."

"I'd say there's been trouble already," Neville said, narrowing his eyes. "They weren't out to give warnings tonight. They meant to derail the train, at the very least. Warnings were what they resorted to only when we fought back and showed them a little what-for."

"Ah, that," Trumble said apologetically, sticking his pencil behind his ear. "It was the fighting back that was the problem tonight, when you get right down to it."

"Surely you didn't expect us to stand by and do nothing?" Denniston Dolohov said, raising his voice. James knew that, in fact, Dolohov himself had not fired a single magical shot, being a Squib, but James was impressed with the man's spirit nonetheless. "They were trying to kill us all!"

"That's hardly conclusive," Dunst replied, obviously unconvinced. "Probably just a bunch of local punks out looking for trouble. It was your overreaction that's caused this mess."

"Overreaction!" Franklyn sputtered. "I'll have your badge number! The impertinence!"

James noticed that throughout the conversation, Merlin stood some distance away, his face lowered in shadow, his arms folded.

The goblin engineer perked up then, apparently deciding that now was the time to distance himself from what had happened. "I didn't want to do it, officers," he said. "They told me to. It was all that big guy's idea."

"You didn't have to do it, you know," Zane said, cocking his head at the goblin. "As I recall it, we all did what we had to do to avoid being turned into highway hash, you included. Merlin made a request and you agreed to it."

"Well," the engineer said, scratching at his bald head, "he's Merlin, ain't he? Fellow like that is a hard one to say no to. Even if I didn't know at the time that's who he was."

Another voice spoke and James saw that it belonged to one of the two men from the Magical Integration Bureau. "According to a cursory survey of the scene of the incident, at least seventy-nine non-magical persons witnessed this train being piloted along Lexington Avenue," the man said in a rough, gravelly voice, consulting a clipboard. He had rugged features beneath a pair of dark sunglasses and a very staid black suit and tie. "At least thirty of those non-magical persons witnessed said train flying, either off the 21 Street southbound overpass or back up onto its northbound counterpart, some three blocks away. Initial damage estimates are in the hundreds of thousands, including a New York City police cruiser which somehow managed to end up beneath a Liberty Taxi." The man lowered his clipboard and glanced around at those present. "I can't be one hundred percent certain," he said in a different tone of voice, "but I think this might be the biggest violation of magical integration laws in at least a decade. Wouldn't you agree, Espinosa?" The last question he directed to his counterpart, a younger man with black hair and a pencil goatee.

"I think you're probably right, Price," the thinner man agreed. "At least a decade."

"I'm sure our people are already on the scene, setting things to rights," Franklyn soothed. "We have response teams for just such events, as you know. By morning, no one will remember anything other than that they had a somewhat exciting time during their previous evening's commute. The real question is who these men were and if we need to take their threats seriously."

"I take every threat seriously," Harry announced gravely. Next to him, Neville nodded.

"Does that mean you will be going back home?" Franklyn asked suddenly, peering up at the two men.

"Not at all," Harry replied immediately. "But it does mean we must be exceedingly cautious. I, for one, do not believe that those who attacked us were merely street toughs. They claimed to be members of the W.U.L.F., and were quite possibly attended by that organization's global leader. As one of my former teachers used to say, this will require constant vigilance. Fortunately, we are prepared for just such a thing."

A flicker of shadow appeared overhead followed by the flap of wings. James looked up from where he sat and saw a pigeon circle downwards, landing easily on Trumble's outstretched arm. Dunst quickly removed a rolled note from a tube on the pigeon's leg.

"I like owls better," Lucy commented next to James. "Pigeons are filthy birds."

James shrugged. He didn't have an opinion on that particular subject.

"All right," Dunst announced, reading the note and apparently disliking its contents. "Everything checks out with headquarters downtown. Mr. Potter here, along with his entourage, are indeed here at the request of the D.M.A. My apologies, gentlemen, Professor. Another train has been dispatched to take you and your people the rest of the way to your destination. The remaining passengers will complete their journey via the Zephyr , assuming you believe it rail-worthy, Mr. Engineer." He handed the note back to Trumble, who peered down at it.

"Well, I should hope that settles it, then," Franklyn announced huffily.

"I wouldn't be too hasty," the gruff man in the black suit said. "There will be paperwork, I'm afraid. I hate paperwork. It makes me cranky. Mr. Potter, I'd expect a call from the Magical Integration Bureau, if I was you. In fact, I suspect we will take a very close interest in you during the extent of your visit. I hope you'll be willing to cooperate with us."

Harry studied the rough-faced man for a moment, narrowing his eyes. Then, charmingly, he smiled. "It'll be our pleasure, sir. But do let me inquire: what is the basis of your interest in me and my people?"

"You're English, aren't you?" the gruff man, Price, asked, smiling tightly. "You might be interested to know that the tape the F.B.I. received explaining the terms of the release of our kidnapped senator, Charles Filmore, was recorded by someone with a British accent. One can only assume that you are here, officially, to investigate Senator Filmore's ongoing abduction, not to mention the matter of our relocated skyscraper. The newspeople and the general public may buy the story about little green men from the Andromeda galaxy, but we in the Magical Integration Bureau, well… we tend to be a suspicious bunch."

Harry nodded. "As would I, let me assure you. I welcome your assistance and collaboration. For now, though, might I ask, just out of curiosity, what the purported terms of Senator Filmore's release are?"

"That's confidential, of course," Price answered apologetically. "Fortunately, the F.B.I. believes the tape is a prank. I myself know very little about it except that the prevailing view around the Bureau is that we do not negotiate with terrorists—alien, British, or otherwise."