G. Lippert - JAMES POTTER AND THE VAULT OF DESTINIES

"Hardly any of these make any sense," Ralph agreed. "Look here: Muggle Occupation Studies. What's that about?"

"Hey!" a voice called nearby, startling the three. James looked around and saw a pair of older students standing next to the doors of the Administration Hall. One, a girl, wore a dark slate skirt, matching button-down sweater and a burgundy tie. Black hair framed her dark, severe face. The other, a boy older than James, had bright green hair cut into a stripe that ran from his brow to the base of his neck. He wore a screamingly yellow tie and black pants. The crest on his blazer identified him as a member of Zombie House.

"Are you talking to us?" Ralph asked querulously.

"Do you see any other new students who've gotten it into their heads to pledge the Hermes House Zombies?"

"And the Ares Werewolves," the girl added, smiling crookedly. "Which one of you is Albus Potter?"

Albus jumped to attention and did his best salute. James knew it was an attempt to be funny, and knew as well that it would fail miserably.

"On the ground, pledge," the girl barked, pointing to the portico floor. "Salutes are for those who serve. You'll make up for that mockery by giving me thirty."

Albus was halfway onto his face on the hot stone. He stopped and glanced up at the taller girl. "Er, thirty what? Galleons? Kisses? Sorry, I'm not from around here. Is this some sort of bribe?"

The girl grinned again. She hunkered down in front of Albus so that her face was only a foot from his. "Thirty pushups , Cornelius," she said sweetly. "And just to make sure you remember, you'll do them one-handed."

" Cornelius ?" Ralph muttered.

"Pushups," Albus moaned. "That's, like, exercise, right?"

The girl nodded and produced her wand from the sleeve of her white blouse. "Here. I'll get you started."

She flicked her wrist and Albus levitated smartly into the air. A moment later, he plopped back down onto his hands and the tips of his toes.

"That's one," the girl said, still smiling. "Now count them out."

Albus grunted as he began to count, touching his nose to the stone and pushing himself up.

"As for you two," the boy said, moving close to Ralph and James and looking them up and down, "I wouldn't have picked you out of a meat locker lineup, but you come with a decent recommendation from one of my house members. Zane Walker says you were members of the Gremlins. Is that so?"

James blinked. "How do you know about them?"

The boy cuffed James lightly over the ear and grinned. "I just explained it. Zane told me. So were you members or not?"

"Yeah," James said, rubbing the side of his head. The cuff hadn't really hurt, but he felt he should do something more than just absorb it.

"I suppose I was a member," Ralph said, thinking hard. "I mean, unofficially, I guess. There was never any swearing in, if you know what I mean…"

"We take initiation seriously in Zombie House," the boy said. "My name's Warrington. You'll call me… let's see… you'll call me 'Mr. Warrington, his grand exalted poobahness'. Until I tell you otherwise. Understood?"

"Yeah," James said wearily, nodding.

"Yeah, what?" Warrington prodded, leaning closer.

"Yeah, Mr. Warrington, your grand exalted, er… poobahness?"

"Close enough," the boy said, straightening again. "So you're James Potter and this ton o' bricks here is Ralph Deedle, both of you from jolly old England. All right, then. Here's what I want you both to do right now. I want you to run along to Hermes Mansion and introduce yourselves to the rest of the Zombies. But you can't go inside, you understand. You're only pledges, and pledges have to be invited in. So, you'll have to stand outside and yell. Tell everybody in the house your name, who recommended you, and why we should make you official members. And wear these."

Warrington held out two hats. James was not exactly surprised to see that they were yellow and black beanies, with gently spinning propellers on the tops. Some things, of course, were just tradition no matter what country you were in. Slowly, he and Ralph took them.

"Put 'em on now," Warrington grinned. "Show some house pride, why don't you? When I get back to the house, in an hour, I want to see you outside, hard at work. And when I get inside , I want the rest of the Zombies to be able to tell me everything about you that I need to know, with no exceptions. Got it?"

"Yes," James sighed, jamming the beanie onto his head.

"Yes, what? " Warrington prodded again.

"Yes, Mr. Warrington," both boys said in sloppy unison, "your grand exalted poobahness."

"Nah, I don't want to be called that anymore," Warrington said, cupping his chin. "Now, you will refer to me as 'Captain Warrington, the Superduke of the Realm of Coolness'. Remember that. I don't want to have to remind you. Now run!"

He shooed James and Ralph, who turned and trotted haphazardly down the steps of the Administration Hall, leaving Albus grunting out pushups on the portico.

"I didn't realize," Ralph panted as they began to cross the campus, "that running… would be part of the deal."

8. THE VAULT OF DESTINIES

It was amazing, James reflected the next day, how similar life at Hogwarts and life at Alma Aleron could be while being so simultaneously completely different.

He and Ralph had spent most of the previous afternoon in the basement of Hermes Mansion wearing their ridiculous propeller beanies and being grilled by senior members of the Zombies about why they should be allowed to join, all the while crawling around on the basement's ratty carpets and poking into the dusty rafters in search of spiders, which they were instructed to collect and save in a large jar. James had half worried that part of their initiation would include eating the spiders that they were in the process of collecting and had purposely avoiding capturing several of the larger ones. By ten o'clock, Zane had been there as well, munching a huge bowl of popcorn with his feet kicked up on an old footstool covered in yellow shag carpeting. Warrington, who by then had chosen to be referred to as 'High Sultan Warrington, Master of the Fighting Freemdugs of the Second-Floor Sectional Couch', had inspected Ralph's and James' jar of spiders with a critical eye. Dozens of the arachnids scrambled over each other in the bottom of the jar, their tiny legs making a slightly maddening scritching sound on the glass.

"Not bad, pledges," Warrington had proclaimed reluctantly. "You got sixteen more than Zane here did on his first night."

"No fair!" Zane had exclaimed, sitting upright in the old recliner by the stairs. "There's two of them!"

"Yeah," Warrington had grinned, unscrewing the lid of the jar. "But you cheated, Walker. You transfigured half of your spiders out of ants, centipedes, and even a few stale potato chips. Most of them didn't even have the right number of legs."

Zane had slumped backwards in the chair again. "That's what you all loved about me, if I recall. Creative cheating is a Zombie core value. You told me so yourself."

"Indeed I did," Warrington had nodded, upending the jar over the stained carpet. The spiders had poured out and scrambled away in all directions, scuttling under the furniture and into dark corners.

"What'd you do that for?" Ralph had exclaimed, his eyes bulging. James had noticed that the propeller on Ralph's head spun faster when he was agitated. It had very nearly lifted him off the floor when he'd discovered the black widow's nest in the shadow of the stairs.

"Sorry, pledges," Warrington had replied soberly. "It's purely catch-and-release in Zombie House. Otherwise, what will the next batch of pledges have to chase after? Why, some of those spiders are like family by now."