G. Lippert - JAMES POTTER AND THE VAULT OF DESTINIES

"Ah, that," Franklyn nodded. He peered over the railing himself, and James followed suit. In the darkness at the base of the chasm, a large object flashed and glimmered with purple light. It appeared to be spinning, but in a complicated, unpredictable fashion, as if it was made out of a dozen golden leaves and prisms, all revolving independently around some blindingly bright core.

"If the Disrecorder can be called the brain of the Archive," Franklyn said soberly, "then that down there… is its heart and soul."

Dolohov adjusted his spectacles and blinked down at the distant gold and purple blur. "Is it another artifact?"

"Not exactly," Franklyn answered. "It is, in fact, a very ancient form of distinctly American magic. None of us knows how it works or even why it works. We only know what it does and that it is dreadfully, devastatingly important."

"American magic," Harry said, glancing aside at the Chancellor. "It can't be all that old then, can it?"

"You misunderstand me," Franklyn said gravely. "America is indeed an old, old land. Much older than the government that now occupies it. It was here before the first settlers arrived at Plymouth Rock. It was here when this land's original inhabitants roamed the prairies and woodlands, living in teepees and hunting the buffalo that roamed in herds many miles long. America is a strange and ancient place although it was not always known by that name. We call it the great melting pot, but its attractions have been evident since long before our arrival here.

"Many other peoples and cultures visited this land in the ages of its existence, many of them magical, many of them long forgotten in the eons since. That object down there, the one encased in our best magical protections and guardian charms… was left by one of those visiting magical peoples. Our best guesses tell us that it was the ancient Persians or Babylonians, who were among the first magical communities to ply the oceans. Perhaps they left it here, on the prairies of this wide open land, quite by accident. Then again, perhaps they abandoned it deliberately, either because they didn't need it anymore or, more likely, because they feared it, feared the dangers of this thing that their vast magical arts had wrought. We discovered it, and preserve it, but we did not create it. And we most certainly do not control it."

"Every magical society has its mysterious treasures," Harry commented. "I've been inside the Department of Mysteries at the Ministry of Magic, so I've seen many of our own. This object of yours I think I may have heard of, although I understand that its existence is kept secret from the general public. Is this so?"

"For their good, as well as its own," Franklyn nodded.

"So what is it?" Merlin asked once more. James looked up at him, and saw the purple flash of the object even this far up playing on the Headmaster's stern features.

"It is the ultimate record of all things," Franklyn said simply. "It is our history, and by that, I do not mean the history of Alma Aleron or the city of Philadelphia or even the entire United States. It is a record of all things that have ever been in this universe, from the very dawn of time. It is History, recorded in its entirety exactly as it happens, with magic so ancient and delicate that none dare to touch it. Only a very few of us have ever seen it with our naked eyes, and that only happens once a century, when we check it just to make sure it is still working."

Dolohov cleared his throat. In a small voice, he asked, "What does it look like?"

Franklyn peered down at the flickering glow and smiled slightly. He shook his head slowly as he said, "Friends, I don't think you'd believe me if I told you. It is so simple, so basic, that you would find it silly. And yet I think it is anything but."

"So what happens," Harry asked seriously, "if it stops working?"

"Why, none of us knows for sure, my dear Mr. Potter," Franklyn replied, looking slightly startled. "But I have the strongest suspicion that life—that is, everything we know and ever will know, the totality of existence—is inextricably connected to the object stored in the bowels of this very Archive. I think that if it stopped working… so would everything else."

Merlin frowned doubtfully. "I have known my share of very powerful magical objects," he said in a low voice. "And they all make their marks on the fabric of existence. I have never heard tell of a single magical object that bears the fabric of existence within itself. Are you quite sure of your theories about this object, Chancellor?"

"Alas," Franklyn answered, chuckling wearily. "No. We know very little, in fact. Theories are as myriad as they are improvable. We only know what the object does. We do not know why, or how, or, in fact, what would happen if it were to stop."

"In that case," Merlin said, smiling at the Chancellor, "your prudence is the most obvious and respectable choice. I am glad to know that such mysterious magic is in the hands of those so very aware of its potential gravity. What do you call it?"

Franklyn sighed and looked back down, through the depths of the artifact laden floors, to the flashing purple and gold glow far below.

With a relatively anticlimactic sniff, he answered, "We call it the Vault of Destinies."

After dinner that evening, James, Zane, and Ralph ran back to the common dorm, cutting across the lawns and weaving through the shadows of the huge elms and chestnuts. Inside, they stripped off their blazers and stowed them in the top floor room that still housed the boys' trunks. When they finally made their way back downstairs and out the rear door of the common dorm, the lowering sun had painted the sky a fierce tangerine, fading to navy blue at its zenith.

"There," Zane nodded, pointing.

The boys angled toward a line of battered metal trash cans ranged along the back wall. A drift of elm leaves lay like snow around the trash cans, carpeting their lids, but the yellow 'Z' on the can in the middle was immediately visible. James drew a breath, held it, and then lifted the lid from the marked can.

"What is it?" Ralph frowned, peering in.

"Oh man," Zane grinned. "Oh buddy. You got the granddaddy of all pledge dares. Either Warrington thinks you two are bonafide Zombies or he hates your guts."

James reached into the can and retrieved a handful of cloth. It was thick, comprised of black and yellow fabrics all sewn together in a neat pattern. There seemed to be acres of it.

"It's a flag," Ralph said, grabbing a handful and helping James pull it out of the can.

"It's the Hermes House flag," Zane said reverently. "See? It's got the Zombie crest on it, the yellow and black shield bearing the skull with crossed out eyes. Do you know what this means?"

James looked from the enormous flag in his hands to Ralph to Zane. He shook his head, not particularly liking where this was going.

"It's an old dare, but one of the most revered. The legendary flag switch. I hear that it hasn't been done by any house in years. That means the school administration's probably going to be on the lookout for it. There may be boundary charms, guard hexes, even lookouts. Oh man, it's going to be such a blast! I can't believe I'm not allowed to come along!"

James wanted to throttle the blonde boy, but his hands were too full of flag. "What is it, you big dope? Tell us, already!"

Zane grinned and helped grab the rest of the flag out of the trash can. He wadded the mass of fabric, stuffed it into Ralph and James' arms, and then led them around the building. When they stood in front, overlooking the fountain with the gargoyle birdbath, he put an arm around James' shoulder. With his free hand he pointed across campus. "See that? Up there over the trees, on top of Administration Hall?"