G. Lippert - JAMES POTTER AND THE VAULT OF DESTINIES

"At least my turncoat comes with a burgundy tie," Albus replied, brushing off his blazer and peering critically down at himself. "Pretty dashing, isn't it?"

Ralph narrowed his eyes. "You ever hear the phrase 'blood is thicker than water'?"

"I haven't gotten that far in Potions yet," Albus answered breezily.

In a careful voice, Lucy said, "That was a rather awful thing to do, Albus, leaving your brother up there like that."

"Oh, he was fine," Albus waved a hand. "It was either him or me. Before I was a Werewolf, I was a Slytherin, remember, and we Slytherins take every break we can get. It's the Gryffindors that are all self-sacrificing and noble. If you look at it that way, I was just helping James to be true to his heritage."

James flung out an arm and backhanded his brother on the shoulder, shoving him backwards. "I'll show you a thing or two about nobility, you sodding git!"

"Ah, ah, ah…," Albus warned, wagging a finger at his brother. "Werewolves look out for each other. Now that I wear the grey and burgundy, anything you do to me is likely to be repaid by the Brotherhood of the Wolf. I'm just giving you fair warning. I don't want to see you get hurt, big brother."

"'Brotherhood of the Wolf'," Zane scoffed. "There isn't a real werewolf in the bunch. If any of your br otherhood was confronted by a real wolf, they'd scurry like mice."

Albus rounded on Zane. "But Zombie House is full of the walking undead, right? At least in terms of brainpower, from what I hear."

"Them's fightin' words!" Zane proclaimed stridently.

"Will you both shut it," Lucy interrupted, getting between the two of them and placing a hand on each one's chest, pushing them apart. "This is a silly thing to argue about. Everyone knows that both the Werewolves and Zombies cower before the dark mystery of Vampire House."

Zane spluttered while Albus pushed Lucy's hand away. She smiled haughtily, raised her chin, and walked on.

"She sure picked that up fast," Ralph said, impressed.

"Come on," Zane urged irritably, yanking Ralph's elbow. "The Bigfoots' mansion is over here. Let's get you inside and introduced to your new pals. I've never even seen the inside of the dorm since I've never been friends with any Bigfeets."

James sighed as they walked toward the staid brick structure. Apollo Mansion, home of Bigfoot House, was by far the least interesting of the houses. It stood square and straight in the orange sunset, looking like a sentinel guarding something nobody really wanted. There was virtually no landscaping around the mansion except for a few squat shrubberies that ranged around the foundation in a businesslike manner. A short stone stairway led to the front door, which was adorned with a large pewter knocker in the shape of a foot with splayed toes.

"So, are there any actual Bigfoots in Bigfoot House?" Ralph asked as they climbed the steps.

"Maybe," Zane shrugged. "That would put them on a level higher than either the Werewolves or the Vampires. They haven't had any real werewolves or vampires in their houses for centuries."

James asked, "What about the Pixies, Igors, and Zombies?"

"I don't know about the Pixies or Igors," Zane said, reaching for the huge knocker, "but the old President of Zombie House was this crotchety professor named Straidthwait, and he taught class for nearly a week before anyone knew he'd died of brain failure or something. Apparently, he'd spent too much time in deepest Africa during a summer vacation and drank a few too many native potions. Once he found out he was dead, he insisted on being buried in the campus cemetery, ambulatory or not." Zane grinned at James and Ralph and clacked the door knocker three times, shaking the big wooden door.

"You're making that up," Ralph insisted. "They didn't bury him alive!"

Zane shook his head. "He wasn't alive. He was dead as a doorknob. Said so himself. I hear he performed his own eulogy and told everyone that he was looking forward to being buried. Said it was going to be like the ultimate retirement. It's engraved on his tomb, in fact. I'll show you sometime."

"No thanks," Ralph replied as the door opened. A small boy with pasty skin and huge glasses looked up at Zane.

"I know you," he said meekly. "You gave me donkey's ears last year."

"Did I?" Zane blinked, thinking. "Could be. I gave a lot of people donkey's ears last year. It was all the rage. Hurt, did it?"

The boy stared up at Zane. "No. But it made me want to eat lots of carrots. And it made it easier to hear the lectures in Mageography. I didn't mind, really."

"Good man," Zane said heartily, clapping the boy on the shoulder. The boy tottered.

"I'm James," James said, stepping forward. "And this here's Ralph. We're… er… Bigfoots."

"You sure are," the boy said, looking up and down at Ralph.

"I remember you," Zane said, squinting. "Pastington, right?"

"Paddington," the boy corrected. "Wentworth Paddington."

"Can we come in?" Ralph asked hopefully. "Only, we'd like to get settled into our new rooms. If we have to sleep in the common dorm with that crazy clockwork monkey for one more night…"

"Oh, sure," the boy said blandly, stepping backwards. "Everything's pretty much wherever you find it. The dormitories are all up on the third floor. Game room's in the basement. Everything in between is what it is."

James stepped into the foyer of the house. It was neat and high with a small unlit chandelier dangling overhead. A dusty banner drooped from the chandelier, faded with age. Dark blue letters on an orange background spelled the words 'BIGFOOT PRUDE'.

"Oh, that," Wentworth said, following James' gaze. "That was made by Kowalski's mom when he was a freshman. English isn't exactly her first language, but Kowalski was so proud of it that we couldn't bring ourselves to take it down."

Zane nodded up at the banner. "Makes perfect sense to me, Went. So where's the party at anyway?"

Wentworth blinked behind his huge glasses. "Party?"

"Where's the rest of your Bigfoot pals?" Zane clarified. "And your president? James and Ralph here should probably meet them all, shouldn't they?"

"Oh," Wentworth said uncertainly. "Sure. I guess so. Come on." He turned and padded away, heading toward a huge stairway that dominated the main hall. After a sidelong glance at Ralph and Zane, James followed.

As the four descended into the mansion's basement, they heard a babble of voices and the clack and clatter of billiard balls. Turning a landing at the base of the stairs, James found himself in a low, cluttered room, filled with mismatched sofas and chairs, end tables, and a small galaxy of lamps with battered shades. Students lounged in groups throughout the space or drifted around a collection of very antique game tables in the dimmer recesses of the basement room. A huge white refrigerator sat like a deflated blimp in the corner, flanked by a stuffed deer's head on one side and a moose head on the other. The moose head wore a tasseled nightcap and seemed to be sleeping. None of the occupants of the room looked up as James, Ralph, and Zane entered.

"He's over there," Wentworth pointed. "In the middle, with his feet on the disarmadillo."

James followed Wentworth's gesture and saw the President of Bigfoot House lounging on a low orange sofa, his feet propped on a small animal that appeared to be half aardvark and half tank. James recognized the man as the one who had sat next to his father at Professor Longbottom's assembly. With a start, he realized that his father was sitting next to the man even now, laughing happily and holding a bottle of some American beer. Harry saw his son from across the room, grinned and waved him over.

"I heard you'd been assigned to Bigfoot House," he called as James, Ralph, and Zane threaded through the various chairs and tables. "You couldn't have found a better home. Er, no matter what path got you here," he added, smiling crookedly.