G. Lippert - JAMES POTTER AND THE VAULT OF DESTINIES

"Look," Zane rasped suddenly, pointing past Ralph's shoulder. "The rain! It's falling up !"

In front of James, Petra gasped, and then laughed with delight. Sure enough, all over the grey-lit campus, drops of rain seemed to jump up from the ground, leaping into the sky as if to rejoin the clouds. Overhead, the Tree whispered and stirred, and the backward rain grew faster, turning into a blur. Within seconds, James sensed the motion of the clouds, and then that of the sun beyond the clouds as it dipped back toward dawn. Darkness swept over the campus as time began to march backwards outside the canopy of the Tree.

"I never get tired of this," Zane commented breathlessly. Next to him, James nodded.

Petra stood directly in front of James, looking out as the days and months began to march past. Her head moved slightly as she watched the sun turn into a golden streak and the leaves leap back up onto the trees, turning green and lush. Seasons went by and she sighed deeply. James watched her as she watched the view. She was so close to him and yet turned away from him. That was all right though. Without really thinking about it, he raised his hand and very nearly stroked his fingers over the dark sweep of her hair. Instead, he lowered his hand to her shoulder and rested it there, as if only for support or as a gesture of familiarity. Very faintly, she leaned back against his hand, and he was glad.

Time flew by beyond the branches of the Tree and finally began to cycle back through seasons, and then weeks, and finally days. The sun slowed in its arc and crept once more up into a pristine, cloudless sky. A hot breeze blew in beneath the canopy of the Warping Willow, bringing a scent of wild grass and, unexpectedly, animal dung. With a sort of deep sigh, the Tree went still and Professor Baruti clapped his hands together.

"This way, then, students," he cried. "We have just over an hour and a half before we must return, so let us use it wisely. Good afternoon, Mr. Flintlock."

Petra stepped out into the sunlight and James followed, blinking in the sudden heat. The campus of Alma Aleron University had vanished away, replaced by the small weedy yard with its surrounding glass-topped stone wall. Whenever they were, it felt like the middle of a particularly sweltering summer. All around, students began to strip off their sweaters and blazers and fan themselves in the still air. James could vaguely hear a distant, low rumble.

"What is that?" Zane asked quizzically, peering around and fanning himself with his tie. "Traffic?"

"An airplane?" Ralph suggested, looking up at the untouched blue sky.

"Good day, Professor Baruti," Flintlock the troll said in his slow, gravelly voice, unlocking the gate's padlock. The growth over the gate was even thicker now than it had been when James had first seen it. Swaying leaves and vines completely obscured the view beyond. "Going to visit Miss Amadahy, I presume?"

"Right you are, my stone-hearted friend," Baruti answered jovially.

Flintlock smiled, pulling away the huge padlock while Baruti turned back toward the milling students.

"Attention, class," he called. "Today, you may well learn more about the advanced art of potion-making than any textbook could teach you throughout the rest of the semester. We are about to visit a community that has been simmering magical elixirs for thousands of years and still does so today just as their forefathers did in eons past." Here, Baruti stopped and smiled to himself. "Of course, I mean 'today' in the purely rhetorical sense."

"When are we, Professor?" Norrick called out, mopping his forehead with his sleeve. "Since when do potion-makers live in Muggle Philadelphia?"

Baruti poked a finger into the air, as if to say wait and see . Then he turned to the troll. "Open the gate, s'il vous plaît , if you would, Mr. Flintlock."

With one huge stony hand, Flintlock gripped the gate and pulled. There was a sustained ripping sound as years of vines and bushes were torn apart, half of the green mass riding the gate inwards as Flintlock swung it open. James had expected to see the residential street of Philadelphia outside the gate, but like the campus of Alma Aleron University, the street seemed to have vanished. In its place was a vast, uninterrupted prairie, dotted with trees and carpeted with tall, shushing grasses. A multitude of brown humps seemed to be swimming through the grasses in the hazy distance.

"No way," Zane said as a huge grin spread across his face. Along with the rest of the class, the three boys pressed toward the gate, eager to see the entire view beyond. As James passed through, he found himself standing atop a low hill that overlooked miles of sunny valley. The river sparkled in the distance, snaking toward the horizon. James now recognized the brown humps in the grass as buffalo. An enormous herd of them followed the curves of the river, tossing their great shaggy heads and kicking up a cloud of dust that hovered all around them.

"Well," James said, nudging Zane, "you said you thought that that rumbling sound was traffic. You weren't too far off."

"Wicked!" Ralph said suddenly, turning. Both James and Zane followed his gaze. In the near distance, spreading away from the base of the hill upon which stood the Alma Aleron gate, was a teeming Native American village. Hundreds of buff-coloured conical tents poked up from the grass, each decorated with colourful symbols and shapes. Trails of white smoke drifted into the sky from dozens of small fires, most tended by dark-skinned men with bare chests and long, neatly braided black hair. Children and women milled throughout the village as well, stretching buffalo skins, pounding grain in wooden bowls, or simply sitting cross-legged around the fires, conducting their councils. A woman was walking up the hill to meet the class, her jet black hair shining in the sun, her short buckskin tunic swishing about her strong legs.

"Good day to you, Ayasha," Baruti called down to her, bowing.

"It is indeed," the woman replied. "I see you received my note about today's lesson."

Baruti nodded and spread his hands. "Only last night. The cave paintings grow hard to read after so many centuries."

"It is well that you were able. The Wraithraize is at its ripest and ready for threshing. Come, the pots are already boiling in wait."

"Professor," a Vampire girl called from near the gate. "Is she a…? Are those…?"

"Welcome to Philadelphia," Professor Baruti announced expansively, turning back to the class and smiling, " before it was Philadelphia. This is Shackamaxon, the largest extra-temporal, unplottable Indian reservation in North America."

Next to James, Ralph let out a long low whistle. "Wow," he said slowly, his voice filled with awe. "Rose Weasley is going to be sooo mad."

12. GAME MAGIC

That evening, the Administration Hall cafeteria buzzed with the anticipation of the season's first Clutchcudgel match. As James waited in line with his tray, he looked around at the packed tables and milling students, most of whom were decked out in sweaters or scarves bearing their house colours, some even with their faces painted. Most prominently displayed, of course, were the acid green of the Igors and the autumn orange of the Bigfoots. To James' surprise, the Igors were apparently considered the stronger team, thus most of other houses had donned the Bigfoots' orange and blue, rooting for the team that they believed would be an easier victory for their own teams when the time came.

Many upperclassmen and college-aged students had turned out in the cafeteria in preparation for the evening's match, showing just how seriously the population of Alma Aleron took the sport. Realizing this, James finally began to feel a stirring of nervousness. He ate very little and then excused himself quickly, darting alone back to Apollo Mansion to grab his jersey and glasses.