"Oh!" Ralph said, rather unnecessarily loudly. "There, yes, that's much better."

        "It'd have been better a minute ago if you'd have listened to me," Jackson said crossly, poking his wand back into his sleeve. The scene was over. Zane gave a final yank on his wand. The Invisibility Cloak popped loose from the coat-hook and dropped to the floor in a heap, which promptly vanished. James had no time to hide the briefcase. He sensed the class turning back toward the front of the room.

        "Please go and wash yourself, young man," Jackson was saying, his voice becoming louder as he dismissed Ralph and turned toward the front of the room. "You're an awful sight. People will think you've been mauled by a quintaped." Under his breath, he added, "Nosebleed Nougat…"

        Desperately, James stashed his wand back up his sleeve. Zane, in an act of pure split-second inspiration, shot his legs forward from underneath the desk. He grasped the real briefcase between his ankles, then yanked it back beneath his own desk. James heard the scuffling as Zane tried to stuff the case beneath his chair using only his feet. Jackson stopped next to Zane and the room became very quiet.

        James tried not to look up. He had the strongest sensation that the professor was looking down at him. Finally, helplessly, he raised his eyes. Jackson was indeed looking down the length of his nose, his gaze moving thoughtfully between Zane and James. James' stomach plummeted. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Jackson continued to the front of the room.

        "Honestly," he said to the class in general, "the lengths some of you will go to skip a class. It astounds someone even as cynical as myself. At any rate, where were we, then? Ah yes…"

        The class wore on. James refused to meet Jackson's eyes. His only hope was to get out of the classroom as quickly as possible. There was no way to collect either the real briefcase or the Invisibility Cloak while Jackson was still there. Just possibly, however, Jackson wouldn't see his own case stuffed beneath Zane's chair. Everything rested, of course, on the effectiveness of Zane's Visum-ineptio charm. James looked down at the false briefcase, sitting on the floor approximately where the real one had been. To his eye, it looked completely fake, its leather a different color and its brass plate reading 'HIRAM & BLATTWOTT'S LEATHERS, DIAGON ALLEY, LONDON', instead of 'T. H. Jackson'. Jackson had obviously sensed something. But if the charm worked, there was still the slightest chance they could pull it off.

Class finally concluded. James jumped up, herding Zane ahead of him. Zane shot him a look of pure consternation, his eyes darting toward the base of his chair, but James pushed him onward, shaking his head minutely. The class pressed toward the door, and James and Zane, having been seated in the front row, were stuck at the rear of the small throng. James was terrified to look back. Finally, the wall of shoulders and backpacks broke apart and James and Zane tumbled into the hallway.

        "What're we going to do?" Zane whispered frantically as they trotted down the corridor.

        "We'll come back later," James said, struggling to keep his voice low and calm. "Maybe he won't see anything. He was packing up the essays when we left. If we just hang back here around the corner, we can watch--"

        "Mr. Potter?" a voice said imperiously from behind them. "Mr. Walker?"

        The two boys stopped in their tracks. They turned very slowly. Professor Jackson was leaning out of the door of the Technomancy classroom. "I believe you two may have left something in my classroom. Would you care to come collect it?"

        Neither answered. They walked heavily back the way they had come. Jackson disappeared into the classroom again and was waiting behind the front desk when they got there.

        "Come closer, boys," Jackson said in a breezy voice. "Just right here, in front of the desk, if you please." Placed on the desk in front of Jackson were both the real and fake briefcases. When James and Zane got to the front of the desk, Jackson spoke again, this time in a low, cold voice.

        "I don't know who's been telling you stories about what I keep in my attaché, but I can assure the both of you that yours is neither the first nor even the most creative attempt to find out for certain." James raised his eyebrows in surprise and Jackson nodded at him. "Yes, I have heard the tales that some of my students have invented. Stories of horrible dormant beasts, or doomsday weapons, or keys to alternate dimensions, each more terrible and mind-boggling than the last. Let me assure you, though, my terminally curious, little friends…" Here, Jackson leaned over his desk, bringing his nose less than a foot from the two boys' faces. He lowered his voice further and spoke very clearly, "That which I keep hidden in my attaché is far, far worse than even your fevered imaginings can contrive. This is not a joke. I am not making idle threats. If you attempt to meddle with my affairs again, you will likely not live to regret it. Am I making myself perfectly clear?"

        James and Zane nodded, speechless. Jackson continued to stare at them, breathing through his nose in obvious fury. "Fifty points from Gryffindor and fifty points from Ravenclaw. I'd give you both detentions, except that that might lead to questions about this case of mine that I do not wish to answer. Therefore, let me finish by saying, my young friends, that even if you do not so much as look at my attaché ever again, I can still choose to make your lives extremely… interesting. Please do bear that in mind. Now," he stood back, lowering his eyes, "take this pathetic little ruse and be gone."

With palpable disgust, Jackson shoved his bag at them with the back of his hand. The fake bag remained sitting in front of him. He laced the knuckly fingers of his right hand through the ivory handles and hefted it. The brass plate that read 'HIRAM & BLATTWOTT'S LEATHERS, DIAGON ALLEY, LONDON' glinted dully as Jackson moved around the desk. Neither James nor Zane could quite bring themselves to touch the case in front of them.

        "Well?" Jackson demanded, raising his voice. "Take that thing and be gone!"

        "Y-yes, sir," Zane stammered, grabbing the professor's bag and pulling it off the desk. He and James turned and fled.

        Three corridors later, they stopped running. They stood in the middle of an empty hall and looked at the bag Jackson had insisted they take. There was no question about it. It was the professor's own black leather briefcase. The name plate shone clearly, 'T. H. Jackson'. James began to grasp that somehow, amazingly, they had succeeded. They had captured the robe of Merlin.

        "It was the Visum-ineptio charm," Zane breathed, glancing up at James. "It had to be. Jackson knew we were up to something, but he didn't expect that!"

James was completely bewildered. "How, though? He had both bags right in front of him!"